"The wintry west extends his blast, and hail and rain does blaw; or, the stormy north sends driving forth the blinding sleet and snaw? Snaw? Surely this is a misprint." He folded the book, keeping his thumb firmly pressed between the pages, setting the object down against his chest a moment.
"Go on." The woman purred as she ran her long delicate fingers through his slicked back jet black hair.
"Very well," he grumbled as he flipped the small red book open again and began to read aloud to her again pausing agitatedly as he reached the next line of the poem, "while tumbling brown, the burn comes down, and roars f—"
"Frae bank to brae." She eyed the page carefully and he snapped the book shut again over his thumb and scowled up at her.
"Is this even English? Who talks like that these days." He began to sit up from her lap and moved to swing his feet to the wooden floor in front of him.
"Sigurd—" She whined, drabbing at his white sleeve and staring up at him with her gentle brown eyes.
"Dutch." He clicked his tongue and the woman flopped back down on the couch in defeat, putting her hands over her face a moment before rubbing her temples.
"That may be what those hooligans and you to prefer to call yourself, but what's wrong with a noble name like Sigurd?"
"Annabelle, we're not having this argument again. When I left Pittsburgh I left that name, that life, and that innocent little boy behind. I took the nickname the other boys gave me, a moniker meant to be an insult to my father's roots, and I bear it with pride now." He tossed the book between them and stood up, sliding his suspenders back up over his shoulders.
"Yes, yes, I know. But, don't you grow weary of this Three Musketeers fantasy you have with Mr. Matthews and young Mr. Morgan? A con man, a petty schemer, and an orphan against the world. You could find stable work if you would just speak to my fath—"
"Your father is a bigger thief and conman than I, my dear. At least when I rob, steal, and lie it's to reclaim some of the wealth that man has stolen from lowly peasants like me and my father before me. I refuse to accept any sort of hand out from the likes of him." Dutch snarled, fidgeting with his suspenders as he went towards the open window of the woman's bedroom.
"I'm not saying your cause isn't noble or good. And you know I hate my father just as much as you. I…worry about you. Initially sure, our relationship was one that we forged out of the need to get back at the same rotten bastard but I'm starting to…" Her voice trailed off a bit as he braced himself in the window and began to climb down the trellis and into the yard without a word. She lifted herself from the couch and peered out of the opened window as he inspected his hands for cuts from the bougainvillea.
"I…" She stared down at him before biting her bottom lip, trying to summon forth the courage to just tell him how she really felt, but she sighed instead.
There would be no point in admitting she had started to develop feelings for the young man who had only seduced her to get even with her father. He hadn't robbed her of her chastity, though, he had tried to make convincing arguments as to why she should allow him to ruin her innocence. It was odd to her, that despite being a ruffian he hadn't just forced himself upon her though he very easily could've. His visits through her open window were simply to read poetry to her, maybe a little heavy petting through their clothing, but that was it really. She hadn't expected the man to be a walking contradiction, an honorable thief.
"I will see you again soon." He smirked as she huffed, pouting slightly before shutting the window. He crept away from the mansion house as quietly as he could, slithering through the thick bush like a snake and back towards the woods where his camp was.
The old nag Mr. Matthews used to pull his wagon rested her one of her black hooves on her hindlegs at a point, her ears lazily flopping as she shook off the biting flies. She smacked her mouth a bit, unphased by the tall dark figure that emerged from the brush and stretched his arms and yawned loudly.
"You're lucky old man McLean hasn't caught you nosing around his hen house at this rate. Has the girl finally given into that Van der Linde charm?" Hosea didn't even bother to look up from the campfire as Dutch took a seat on a fallen tree near young Mr. Morgan.
"I am a gentleman, Hosea. I would never force the poor creature to part with her chastity against her will. She's just a girl, my friend, a means to an end." Dutch stretched again and Arthur scratched his head.
"I dunno, Dutch. You've been spendin' an awful lotta time with Ms. McLean for the last three months."
"Part of the plan, my young impressionable friend. She couldn't possibly let her daddy go after her beloved Romeo after we rob him. Besides, she's been invaluable when it comes to where he keeps the money. I've got her wrapped around my little finger, don't you worry." He patted the young man's shoulder, but Hosea didn't seem convinced as he tossed another stick on the fire and began to watch it burn.
"Poor girl. It ain't right playing with a woman's heart like that, you know. Can you really live with yourself when the time comes to crush her heart, sir?" Hosea raised an eyebrow and Dutch chuckled, crossing a leg over his knee.
"She's high born and bred, probably get married off to some fancy aristocratic type and forget about little ol' me in time. We're outlaws, gentlemen, noble bachelors drifting from town to town stealing from the rich to give to the poor—"
"Yeah, the poor being ourselves." Arthur laughed and Dutch smacked him playfully in the back of the head.
"Exactly. Ain't nobody for scum of the earth like us 'cept the comfort of a whore. She's well educated, she'll realize that eventually when I'm long gone."
"Right…" Arthur rubbed the back of his head as Dutch stood up again, loosening his black suspender straps from his shoulders and heading for his tent.
"Forget the girl, Dutch Van der Linde! Before she realizes what a snake you are!" Hosea called out as Dutch walked away, but he only waved a hand at him and laughed. The older man shook his head and mumbled to himself under his breath about the youth playing with fire.
Twap. The sound of a pebble hitting the glass woke her up, she groaned as she slid the heavy covers off herself and stumbled towards the window and opened it, before walking behind her embroidered screen to put something on over her nightgown. She paused as she reached for a robe that was hanging on a peg in front of her, biting her lip nervously as she heard the bougainvillea rustle and the familiar strained grunts of her love interest ascend the wall towards her open window.
"Did I wake you?" His voice in a hushed whisper as she remained hidden behind the screen, the sound of his boots scraping across the windowsill and onto her bedroom floor.
"Yes." She fidgeted with a small silk ribbon on her nightgown nervously, biting her lip as she heard him step towards the embroidered screen.
"Did you think I'd forget you?" He stepped away, his boots gently tapping as he sat on her bed and began to remove them.
"I don't want to read today, Si—Dutch. I have a confession to make." She fidgeted with the small teal ribbon anxiously, staring down at her bare feet as she tried to think of the best way to say it. Her stomach had turned to knots and she let go of the ribbon and began to fixate on her long dark brown hair.
"Oh boy," she heard him mutter worriedly under his breath before continuing, "is that so?"
"I…I've been letting you in here because I wanted you to ruin me. Well, not by force or anything, I think, I just…I…" She sputtered, how was she supposed to tell him that the only reason she had started allowing a strange man into her bedroom just to rebel against her father. Her original plan had been to just let this vagabond tarnish her good reputation, maybe even stick her with some bastard child just to piss off the old man. He wanted to rob her father, but she wanted to destroy him through and through. Free herself of the life of a dutiful wife and mother to some other rich arrogant asshole. She wanted to be like Dutch was, free, somewhere where God had forgotten and her father couldn't smother her to death.
"Uh…I beg your pardon?" Dutch debated about whether to put on his boots and make a mad dash out of the window, disappearing into the night entirely and never seeing the girl again. Hosea had warned him about honey trapping the girl and he became nervous about where this conversation was going.
"I was hoping you'd," she stepped out from behind the screen, "ruin me. If my father's only child became no better than a prostitute, spreading her legs for some low class man like you then I could get out of here. I could be free, like you. Like Mr. Matthews. Like the young Mr. Morgan. We could run away together."
"That's…uh…I should go, I think." He went to grab his boots but Annabelle blocked the window exit, the pale moonlight outlining her naked figure underneath her nightgown. He averted his eyes and cleared his throat, trying to figure out how he was going to get out of this situation without completely derailing their plan. If he could help it anyway. He had anticipated she might catch feelings for him, but he had hoped for that conversation to be one of their last. He had, after all approached her first, though she was quick enough to see through his act and help him rob her father. Giving him information about his routines, which people they should talk to around town if they wanted to "get in good" with Old Man McLean, how many guards he kept around the house, their patrol routes, and so on. But running away with him? This was not part of the deal.
He could hear Hosea's voice in his head, warning him not to get directly involved with the family of the man they were trying to rob, and it had been his own foolish arrogance that had landed him in this mess. He hadn't ever intended on sleeping with her, just giving the girl enough of a bittersweet romance to take the heat from him and the boys from her father. Then again, he had stupidly told the girl his real identity, his companions' identities, and had included her in their plans. He cursed himself, realizing his stupidity.
"I know we just agreed to see each other on account of pissing off daddy, that we were using each other from the start. But I, I think I might have fallen in love with you. You are wild, free, and you go wherever the wind takes you! I want that kind of life! I'm the daughter of a rich asshole, locked away in an ivory tower and paraded like a broodmare for sale when I'm out in public. I hate it! When the job is over, I want to be with you. Out there in the wild, without a care in the world." She clutched her hands into fists, shivering slightly as the colder autumn air drifted into the window.
"Shit." Dutch let go of his boots and leaned back in bed, running his hands through his slicked back hair as he tried to think of something to say. He needed to figure out how to placate her so he could come up with a plan B.
"Take me with you." She whispered, stepping away from the window and taking a few small steps towards him.
"Annabelle." He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face before he sat up, resting his elbows onto his thighs and placing his chin on top of his thumbs and his index fingers on either side of his eyebrows.
"Please." She kneeled in front of him, resting her forearms on his knees as she looked up pleadingly at him.
"This life, my life, isn't for you. I am a criminal. One day, maybe tomorrow even, I may find a noose around my neck. I didn't mean for this to happen—"
"Dutch!" She grabbed at his arms so he would look at her but when he did it sent a chill up her spine. His eyes were cold, as though she were nothing but a mere insect to him and she felt her eyes begin to water slightly.
"Annabelle." He grabbed her by the wrists and threw her down on the bed next to him, pinning her down underneath him as he reached for one of her feather pillows. He could get out of this, he just needed to make sure she couldn't breathe a word of this to her old man. They'd ride out, abandon whatever plans they had made of robbing Mr. McLean and move onto the next town.
"Don't," She looked over at the goose down pillow he had grabbed before looking back at him as though she knew what he was thinking about, "you don't need to do that. I won't breathe a word of this, I swear. You can trust me."
"People always look out for themselves, sweetheart. I'm sorry—" he picked up the pillow to put it over her face when the dogs began to bark wildly and he froze.
"Get under the bed," She whispered urgently as she heard her parent's bedroom door open and the heavy footfalls of her father creep along the house. "Dutch!"
His eyes widened as he realized even if he killed Annabelle, it would be nearly impossible to leave undetected now as he heard the watchmen running about in the yard with the dogs who were barking up at her open window. She quickly squirmed out of his grip and ran to the window; he rose furiously to stop her but quickly froze again to hide in the shadows as she had beaten him to it.
"Malcom! What's going on?" Her long dark brown braid slid past her shoulders as one of the nightmen wrestled the large black dog in his care. The creature snarled furiously at the open window, knowing the trespasser's scent was there. She sounded as startled as she could even though she could feel Dutch breathing down her neck behind her anxiously.
"Miss Annabelle, it seems we've got an intruder skulking around! I found a set of tracks leading from the woods right here to just below your window! Are you alright miss?" Malcom tried to survey as much as he could through the open window, but Annabelle kept Dutch away from the glass with her leg. He grabbed her ankle, cocking his pistol as quietly as he could and kept it firmly fixated on the back of her head.
"Don't say a goddamn word, I don't want to hurt you." His voice was almost a plead, his wrist shook a moment, but he quickly regained his composure as she leaned out the window.
"No one here but me, Mr. Malcom! Goodnight!" She quickly shut the window and curtains before Malcom had a chance to speak and gestured to her bed. "You don't need to threaten me, Dutch Van der Linde. I'm trying to help you, you goddamn idiot."
He growled as he quickly slid under her bedframe and pulled himself up off the floor. She quickly retreated to the safety of her bed and threw the covers over herself as her father burst into her bedroom. She squealed and held the comforter up over her bust as Old Man McLean huffed and puffed like a boar.
"Are you alright, princess? Daddy's here." He lowered his loaded shotgun, leaning it on the nightstand as Dutch's fingers struggled to hold onto the brass bedframe below them. McLean wrapped his arms around his daughter and kissed her forehead and cheeks. Annabelle rolled her eyes from beyond his line of sight and gently caressed his back.
"I'm fine daddy."
"Some little weasel climbed up the bougainvillea and I was so afraid that they—" Her father began but Annabelle hushed him gently.
"It's alright, daddy. They second guessed it when they realized I was awake. He ran off into the darkness." She needed to get her father out of here before he started inspecting every little nook and cranny. She tossed the covers off and started pushing her father off her bed.
"Princess. Let me have a look around just to be sure." Her father pleaded as he stood up and grabbed the shotgun again. Dutch could feel his palms sweating as he tried to adjust his grip on the cold brass.
"Daddy, I'm a young lady now." She laughed and continued to wiggle to the other side of her bed to try to push him out of her room.
"You're hiding a beau in here, aren't you!" Her father pushed back, sending her dramatically crashing to the floor where she remained on her knees looking up at him. She could see out of the corner of her eye that Dutch was slipping from his hiding place, desperately trying to claw his way to a secure position and she did her best to block him from sight.
"Daddy! That's disgusting! Me? Really? Sneaking boys into my bedroom to deflower me! Why would you accuse me of such a thing!" She began to fake cry and her father stammered.
"Oh Princess, I didn't mean to suggest that—"
"Get OUT!" She pointed angrily at her open bedroom door and her father sheepishly debated whether to take his child in his arms and soothe her, but he could see that she was extremely upset with him. He chewed his bottom lip nervously, he wanted to believe her but his anxiety seemed to peak as his eyes carefully surveyed every shadow in the room. The intruder could be anywhere, he thought. He gripped the gun tightly and Annabelle sniffed audibly, crocodile tears streaming down her face and her father relented.
"Okay, my heart, okay. I'll give you some space." He held his arms out in surrender as he slipped into the hallway, prompting his daughter to stand up and slam the door before locking it. Annabelle groaned in relief as her heart raced in her chest, patting her sternum gently as though to calm herself. She felt the cold metallic barrel against her temple as Dutch wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her away from the door.
"How do I get out of here? Princess." He growled and she laid her head against his chest, her eyes closed for a moment as she heaved a sigh.
"Will you put the gun down, Dutch Van der Linde? If you try to leave now, the dogs are going to rip you to pieces, or worse, my daddy will blow a hole clean through you. You're stuck, Mr. Van der Linde. Trapped like a rat in a sinking ship." Annabelle wrapped her arms around his and opened her eyes again with a smirk.
"I could walk out in that hallway with my gun to your head, using you as a bargaining chip." He gripped her a little tighter and she rolled her eyes, looking up at him in the pale light as though he were a fool.
"Mr. Malcom is an excellent shot, you'd be dead before you got out the front door. Just, calm down, Mr. Van der Linde. I'm not going to bite. If I wanted you dead, you would be." Annabelle strummed her fingers on his arm gripped around her, giggling slightly as he let her go and stepped away from her with his revolver still firmly fixed at her head.
"People look out for themselves, Miss McLean. It's the law of the jungle."
"And this isn't the jungle, or Tahiti, or Australia, or Fiji. I confessed literally ten minutes ago that I have feelings for you, and your first reaction is to kill me to save your own skin? Tell me, honestly," she pulled at the drawstring of her nightgown as she turned around, "do you care about me, even just a little?"
He watched as she slipped her arms through her night dress and let it fall to the floor, he bit his lip but kept his gun raised. It's just a dirty trick, he thought to himself as he tried to shut down the feeling of desire running up his spine. He stretched his neck side to side, trying to avoid actively looking at her body and focusing on her eyes.
"That doesn't work on me, Miss Annabelle." He growled as she stepped over her discarded garment and put a hand on his chest, smirking indignantly as she brushed past him and settled on the couch, lifting her feet onto it as she lounged.
"Judging from the look of your slacks, I'd say you're lying, Mr. Van der Linde." She retrieved the small red book and opened it to read it as he decocked the revolver and glanced down at the betrayal poking against the fabric. He smirked, though he felt his pale cheeks flush uncontrollably a moment as he reholstered his gun but refused to look at her.
"That's a dirty trick, Princess."