Morgan's Legacy [{RDR2 FanFic Sequel}]

Chicken Neck

[A/N] - Hey there lovelies, so sorry for the delay. What started as a small technical error became a full rewrite anddddddd I fucked up my own storyline so I'm having to reread and rewrite ALOT. It doesn't help that I started reading Fourth Wing, read it in two days and then fell into a BADDD book hangover lol. Why am I like this?! XD Anyways, here's the latest chapter! ENJOY!<3

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John Marston

The evening passed without either of us hardly noticing. Her few belongings fit easily in the wagon once we'd taken all of Timothy's crates out and burned them. The sun set sooner than usual meaning autumn is slowly creeping in and shortening our hot summer days. I fixed a simple dinner of venison and buttered bread which we ate quietly together over a shared flask of whiskey. When the sun was well and gone and darkness covered the quaint cabin, Lottie shut up the windows and lit a candle. It's wick was short and there wasn't much wax left to melt but it provided just enough light.

Perhaps it was the glow of candlelight but if I'm not mistaken, a touch of color had returned to her face just since my arrival. Her eyes lifted and every now and then she chances a smile at me. Still, neither of us can bare to look the other in the eye for longer than a few seconds without a rush of memories ripping old wounds open, raw with a familiar unsettled feeling. It's far easier to stay numb to it, to talk about things that don't matter one bit.

What's Strawberry like nowadays?

Any good fishing by Brandywine?

How's the weather out here?

"Suppose we better turn in for the night." Charlotte sighed at last, scraping her fork along the dinner plate for one last taste. I nod my head and tuck the flask back into my pack. She hadn't had more than a sip and yet she slowly eases herself to a stand as if she'd expected to fall over drunk. I clear the table as she walks over to the small metal framed bed. Her soft white blouse lifts over her arms and drops to the floor; creamy white skin shining in the moonlight poured in from the lone kitchen window. I feel my face grow warm as I turn my attention to the sink, focusing on the dirty dish in my hand. I scrub until my fingers are red. The buckle of her belt hits the floor with a thud.

Then the bedframe squeals, followed by the shuffle of material and I dared a look over my shoulder. Her hair is loosed from it's braid, cascading across her pillow and shoulders. She's dressed in the same thin night gown I'd seen her in this morning.

I finish my job and stand still at the sink for a long beat. Frost had begun to form in the corners of the windows, the cold creeping in little by little. I grab a spare blanket, tattered with moth eaten holes, and lay it out on the wood floor. I set my hat and satchel down beside it and try to get comfy.

My body, long denied of a full nights rest, sunk to the floor and sleep took me in a matter of minutes. But before I knew it, I was back on that mountain. Micah had hold of my son, Abigail was no where to be found. Her cries echoed through the dark forest, calling out for help. I chased after them but my gun was empty and I had no bandolier. My horse was too slow to keep up as Jack cried out for me. Then I realize I can't save them. Any of them. Something takes hold of me like a dark eminent force and shakes me hard. I fall off my horse face first onto a hard wooden floor.

"John!" Charlotte yells, inches from my face. I stir awake, blinking at her. "You were having a nightmare."

I rub my eyes, looking around. I'd fallen hard enough asleep I had forgotten where I was, what had happened. Looking at her face I felt the same intense relief I'd felt when I first laid eyes on her. She's safe. She's safe. She's safe. I repeat to myself until the thunder of my heart beat slows to a steady beat. "I'm sorry, Lottie. Go back to sleep."