I can commit to at least one update a month, apparently. As I mentioned before, I'm a freshly-graduated nurse getting bounced from unit to unit. My life is chaos. Anyway, thanks for reading.
Marlowe
It was late midday when Marlowe and Arthur rode into Horseshoe Overlook. Along the way, Arthur had explained how splitting profits went, and what they aimed to do in the coming weeks. Marlowe didn't want to say it, but it seemed to her that the plan was about as convoluted as it gets. She also wasn't too sure she wanted to commit herself into sailing off to Tahiti, or wherever the hell they were wanting to go, and start a new life in a different land.
They had doubled back to Emerald Ranch so Arthur could retrieve the bear claw talisman he had commissioned of the fence. It had surprised Marlowe to hear that Arthur ascribed to some of the beliefs of the local native tribes. He didn't seem the type to believe in much of anything.
It had rained again, so they stopped in an abandoned wooden shack along the trail to spend another night before continuing their journey. Arthur had been right; even during the day, the rain made the trail along Caliban's Seat treacherous for horse hooves.
Once more, Marlowe had awoken the next morning to found herself tucked right up against Arthur's lean, well-muscled form, his arm curled around her waist. She had remembered feeling a bit cold as the wind whipped through cracks in the warped walls of the shack, but didn't recall moving toward her companion. This time, however, upon waking up she had opted to remain still for a while, allowing herself to enjoy the warmth emanating off of Arthur. He was like a human fireplace.
She also got a chance to study her companion as they rode. Despite his rough and tumble appearance and mannerisms, Arthur was really quite handsome. He was tall and muscular, with piercing blue eyes and a strong jawline smattered with stubble….
Not that it mattered. The last twenty-four hours had at least shown that Arthur Morgan could be an okay man, but she refused to think much more than that of him. Although, she couldn't get out of her head the way it felt to be pressed up against him in the morning. The man seemed to radiate warmth, and smelled of gun oil and sage...
She couldn't think about that now. As they hitched their horses, the familiar strong voice of Dutch rang out from behind them. "Miss Reid! What a pleasure it is to see you back in our camp!"
Marlowe turned to him and plastered on her best smile. "Well, sir, after hearing Mr. Morgan praise your hospitality, I felt as though I must try to experience it as a guest rather than a prisoner."
Dutch waved the comment off and held his elbow out to her gallantly. "Let's put all that bad business behind us, shall we? Allow me to formally introduce you to my family."
After a brief hesitation, Marlowe took his extended arm and allowed him to lead her into the main horseshoe area of wagons and tents, glancing over her shoulder at Arthur, who nodded encouragingly. She wasn't sure exactly what she wanted the nature of her relationship with the gang to be quite yet. Were they expecting her to be with them full time? Forever?
Dutch led her up to his tent and helped her step up onto the platform. "Everyone, gather round for just one moment!"
The gang members made their way over to gather around Dutch and Marlowe. Dutch put his arm around her, causing her to flinch uncontrollably. "Several days ago, when this young lady first set foot into our camp, it was as an enemy. She had conned us out of most of our savings, and was unable to give it back."
Murmurs erupted from the small crowd of people before them. Marlowe's stomach twisted anxiously.
Dutch continued. "However, yesterday, she returned more than triple of it. Miss Reid was in a bad spot and needed the money. Any one of us can respect that, can't we? That's how most of us were brought together, trying to steal from the other and eventually joining forces for the common good. And that's what we'd like to do today." He held out the hand that wasn't around Marlowe's shoulders. "Miss Reid, welcome to the Dutch Van der Linde family!"
She shook the offered hand halfheartedly. She hoped that wasn't sealing her fate here, before being given a chance to discuss her terms with Dutch.
"Now hold up just a minute," the red-headed Irishman shouted jovially. "When you fookers let me into your little posse, you put me through an initiation. Why does she get to miss out on that?"
"Because we created the initiation just for you," cackled Arthur, slapping him on the back. "Who doesn't like to see an Irish bastard streaking naked across the camp blindfolded?"
Sean looked around wildly at the other gang members. "Wait, so none of you had to do that?"
He pointed accusingly at Sadie. "And here I was thinking we were just waitin for this one to get over her dead husband before she had to do that."
"And if you keep bringing it up, you'll find yourself being initiated all over again," Arthur growled.
"Now," Dutch said, more seriously, removing his arm from Marlowe's shoulders. "Come with me, Miss Reid. We need to discuss a few things. Hosea, Arthur, Javier, you better come too."
She followed him into his tent, with Arthur and the older man close behind. Javier closed the flaps behind them. "Take a seat. Can I offer you some biscuits?" Dutch held out a tin of cookies to her.
"No thank you," she said, sitting in one of the two chairs next to a small table. Hosea took the other one, and Dutch sat on his bed across from them. Arthur stood next to the entrance, leaning against one of the support poles.
Dutch leaned toward her, face serious. "Miss Reid, I truly am grateful that you have decided to join our family. I know we didn't have the best start, but you understood the position you put me in, right?"
A small fire ignited in Marlowe's stomach, remembering the night when Dutch had nearly let that slimy bastard Micah do what he wanted to her. If it hadn't been for Arthur's intervention, and then the intervention of Miss Grimshaw when Micah attacked her in the camp, she couldn't even think what would have happened to her. It would take a long while for her to trust Dutch.
Once again she found herself glancing at Arthur, who nodded ever so slightly at her. She in turn nodded to Dutch. "Yes sir."
Dutch chuckled slightly. "Maybe one day I'll believe that. But I want you to know, I truly do understand why you did what you had to do. I had Javier here do some digging on Walter Smythe over the last couple of days. He arrived only an hour before you and Arthur did, in fact. What he found was truly disturbing. Your uncle is a sick man."
You have no idea, Marlowe thought furiously. She hadn't realized she was scowling until Dutch spoke. "I can see the contempt you have for him. And I want to help."
She looked at him, surprised. "I was hoping to discuss that with you, actually. Until Smythe is dead, I will be hunted. And he won't hesitate to kill anyone in his path."
"Yes, I figured as much," said Dutch with a slightly smug air. "I have a plan."
It could have been her imagination, but she could have sworn that she saw Arthur rolling his eyes.
Dutch pressed on. "Javier here did some reconnaissance on the manor. Care to share what you found?"
Face darkening, Javier practically radiated rage as he spoke. "That place is hell. There's no other way to describe it."
"Trust me, I know," Marlowe scowled.
He shook his head, eyes flashing. "Your uncle and his men bring people in chains through those gates. The men are forced to fight to the death in a ring while rich white men bet on who will win. The women are forced into prostitution, and your dear uncle has no rules about what his customers are allowed to do to them. I watched at least six bodies be taken out to the back of the manor and burned."
"My god," Hosea said hoarsely.
Nausea was now hitting Marlowe like a train. She gripped the armrests of her chair to keep herself from falling over. Tears stung her eyes threateningly as Dutch took her hand and gently placed a handkerchief in it, which she used promptly to prevent the tears from rolling down her cheeks. She was so sick of crying. It seemed she had cried more in the last few days than she had since the first couple of weeks scrounging to make money to send to her uncle. "We...I have to stop him."
Javier crouched to be at eye level with her, brown eyes blazing. "You will not be doing it alone. Those people...they're primarily Mexican, with some Indians and blacks. People that few in this country care to worry themselves over."
"Indeed," said Dutch fiercely. "You're a Van der Linde now. Your uncle will pay for this. You will be free."
Free. It seemed too good to be true. Marlowe choked back a sob and turned her face away from the intense gazes of Dutch, Javier, and Hosea. Instead she looked at Arthur, standing stoically in front of the entrance flap. He looked back at her with the softest stare she had seen from him yet. It was almost comforting.
"What's upsetting you, Miss Reid?" Hosea asked softly.
Marlowe took a deep, steadying breath. "It's not possible," she whispered. "He can't be killed."
Dutch chuckled kindly. "Every man can be killed."
"Not this one," she snapped. "Don't you think I've tried? I used to look for every opportunity I could while I was trapped in that house. I poisoned his tea, I left a snake in his bed, I did everything I could to end him."
"Except for unleashing the force of the Van der Linde brothers," Hosea said with a smile.
Dutch again held out the tin of biscuits. "You sure you don't want one?" She shook her head, so Dutch popped another one into his mouth. "I assure you, Miss Reid, we are more than capable of taking Walter Smythe down. You will never have to fear him again."
"Not to mention we picked up some familiar help," Javier grinned. He reached into his satchel and withdrew a small folded scrap of parchment. "I wasn't the only one scouting out the place for an assault."
She took the paper from him with some trepidation and unfolded it. Familiar handwriting scrawled across the page, handwriting she had not seen in nearly four years, when she had deemed it unsafe to continue correspondence:
Marlowe,
You cannot imagine how overjoyed we are to hear that you are alive and well. Elena, Josefina, and I have thought of you every day since we parted ways.
Do not be upset that the two of us have left the safety of McFarlane Ranch. We enlisted the help of a good man by the name of Joshua Graham who has taught us how to fight, and wanted revenge against the man who held us captive for so long.
Your friend has informed us of your alliance with the Van der Linde gang to attack the Smythe stronghold, and we would like to join the raid. We'll finish up our loose ends here and meet you at their camp as soon as we can to assist in planning. We'll end this bastard for good.
All our love,
Lus and Elena
Marlowe folded the page back up and looked at Javier in shock. He was grinning ear to ear. "Your friends are incredible, Senorita Reid. They lead a small group of rebels that have been picking off Smythe's men bit by bit as they bring in supplies. They have an ex-army soldier with them, a war veteran with aim like I've never seen, along with some of the people they have rescued from slavery."
For a long while, Marlowe didn't know what to say. She had assumed Josefina, Elena, and Lus were still at McFarlane Ranch, keeping their heads down while she struggled to pay off her debt to Smythe. Of course, she had been forced to stop communication with them as her uncle sent his goons every so often to harass her. Clearly a lot had changed.
"They told me what you did for them," Javier continued, now gazing at Marlowe admiringly. "You gave up your freedom to save their lives. You have been this man's slave for years."
Dutch nodded. "Not for any longer. As soon as your friends arrive, we move on the Smythe stronghold."
Marlowe took a deep, steadying breath. "And what would you want in return?"
"I am not the devil, Miss Reid," Dutch said seriously. "I'm not asking you to make some terrible deal." He leaned forward, eyes seeming to pierce into her soul. "All I ask is that you consider becoming a part of our family, but if you find purpose elsewhere, we will not stop you." Dutch cleared his throat and rose. "Now let's table this discussion for now. You're a Van der Linde now, and that's cause for celebration!"
Marlowe rose as well. "So long as it doesn't involve making me run through camp naked."
"The Irish bastard will be most disappointed," Arthur quipped with a half smile.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Now that she officially wasn't their prisoner, Marlowe felt the attitude of the camp shift towards her. She didn't have to have someone accompany her to move around Horseshoe Overlook, was given her own space to keep her possessions near the women, and the other gang members were much more friendly. In fact, it seemed that most of them couldn't get enough of her, a fact that Tilly, Marybeth, and Karen confirmed to her as they mended clothing under the shade of their wagon. "This happens every time a new face comes rolling in," Marybeth said with a roll of her eyes. "If it's a man, they get hazed and poked and made fun of until they have no self-esteem left. Usually does them a bit of good, if the truth be told."
"Clearly hasn't worked on Micah." Marlowe had been dodging him for the past two days. He had offered to take her out to Valentine as an "apology" for him threatening to kill her. Each time he approached her, Miss Grimshaw or Arthur was usually two steps behind him to chase him off.
Tilly scowled deeply. "His ego is clearly untouchable."
"And if the newcomer happens to have a pair of tits," Karen said with a smirk, "the men get all delirious, like they ain't ever seen a woman before. Well, all of them but Bill." The women giggled lightly; Marlowe didn't get it. "It's a good bit of entertainment for us."
Marlowe glanced across the camp to where Sadie Adler was arguing with Pearson at the chuckwagon. "Did Mrs. Adler have to go through that?"
Marybeth shook her head. "Being recently widowed and all, the men have been good enough to leave her be." She glanced in Micah's direction and pulled a face. "At least most of them."
"But just you wait," said Karen, winking at Marlowe. "You're the shiny new toy of the camp. They'll be swarming you."
"And here comes one now," Tilly picked back up the trousers she was mending. "Have fun."
Startled, Marlowe glanced up and saw Sean strolling awkwardly toward them. He stopped and acted like he was looking at something past them, fiddling with something in his hand, then seemed to have a burst of confidence and moved to stand directly in front of Marlowe. "Er... Hello, Miss Reid. Lovely day, isn't it?" He spoke with such a refined air that Tilly actually snorted. He shot her a glare before turning his attention back to Marlowe. "What's that you got?"
"Oh, um, one of Lenny's shirts. It's got a hole in the pocket," Marlowe felt slightly stupid. When not grifting, she hadn't the slightest clue how to talk to people.
Fortunately, it seemed that Sean didn't know either. "Well, I don't say I know much about...seamstressing...but it looks really good."
"Thank you," Marlowe felt her ears getting warm.
Sean just stood there, staring at her with his mouth hanging slightly open. The other women were clearly fighting back giggles. Marlowe felt like she had to say something. "Do you have anything that needs mending, Mr. MacGuire?"
This seemed to jolt him back into reality. "Oh, no, miss, I just saw this out in the fields and thought you might fancy it." He held out a rather crumpled white daisy, face now matching his hair.
Marlowe took the daisy, blushing furiously. "It's lovely, Mr. MacGuire. Thank you."
Sean's face lit up. "You really like it?"
"I can't say anyone has ever given me a flower."
"Glad I can be your first!" Sean said with an awkward little bow. "Actually, while I'm here, I was thinking I'd take a gander at this town we're sitting nearby. I don't suppose you'd want to go with me?"
She was at a loss for words, stuttering stupidly. "Oh, er...I actually...would love to-"
"Really?" Sean beamed.
"-but I already m-m-made plans," Marlowe finished. She cursed herself inwardly. Now she would have to make up a reason to leave camp for the day.
"Plans?" Sean's smile abruptly vanished. "With who?"
"With me," a gruff voice spared Marlowe from having to lie. Arthur had appeared behind Sean, dressed in a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, top few buttons undone. Marlowe's stomach fluttered annoyingly.
Sean whipped around to face him. "Oy, look who it is. The poor girl's barely in the camp for a couple of days and you're already swooping in on her like a right fooking vulture, are ye?"
Karen let out a shriek of laughter and buried her face in the skirt she was hemming to stifle it. Marlowe could have died on the spot from embarrassment.
Arthur didn't look fazed, instead addressing her. "You ready for some shooting practice, Miss Reid?"
Marlowe nodded quickly and rose. "Let me just check with Miss Grimshaw, make sure it's okay that I leave." She quickly made her way across the camp, head low so nobody could see how red her face was.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Arthur
Arthur had already unhitched Marlowe's horse for her when she approached, the small revolver he had given her holstered at her hip. "Thanks for that," she said with a small but dazzling smile.
"Figured you looked a bit cornered," Arthur slung himself up on Sidewinder. "That'll happen at least a dozen more times in the next week alone. You can tell them no. They've all been rejected plenty by the women in this camp."
Marlowe too pulled herself up on her horse. "It was very kind of him to bring me a flower," she said, cheeks red. "He seems like a decent enough man."
"Well," Arthur conceded gruffly. "You could do much better than the men inside this camp, though within the camp, you could certainly do much worse than Sean MacGuire. And you better not tell him I said that. Can't have him thinking I actually like the bastard."
"Oh of course not," she said with a grin. "Now where are we going?"
"Caliban's Seat," Arthur said. "There's a good little place for some practice up at the top of the formation."
It was a relatively quiet ride, about half an hour long. Arthur led them up a narrow, rocky path to the top of the massive rock formation, where there were a few trees, boulders, and a burnt out camp site. He dismounted and hitched his horse. "We should be left alone up here," he said.
"I should think so. Who would be stupid enough to come wandering up here?"
"The Jack Hall gang, for one," said Arthur with a wink. "Found me a nice bit of treasure, and a map to their next stash. At any rate, we can shoot some birds out of the sky pretty easily from here."
"Shouldn't I start with a more stationary target?" said Marlowe skeptically with a glance at the flock of birds nearby.
Arthur rolled his eyes. "If you expect your enemies to be standing still, then by all means."
"Fair enough. So what do I do?"
"Take that little pea shooter I gave you out."
Marlowe obeyed. Arthur drew his own weapon and moved to stand right next to her. "Now, focus on just one bird. Really hone in on it. Imagine it is the only object in your line of sight."
Taking a deep breath, she set her sights on one of the crows in the sky, flying slightly away from the rest of the flock.
"Now, aim your gun. Focus right down the barrel, and exactly how the bullet is going to fly. Make any adjustments you need."
Marlowe did so, moving the gun slightly to follow the bird as it made lazy figure-eights in the sky. Arthur put a correcting hand on her arm. "Don't wave that thing around. Predict where the bird will go next." He moved to stand behind her, arms coming around her to adjust her grip on her gun. He was acutely aware of how close they were, but tried to shake the thought. "Now, lower the hammer, and shoot."
She fired, startling slightly at the noise. One of the birds gave a small shriek and tumbled from the air to the base of the rock. Marlowe whipped around to face Arthur, an incredulous look on her face. "I hit it! I actually hit it!"
"Not a bad firs-" Arthur trailed off as Marlowe threw her arms around him in a tight, excited embrace. He hesitated for a moment, then put his arms around her.
She released him almost instantly, face burning. "Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I never thought I'd be able to hit anything, much less on the first try."
Arthur chuckled awkwardly. "You can call me Arthur, Miss Reid. No need to be so formal."
She smiled. "Only if you start calling me Marlowe. Enough with the 'Miss Reid' bit."
"As you wish...Marlowe."He enjoyed her skin flushing to an even darker shade of red at the sound of her name.
Marlowe fidgeted with her gun. "I have something to confess, Arthur," she said, not meeting his eyes.
His stomach turned, mind racing through every scenario about what she was about to say. "What's that?"
She finally managed to look up at him. "That bird I shot?"
"What about it?" Arthur prodded.
"It wasn't the one I was aiming for."
Arthur stared at her for a long moment, then burst out laughing. Marlowe looked offended. "It's not that funny!"
Wiping away a tear, Arthur struggled to compose himself. "Are you kidding? That's the best kind of gunman there is! A damn lucky one!"
"Luck isn't going to save my ass one day, will it?" Marlowe moaned.
Arthur patted her on the back, still chuckling. "I'd rather be lucky than skilled. But we can get you practiced up enough to where you're both."
They worked on shooting for at least another hour, during which Arthur had to admit that Marlowe was very naturally talented. After the third or fourth bird downed, Arthur was forced to conclude she actually meant to hit them. He even showed off his ability to seemingly shoot four targets at once.
"Now, I'm thinking that as capable as you might be with a gun," he noticed Marlowe's satisfied grin and was hasty to add "with some more practice, I think you might benefit from some good old-fashioned hand to hand fighting skills."
"Like what?" Marlowe asked, holstering her gun.
Arthur took his off and set it aside and motioned for her to do the same. "Like when you're being dragged off by one of your uncle's goons. There are ways to defend yourself without a weapon."
Marlowe shifted uneasily. "I think I'd rather just shoot them before they got close enough to touch me."
"That's certainly ideal," said Arthur. He could tell she wasn't comfortable with the idea. "We don't have to do this today, if you don't want."
Marlowe took a deep breath. "I guess it's not a bad idea to learn."
"You sure?"
She nodded. "Give it your best shot, I guess."
Arthur approached her. "We'll start slow. I'll show you how to get out of a few basic holds. I'm going to grab you from behind." He went around behind her and gently put his arms around hers, pinning them firmly to her sides. He could feel her heart pounding in her ribs. "Now, most situations, if you're thrashing and fighting your enemy will keep a tight grip on you, giving you no chance to escape."
Marlowe nodded silently. She was very stiff. Arthur continued. "The key is to thrash around a bit, and then relax. Your captor nine times outta ten will momentarily shift his grip to somethin more comfortable. During that shift you can break free by droppin your weight out from under you. Make sense?"
"I-i-i guess," she stuttered, attempting to tug her arms free. Arthur held firm.
"Show me," said Arthur. "Struggle."
A switch seemed to flip within her. She began to fight him, twisting and thrashing. Arthur kept his grim tight. She suddenly went limp. Normally Arthur didn't fall for the tactic, but this time he let himself shift his grip and smiled when Marlowe went boneless, slipping from his grasp. "Well done."
Marlowe stumbled back from him, eyes slightly wild. She had the same scared look from when Arthur had recognized her only a week earlier. He held his hands out. "We don't have to continue, Marlowe."
She nodded, looking away from him.
Arthur felt like an idiot. Why did he think she'd be okay with this? He moved toward her slowly. "I'm sorry. We should have just kept to shooting."
Marlowe scowled, much to Arthur's disappointment. It had been the first time she had spent time with him without looking angry or afraid until this point. "No, no, it's okay. If I'm to stop being so damn helpless all the time, I need to learn to defend myself."
"You're not helpless," Arthur said firmly.
"Yes I am." She began to pace back and forth in frustration. "If I wasn't so damn helpless I'd have killed my uncle years ago. I wouldn't have to live in fear that around every corner is my uncle's men, I wouldn-"
Before he realized what he was doing, Arthur seized Marlowe's arm, stopping her frantic pace. "Just shut up, will you?" he growled, his face inches from hers. "The smartest people I've ever met are no prize fighters. Take that sleazebag Trelawney. Worms like him can always slime his way out of a confrontation."
Marlowe yanked her arm away. "Fantastic. I'll just slime away."
"My point is," Arthur reached out and took her hand, pulling her back to him a bit more gently. "You're one smart woman, Miss Reid. When it comes down to it, I'd much prefer fighting alongside someone with a brain and no brawn than someone with brawn but no brain."
Marlowe's intense expression softened. She took a step closer to him. "Thank you, Arthur. I can't say that I believe it fully, but I appreciate it."
It wasn't clear who initiated the hug, but in the blink of an eye Arthur found his arms wrapped around Marlowe's waist, inhaling the slightly floral scent of her long dark hair as he pulled her slender form against him tightly. Her arms were around his neck, head resting on his shoulder. Arthur's stomach was doing somersaults, he wanted to tilt her head up to look at him, feel those pink lips against his-
All too quickly, Marlowe pulled away, and Arthur was sort of pleased to see her normally pale skin was slightly pink. "Er, so, I was thinking I wanted to learn hand-to-hand combat, if you have the patience to teach me."
Arthur chuckled and drew one of his knives from his belt and handed it to her. "Rule number one, always bring a knife to a fist fight."
"That seems like a dirty move," Marlowe noted with a slight smile.
"And rule number two," Arthur countered, raising his fists up and getting in a defensive stance. "Fighting dirty is fighting smart. You ain't here to win awards. We can practice with the sheath on the knife for now since you clearly don't have a problem with knifing folk."
A couple of people to thank for this chapter: ComparedDread12 for providing the character of Joshua Graham, who will be making his first appearance in the next chapter, and for motivating me to keep writing. I also want to thank AllTheFeels42 for being an expert on writing romance and helping me figure out how to get this thing going between Arthur and Marlowe. Romance is not my forte, both in writing and in the real world, so I appreciate all the help I can get.
