For the second morning in a row, Charles woke with Irene in his arms. It was already growing into a situation he wanted repeated every morning. Her body was warm and a comfort in his arms, enough to make him want to close his eyes and sink back into a blissful sleep.

That is, until remnants of their conversation of last night trickled into the forefront of his mind. Charles glanced down, to the top of Irene's head, her blonde hair loose and shining from the sunlight streaming between the plank walls. He recalled the sight of her trembling in front of him, frightened from the storm.

It wasn't until she'd pleaded for him to hold her that he realized how debilitating her fear had truly been. It was a concept he had a hard time understanding. He'd never found nature a thing to fear, but it was something he could accept and try to help her with. Mostly, it was what she hadn't said that had left him with misgivings. She only gave brief details as to her past, but they'd been enough to get him guessing.

She hadn't made it obvious, what her tangled past contained, but he could put together the few clues she had provided him. She had a reward on her head. She feared being taken in by the law. 'Irene' wasn't her real name. Charles knew only too well the kind of person who possessed these traits.

An outlaw.

When Irene had told him she was on a poster, he'd wracked his mind trying to think of any and all women he'd ever seen on wanted posters. Who could she be? Someone with a high enough price on her head that she believed she would be recognized on sight.

A few names and faces came to mind. Belle Starr, Pearl Hart, Etta Place...but, from his memory, none of them matched in resemblance or age of Irene. He didn't even know if she worked alone or part of a gang like him. Was she merely a petty thief, or a hardened bank robber? A possible murderer? Without her revealing her name, it would be impossible to figure out.

As if she sensed his mind buzzing, Irene stirred in his arms. He watched her eyelids flutter briefly before they slowly opened. Her sleepy gaze rose and she met his eyes. Her crystal, blue-gray irises took his breath away. In them, he saw her full trust, guilelessness, and hope. All his swirling doubts about her ground to a halt.

How could Charles believe her to be involved in anything nefarious when she gazed at him like that? She'd left him with so much unanswered, but the more he looked at her, the less worried he grew of who she truly was. He'd always been careful about who he put his faith in, but the purity in her gaze could tell no lie. He saw no malice, no thief, no murderer. She was simply Irene.

Irene tilted her chin and leaned closer. He knew what she sought and was unable to resist when her lips met his. Because, he didn't have any resistance when it came to her. He'd been falling for her since they'd met, secrets and all.

The contact between them struck as electric as the lightning of last night. Her mouth was so soft, pliant, yet responsive and firm in their endeavor. She hummed in pleasure against his mouth and it sent all other thoughts from his mind. All he felt was her mouth, her warm breath, her breasts pressing against him, and fingers clutching the nape of his neck. Her skin smelled clean, freshened from the rainfall.

Their lips moved furiously together, the kiss deepening as her tongue entered his mouth. Charles was all hers, unable to stop himself. Instead, he wanted more. He wanted her closer.

Irene was of the same mind as she shifted her position. She rose, pushing him back against the bed, but never allowing their mouths to lose contact. She moved over his chest, resting over top of him, her knees on either side of his hips.

Her fingers began to unbutton his shirt, moving down one by one in a smooth and agile line. As she loosened his shirt, he started on hers, but he had more difficulty with finding her buttons with his hands wedged between their bodies.

She released a little grumble of impatience at his fumbling. She sat up straight, her hips sliding down as she straddled him in a tantalizing and unintentional provocation.

As she worked the buttons, Charles watched her, amused and aroused at how eager she was to continue. He was more than willing to witness the oncoming reveal of naked skin. He had yet to view her in full daylight.

But something on her face caught his attention, cutting through his amorous-clouded mind. On her right cheek, there was a a red welt, which instantly sombered him. Fury replaced all lustful thoughts the more he studied the injury.

"Did that bastard lay a hand on you?" Charles seethed, thinking of the man who had shoved her against the wall. He hadn't witnessed more than that before he'd thrown him off, and Irene hadn't said anything, but Charles was seeing red now. If he had known Irene had been hurt, Charles would have made sure that man in the alley had paid for it.

Irene's eyes widened and her hand flew to her cheek. She lowered her eyes and tried to brush it off. "It's nothing."

"Does it hurt?" He frowned at her and reached to touch it, concerned.

"I said, it's nothing, Charles."

In the blink of an eye, she snapped up from the bed in a sudden movement, leaving him cold and at a loss. She faced away from him and hastily re-buttoned all the progress she'd made on her shirt.

Shocked at the sudden turn, Charles sat up and faced her, his shirt gaping open to the cool morning as he stared. She knelt over her bag and began rummaging through it. He knew not what she sought, but all of her attention was off of him.

Charles stood, unsure of what to say, and not understanding the reason behind her show of temper. After a few minutes of her turned away from him in silence, he came to terms with the fact that she was not returning to their former position. He said gruffly, "I'm going to check the horses."

Charles threw on his boots, grabbed his saddlebag and left the cabin, in a state of confusion at her reaction and stung at her rejection.

He stopped on the porch, and buttoned up his shirt, feeling the loss of what hadn't passed. He studied the morning, at the way the clouds smothered the sun and hid the blue sky. It was a grim start to the day, but it matched his mood.

To get his mind off of everything, he stalked down the stairs and greeted the horses beneath the manor, where he'd left them tethered last night. This was the best he had been able to do for them. There was a canopy next to the house, but it had been whipping wildly in the rain and wind and would have offered no protection for the horses. The ground here was soft, but firm after a muddy layer. He made sure they were fed and brought them around to the front of the cabin.

Soon Irene emerged from the front door. She was fully dressed, with a new shirt; this one buttoned high on her neck as if to deny any impropriety they'd been up to. She had also applied make-up, successfully covering the mark on her cheek as if it had never been. Why had she done so? Did she think he was less likely to pry about it if he didn't see it? Why was she protecting the man who had caused it? He didn't understand her.

Irene didn't speak to him or meet his eye as she approached him. Charles wanted to say something, to put to rest this conflict that had arose between them. However, he found himself still hurt by her harsh reaction so instead all he said was, "We'll be in Van Horn by dusk."

As they mounted their horses and started down the trail, silence continued to hang between them, stiffening the air and expanding the tension. He didn't like it, but neither did he know a way to dispel it. He also didn't know if he wanted an apology for what had occurred, or merely an explanation for her reaction. A small part him was kicking himself for making the initial mention of the injury on her face at all.

At midday, they were passing by the long abandoned Fort Brennard. After crossing the train tracks nearby, Charles turned down the hill toward the river.

Breaking the heavy silence, he told Irene, "We'll take some time for the horses to rest, and to eat, before we continue."

She nodded wordlessly, following him. At the shore, Charles dismounted and Taima went to the river on her own. He patted her as she walked by while Irene dropped down from Falmouth. As the horses drank, Irene caught his eye. She opened her mouth, and then just as quickly closed it and looked away.

Here again surfaced the Irene he didn't know. He was having a had time reconciling this woman standing in front of him, her arms crossed and eyes averted, with the one who had opened her arms, held him close and moaned his name with pleasure. Why did she now keep herself closed off?

He waited, giving her a chance to change her mind. When she didn't make another attempt to speak with him, he told her, "There's food in my saddlebag. Sit down and eat something before we carry on."

For himself, Charles used their time for rest to be on the lookout of their surroundings. There was a man down the river, a fisherman with a rod, and a dog walking alongside him. A lone traveler on horseback went by on the trail. All seemed quiet, the woods hushed and undisturbed.

But Charles wasn't ignorant of the invisible boundary they had passed. Even if the public sightings of them had been fewer and further between, they had entered Murfree territory now. Charles had seen up close what they did to people who crossed their path, and he wasn't about to take chances.

Once he was assured of the security in their location, Charles bent down next to the river. He cupped his hands, letting them fill with water before he raised them and wet his face. He rinsed his arms, letting the water cool him.

When he stood again, he spotted something on the ground out of the corner of his eye. It was a white and brown feather perched delicately on top of the grass, just past the pebbled riverbank. He stepped over to it and picked it up. Examining it, he noted its golden body and dark tips, immediately recognizing the bird of its origin. A golden eagle. Hopefully, it was a sign of good things to come.

Behind him, he heard Irene's cautious approach. She stopped a few feet away from him and asked, "What's that you have?"

"It's an eagle feather." Charles faced her, showing it to her. Since she decided to finally reach out to him, he continued, "The eagle is a sacred bird. Some see them as symbols of protection. Others believe them to be life guides. Some even say they are messengers of the Great Spirit."

"What do they mean to you?" she asked.

Charles paused, spinning the feather slowly between his fingers. He chose not to mention that if he did believe eagles capable of guiding his way, that the feather had been pointing in her direction before he'd picked it up.

"Eagle feathers remind me of my mother," Charles answered, somewhat eluding her question while providing truth. "She used to love them. She'd make beautiful things with them. I collect them now, when I can, in honor of her memory."

"What a lovely way to keep her in your heart."

Charles didn't know why he shared that with her. Only that it was simply too easy for him to open up to Irene. He wished she felt the same, that there would be no secrets between them.

He held out the feather to her. "May it bring you good fortune."

Her eyes widened. "I couldn't. You revere them so highly."

He reached over and took her hand, placing the feather in her palm. "I want you to have it."

She looked at it, and he hoped she saw it as the gift he meant it to be, that she understood. "Thank you, Charles."

He dawdled a moment, holding her hand, his thumb stroking one side. He heard her sharp intake of breath. Time passed and there was no reason for him to linger. He let go of her hand and he heard her long, ragged breath out and it pleased him. The connection he'd felt between them wasn't severed.

"We should get back on the road," he said.

"Alright." Her face scrunched up, staring at the feather, as if she were in an internal struggle. He turned, waiting for her to start heading to their horses with him, but she didn't move.

"We should talk, Charles."

Charles stopped. "What about?"

"About...this." She waved a hand between them, and then towards the road, indicating their situation.

He looked to her, waited for her.

She took a breath in, meeting his eyes directly. "I haven't been fair to you, Charles. I've provided you so little information, and all you've been is gracious and patient with me. It's just that...I'm not used to sharing much about myself."

"I know the feeling."

Charles had been alone for many years before he joined up with Dutch and the gang. At that time, he'd been wanting the company, but it hadn't meant he'd known how to talk with the other gang members right away. He'd been wary of trusting anyone, even with Dutch inviting him in with open arms. It'd taken months before he'd spoken much to anyone else, other than when he needed to talk specifics on whatever job they'd been doing.

"The thing is, Charles, I'm not..." she faltered. "That is, I used to..."

Charles watched her as she tried to find the words to explain herself. He noticed how tense she was, as if she were ready for him to bombard her with questions. As much as hearing her story ignited him with curiosity, he didn't want to be the cause of her discomfort. Charles had been the one to offer his help to Irene without knowing what she was involved in. While he wanted her to share more information, she should do so only when she felt comfortable enough with him.

"I don't need to know," he told her in a measured tone.

She met his eyes, surprised. "What?"

"As much as I've enjoyed our time together, you hardly know me."

She studied him searchingly. "Are you sure?"

"As long as I can get you back to Saint Denis safely without it, I'm fine with not knowing." Charles half-turned, to show how little the details mattered to him. He knew enough. "Now, we should really get a move on. We might even make it back to the city by nightfall if all goes well."

As they mounted the horses again, Irene asked quietly, "Charles, why do you find it so important for me to return to Saint Denis?"

Because he'd liked the pattern they'd settled into at the cafe. He would work all day, but his evenings would be dinner and conversations with Irene. Sure, they'd never previously been long or deep enough for him to have gained any hints as to this entanglement she was somehow involved in. But, before they'd left, they'd made a step towards intimacy, towards a sense of normalcy. To Charles, it had finally felt like he'd made it to the path that was meant for him. Getting to know Irene, and growing their relationship had been a purpose he'd been looking forward to.

But Charles couldn't admit all that. He didn't fear being honest with her about his own intentions, but he wasn't confident yet in articulating his mind without it sounding strange.

He settled for saying, "You shouldn't have to fear living."

"I suppose not." Beside him on the trail, she tilted her head and studied him. "What about you? Do you like it in Saint Denis?"

Not particularly, was the first response that came to mind. Not that he hated it. It was a densely populated city, but every block contained a mixture of culture, races, and prosperity. Charles hadn't faced any hostile confrontations, especially ones that challenged his presence alone. In Saint Denis, he could make himself a life.

He took so long to answer that Irene said apologetically, "I only ask because, well, somehow the wilderness suits you."

Humored, he smiled a little. "What makes you say that?"

"I don't know exactly." She pursed her lips. "I suppose, it's your demeanor as a whole."

He was watching the road ahead of them, but he arched an eyebrow in response.

"You seem...more relaxed out here."

He admitted, "I am more familiar with traveling rather than living in one spot. But Saint Denis has become a home, of sorts. I've lived many places, and it's far from the worst."

Keen interest sprouted in her eyes. "I've always had the sense you're well-traveled. Where else have you lived?"

The question was innocent enough, yet the answers he could give may shock her. He'd lived in a cave, a rundown settlement in the bayou, a rotting manor, an abandonded mining village in the mountains and sometimes just on the dirt beneath the stars. And that had only been his time with the Van der Linde gang. Those were comfortable compared to when he'd once moved around alone. Countless times in the past he'd had to sacrifice some dignity just for a roof over his head.

He told her vaguely, "I've been all over. North of here, west. I haven't traveled east too far, but the last few years I've stuck around New Hanover."

"Do you have family close by?"

"No." He thought of Arthur and Charlotte up past Annesburg. "Just a friend or two near here."

"I have someone in Van Horn I care about. Josie. She owns the Old Light Saloon." She said wistfully, "I wish I could visit her."

"We'll be in Van Horn in a couple of hours. We'll have some time, if you want to spare it."

"Oh!" Irene exclaimed suddenly, and with a guilty expression. "I should probably tell you that I'm not allowed back in town."

His eyebrows raised in surprise as he turned his head to look at her. Not allowed?

"There was an incident that occurred the day I left. It's the reason I haven't been back."

"Oh?"

She blew out a breath. "Well, to make a long story short, a bounty hunter recognized me and tried to turn me into the sheriff's office."

Charles frowned as he processed that. Van Horn was damn near lawless. They didn't have a sheriff. "That building has been burnt down for years."

"I...uh..." She cleared her throat. "I may have been the cause of that."

He glanced at her with interest. "Is that so?"

"I'm not even sure how the fire happened honestly." She sighed. "That day was such a mess. The bounty hunter who found me—I never did learn his name—was taking me in, but I was trying to get away from him at every opportunity. After it all, when I had time to think on it, I believe I might have accidentally kicked an oil lamp off a table just inside the door. When it fell, it seemed like the whole building was up in flames in seconds."

"And the bounty hunter let you go?"

"No." She took a moment to swallow before continuing, "He wouldn't give up—and the awful things he was saying—" She shook her head, anger passing briefly over her face. Her tone changed to one of bitterness. "I guess the reward was too much for him to give up so easily. Even with the fire, he tried to hold me down, to bind my hands. But in the struggle I got hold of his gun. I wasn't trying to kill him, but he wouldn't leave me be. I meant to only shoot his arm, but I ended up hitting his heart."

Irene stated it with remorse and Charles murmured, "It sounds like you did the only thing you could."

"Maybe," she said with obvious doubt. "The worst of it all was that I didn't realize the sheriff was drunk and passed out upstairs. He died in the fire and it's my fault. I think about it nearly every day, but I've still not come up with a solution as to what I could have done differently."

"And that's why you can't go into town?"

"Josie made me promise to never return. She-she's always been like a sister to me. But she told me the sheriff's death would bring attention, that it wasn't safe for me to stay. So, I left."

This story of Irene's had Charles burning with curiosity. But he sensed this was nothing related to the one she'd been so hesitant in speaking about by the river. After all, there was already a reward on her head when this bounty hunter got involved. More than ever, he wanted the answer to the question, what had she done?

To stay true to his word, Charles kept his questions to himself. Instead, he informed her, "As far as I know, the people of Van Horn didn't choose another sheriff."

"There's no new sheriff?" she asked in surprise. "Has it become completely lawless?"

He shrugged. "More or less. The townspeople take justice into their own hands when they find it warranted."

Her gaze grew distant and her face paled. "Oh dear."

"That's not your burden. That's how the town has chosen to run things these days." Charles thought a moment over their new problem. "It does raise another issue, though, as to how we're going to pick up the ring you need if you can't go into town."

Her expression cleared. "Oh, it's not in town. When I lived out here, I actually lived with Madame Mozelle until she died."

Mozelle. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

A hint of a smirk twitched her lips, breaking through the melancholy of her tale. "Madame Mozelle ran a roadside brothel for about thirty years. Were you at some point one of her customers by chance?"

He actually felt his face burn at the minor suggestion. "No."

But now that she brought it up, Charles thought he knew the house. It was on a hill in the woods, just northwest of Van Horn, with a sign out front encouraging weary and tempted travelers to stop in.

"That's where we need to go," she reiterated. "She'd retired by the time I met her, but she was kind enough to have an addition built onto her little cabin so I could live with her."

Charles sunk into thought at what she'd revealed to him and the effects it entailed. He'd taken on this task because he wanted to ensure Irene could continue her life the same way she'd left it in Saint Denis. The more he learned, the less likely this seemed possible. He still didn't know who the man in the alley was, but he was someone Irene knew, not just a bounty hunter out for a reward. Not to mention, he hadn't seemed interested in turning Irene in. Or maybe he wanted to get his hands on this important ring before he did. Charles would have to stick by her side to make sure that didn't happen.

Charles was too distracted by their conversation that he didn't pick up right away on the subtle signs Taima started showing of incoming danger. He first noticed when he saw her ears flatten back and then he grew alert, eyes darting around. The wildlife around them had settled down, leaving an unnerving silence that had the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He should have been paying attention.

High, grassy mounds surrounded either side of the trail. Even atop a horse, Charles' line of sight was not ideal. He couldn't see the bottom of the trees. This was just the type of place that could be set up as an am—

"Well, lookee what we got here."

At the voice, Charles pulled on Taima's reins, stopping her, Irene following his lead with Falmouth. Two Murfrees walked casually from atop the hill on their right side. One was grinning and the other trained a rifle on Irene.

The one without the rifle leaned on his knee with one elbow. "Ya'll lookin' a little lost."

"We don't want any trouble." Charles spoke to them with a level tone, but his gaze was watchful. There seemed to be only two, but Charles assumed that was just how many were choosing to show themselves. There could be more lying flat on the other hill. He didn't know for certain because he didn't have a good enough view.

The best course of action was to stay calm and act as nonthreatening as possible. If he and Irene could get by with only words exchanged, that would be best. Sometimes, these Murfree folks let travelers off with warnings. Charles really didn't want this to turn into a gunfight, especially with Irene caught in the middle.

"You move, and my brother here will shoot you," said the Murfree gleefully, as if he wanted Charles to disobey his order. "These here parts belong to us, you know. "

"We're just passing through."

The Murfree moved his eyes between the two of them. Irene wisely let no fear show, and kept quiet. Charles was certain if she did show any emotion, it might turn this interaction into a sadistic game.

"If we see you 'round here again, we'll take real good care of you." The Murfree grinned, but pointed down the road. "Now, get. And next time, ya'll be careful where you wander."

The second one, who hadn't spoken and had the rifle trained on them, squinted and took a step closer. "Hey, ain't this one of the fellers that done killed our kin at Beaver Hollow?"

The first Murfree froze in his premature departure. He turned around and focused all his attention on Charles. Charles hadn't believed there would be anyone left to recognize him from that incident. It also had been nearly two years. But Murfrees didn't seem to forget.

"In that case," the first Murfree removed his gun, "you ain't never been welcome in these hills."

The second one snapped the air with a sharp whistle before Charles could make any denials. Then the gunfire broke out.

Charles and Irene survived unscathed only because the Murfrees they faced couldn't aim for shit and didn't seem to have more than a couple of rounds each. They gave up shooting almost immediately and jumped down from the hill, knives now in their hands.

Charles quickly pulled out his double barrel shotgun and started to load it with haste. Before he could finish, Irene screamed. When he looked over, she was being pulled from Falmouth by two separate Murfree brood who had come from nowhere.

Charles turned to help, but the two who had stopped them were now charging at him, attempting to do the same. He aimed his shotgun at the one closest Murfree and shot him point-blank in the head. Blood splattered back, hitting him and Taima who were in proximity.

The Murfree who had recognized him was pulling at his saddle from the other side, trying to cut through the straps. Charles swung around and shot him in the shoulder. The Murfree howled, backed up and collapsed in the road. At the pandemonium, Taima moved anxiously, stepping sideways away from the bodies on the ground.

While Charles had been fighting two Murfrees, Irene had been dragged to the ground. A Murfree had hold of her collar and was hauling her backwards, towards the woods. She clawed at the arm pulling her away, but the Murfree paid her attacks no mind. The other one, who had successfully gotten Irene off her horse, mounted Falmouth and took off down the road in the opposite direction.

"I got the horse!" he boasted as he passed Charles.

Charles didn't have time to reload the double barrel shotgun so he holstered it. Quickly, he pulled out his bow, and an arrow. He did use a few precious seconds to aim at the Murfree fleeing on horseback, holding until he was sure of his accuracy, and then released...

The arrow whizzed through the air, arching with precision as it reached the Murfree, hitting his back left shoulder with a soft thud. The arrow pierced through to the front of the Murfree's chest, instantly killing him. He slumped over the saddle, but unfortunately didn't fall from the horse. Falmouth, in her confusion, kept up her gallop down the trail and out of sight.

Charles couldn't chase the horse as Irene cried out again, the Murfree having made it into the trees. He pulled on the reins, turning Taima around and intending to give chase. He was foiled when a pair of hands unexpectedly grabbed his leg, these with strength enough to stop him.

Another goddamn Murfree had made an appearance. Charles dropped his bow without a second thought and pulled out his knife. The Murfree yanked on him again, and Charles started to fall. But he used the momentum of the drop to his advantage, landing on the man and overpowering him without a struggle.

Once Charles had the Murfree dead, he looked up in the direction Irene had been taken. He'd lost sight of her, but he could track them if he had to. He wasn't sure he could chance waiting for it to come to that; he needed to act fast. He stood and took off after the last place he'd seen Irene. Luck was on his side as the Murfree was talking out loud. It wasn't difficult to find them even with the dense forest.

"...bet you'll taste real good."

Charles picked up his pace and caught up quickly, knife in hand. The Murfree looked up and spotted him. He pulled out his own knife with his free hand, ready to challenge him. But he must have read the cold fury in Charles' expression because his eyes widened with sudden alarm. He let go of Irene, turned around and started to run. Irene had been released so it wasn't necessary to chase the last Murfree down.

But Charles wasn't in a forgiving mood.

Charles passed Irene and charged after the Murfree. When he was within range, he tackled the Murfree and drew his knife. It was a swift death, with the blade gliding across the ambusher's throat without mercy.

Charles stood from his prey, feeling no guilt at the action. He knew too well the sort of atrocities the Murfrees involved themselves in. They were unforgivable and depraved nightmares come to life.

He returned to Irene. She was still on the ground where the Murfree had dropped her. Charles offered his hand, asking, "Are you alright?"

Her eyes were wide and fixed on the ground, in clear shock. Her dazed gaze went to his hand and her face paled. Charles only then noticed the blood there and knew, without even looking, there had to be more on his person. He realized what she'd seen from him might have been upsetting. He'd just ruthlessly killed five men in front of her. It had been for their own survival, but would she understand that?

Charles knew he could be a violent man, and he had his own temper that arose on occasion. However, that side of himself had mostly been in slumber since he'd started living in Saint Denis. Despite the past Irene feared to share, it clearly didn't contain anything as grisly as what she'd just witnessed from him.

Therefore, when her eyes finally met his, he wasn't surprised at her expression. But it was one in which he'd never wanted her to view him: in horror.