Deliverance † Arthur Morgan

six: whiskey sugar

Arthur knows Lilian Cornwall is tired of being holed up at Horseshoe Overlook and looks for ways to get her out of camp for a little while.

     THE SUN TEETERS between light and shade with rolling clouds passing by. Things have been quiet as of late, too quiet for some people's liking, but besides a few mishaps in the Valentine saloon, everyone, save Micah shooting up half of Strawberry, has kept their noses clean —like Dutch told them too. Arthur heaves the last bale of hay for chores onto his shoulder, taking it to the far edge of the camp where his horse and a few of the others are. Dropping the bale in the remnants of the last, he unsheathes his hunting knife and slices through the twine, loosening up the dry straw. Lilian Cornwall is there, speaking with Kieran Duffy, fingers brushing through the mane of his dark bay Andalusian —Ginger.

     If Arthur thought Kieran was skittish around the gang, he's even more so around Lily, but she thinks nothing of it, continuing a vibrant description of one of the racehorses her father sponsored in the Derby when she was a girl —Longfellow, a handsome bay Thoroughbred with a bright-white blaze and four white socks. She startles when Arthur bumps into her, cheeks aflush when she looks over her shoulder, holding his gaze. "Wanna take her for a ride?" Arthur asks, patting Ginger's withers, knowing Lily has to be tired of staying cooped up in camp these past few weeks. Everyone could come and go as they pleased except for her and Kieran.

     Lily shakes her head, stepping back from the mare. "I couldn't," she tells him, unwilling to test the length of the invisible rope Dutch Van der Linde has tied around her ankles. After seeing what the gang did to Kieran Duffy, Lilian Cornwall wants to remain in their good graces —well, good as they could be, given who she is.

     Arthur's brows knit together, the faintest of smiles twisting the corners of his lips upward. "'Course you can," he tells her, adjusting the brim of his hat. "Know how to ride, don't you?" There's a reply on her lips and feigned shock in her expression at the implication she didn't know how to ride a horse, but Arthur shakes his head 'fore she can say anything smart. "And I don't mean none that sidesaddle shit."

     True to a lady of her standing, Lilian Cornwall has only ever ridden in coaches and sidesaddle during the summer games in the upstate; it's all that's ever been required of her. Her hazel eyes widen, and cheeks burn redder at the implication of riding like a man. "You mean," she hesitates, "one leg on each side?" It sounds like something scandalous when spoken with that naïve little inflection.

     Arthur laughs, low and under his breath. There are times when he forgets who Lilian Cornwall is, but it's in these moments that he's reminded she's still a spoiled little rich girl, no matter how well she gets along with him, Hosea, Sean, and little Jack. "Ain't askin' you to lay on your back, woman," he remarks, an offhand thought that earns him a harsh look. He bites his tongue, knowing he's spoken out of term by the sour expression on Lily's face.

     "Mr. Morgan!" she gasps, swatting his shoulder —then she smiles and starts laughing. It's the first time he's seen her look anything close to being happy since they hauled her off that train. The first time he's heard her laugh —it's like a sweet birdsong, soft and delicate, like her. And there's something about how the sun shines on her through a break in the clouds and the flitting trees overhead that makes his heart start to ache. But then he laughs too, holding up his hands in surrender.

     "Forgive me, Lily," he says, stepping closer and then, without much warning, his hands find her waist, and he lifts her onto the saddle, nodding his approval when she swings a leg to the other side of Ginger's flank. It's an odd feeling, sitting astride a beast of muscle and power like this —and unladylike with how her skirt is hitched up, wrapped around her knees. Arthur rests a hand on her thigh, looking up from under the brim of his hat as though to ask if she's all right. Lily nods, hoping she can blame the warmth of the sun for the persistent flush on her cheeks.