Sign of the Times (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

Chapter Twenty Eight

            *Arthur's POV*

            All I could do was sit with my hands folded and shake my head in awe as she moved fluidly from person to person, checking up on them or tightening bandages. Every once in a while she would glance in my direction, her expression blank and unreadable.

"How'd this happen?" I asked, more myself than anyone.

"She was found washed up on the beach six days ago... when we approached her, she became upset and confused. All she would tell us was her name." Hercule explained.

"Amnesia... probably from bein' knocked around by them Braithwaite boys..." Dutch chimed in. His furrowed brow showed his concern, but the look in his eyes suggested he had somethin' else on his mind. Dutch sat back, crossing his arms, and turning his eyes to look up at the sky.

"Regardless... she's been nothing but a blessing since she arrived here. She saved my life, in fact." Hercule pointed out. Gesturing to a relatively fresh wound on his side.

"The locals have taken to calling her 'angel del mar'." He said, and I felt my brow arch at the word 'angel' I may not be a very smart man, but any idiot could guess what that word meant.

"All this talk about (F/N) this, and (F/N) that. Can't we forget about her for a minute and focus on the fact that Javier's been kidnapped?" Micah demanded, leaning over Dutch's chair, his hand gripped tightly onto the back of it..

"Bitch had it comin' anyway." He mumbled under his breath, and I shot up out of my seat, stepping towards him, only for Dutch to lift his hand as a means of stoppin' us.

"Both of you, knock it off. We are all gettin' outta here. Together." Dutch insisted, standing between the two of us, and giving us both a look. Micah and I stood for a moment longer before taking our separate ways.

Later that evening

The day had run on for what seemed like an eternity and we still hadn't the slightest idea of where to even begin looking for Javier. I winced at the pain in my side as I stepped over to a nearby barrel filled with water, hovering over it, and dipping my hands into it.

"Are you some kinda fool?" She spoke, standing roughly four feet in front of me. I splashed a handful of the lukewarm water onto my face that had been sitting stagnant beneath the sun all day.

"I suppose I am..." I mumbled under my breath as she threw a cloth towards me, and I reached my hand out to catch it, narrowly missing.

"Let's say for argument's sake that I am a fool..." I said, blotting my face dry before wringing it tightly in my hands. I glanced up to see a ghost of a grin on her face, but she quickly erased it.

"You know, if any other man would've grabbed me like that, I would've put em' down..." She mumbled, and I chuckled lightly, remembering fondly how she held her own against that doctor and one of Bronte's men. I angled my eyes downward, fidgeting with the cloth in my hands before looking back up at her.

"You've called me a fool once or twice before." I said, and she pursed her lips, wondering how she should respond to my statement.

"I've never even met you." She insisted, and I felt myself take a step forward.

"(F/N), please, just... Give me a chance to explain." I plead, my eyes moving back and forth between hers as she moved away from me.

"I'm not an idiot... Hercule already told me what was going on." She said, and my eyes widened.

"What exactly did he tell you?" I asked as she uncrossed her arms, allowing them to fall at her sides.

"I washed up on the beach, from a shipwreck... but I don't understand. I don't remember being anywhere near a ship..." She said, lifting her hand to run through her hair, and then twirling a bit of it on the end of her finger.