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revolversandlace · 2 years

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Blemished Silk | Chapter Twenty - Counting Roses

Chapter Index

Arthur Morgan x f!OC Longfic

Mature Rating - 5.9k Words

Chapter Tags & Warnings: Arthur!POV, Flirting, Angst, Pining, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Arthur heads to the estate earlier than expected, only for Amelia to help bandage him up.

Scarlett Meadows, May 1899

Montague pushed forward, languidly enjoying the early summer air. Arthur had taken the scenic route to the Edwards Estate, admiring the lush rolling knolls of Scarlett Meadows.

As the colonial manor pulled into view, the horse ambled through the familiar terrain, swaying his head along the beaten path.

As soon as the horses’ hooves hit the gravel, he could already see Miss Edwards at the end of the long, stretched path. Her soft sandy hair tied up in her usual style as her skirts blew softly in the wind.

Arthur kept his eyes on her as the horse took each rehearsed step, knowing the route without much direction. She stood outside the property under the acorn tree in the shade, away from the midday heat. As Montague trotted into the main courtyard, he could see Miss Edwards was with her stable master, as they appeared in a deep conversation.

Dammit, Morgan, he thought to himself. He didn’t think much of the man and Arthur wasn’t one for interfering in others business. Yet he couldn’t help feel a weird stir in his gut, an overwhelming sense of hostility as he eyed them talking.

As Montague meandered forward, he saw Miss Edwards turned to face him with a slight jump. No matter how calm her words were, how well she poised herself, Arthur knew how much the robbery must have shaken her.

He remembered those days, where every sound would force your body to alert itself before the mind was ready. Hell, he was still like it now and by no means unseasoned when it came to those matters.

He tensed at the bridle a little more, his arm giving a thick ache as she beamed a smile towards him. A smile that made his pain turn to dust.

‘Mr Morgan?’ She said, as she strode towards him and the horse, placing her hand above her eyes, casting a dark shadow on the bridge of her nose.

She was clearly surprised to see him, for he had not been expected at the estate for another two days, but her reception was warm and as welcoming as usual.

‘Ma’am,’ he said, tugging at the brim of his hat, as he gripped the saddle horn, leaning forward in an attempt to relieve the heavy throb in his arm.

Miss Edwards came closer to the horse, holding her hand out with her palm down, allowing the creature to sniff at her gesture.

‘Have I confused my days?’ She asked, paying little mind to him as the horse seemed to occupy the majority of her attention.

It didn’t escape Arthur’s notice that the stable master - whatever his name was - was staring intently over. Not enough to be a bother, but enough so Arthur knew.

‘No, ma’am,’ he said, ‘I got other matters,’ gripping the horn harder as the woman fussed the horse, he swung his leg over, dropping in front of her, but not without the wound in his arm making itself known again. Another love letter from the O’Driscolls to add to all the others.

She turned to him, her hand still on Montagues’ muzzle. Her eyebrows arched as he saw the slightest twist at the corner of her mouth.

‘Thought I’d swing by. I ain’t around for a few days,’ he said, his voice more cutting than intended.

Was that disappointment he saw in her sweet face?

Pull yourself together, his mind whispered, as he decided to rummage around in his satchel for some smokes. Something to distract himself from how much of a fool he already felt.

He blamed it on the past few days. Dutch was becoming more and more demanding with outlandish plans that never seemed to sit well these days with Arthur. They were delving deeper into the feuds of the south and, all the while, the promise of the Pinkertons was never far behind. It was stress, he told himself, a way to take his mind off things. But it wasn’t a place he couldn’t allow his mind to wander too far.

Besides, he’d known the likes of Miss Edwards before. It never ended well. She was a damn finer lady than any he had been with, and they sure as shit deserved someone better than him.

‘Well, if that’s so,’ Miss Edwards began, her voice as delicate as ever, ‘then I suppose I should show you some of our new modifications.’

She stepped away from the horse, gesturing at the stables.

‘You know where to put him,’ she smiled as Arthur nodded, tugging gently at the bridles for the horse to move forward.

The stable master’s eyes followed him, although Arthur paid him no mind. Bastard was just trying to invite himself some trouble it seemed.

By the time he had dismounted, secured Montague and hung up the reins, he saw Miss Edwards waltz into the stables, her silhouette going dark as she stepped out from the outside rays of the sun.

Pulling out an oatcake from his satchel, Arthur allowed the horse to gobble it out of his hand as Miss Edwards approached them.

‘He’s certainly gentle,’ she said, admiring the animal as Arthur patted the side of Montague’s neck.

Arthur chuckled, as the nicks at his fingers told a different story, especially when it came to carrots.

‘He’s as loyal as they come, ain’t you, boy?’ he said, as the horse pushed Arthur’s hand down further and further to get every last morsel.

‘What’s his name?’ Miss Edwards questioned, lifting her arm to give the animal a small scratch behind the ear.

‘Montague,’ Arthur said, looking over at her as she fussed with the animal. She met his gaze, smiling with a titter underneath her breath.

‘Of course,’ she smirked, ‘I must say, there’s not many men in the security field who are quite as well read as you, Mr Morgan.’

‘You know many men in security?’ He teased, straightening his shoulders, as he watched her from the corner of his eye.

He could see her eyes narrow, as she tightened her lips into a taut line, or at least attempted to as she couldn’t quite keep the corners of her mouth turning up.

‘Well.. not exactly. I just -’

‘I know what you meant,’ Arthur said. ‘I’m just needlin’ ya.’

‘Mr Morgan!’ She exclaimed, her hands flying to her chest in mock shock as she gasped and giggled away, ‘that’s hardly a very polite thing to do, especially to a lady. Much less your employer.’

‘Mm, whatcha gonna do? Dock my pay?’ He said, as he leaned his shoulder up against the wooden post next to him. An instant regret as the rough wood pressed against the wound. So much for being casual.

He swallowed thickly, shifting the weight away from his back in an attempt to not aggravate the wound further than he had already done so. Ms Grimshaw had already redressed it three times in two days as Arthur refused to let the heavy chores around camp go ignored.

She raised an eyebrow at him and even in the midday shadows within the stables, he could see that wicked twinkle in her eyes. It seemed that every time he saw her, his mind slowly lost more and more sense than before. He couldn’t even think to stop himself as he stood straight, taking a step towards her.

He felt as though he had completely lost his awareness, devoid of the ability to speak and the overriding need to reach out and touch her. It all seemed to be happening so slowly, his chest felt as though there was no air left in it.

‘Don’t tempt me, Mr Morgan,’ Miss Edwards laughed, turning from the stables, breaking whatever spell Arthur had found himself under.

Arthur could only force himself to assume that was towards the pay quip and nothing else.

He remained there for a second, collecting his thoughts, wondering why, after all these years, he was still so stupid. He had no idea what had taken over him and hopefully had not embarrassed himself, or made her feel uncomfortable.

As he followed her slowly from the stables, his eyes on the ground, Arthur wanted nothing more than to be rid of his own thoughts. The thoughts of her. He barely knew her. She’s Trelawny’s niece for christ’s sake, and yet in that moment he felt that the Gray boy had more decorum than he did.

His thoughts turned over and over, trying to shake whatever sort of feelings that crept up and down his body. All the looks, the laughs, everything about Miss Edwards sent him into a frenzy whether he liked to admit it not. She was more than likely just being polite, maybe a bit eccentric, like her uncle. When was the last time he even spoke to a woman that wasn’t one of the girls at camp, a two dollar sporting woman down the saloon or an old flame from several lifetimes ago?

As Athur took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself, he surmised it to just that. She was just a pretty woman who had spoken to him for more than all of five minutes.

‘Some of the staff have been charged with putting barbed wire across the outer walls,’ Miss Edwards said, as she turned to look at him over her shoulder as she led him away from the stables and further into the grounds.

‘It’s a crude solution but a temporary one. Mr Jameson is currently in Saint Denis speaking with the iron merchant to craft something more…’ She paused, wrinkling her mouth in what looked like an attempt to find the right word.

‘Lethal?’ Arthur suggested, standing beside her.

‘Precisely,’ she said with a sigh, ‘the men have also agreed upon their own patrols, which again, Mr Jameson has approved, although it’s likely I will need to hire more before the month is out. Unfortunately, that presents its own problems.’

He gazed across at her, a troubled expression on her face, and in the bright sun of early summer, he could see the promise of dark circles under her eyes. His chest twinged at the thought of the stress she must have been under the past few months. Turns out money couldn’t solve all your problems.

‘However,’ she said, turning to him with a strained smile, ‘we will have some additional guard dogs arriving within the next fortnight to accompany the patrols. I’m also in contact with a gentleman at Emerald Ranch, if you know it, for some geese for another deterrent.’

‘Seems like you’ve got it all in hand,’ Arthur said, rubbing his chin as his thick stubble scratched against his hand.

‘I’m doing the best that I can with all that’s going on,’ she said, almost deflated, her shoulders slumping for a brief moment as she continued to walk again, deeper into the grounds.

‘The situation here, unfortunately, is quite complicated. The attempted robbery is only another thing I fear that needs to be dealt with,’ Miss Edwards gave a soft, almost sad laugh, ‘my staff are on the edge constantly and it feels as though we are sitting ducks, just waiting for those wretched men to return.’

Arthur walked next to her, unsure of what to say, not that there was really a great deal of things he could say to make her feel any better.

‘I’ll try an’be here as much as I can, but -’

‘I know, Mr Morgan. I’m sure you have more than enough to contend with. The families in the area seem to be quite keen on your abilities, it seems.’

Just then, his stomach turned as his skin prickled. He had been so caught up in his role at the estate, so preoccupied with wrestling with his budding emotions, he remembered that she had no idea who he really was.

The notion seemed to escape him, trickling away like a distant stream. Maybe all the years of duplicity had made it too easy for him to slip from one role to the next without a second thought. If she knew, you’d only ever be an outlaw to her.

He looked around the estate, the various staff members dotted around working on their daily chores. Reformed criminals, children of former slaves, no doubt all manner of troubled pasts and yet Miss Edwards had set all of that all aside to give them a better opportunity.

She was a woman of principle, a woman who played the rules fairly. Like him, she had a code, but hers didn’t include killing and stealing.

As his thoughts grew darker, they approached what seemed to be a very well sculpted garden, covered with all sorts of roses of every shade he could imagine them to have.

‘And I suppose you heard about all that nasty business after the suffrage protest?’ Miss Edwards said, absently reaching out to the rose bush before her.

‘What happened?’ Arthur asked, as her eyes were downcast.

‘Ms Calhoon was killed. Shot. I’m not entirely sure by who, but you can only imagine…’ She trailed off, her finger padding lightly at the petals of the early blooms.

‘I’m sorry. She was a good woman,’ he said, unsure of what else to say. He had known the woman only very briefly, but she was formidable, to say the least. Perhaps why one of those yokels put a bullet in her.

‘It’s difficult to believe sometimes that there aren’t more people willing to change things.’ Her voice was quiet now, her eyes fixed on the ground beneath her feet. ‘There are many women here who would fight to ensure that others have opportunities as they have had, that this country becomes stronger instead of weaker.

‘We may never agree on certain matters, but that doesn’t mean that we should allow ourselves to become complacent, or lazy in our convictions. There are still too many places where the poor are given a choice between starving and begging or becoming a prostitute or thief because that is easier and more profitable...’

Arthur looked at her, the pain in her words as she trailed off and gave a heavy sigh, as though she was fighting tears. He wanted to reach out and hold her, to take her into his arms and wrap himself around her, shielding her from her own thoughts. Instead, he simply stood silently by her side.

He had never been one for change. Hell, it’s exactly what him, Dutch and the others fought against. For a life out west, a lawless land with freedom to do as they pleased. Yet here was an educated woman telling him how wrong he was to not strive for change.

It didn’t sit well.

‘I apologise, Mr Morgan,’ Miss Edwards said, ‘I’m sure the last thing you need to hear is my political drivel.’ With a soft laugh she began to walk away slowly.

Arthur watched her walk ahead, the sound of her boots crunching the gravel path sending chills up his spine. As he stared at the sway of her hips, he could feel blood rushing to his head, his heart beating fast as sweat broke out along his neck.

He closed his eyes tight, hoping that it would help somehow. He needed to clear his head. This was foolishness.

‘Mr Morgan?’ Miss Edwards said, turning around. ‘Could you please give me a hand with this crate?’

It took him a moment to realise what she meant, as he followed her gaze to the large box of potatoes that lay in the path.

‘Sure,’ he said with a small shrug, walking over to her as she knelt down on one side of the heavy box.

‘Here,’ she said with a tilt of her head, ‘just so it’s out of the way.’

They lifted the box together as Arthur’s arm gave a sharp pain, a biting heat that gnawed at the wound. He gave a grunt as Miss Edwards narrowed her eyes at him.

‘Is everything alright?’ She asked, her voice cautious.

‘I’m fine,’ Arthur grumbled as they lowered the box out to the edge of the path next to a sculpted shrub.

‘You don’t sound fine,’ Miss Edwards said as Arthur winced again. ‘Honestly, Mr Morgan, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?’

He shook his head, embarrassed he gritted his teeth and his jaw turned to iron in an attempt to will away the pain.

‘It ain’t anything, ma’am, just a nick,’ he lied through clenched teeth, knowing that the ache spread from his elbow all the way into his shoulder.

‘Mr Morgan, be as stubborn as you like, but I can see the blood,’ she said cooly, nodding to his arm.

He looked down and sure enough, a patch of crimson liquid was spread across the light blue linen.

‘It’ll be fine,’ he said, waving his arm.

‘We’ve got to clean that,’ Miss Edwards said as she took a step forward.

‘I said it’s fine,’ Arthur growled, angry at the way she seemed to be looking at him now, as though she were worried about him.

‘Oh for goodness sake,’ she huffed as her eyes turned to steel, her jaw gritting in evident annoyance.

Within a flash, her hand was gripped around his wrist, snatching it as she turned his arm in her hand, stepping closer to examine the blood.

If he wasn’t so taken aback, Arthur would have tried to pull away from her grip, but instead he just stood there, staring down at her with the faintest hint of cigarettes and something that smelt like a sweet, powdery flower.

‘You won’t be much use to anyone, much less yourself if it has to get taken off because you were too bloody stubborn,’ Miss Edwards chided, dropping his wrist as he gave a slight wince.

Arthur’s heart was hammering against his ribcage now, his head throbbing like he’d just finished running a long race. He highly doubted that it was from the wound.

‘I said -‘ He began, before he was cut off.

‘I know what you said,’ Miss Edwards stated firmly, her arms folding across her chest. ‘Besides, if you see it fit to chase me off from rally’s for my own benefits, it’s only appropriate I return the favour.’

Her eyes narrowed at him as though she was about to spit fire, but then she softened again, as though she had remembered herself, her lips thinning in a faint frown before she stepped back with a small huff of exasperation.

He would have argued back, but knew he was well and truly on the losing side.

‘Fine,’ he grumbled, more embarrassed than anything as Miss Edwards shook her head with a small laugh.

‘Please, Mr Morgan, this way, I’ll get you some fresh bandages.’

She turned back towards the house as Arthur begrudgingly followed her, feeling like a complete idiot.

By the time they reached the kitchen, Arthur’s arm had settled into a constant throb, with a pressure and tightness he couldn’t quite explain.

‘Here, sit,’ Miss Edwards said as she pulled out a high stool from near the grand worktop in the centre of the room. He did so obligingly, removing his hat and resting it on the wooden surface in front of him as she made her way around the room, retrieving various things from various cupboards.

He rubbed at the back of his neck with his good arm in an attempt to ease some of the tension that had built in his shoulders.

In front of him, she placed a small wooden caddy, filled with white clothes that he only assumed were bandages and the likes as she slammed down two glass bottles. As they clincked, Arthur raised his eyebrow at her, noticing that one bottle was filled with an amber liquid, whilst the other was as clear as water.

‘You sure you ain’t plannin’ on sawin’ my arm off?’ he said, attempting to humour the situation.

‘I’m sure you know good and well what they’re for,’ she said sternly, reminding him more of a mother scolding a child than anything else.

He gave a heavy sigh as he reached for the darker of the two liquids, popping the cork with his teeth as he took a large healthy swing before passing the bottle to Miss Edwards.

She took the bottle tentatively, eyeing it for a moment before she too followed suit and placed it to her lips.

There was something quite amusing about the sight. The lady of the manor, with all her fancy words and dresses, drinking the whiskey straight from the bottle like she was one of the men back at camp.

Placing the bottle back on the worktop, she pulled the caddy towards her, as she stepped closer to Arthur, looking down at his arm.

‘I’m not going to be able to do much with it like that,’ she nodded, as she began removing some cloth strips from the box.

Feeling rather abashed, Arthur began to undo his shirt buttons, his arm giving protests as he bent it at the elbow. He winced again as the tightness made itself known in his shoulder and upper arm.

‘Do you need any assistance?’ She said in a low voice, as Arthur looked up to her as he wrestled with the last of his buttons. She had diverted her gaze to the other side of the room, as his stomach gave a terrible twist, feeling far more uncomfortable that he felt was warranted.

‘Nah, I’ve got it,’ he said, shrugged off his shirt from his bad arm, and pulled on the opposite sleeve. He discarded the shirt across his lap as she reached for the bottle of clear liquid, appearing to look anywhere other than him.

As he sat there with his torso bare, his scars of a lifetime, a life that no one should have to lead aside from him, he felt as though he was displayed like a Saint Denis whore. Miss Edwards excused herself over to the sink, filling a small bowl with water as she returned with it in hand.

She squeezed out the rag that danced on the surface of the water with taut lips and steady eyes.

‘I’ll clean you up first, then I’ll disinfect the wound,’ she said, almost to herself than anyone else, as she gently began to wipe away the partially dried blood on his arm.

If it wasn’t for the chill of the water, he barely would have felt it as she gingerly worked the cloth on his skin, diligent in her care. The smell twirled into his nose once more, that tender aura that smelt like candy and the woodlands all at once.

He felt his whole body stiffen with each passing moment as she worked around his bicep, moving her hand carefully and slowly over his elbow and wrist at the rouge trickles of blood that had travelled down his arm.

He looked out of the window at the far end of the room, wishing that it would open up so he could jump out and run away from the whole situation. But of course, there was no escape and in the same breath he hoped it would end and be over with, and yet he knew that would come only too soon.

‘You, er... clean many bullet wounds, ma’am?’ Arthur said, in an attempt to make this situation feel remotely normal.

Ms Grimshaw, Tilly, hell, even Karen had been given the opportunity at some point to clean and patch Arthur up after one scuffle or another. Not once did he find it strange or uncomfortable. But this made him feel as though he was an Armadillo that had been kicked around like a child’s game after it had curled itself into a ball.

‘Not quite,’ Miss Edwards said with a small chuckle, ‘although I do fear I have cleaned more wounds recently than I have done in a long time.’

She dipped the rag back into the water, ringing out the blood that had accumulated as Arthur turned to look at her.

‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked her, his eyebrows pulled together as he watched her delicate hands at work.

The motion of her hands slowed, as though she had walked somewhere very far away while her body remained, almost motionless, captured in both time and thought.

‘Oh, nothing, Mr Morgan,’ she said, turning to give him a cheerful look, even though her eyes told a different story. ‘Shall we?’

She grabbed for the bottle of clear liquid as she removed the lid.

‘I’m afraid this will sting,’ she said, reaching out for his forearm and wrapping her fingers around him.

‘Always does,’ he said with a swift nod, already tense and prepared for the pain.

She poured the liquid without hesitation as the searing flash of misery ran up and down his veins and muscles. Gritting his teeth, he muffled his grunt as Miss Edwards continued to pour. The liquid seeping into his skin with each drop and making every inch of him tingle with an ungodly heat.

He felt her hand shake slightly as she finished pouring, but she kept her hand steady as she looked down on him. She reached into the caddy with her free hand and pulled out a pad of linen, placing it over the wound as she held it tenderly in place with her thumb and index finger on each side of the pad.

‘I hope that wasn’t too awful,’ she said, grinning down at him.

He looked up at her, her blue eyes piercing down at him as her lip twitched at the corner. He could have lost himself in that face of hers, with skin that looked impossibly soft, as all the intimacy of their situation seemed to creep up on him all over again.

He took another swig of the whiskey, trying to shake the thoughts from his head.

‘Yeah,’ he said with a half smile. ‘You were doin’ that on purpose, weren’t you?’ he asked, staring right at her, not caring in the slightest about how bold he sounded, even though he knew he was playing a fool’s game.

She snatched the bottle from his hand, taking two impressively large gulps before placing it down and reaching for a linen bandage.

‘I’m not quite sure what you mean,’ she smirked, a painful attempt to act serious as Arthur gave a throaty laugh.

Thankfully, the whiskey had seemed to relax him somewhat, even to the extent where he could detach himself from the pain in his arm as Miss Edwards too seemed less constrained. He watched her now, with the confidence that had been lacking before, watching how her body moved and how her face looked so serious when it was anything but.

She started to wrap the bandage around his arm, a coy smile playing on her lips, and thought she was the only one in the world who knew some sort of secret joke. A joke that she was certainly keeping to herself.

He took to the whiskey again as his cheeks grew warmer, as he allowed her soft fingers to carry on with their task.

He couldn’t help but notice the way she would move her hand towards his arm, as if she was testing the waters, as she wrapped the bandages round and round. But as he gave himself a moment to think, he knew it was just his imagination. A wishful thought exaggerated by alcohol and pain.

He let his mind wander as he took another sip of the amber liquid, feeling it burn through his chest. Hoping it would bring him some courage. Courage for what though, he wasn’t quite sure. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was starting to get used to her touch. He was getting comfortable around her, which was something that should never happen between two people like them. He couldn’t deny that he was attracted to her, although he was also ashamed of it.

It was the whiskey. That was the reason for it all. It was the whiskey talking. He felt his heart race as his breathing became more laboured. He felt his palms grow clammy and his stomach turn as though he wasn’t going to be sick. Instead, he grabbed at his shirt, pushing his arms back through the sleeves.

‘I’m sure you need this,’ she said, waving a cigarette at him.

He gave her a nod as he took it, placing it in the corner of his mouth and lit it, while Miss Edwards did the same.

He exhaled the smoke in one go, letting it fill his lungs as he tried to calm his nerves.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard from my uncle lately?’ She said, knitting her brows as her voice clearly walked a thin line of anguish.

‘I saw him a few weeks ago in Rhodes,’ he said, flicking at the end of his cigarette, ‘Usual Trelawney.’

She smiled fondly, as she always tended to whenever Trelawney was brought up.

‘Any reason?’ he asked, looking over to her. She was quiet for a moment, as she twisted her mouth.

‘Oh, it’s just some affairs I need his assistance on… It was quite…’ Her eyes dropped as she sucked in her bottom lip, ‘it was rather urgent, you see.’

She cleared her throat as Arthur remained with his eyes on her. Her whole body tense so much so he could almost feel it as she stood next to him. Clearing her throat, Miss Edwards turned away to look at him. Arthur remained silent, unsure of what to say or do, but was compelled to reach out to her, and for a moment he thought about it. About taking her hand and pulling her in towards him.

'What is it?' He asked, his voice low and gravelly, sensing something weighed deeply on her mind.

She turned back to him, and he could tell she wanted to speak. To confide in someone. But she found herself unable to do so, and instead her eyes wandered away from him.

Before any sense could tell him otherwise, he reached out and placed his hand gently on her shoulder.

He felt her shudder beneath his touch. Her body had tensed up again and for a moment she appeared as though she was struggling to maintain her composure. But he kept hold of her shoulder, his fingers squeezing ever so slightly as she turned away again.

'There's... a few things that have transpired as of late.' She said, each word strained as she closed her eyes with a heavy sigh. 'And I'm concerned.'

Each word felt like it was so purposefully said, so carefully chosen to not give anything anyway. So that she wasn't giving any clue about what exactly had happened. Or what might happen in the future.

She opened her eyes slowly with a sigh, looking into his own with a glance that told him that whatever it was that was on her mind was not a good thing.

He wanted to be the one she confided all of her secrets to, all of her worries, anything so he could waylay whatever was going through her mind. Rules be damned, he caught himself thinking.

'Well, whatever it is,' he said slowly as she raised her eyes to look at him, a sea of emotions riddled across her pretty features, 'I'm protectin’ you all the same.'

Miss Edwards was silent for a moment, searching his face, although what she was looking for, Arthur could not have said. But when she finally spoke, all trace of sadness was gone from her voice as she offered him a small smile.

'Thank you,' she said quietly, as he felt himself swallow nervously as she walked away. His fingers instinctively went back to the whiskey bottle.

‘How are you feeling?’ she said, as she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she studied his now covered arm and they continued to pass the bottle of whiskey between them.

He took another deep breath, feeling it burning down his windpipe before he spoke.

‘I told you it was nothin’,’ he said with a small shrug, as she rolled her eyes at him and began returning the aid to the cupboard around them. ‘Where you learn to do that anyway, wound care I mean? Seems a bit...’

‘A bit what, Mr Morgan?’ she said sharply, her eyes filled with scrutiny.

‘I didn’t mean anythin’ by it, ma’am, just curious.’ He held up his palm in surrender, feeling as though she made it quite clear he had crossed a line.

She remained silent as she ran the water at the sink, cleaning the bowl and cloth she had used to clean to his arm. She washed them both before drying them on a towel before placing them in a small drawer beneath the sink.

Arthur watched her for a moment as she turned back to him. Her face was drawn as she reached for the whiskey.

‘I was a very clumsy child. Injuries were common as I was growing up,’ she said, with a tightness in her voice that Arthur knew when to stop prying and hell, he spoke with the same tone often enough.

He gave a short nod but didn’t say anything as she handed him back the bottle and sat down on a stool by the sink opposite him and suddenly he felt very alone without the heat of her touch on his skin.

She took a long pull on her cigarette, her eyes not leaving his arm as she blew out the smoke in one long sigh. He took another swig of the whiskey, feeling it burn through his body like an inferno as he watched her take another drag and blow out her smoke into the room.

‘Well, I suppose it is best that you get dressed, Mr Morgan. If Cook finds you in here like this...’ she gestured her fingers up and down his still open shirt, ‘I fear it will cause quite the scandal.’

There it was again. That damn smirk. A look so wickedly inviting Arthur felt he had to relearn everything he thought he knew about the devil.

‘Yes ma’am,’ he said with a grin of his own, making a show of standing up straight and pulling himself together. He lifted himself off the chair with what he hoped was an impressive effort, the whiskey doing quite a number on his courage.

If he thought Miss Edwards was the sort of woman to play that sort of game now, he was mistaken, but this time he was sure he didn’t imagine her smile as she turned around, back towards the sink.

As he did the last of his buttons and rolled his sleeves, he took one last gulp of whiskey as he retrieved his hat.

‘Well, ma’am. From what you showed me today,’ he said, swallowing down the liquor, ‘looks like you’ve got everythin’ in hand.’

She peered over her shoulder meekly before turning back to face him.

‘Yes, Mr Morgan. If it suits you...’ she said, her composure shifting slightly to something more hesitant, ‘I believe you said you have some other matters that need your attention?’

He nodded, scratching at his chin with his thumbnail, trying to think of an excuse to stop by sooner. But between her dignity and Dutch’s warning, none seemed fitting.

‘I do. I can check up on things in about a week’s time.’ He refused to phrase it as a question, in case she refused, however, she beamed at him nonetheless and nodded her head.

‘Of course, Mr Morgan,’ she looked up at him through her eyelashes, ‘I think that will do just fine.’

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revolversandlace · 2 years

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Blemished Silk | Chapter Nineteen - The Course of True Love

Chapter Index

Arthur Morgan x f!OC Longfic

Mature Rating - 3.2k Words

Chapter Tags & Warnings: Arthur!POV, Flirting, Angst, Pining, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Period Typical Sexism

Summary: Arthur finds Amelia at the sufferage rally.

Rhodes, May 1899

After the exchange of more letters, a threat of a murder and, of course, some rich boys’ drivel, Arthur had somehow found himself driving a wagon for a protest march. A wagon filled with loud, angry and passionate women, a dangerous situation indeed.

‘Let liberty reign!’ Ms Calhoon cried, earning her a loud jeer from the women in the back.

Arthur clicked at the reins, bemused as to how he even found himself in this situation, but he could say that for most things that happened to him. However, he could squarely say, driving a suffrage movement was not one of them.

The woman chanted and sang, their placards raised high and their voices fearsome and full of pride as Ms Calhoon directed him down the main street.

‘Mr Morgan, are you an old friend of the movement?’ she asked as men came to inspect the commotion, only to hurl insults and looks of disgust as they drove past.

‘I’m just a driver, Ms Calhoon,’ he said, as they rounded the corner near the saloon.

Arthur had been to the establishment enough times to know the sort and although he wouldn’t have expected them to take kindly to the endeavours of those women, he had never seen the outside packed with so many bodies. Their jeers nearly drowned out the suffrages song as he eyed the large group of men cautiously. He now understood why Beau was so desperate to not allow Penelope to join the rally.

‘Maybe a shotgun messenger…’ Arthur mentioned, ‘if it comes to it. But I hope it won’t.’ His eyes didn’t leave the road, his peripherals scanning at what Arthur could only describe as the beginning of a mob starting to form.

‘Our message will be delivered peaceably, Mr Morgan,’ the older woman said. ‘You can keep your shotgun to yourself.’

As they pulled onto the main road, a sense of uneasiness filled Arthur. Hopefully, this wasn’t about to turn ugly.

‘Look at these people,’ Ms Calhoon said, ‘it’s about to get exciting… I can feel it.’

Her words did little to help his nerves, as he could see a group of even more women chanting outside of the bank. As they pulled closer, the sea of pickets and skirts became clearer as the men, however, became more vitriolic the further they went on.

‘Mr Morgan, I give you the male of the species,’ Ms Calhoon said, her voice turning to a chuckle.

‘That’s a pretty dumb species, I grant it,’ he said, growing more wary as time went on.

As Arthur pulled the horses to a stop, and the women leapt from the wagon to join the others, it didn’t take him long to spot a familiar face in the crowd.

What the hell is she doing here? Arthur thought to himself, as he too lowered himself from the wagon.

As a group of men drew nearer with various threats and insults, Arthur made his way over to the woman with flaxen hair cheering along with the other women.

‘Now,’ Arthur said, walking up behind her and gently touching her elbow, ‘I did not expect to see you here.’

He chuckled as she turned around, her face at first confused, but soon relaxed into a smile.

‘Mr Morgan, what on earth are you doing here?’ Miss Edwards giggled, adjusting the weight of the placard in her hand. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re leading the rally?’

He laughed, an earthy laugh he rarely gave, feeling somewhat lightheaded as he shrugged.

‘Oh, I dunno…’ he nodded at the women around, ‘seems as good a party as any.’

‘I wouldn’t say that too loud if I were you,’ Amelia said, her eyebrows raised with a smirk toying across her lips. ‘They’ll have your guts for garters saying those sorts of things.’

‘I don’t doubt it, ma’am,’ Arthur said as he turned to the bank, hooking his thumb into his gun belt.

‘Really though, Mr Morgan, what are you doing here?’ Amelia questioned, wrestling with both her sign and her sash. ‘I hope you’re not following me?’

She didn’t say it unkindly. In fact, as he looked over at her, her eyes flashed with an expression he hadn’t seen her wear. A playful dare as an audacious twinkle swam across her blue eyes, a challenge that Arthur could have easily risen to and would have died trying to.

Get a grip of yourself, Morgan, he thought to himself as her features danced around him and his stomach knotted. A bet, a challenge, something so much worse. Something so tempting he wouldn’t dare say the words aloud.

Clearing his throat and suddenly feeling rather abashed, Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks growing in temperature.

‘Not quite ma’am. Business… Supposedly,’ he replied, his hand instinctively hovering over his holster for a brief second as he tried to avoid her gaze.

He’d known women, seen women and thought of it all, yet there was something in her face that whispered to him. A loneliness that only she could cure, a satisfaction that none of the others had given. Yet, as he stood there, a good head taller, a damn sight meaner, she intimidated him in a way he didn’t care to admit to. It was although only she was there, even amongst these formidable and admirable women. She shone far further and far above the rest of them, creating a sea of beige around him.

‘Ah, I see,’ she said, tilting her head towards the young woman in a flouncy white dress, ‘Miss Braithwaite… I assume they’re paying you well for enabling those star-crossed lovers or some such?’

Arthur turned to her, raising his eyebrow, curious about how poorly kept the secret of the Gray boy and Miss Braithwaite was.

‘You know?’ He said, scanning the crowd.

She laughed as the crowd continued to chant around them.

‘Oh everybody knows, it’s hardly as though they’re discreet, Mr Morgan,’ she said with a coy smile, staring on ahead.

However, before he could question her any further, Ms Calhoon made her way to the top of the steps in front of the bank.

‘Ladies and Gentleman,’ she called as the women quieted, ‘this is a great day for all of us!’

Needless to say, the boos and cheers came in equal unison.

‘For today is the day we begin to live as equals,’ Ms Calhoon continued, earning a very loud cheer from Miss Edwards.

Arthur looked to his side to see her smiling up ahead, her face more alive than ever before.

‘This is unnatural!’ a man at the front cried, his thick southern drawl in some clear distress at the idea that women would have a say in the world they live in. ‘This is nonsense!’

Arthur sized the man up, who clearly had very little brains about him. Those were the ones that were always ready to start the trouble first, he found.

‘Fair, equal and free!’ Ms Calhoon cried, her presence towering over the crowd, ‘just as the Founding Fathers intended.’

And the exchange of insults continued. Two men pushed past Arthur and Miss Edwards, as he looked sharply around. He felt the static of air change around him as they pushed themselves further into the crowd as his hand moved back over his gun.

‘Miss Edwards,’ he said in a low voice, ‘I think it’s best you go home now.’

‘Home? You can’t be serious?’ She said, her eyebrows furrowed. ‘I’m here for the cause, Mr Morgan.’

‘And a fine cause that is,’ he said, grabbing her arm light as though she was as delicate as a bird, as he steered her away from the crowd. ‘But this ain’t safe no more. I get paid to protect you.’

‘I beg to differ,’ she said, pursing her lips. ‘You are paid to protect the estate, not myself.’

Arthur sighed, giving her a light push as she looked at his hand wrapped around her lace covered arm. He could feel the heat of skin underneath her dress, the faintest of tenses as he continued to lead her.

‘All the same, ma’am,’ he said, frantically looking over his shoulder, ‘it’s best you go.’

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes challenging him but in a very different way than before, as though she was trying to solve a riddle.

‘Please,’ he said in a low voice.

Slowly, she gave a sigh and nodded her head.

‘Very well, Mr Morgan,’ she said, ‘don’t cause any trouble, though.’

Miss Edwards returned to the wagon, placing her placard down and ventured down the main street to presumably wherever she had hitched her horse.

Arthur waited until she had made it out of sight before turning back towards the commotion.

He delved back into the crowd, following the two men who seemed to have an unnerving purpose to them.

‘What the hell you doing here, boy!’ the fat one yelled, as Arthur saw the puff of hair that belonged to Beau.

Pushing through the women as politely as he could, Arthur could hear the exchange but wasn’t quite able to distinguish the words. As he got closer, it was clear there was no pleasantries being exchanged.

‘Beau!’ Arthur yelled, walking up to the boy. ‘weren’t we just leaving?’

‘Who the hell is this?’ the man said, holding a fat, pink finger up to Arthur’s face.

Arthur was running out of patience as he took Beau by the shoulder, pointing to the alleyway on his left.

‘Follow me round here,’ he said, his voice leaving little room for questions. ‘Quick, now, Beau.’

They both moved towards their horses, mounting them with little haste.

Beau lead the way, charging through the dust covered town, the hooves of their horses kicking up clouds of red around them.

They left the commotion behind them, reaching the edge of town and continued into the meadows.

‘I ain’t voted before… but I’m kinda getting hot for voting rights,’ Arthur quipped as he looked over his shoulder to ensure they were not being followed.

‘I don’t know whether to take you seriously or not, Mr Morgan,’ Beau said as he kicked at his horse. ‘I saw you talking with Miss Edwards, from the Edwards Estate….’

Arthur eyed the back of his head from under the brim of his hat, suddenly feeling just as alert as he did moments before.

‘I wasn’t aware you two were so… close,’ Beau said, raking his hand through the mound of hair.

‘We ain’t,’ Arthur said sullenly.

‘It seemed quite the opposite!’ Beau said, as he slowed his horse to a canter.

‘She’s my employer, s’all. Ain’t no more than that,’

Beau turned to look at him with an arrogant smile.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the man.

‘And if you tell anyone that, I’ll shoot you dead.’ Arthur replied firmly. ‘You know I’ll kill you if I have to.’

Beau let out a laugh as Arthur kicked his horse back into action, his eyes constantly darting around the landscape.

‘Oh, the drama of romance! It’s quite exhilarating, isn’t it?’ Beau quipped as they pulled up to the old battlefield, which was still adorned with remnants of the past.

‘Now listen here, boy,’ Arthur said, dismounting. ‘I don’t recommend spreading lies you can’t keep up with.’

Beau turned to him as he slid from his own saddle. Now far more nervous that he was off the back of a horse.

‘Of course,’ Beau said, his voice quiet and low.

Arthur was mad, and in any worse frame of mine would have shot him as he promised. Yet, he knew behind the rage and anger, there was something, a feeling that crawled through his chest every time he saw Miss Edwards. A strange kind of regret that he had never really felt before. A desire that had not been there before. He swallowed down the lump that rose in his throat and looked away from Beau.

‘You know,’ Arthur said, ‘you should leave. Take your woman with you.’

‘I will.. as soon as I have enough money,’ Beau said, patting at his gold patterned waistcoat.

The boy turned to his horse, opening up the saddlebag and reaching his arm in, pulling out a large billfold.

‘Here, your payment for today, and thank you, Mr Morgan,’ Beau said, thrusting the money at Arthur, who took it in kind.

Beau smiled at him as he pulled himself on top of his horse and cantered off down the road.

Lighting a cigarette, Arthur took a pause for thought, scanning the old battlefield that held a haunting serenity. He imagined the screams and sounds of gunfire, finding an odd sense of comfort in the presumed chaos.

The meadows around the town gave a stark contrast to the politics and high opinions that were found in Rhodes. The surrounding fields held their own presence, not as wild as the western or northern landscapes, but a docile tranquillity that harboured a certain sweetness and innocence to them.

Stubbing out his cigarette, he hoped that Miss Edwards had made it back to the estate without any bother and a part of him wanted to go back there to see her.

He knew he was being foolish, acting like a young man in some vague attempts of courtship, and he chided himself for his lack of judgment. It seemed even after all these years; he was still an idiot when it came to pretty smiles and skirts.

Dutch had made it perfectly clear, however, what the gang’s next steps were, and he was forced to remind himself of his mentor’s words on the boat. He knew Dutch was right. Distractions would only do more harm than good and as he climbed upon Montague, throwing his cigarette end, he decided to return to camp.

The road was slow and easy, the afternoon sun still firmly high in the sky with a distant promise of clouds that whispered on the horizon.

Montague whined softly, his head flicking side to side as his back legs moved uneasily.

‘Easy there, boy,’ Arthur said, patting at his neck as he looked across the ground, expected to see a snake or some other venomous critter. Yet he saw nothing, as he pulled his horse into a gentle trot.

Then Arthur smelt it, the acrid fumes of smoke. He looked over the treeline, the sky a hazy blue. Arthur followed the smell until he saw it. The soft gentle plumes of dark clouds, floating without care up into the sky.

He reached down and grabbed the gun that sat at his hip as he spurred his horse onwards. Slipping off of the saddle, he crouched, shuffling into woods at the edge of the road. He heard the sound of men, and as he got closer, saw their makeshift camp. He kept low behind the trunk of the tree, minding his footsteps to cause as little sound as possible.

The clearing had been set up hastily, yet neatly, blankets spread along the sides of the fire pit, where men stood smoking, drinking, laughing and carrying on as normal. As he peered around the tree, he saw the guns slung over their shoulders and resting in their holsters.

Arthur ducked below the tree line again and ran lightly between the bushes towards the tent, keeping his eye on the men who remained unaware of his arrival. His heart pounded in his ears as he stopped beside the small white canvas shelter.

‘I still don’t know why Colm is so set on followen dem down sout’,’ one man said.

Damn O’Driscolls, Arthur thought to himself as he rested on his haunches.

‘Ain’t your job to know, just do as you're bloody told!’ another shouted back. ‘Bastards, kept stealin’ dis dat and the oder from us. Sooner we put a bullet in dem, the richer we’ll be!’

‘Seems like a waste o’time if you ask me,’ a new voice spoke up, ‘we could be robbin’ a bank, but instead we’re sittin’ around like a bunch o’mugs.’

Arthur focused his eyes, raising his pistol. Five men, six bullets. He pulled the hammer back slowly, attempting to soften the sound of the click as he aimed at the men above him.

Bang, bang, bang.

Three went down, a red mist exploding from their heads as they fell to the ground like autumn leaves. The other two turned to the men, yelling as panic erupted as they brought up their guns, looking around for the intruder.

Arthur stepped from the shadowed cover, aiming his weapon once more. Both men froze as Arthur fired off another two bullets into the one of the men’s chest, crimson blood spilling across him as the blood gushed freely.

Just as he was about to turn, to finish off the last O’Driscoll, he felt a warm trickle down his hard. Fighting to not look, his arm felt limp followed by a bright white hot flash of pain.

He pulled the trigger and the last man fell.

It was over before it even began as the five bodies laid on the floor motionless, blood seeping across the stubby green grass as their eyes stared open, frozen in their last earthly thought.

Arthur stumbled forward, collapsing to his knees beside the fallen body. Looking around at the carnage. He wiped his face, tasting the metallic taste of the metal on his tongue as he looked at his arm. A small red patch was already beginning to form. He shrugged off his jacket, inspecting the hole.

From what he could see, it seemed just as though it was just a graze as he slowly wiggled his fingers and clenched his fist. It hurt, they always did, but no bone was hit and it seemed as though the bullet didn’t embed himself.

Pulling one of the dead men towards him by his ankle with his working arm, and reached for his belt. Attempting to unclasp it with one hand, the throbbing started to settle in his other arm as he grunted through the pain. Pulling the belt free, he stood, making his way back to his horse.

Reaching into the saddle back, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey, releasing the cork with his teeth as his arm gave another twinge of pain. Pouring the alcohol freely, feeling as though the flesh was curling underneath the alcohol as the searing burn churned through him, sinking it hooks into his bones.

He gulped the drink greedily, letting the liquor sting its way down his raw throat, numbing his senses. He fiddled with the dead man’s belt, wrapping it tightly around the wound, pulling the leather with his teeth as he clamped down the buckle. He felt faint as the pain slowly subsided from a brief moment as he took three deep breaths to calm himself.

Grabbing at the saddle horn, he threw himself onto the top of his mount, trying to separate the pain in his mind and focus on the road ahead.

Nothing’s ever simple with you, is it Morgan? He sighed, kicking lightly into Montague, urging the horse back to camp. Hopefully, Ms Grimshaw wouldn’t give him too much of a hard time when she inevitably patched him up.