Arthur Morgan did not intend to survive when he gave his hat to John Marston and stayed behind to gain his redemption. As he crawled towards his final resting place, he never intended to wake up again.
But he does wake up. Thanks to time travelers F...
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Warning: sexy things happen at the end of this chapter. Reader discretion is advised.
1883
"Easy, girl," Arthur whispered, patting Boadicea's neck as they wound their way up a rocky hillside which led to the back part of Mary's house. It was a bit of a hidden way, but with her cousins hanging around, he'd decided charging up the road to her front door wasn't a good idea. His horse, however, was not fond of the overgrown path, clogged with underbrush, which impeded her ability to see where she put her huge, feathered hooves. The inky blackness of the night only made things worse.
Through the thick trees, however, Arthur could see a light in the distance; it was the warm, promising glow of a candle, placed in a window, shining brightly through the dark like the beam of a lighthouse. At a relatively smooth area of the forested slope, Arthur dismounted his mare and left her tied to a tree. "Sit tight, girl," he whispered, patting her nose. "I'll be back to get you in the morning."
Boadicea nickered lightly as Arthur began to walk away from her. He sighed and bent low, creeping through the thicket to the side of the cabin where the candle in the window sat. His horse was more than likely a bit afraid and confused as to why he had left her tied in a strange forest in the middle of the night, but her comfort wasn't as important to him as seeing Mary was.
Three days had elapsed since the massacre in Limpany. Arthur would have come to Mary's sooner, except for his fear of her reaction once he told her why he hadn't come when he planned. He hadn't stopped thinking about her the whole time. Anxiety constantly gnawed at him as he imagined her reaction when he told her what he'd done. She'd probably never want to see him again. How could he make her understand that he was not an ugly person? Unlike most outlaws, he lived by a code: Dutch's code. It was simple enough to remember. The gang shot people that needed shooting, saved people that needed saving, and fed them if they needed feeding. At least, that was a mantra Dutch loved to recite. Secretly, Arthur wondered what the people of Limpany needed now that he'd burned down their town. Sure, it was really Solomon Cornwall's town, but as far as Arthur knew it wasn't Sodom and Gomorrah. There had to have been good people who lost their homes and businesses, if not their lives.
With the scent of burning flesh seared into his brain, Arthur crept towards the lighted window. All was silent inside the house and all its main windows were dark, but as she had promised him, Mary's window was open. It was a bit high, but Arthur was able to leap up and grab the windowsill with his fingers. Grunting with the effort, he pulled himself up with his arms and swung a leg over so that he sat in Mary's window easily, staring down into her bedroom.
She wasn't asleep. Instead, she sat in a chair near her fireplace, with a book in her lap. Her long, dark hair was, for once, unbound. It cascaded like a waterfall down her back, rippling slightly like small waves from throwing a pebble in a pond. She had probably decided to braid it that day.
