Goooooood mornin', Vietnam! Just kidding, hello lovely readers, gotta story comin' atcha! This one's based on the new Netflix series (or Discovery Canada if you're Canadian...HI!) "Frontier". Jason Momoa (a.k.a. Khal Drogo) plays Declan Harpe, and he is a just as painfully attractive as ever. But Momoa aside, this series was actually fantastic (I binge watched it in one night which was nothing for me considering there's only 6 episodes right now). I highly recommend it!

Disclaimer: nothing you recognize belongs to me, only my OC and her storyline.

Please enjoy this one, guys, and leave a review!

Before my mother died, she would often tell me that I would make a better life for myself than she had. At the time, I couldn't think of what she meant. After all, the best life for any Englishwoman was marrying well, bearing children, and living in monotony and submission to your husband.

But, standing in the cold Montreal night, in my leathers and fur, knife in hand, I knew this was what she meant. Even though there were no fine clothes, bountiful meals, or social statuses to achieve, I was living a better life than I could have ever dreamed had I not made the decisions I did.

"Kate," a low voice called to me. Looking up, I saw Sokanon, another member of our company and my dear friend. We moved towards one another.

"Are you with us?" she asked me. I knew she meant mentally.

"Yes, of course," I replied, softly. "Is he ready?"

Sokanon nodded. The he we were referring to was my husband, Declan Harp.

Declan and I met when we were children. His parents had been killed (by my father, although we didn't know it at the time), and my father took over his guardianship. Over the years, we formed a close friendship, neither of us having any love for my father, but a great deal for one another.

Just before my eighteenth birthday, when my father announced that I was to be married to one of the soldiers in his command, and we learned the truth of Declan's parent's deaths, Declan and I ran away. He vowed we would destroy my father for what he'd done to Declan's family, and to protect me from his wrath should he ever find us.

In the meantime, we'd been married and started a fur trading company of our own, a large part of our business being to sack the camps of my father's men and stealing their pelts and supplies.

As Sokanon and I walked back to the center of the soldier's campsite, I nearly laughed at the sight that greeted us.

Our company had quickly and efficiently subdued the camp. A handful of men were collecting supplies and goods we'd be taking with us, while another patrolled the surrounding field. But what really made my heart swell was the scene near the campfire.

Declan had three surviving men on their knees, with their wrists bound behind their backs, lined up with their backs to the campfire. They were beaten, bloody, and crying; the air around them stunk of fear, urine, and the metallic scent of blood. The man in question stood next to the fire, sharpening his favorite knife on a whetstone.

He looked up when he heard our approach. He did not smile at the sight of me, but his eyes softened and he winked. I smiled back at him softly as Sokanon and I came to a stop in front of the line of prisoners.

The survivors (who wouldn't be survivors for long) were whimpering, praying, and begging for their lives, but they would find no mercy here, not from my husband, who simply continued to sharpen his knife. Suddenly, one of them spoke up.

"Please wait, please!" he whimpered. "Have mercy! Please!"

Declan stopped sharpening then, throwing down the whetstone. Flipping the knife in his hand, he stalked over to them like a cougar. The look in his eyes was predatory and filled with bloodlust.

I couldn't lie that I loved to see it.

Coming to stand behind the man that had begged for mercy, Declan murmured, "This is your own doin',"

As the crying intensified, Declan spoke again. "This is not your land; you shouldn't be here."

Crouching down, he whispered, "But don't worry…I'll be seein' ya."

And with that the blood began to flow. Throats were slit, body parts were removed, and skin was flayed. Declan worked until his thirst for blood was quenched.

A while later, when Declan was satisfied with his handiwork, he addressed the company.

"Take the guns, pelts, powders, and supplies. Leave nothing!" he commanded.

Sokanon moved to see what she could do to speed up the process, and I turned to find my husband moving towards me. His knife was already tucked back into his sheath and he was cleaning the blood off his hands.

Declan wrapped me in his arms, burying his face in my honey blonde hair. He turned us so I faced away from the carnage he had caused. Ever since we'd run from my father, Declan had done his best to shield me from the violence. As much as he wanted to seek his fortune in the fur industry and get revenge on my father, Declan's top priority had always been to protect me. It's why we ran in the first place.

Pulling away, he captured my face between his large hands. His stormy eyes searched my green ones before he leaned down to press a searing kiss against my lips. My hands reached up, one cupping his face, the other tangling in his wild hair. After a raid, Declan tended to be a bit…untamed.

Suddenly, we heard a commotion from the other end of the camp. Breaking away from my lips, Declan turned keeping his body between mine and whatever had made all that noise.

Across the camp Samoset was leading an escaped redcoat towards us.

"I found him hiding," he called.

Declan stepped forward, menacingly. He circled the young solder before stopping in front of him, towering over him.

"Do you know who I am, boy?" Declan growled.

The young man gulped. "Declan Harp."

Declan threw an arm around the man, leading him away from us. "I want you to do me a favor. I want you to run on home, and I want you to tell him. You tell him I'm here."

Declan threw him to the ground and the soldier immediately bolted up and away from his sacked campsite to deliver Declan's message.

I knew that the "him" was my father, which meant my father would find out that I was still alive. As if he could tell what I was thinking, Declan threw his arm around my shoulders, drawing me into his side to drop a kiss on the top of my head.

"You're safe," he whispered so only I could hear.

As Declan and I watched him flee into the night, Samoset came to stand on Declan's other side, his old face full of concern.

"You're lettin' him live; word will spread," he mused. "They'll know this was you."

Declan didn't flinch. "I'm countin' on it,"