#arthur morgam x fem oc

[cowboisadness]

Hang ‘Em High {Arthur Morgan x OC} Chapter 12

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC

Summery: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

Warnings: Mentions on injury and assault  ..... Chapter 12

I woke to blinding light. Disorientated and panic building as my mind is slow to catch up with where I could be right now. I’m still in the cabin. I can hear the men outside talking amongst themselves, unaware that I’m awake again. I push myself up noticing my hands and legs are free, ignoring the overall ache and searing pain running down my chest. I need to get out. This is my chance. If I could -

“Hey, hey it’s okay.” A feminine voice calls out beside me, gently placing their hand on my shoulder. I look over, glad that my eyes are starting to focus to see Tilly, in her beloved yellow dress. Please don’t be a dream.

“Tilly?” I squeak, my voice sounding harsher than it ever has.

“You’re safe. Here,” She passes over a flask of water. The liquid soothing my throat and easing the pounding in my head. Drinking the whole thing before passing it back, murmuring my thanks.

“I’ll go tell Arthur and Miss Grimshaw that you’re awake.” She says before leaving the tent, the covers over the entrance letting in more daylight, causing the back of my eyes to sting slightly before they closed behind her. I’m not even in my tent, not in my bedroll. I’m in Arthurs tent. Once again waking up here after passing out. I really need to make sure that doesn’t become a habit of mine. Trying to think, all I can remember was being carried out of that cabin, but I can’t even remember reaching the door. I didn't even get to see the aftermath of Johns and Arthurs handiwork. Those mens bodies spewed across the grass. Shame.

I can’t help but scoff at that thought. If my mother could hear my thoughts on how I wished to see the corpses of the men that harmed me she would turn in her grave for sure. But my brothers would be proud.

The tent flaps opened again, the sting more bearable, as Miss Grimshaw and Arthur made their way in, the former holding a small medicine bottle and some whiskey.

“How are you feeling dear?” Miss Grimshaw asks in a soothing tone I'd only heard before when I first arrived here. A serious case of Déjà vu happening.

“Like shit. I’m guessing I look it too.” I hum out a quiet laugh.

“Got you a tonic to fight any infection. And some whiskey for the pain,” She said as she placed the two bottles on the crate next to the cot. “I’ll get Pearson to whip something up for you. Then I’ll be back later to change your dressings.” I called out my thanks to her as she left, leaving just the two of us. Arthur pulled up a chair to sit beside me, picking up the whiskey as he did.

“Than-”

“I’m s-”

We both spoke at the same time, causing us to huff out a laugh. He gestured for me to go first.

“Thank you for coming for me,” I said, he looked down to the floor, his hat covering most of his face from view.

“Belle, m’ sorry we didn’t get there earlier. Me, John and Charles tried to-”

“You got there just in time. Before they…” I couldn’t even finish. But I didn't have to, the look on his face told me he knew. He saw the state I was in, the other guys’ intentions were very obvious with his pants halfway down. Thankful now that I wasn’t that far exposed but in the process of stabbing the bastard it was the last thing on my mind. My hand went down my chest as I slowly tried to sit up, feeling the layers of cloth that wrapped around my shoulder and waist then across my back through the clothing, which I also just realised are not mine. Arthur stood to help me sit, leaning me against the crates behind me. Sitting back down and handing me the now opened bottle of whiskey, drinking as he continued.

“Miss Grimshaw stitched ya up. Said it would probably scar.” I nodded and took a drink, feeling it burn as it passed down my throat. I opened my mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the tent opening being pulled back, Dutch now making his way in, his eyes on me.

“Did you talk?” No hello, no how are you feeling...just did I talk? Talk about what exactly?

“Dutch, she's just come round-” Dutch held his hand up to halt Arthur, his eyes still trained on me.

“I need to know. Did. You. Talk?”

“Talk about what?”

“Did you tell them where we are?”

“They didn’t ask anything about you.” I looked between the two men, completely confused as to what he as asking.

“Really?”

“Dutch-”

“I told you. They never mentioned you or camp or anyone here. I don’t even know who those men were.”

“The safety of this gang depends on if you gave away any information to those men. I surely hope you are not lying to me, Mrs Hawthorne.” He spoke slowly and low as if I were a disobedient child that needed to understand every word he said. A quiet threat heard loud and clear.

“I didn’t say a word. They only cared about me. If they are a threat to you all, they never made it known.” I replied back in the same slow tone he gave to me, making sure he understood every word I said. I’ve been here for weeks, over 2 months, making myself at home and seeing the others here as a family, my new family. And he thinks I would sabotage the one thing that makes me feel safe? Sure, torture is a good way of getting people to speak, but Dutch doesn’t seem to realise id rather die than be alone, or back with him.

With that another person emerges from the outside, Hosea, he must have heard the raised voices. I was on the verge of tears knowing Dutch probably doesn’t believe me, in a way I understand the concern, but I was in pain and the constant dull ache in my head was now throbbing. Hosea took one look at us all and motioned Dutch out of the tent, telling him to let me heal and to ask questions later. Dutch left without another word, practically stormed out. Hosea was about to speak but I cut in. “I promise I never said anything, I don’t even think they knew I’m with you all.” Hosea put his hand up to me to stop. Before Hosea could speak a word, Arthur sat forwards, taking my hand in his, stilling my clenching fist in the hopes I would relax.

“I believe you, Bella. Charles and me saw a missing poster of you in Rhodes station. $500 reward. Those guys that took you, they were some of the O’Driscolls. We have a history with them, all bad business.”

“Did the poster mention being able to do whatever they wanted with me but to leave my face untouched?”

“No…”

“Then...I don’t think it was the poster that led them to me. Frank asked them himself.” Arthur and Hosea shared a look of disbelief as I cried. Knocking back more whiskey to numb as much of the pain as possible. The realisation of what happened hitting me like a damn train. Hosea promised he would talk to Dutch, try and calm him down, and that if I needed anything to not hesitate to ask.

Arthur stayed with me till nightfall. Answering whatever questions I had about this rival gang and the very colourful history they have with them, especially the leader, Colm. We talked about anything else that didn't involve the O’Driscolls or what had happened the day before after that. I asked about the photographs he had pinned to the side of the wagon and the two in frames propped up. He spoke fondly about his mother, Beatrice, who passed when he was only a boy. And his dog, Cooper. He even admitted he would bathe with him sometimes. I couldn’t stop laughing, causing him to flush with embarrassment. I assured him it was sweet. He didn’t seem to have many kind words when it came to his father, Lyle. Saying he was a no-good man that didn’t die soon enough. When speaking about Mary, a beautiful woman from what I could see from the photograph, I couldn’t help but notice him hesitate when speaking about her. But I could sense the fondness he still felt for her, a young love like that always holds a special place in your heart. I felt a tang of jealousy. Not because of her, but because I didn't get the chance to feel love like they once did. To have someone you love, love you back just the same despite any differences. It was a shame it didn’t work out for them, some of those differences becoming the wedge that drove them apart. He only left me when Miss Grimshaw came along to change my dressings, to get us both some supper and another bottle of whiskey after we polished off the last one together.

The alcohol did help with the ache, replacing it with a slight buzz but not without slight weariness, but I knew drinking anymore would be asking my headache not to leave. The sun was far beyond the horizon now, the moon firmly replacing it. Now slouched on the cot and Arthur splayed out on the chair with one foot perched on the cot beside my hip. A yawn made my tiredness become more apparent, soon I'll be fighting to keep my eyes open. After a few moments of silence, listening to the nocturnal birds fly overhead, realising everyone else must have gone to sleep, Arthur stood, motioning to the tonic that I had neglected in favour of the whiskey, telling me to drink up before I fell asleep.

“I can go to my tent. Don’t want to hog your bed again.” I said, another yawn making its way out of me.

“Nah it’s alright. Not gunna kick an injured lady out've a more comfy bed.” he looked down at me, his mouth turning up into a small smile.

“Where will you sleep?”

“I got my bedroll out there, I’ll sleep where I drop.”

“I'll feel bad if you have to sleep out there when I’m in here,” He just looked at me, expecting a fight to stop me from sleeping somewhere a little less comfortable no doubt. “Might as well sleep here.” His eyebrows raised at that and it took me a moment to realise what he must have thought I was suggesting. “Oh, no, I mean you might as well bring your bedroll in here. At least then you will have a cover over your head.”

His face relaxed at my explanation, giving off a half-smirk and looking back down at the ground, stroking the back of this neck that I noticed he does when nervous or uncomfortable. Lord, it is cute when he does that. Finally, he nodded, giving in with a quiet, sure.

He returned within seconds with his bedroll, which must have been nearby, and laid it out on the floor. Kicking off his boots and draping a worn blanket over him. I did the same, both of us now staring up at the canvas with our hands resting behind our heads. Sleep slowly taking over me.

“Goodnight, Arthur. Thank you again.” I spoke softly.

“Goodnight, Bella” he replied, just as soft as i.

-

It was barely daybreak when I woke up. The birds singing their morning song all around, a call to breakfast and a new day with new possibilities. My head still had a lingering pulse, not sure if it was from last night whiskey or finally getting over the multiple blows I received. Either way, coffee could fix it.

I took my time getting on my feet, my body still aching lightly and to not wake Arthur, who was curled up on the floor facing me, his arm propping up his head as a pillow. I made my way out of the tent to be greeted by stunning orange hues illuminating the camp and Flat Iron Lake. I made my way to the campfire to brew a fresh batch, adding wood to the dying fire as I waited. I grabbed two tin cups, waiting for the coffee to emit its awakening aroma before pouring. Even just the smell was helping my head ease off a bit. I sat with my coffee, blowing on it absentmindedly, my eyes lost in the fire as my mind flashed, replaying what happened not two days ago. It wasn't the first time to be taken against my will in that way, although I'm thankful it didn't get that far. But just knowing that Frank gave his permission for my captors to do whatever they wanted with me and to be paid handsomely for it along with my return made a feeling burn within me that I have never felt before. Pure rage. Staying in camp would be the safest thing I can do now, Frank won’t give up. No doubt I would go insane. Maybe I could change my appearance somehow so I could venture out from time to time.

I was pulled out of my thoughts as Arthur sat down beside me on the log. I never even heard him approach me I was so lost within my mind.

“How are you feeling?” He asked as I handed him his cup of coffee, still piping hot.

“I'm gonna kill Frank,” I said matter-of-factly, turning to face him. The look of bewilderment on his face made me huff out a laugh.