HIS II | Arthur Morgan x Reader

Things That Go Bump in the Night

"I really wish we didn't have to do this." You fidget with your braid and stare at the orchard's main building.

The soft glow of an oil lamp lights the house's porch, casting a warm light on a worn swing that sits out front; you begin to wonder what type of people lived and worked there, who might have used that swing.

How long had they lived there?
Were they kind?
What type of day did they have today?

This was the part of your old life you had always struggled with, the guilt of robbing homesteads and farms. Banks and stagecoaches? No problem, they had money and you knew that going in.

Apart from being a little shaken up the people you robbed would financially recover. Private properties, well they were always a gamble, who knows what or who you were walking into.

John and Arthur pull up their bandanas and begin loading bullets into their revolvers, the pair of them looking every part like the outlaws they used to be.

"It ain't my first choice but we don't have the luxury of options right now." Arthur casts a glance at Abigail, "God knows how long we have before half of St Denis is out looking for us."

"Give it a rest would ya, I said I'm sor-."

Clamping a hand over her mouth she rushes behind a nearby tree, quietly retching up the contents of her stomach.

"Jesus," John mutters and shakes his head, spinning the cylinder of his gun and clicking it into place. "You ready?"

"Sure." Arthur's face is suddenly serious as he turns to you, "Sweetheart, you and Abigail start heading on, John and I will catch up when we're finished."

Taking your shoulder he levels his stare with yours and you fight to hold in the shudder that threatens up your spine. The man before you, your husband, looked every part the dangerous outlaw he used to be, his covered face reminding you of the times you'd seen him on a job, splattered in who knows blood, and a wild glint in his eye.

"Stick to the route I showed you, and use this if you have to." He places his hunting knife into your palm, closing your fingers around the handle. "Don't hesitate."

You nod, feeling the weight of both the blade and the situation. The last time you held a knife like this you had plunged it into Colm's neck and it dawns on you that you were still running from your pasts, even now.

Knowing what he was about to do you wrap your arms around his middle bury your face into his chest, letting his arms fold tightly around you and his lips press into your hair.

"Be careful."

"I always am, now go on. We'll catch up soon."

Years ago

"How about when the boys are back we get them to take us into town? I could really do with a drink." Karen stretches her arms above her head, groaning loudly when her joints crack. "I feel like we've been at this all day."

"You woke up three hours late this morning and that was only because Grimshaw dragged your ass up." Tilly jokes, her eyes not leaving the shirt on her lap she is currently repairing.

"Old witch," Karen mutters, dropping the torn jeans she was working on. Reaching into her cleavage. she pulls out cigarette and pack of matches. "How come she never harps on at you?"

It was no secret that Grimshaw had a soft spot for you, never yelling or complaining if you were late, but for what reason you still didn't know. You shrug with a smile, wetting the thread in your mouth and trying for the hundredth time to thread it into your needle. Mary-Beth frowns, reaching over and snatching it from your hands.