Chapter Text
It started in the snow, in the mountains to the north of Ambarino.
Kieran Duffy fled for his life on the back of his horse, his unknown assailant thundering after him in a relentless pursuit. His legs hugged the sides of his horse, stomach pressed flat against the saddle, fists gripping the reins so tight as to cause indents in his palms. His jaw ached from how hard his teeth were clenched.
The two of them ran through the woods as fast as the thicket of trees and the blistering wind would allow, ran as if the Devil himself were at their heels. And perhaps he was. The man following Kieran had been at the chase close to ten minutes now, and so far he had shown no signs of stopping, nor even of slowing down.
But Kieran’s sweet horse, Branwen, he could feel her growing tired beneath him. She wouldn’t last much longer like this, her movements clumsy with fatigue, eyes darting about every which way in a panic, flanks soaked with sweat that seeped through the legs of his trousers.
He ached at her distress. She wasn’t built for this kind of work. In a sense he cared more for her wellbeing than he did for his own pitiful life. He knew once the man caught up with him, whatever happened next might be out of his hands, but Kieran couldn’t bear if anything happened to her.
“Just leave me alone!” He yelled in one last ditch attempt for the man to spare the two of them, though who knew if he could hear Kieran over the sound of hooves and the screaming wind. “What the hell did I do?” He pleaded.
“Shit!” The next thing he knew he was in the air. A rope was thrown around his middle and he was yanked off the back of his horse, falling heavily to the snow. All the air left him in a rush as his body hit the ground. He lay there stunned, unable to move, unable to speak, hardly able to breathe.
His assailant reined in his horse a moment later and dismounted. He approached Kieran with a confident stride, heavy boots crunching through the snow.
Kieran attempted to squint up at the man as he drew closer, his vision a blur. The man’s face was almost completely hidden, black bandana tied over his nose and mouth and hat pulled low over his eyes. Only his eyes were visible, bright even in the dimming light, and looking at him in such a way that gave Kieran no cause for comfort.
“Well, now,” the man’s voice was low and coarse, his tone almost gleeful. But Kieran weren’t laughing one bit, no sir. “What do we have here?”
Kieran coughed. Before he could try to speak the man bent down and flipped him over, made quick work of hogtieing him, ignoring his feeble protests and sounds of pain.
“You’re coming with me!” He lifted Kieran up like he weighed nothing, moved to haul him onto the back of his horse. A second later he was mounting up, clicking his tongue to spur his horse into motion. As they began to ride away, Kieran now his helpless prisoner, he could only look in heartbreak towards Branwen as she watched them depart, wondering where her owner was going, why he wasn’t taking her with him.
At least she was out of harm’s way, he thought miserably. Beneath him, the horse’s pace began to quicken and soon he couldn’t see her at all through the snow. He dropped his head back down, fighting back tears. He watched the earth as it passed below him, faster and faster, until it was all just a blur.
His only wish then was that wherever the man was taking him, whatever he had planned for him, that at least his death would be swift.
*
It was a long ride back to wherever they were going, the sky growing ever darker around them. The man didn’t ride soft, clearly eager to get back as soon as possible, with no thought to his captive’s wellbeing. Kieran jostled around on the back of his horse like a prize buck, his stomach lurching with every buck of the horse’s hooves. If he’d had anything to eat that day, he was sure it would have come right back up.
“What’s your name, boy?” The man spoke up after a while of the two of them riding in silence.
It took a moment for Kieran to realise he’d been addressed at all. He was fighting to stay awake, his head pounding something fierce. He must’ve hit it wrong when he fell. He hoped it weren’t nothing serious.
“Boy?” The man didn’t seem too pleased at having to repeat himself. Kieran snapped to attention, though he could hardly think straight. What was the question again?
“Um, I don’t know!” It was all he could think to say. The man scoffed.
“You don’t know your own name?”
“Oh, er…” He could hardly speak. “I-it’s Kieran!”
“Kieran what?”
“Duffy!” He managed after a moment, fighting to be heard over the wind. He swallowed, his mouth dry, took a shaky breath. “Kieran Duffy.”
“Well,” the man’s voice took on a tone that Kieran didn’t find in the least bit reassuring. “I ain’t gonna lie to you. This is a real bad day for you, Kieran Duffy.”
Kieran gulped. “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere you ain’t gonna like,” the man replied. Kieran’s heart began to hammer in his chest.
“Why?” He sputtered. “What are you gonna do to me?”
“Something you ain’t gonna like,” the man continued, and Kieran could hear the grin in his voice. It made his stomach turn. “So I’d advise you to save your breath for screaming.”
“No! Please!” Kieran didn’t take him on his advice, pleaded with the man several more times to let him go, but his cries fell on deaf ears. The man eventually lost patience with him; grown fed up with his blubbering, he turned in his saddle to hit him upside the head a couple of times before Kieran finally had the sense to shut up.
He fell into a miserable silence on the back of the man’s horse. Stopped bothering to fight back his tears, he let them fall, streaming down his cheeks and dripping to the horse’s rump.
He’d been sent out fishing before. Colm had instructed him to head down to the river and try rustling up some food for the camp, not to come back unless it was with a bucket of fish in tow. It was a fruitless endeavour, and Kieran had tried to explain this, that the river was all frozen over and there were no fish to be caught, but Colm had just grabbed him by the collar and smacked him a few times for daring to talk back.
Aside from the fishing and tending to the men’s horses, there weren’t much else Kieran was good at, and there was only one other thing Colm kept him around for, as the rotten old bastard was all too fond of reminding him. They were all hungry men, and if Kieran couldn’t handle something so simple as catching a few fish, Colm assured him the consequences would be severe.
He’d sent him away, and that was where he was, on his knees in the snow beside the river, freezing his bits off, attempting to chisel a hole in the ice with his blunt little pocketknife, when he heard the sounds of gunfire erupt in the distance.
He’d stopped his futile work and lifted his head to listen. It sounded like the noise was coming from camp. An attack? Target practice? He couldn’t be sure.
He could’ve left then. Could’ve gotten onto his horse and just kept going, away from these mountains and the wretched snow. But it weren’t a sure thing, and he was too afraid of Colm O’Driscoll to be caught desertin’. There weren’t much more that Colm hated than traitorous folk, and Kieran didn’t want to risk getting on his bad side even more. So, he’d stayed put.
He’d heard them before he saw them, the sounds of multiple sets of hooves approaching through the snow. The gunfire had stopped by then. He’d thought they might be Colm’s men. By the time they got close enough for him to realise they very much weren’t friends of Colm, in the time it took for him to drop his knife and stagger across the ice towards his horse, well, by then it was too late.
And look where that had gotten him. Caught and tied up on the back of another man’s horse. He should have just kept running. Maybe he could have gotten out. He could’ve been halfway to Strawberry by now. It would’ve been a good place to hide. O’Driscoll’s never passed through that town. Colm personally hated the place. Kieran could have made it.
Now, wherever they were going, he was sure it weren’t a swift death awaiting him at the other end.
*
Eventually, they made it back to whatever destination the man had in mind. Kieran had recognized at some point that they were travelling upwards, which explained the man’s haste, most likely not wanting to traverse the mountains in the dark as well as the snow. The ascent was dangerous enough in the daytime, and that was without having to worry about bears or wolves.
The horse slowed as they made their way into what looked to be an abandoned mining town. Kieran knew it, but only vaguely. Colm and his gang had passed through this way some months ago, before making their settlement further down the mountain.
“Here we are, you sack of shit!” The man steered his horse towards a line of hitching posts, where there were several other horses already tied up. He dismounted, slung the reins of his horse around the post with the rest. He turned back to Kieran, dragged his body off the horse and over his shoulder. “Let’s introduce you to the boys.”
“Oh God,” Kieran whimpered, surprised he still had any energy left to speak. “Don’t hurt me, please.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” the man’s voice had that same sense of humour, but once again Kieran weren’t laughing, not one bit. “They’re real nice.”
Kieran couldn’t see much of anything after that. Couldn’t see where the man was taking him, faced with the back of his coat, which looked to be much warmer and of much better quality than his own.
They walked through the snow a way, and then they must’ve approached a cabin, for next he heard the sound of a door swinging open, and then a new voice, as another man entered the fray.
“Ha, you found the little shit, did you?” The other man laughed, his voice deep and resonant. Kieran cringed, realizing this must be who ordered the first man to go after him. What the hell did they want with him?
“Yep.” The first man tossed Kieran to the ground at the other’s feet, ignoring his cries of pain. “I got him.”
“Very good,” the other praised, as the first man bent over to roughly cut through the ropes around Kieran legs. He hauled him back up by the scruff of his coat to show off to the other.
The man standing before him now had his face uncovered. If they were anywhere else, he could have been called handsome, and it was clear he took some pride in his appearance, if his well-oiled locks and neatly groomed moustache were any indication. He was dressed rather well too, in a thick fur-lined coat and stylish black hat, red scarf wound around his neck.
But there was something about the way he looked at Kieran, vicious grin twisting his features, a hunger in his eyes, that scared him nearly more than any look Colm O’Driscoll had ever thrown his way. This man was dangerous. Perhaps even more dangerous than Colm. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
“Welcome to your new home,” he jeered, turned away from him to address the first man.
Kieran struggled to catch much more of what they were saying after that. His head was throbbing, heart pounding in his ears, his body was screaming at him in pain. His stomach was still churning from riding upside down for so long, and he felt nearly delirious with exhaustion, not to mention terrified for his life. He struggled to stay upright, to keep his eyes open. If it weren’t for the man holding him up, he might’ve just collapsed to the ground.
“Uncle! Mr Williamson!” Kieran snapped to attention as two more men appeared at his side, seemingly out of thin air, each one meaner and uglier than the next. They grasped roughly at each arm, allowing the first man to step away to talk to the other. Kieran struggled pitifully in their grip.
“…I got a saying, my friend,” the well-dressed man addressed him directly now. The two men pushed him forward and held him still, face to face with the other. The man’s voice was dangerously soft, his words sending chills down Kieran’s spine. Kieran couldn’t look away then, not as those dark eyes bore into his.
“We shoot fellers as need shooting, save fellers as need saving, and feed them as need feeding.” He looked Kieran up and down, and then he moved back in real close, face twisting into a sneer. “We are going to find out what you need.”
He stepped back again, mercifully, barked out a laugh. Kieran struggled to suppress a sob.
“I can’t believe it!” He laughed. “An O’Driscoll in my camp!”
The two men had then begun to lead him away, but at the name “O’Driscoll”, Kieran nearly seized in a panic, twisting violently in their grip.
“No, I ain’t an O’Driscoll, mister!” He yelled over his shoulder, with an urgency and a strength he didn’t know he possessed. He yelped as one man grabbed him by his hair to shut him up and pull him along, but he wouldn’t be silenced. “I hate that feller!”
“Oh, whatever you say, son!” The man called after him, but otherwise paid him no mind, turned to head back inside the cabin with the first man.
The other two men hauled him away, with little thought to his protests, off to a ramshackle set of stables. One of the men walked in front to kick open the doors, the other shoved Kieran in after him, following close behind.
Inside were several horses, all hitched and undressed. They stirred and flicked their tails at the disturbance; clearly, they’d been sleeping, but otherwise they paid little attention to the three of them. They must be used to things like this, Kieran thought.
They tied Kieran back up by his wrists to one of the posts. One of them, the one who’d kicked the doors open, he looked as though he wanted to hang back and mess with Kieran a little more, a hungry glint in his eyes as he looked over him, but the other waved him along, claiming to want to get back in out of the cold. Kieran watched their backs as they left, not relaxing until the stable door had banged shut behind them.
Kieran sagged against the wooden post, wincing as the ropes rubbed against his sore wrists. He shivered in his thin coat. It was dark inside the stables, and almost as cold as the outside, his breath coming out in little puffs of white.
He tried not to look around at the horses. The ones that had been disturbed by their entrance had all tensed up, aware of the stranger in their midst. He didn’t want to spook them enough for one to take a bite at him, though he wouldn’t blame one if it did. He didn’t like himself very much either.
He looked towards the battered roof, some holes in the slats where the wood had rotted through. Faint bits of snow trickled down through the gaps, and bits of moonlight, enough for him to see somewhat clearly. It was a small comfort, but one nonetheless.
He supposed it weren’t so bad in here. At least here he had a roof over his head, and the body heat from the horses was enough to stave off the worst of the cold. It’d be much better if he’d been able to get a fire going, get some food into himself. But it was better than dying at least.
Perhaps those men didn’t plan on killing him after all. They could just as easily have left him tied up outside in the bitter wind. He shivered just thinking about it. What a horrible way to die.
But if they weren’t going to kill him, what the hell else could they want with him?
He wished he’d been paying more attention when the other man was talking. Maybe then he’d know exactly what they planned to do with him. He wondered if this had more to do with Colm O’Driscoll, if they planned to use him to get to the other man. It wouldn’t work. That old bastard cared less for Kieran than he did for the shit under his shoe. He’d be sure to tell them as much the next time one of them came in to taunt him.
His stomach growled just then, wrenched something fierce, and he bent over and groaned, the pain eating him up from inside.
If they came back for him at all. If they didn’t plan on him starving to death in here.
His ceaseless worrying could have kept on all night. Somehow though, eventually he managed to doze off, exhaustion winning out over the rest.
*
He woke up sometime later in the night, or perhaps even early the next morning. He opened his eyes, his vision a blur. The light was strange. He felt light-headed and dazed, and for a moment he couldn’t remember exactly where he was or what had happened to get him there.
He blinked slowly, his vision clearing enough for his eyes to land on the tips of his boots. His body had drooped over in his sleep, his nose brushing against the scuffed knees of his trousers. He was still tied up of course, arms twisted behind his back and above his head. He groaned as he attempted to stand, joints popping and muscles aching. Every limb felt sore and stiff, and his hands felt near frozen. He hoped he weren’t getting frostbite on top of all this.
A familiar snuffling and nickering pulled him from his thoughts, and then a warm, wet nose pushed against his cheek. He managed to lift his head, blinking away the crust still gathered under his eyelids, and then in the dim light he saw her. Branwen. His sweet, loyal horse. She’d found him somehow, tracked him down through the wind and snow, must have followed his smell into the stables.
He nearly wept at the sight of her. Her rose-coloured coat. Her soft white mane. Her warm dark eyes. If he could move his arms, he would have thrown them around her. He’d been kept up most of the night just worrying about her, thinking of the way she’d looked as they’d rode away. He’d had her a long time, since long before he started running with the O’Driscoll’s. She was the only friend he had left in the world.
She nosed at him again, this time down near the pockets of his coat, no doubt looking for treats, but he had none. She must be hungry, the poor thing, having to walk all night through the snow. Soon as he was free, he’d be sure to spoil her.
She seemed to sense his distress, for she didn’t seem too bothered at not getting to eat. She settled and stood by his side, close enough he was able to lean his weight against her, rest his head against her warm neck. He felt the movements of her breath against his cheek, closed his eyes to the gentle sound of her heartbeat.
It comforted him immensely to see her, but it pained him to see her here. Tied up like this, if any of those men made to hurt her, there was nothing he could do about it. They were both at their mercy. He could only hope none of them would be heartless enough to lay a hand on her.
*
Initially, he thought he might freeze to death, those first few days they spent in that old mining town, which he eventually remembered was called Colter. Colder, more like. But as cold as it was, it was the hunger that ended up getting to him.
It was another large gang that had caught him again, not as big as O’Driscoll’s, but with their own fair share of men. He could hear them from inside the stables as they went about their business around the little town, got to see a few of them when they came in and out with their horses. Clearly, they’d been instructed not to pay him any mind, and certainly not to give him any food.
But one of them, a stout older man with a large moustache, he came in twice a day to check on Kieran and let him out back to do his business. He stood nearby during this, hand on his pistol, but at least he turned his back to let Kieran have his privacy, or perhaps it was more that he was embarrassed at the idea of having to watch. Regardless, he was quick to assure Kieran that he’d served several years with the US Navy and would gun him down faster than he could blink if he tried anything stupid. Kieran didn’t have any energy left in him to argue.
The man gave him water at least. But no food. By the third night Kieran was so hungry he could hardly think. The pain was so bad he was nearly sobbing, but he didn’t even have the strength left for tears. Not even Branwen could comfort him. At least none of them had tried to harm her. None of them had paid any attention to them at all.
Did they even remember he was in here? Surely they wanted him for something, since they’d gone to all this trouble. He’d torn his brain apart a hundred times over the past few days trying to think of what it was they could want, but that had only served to make his head hurt worse. He was nearing his breaking point, just about ready to beg for one of them to just come in and put him out of his misery. Whatever they had planned for him, it couldn’t be worse than all this.
That night, however, something changed. That night, he had a visitor.
He’d been sleeping fitfully, was startled awake sometime in the night by the sound of the stable door creaking open. For a few moments afterwards there was silence, long enough for him to wonder if he might have imagined the noise, wondered if it might have just been the wind, but then there came the sounds of soft footsteps, as the visitor made their way over to him.
“Who’s there?” He called out in a meagre voice, fear creeping up his spine. “What do you want?”
There was no response. In the dark he couldn’t see who it was, couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. He hoped it weren’t that mean-looking feller again, that one of the two that had tied him up. He’d been coming into the stables every so often over the past few days just to mess with him, either to poke fun at him all trussed up on the post like a turkey on a spit, or to dangle bits of food around before obnoxiously stuffing his face right in front of him. He hadn’t touched him yet, mercifully, as bad as all that was, but Kieran worried it was only a matter of time.
He wondered what time it was. He couldn’t imagine that anyone else was awake. And he couldn’t imagine what it was that they wanted with him, but none of the suggestions that popped up into his head were any good.
Hands struck a match that made a flame, that was then used to light a lantern, and then he was able to relax somewhat as it illuminated the face of his visitor.
It was her. He recognized her. She was one of the girls that appeared to run with the gang. There were a few of them, the other two a small, coloured girl and a loud-mouthed, curvy blonde, this one a slender, pale brunette. They’d come in morning and night the past few days to dress and tend to the horses, thankfully including his own in with the rest.
He’d caught her looking his way a few times, the times they’d come in, but hadn’t paid it too much mind. He’d assumed she was just curious, was all. And yet here she was.
She looked to be rather a bit younger than him. She was real pretty, too. Rosy freckled cheeks, bright blue eyes and light brown curls. Face too soft and innocent to look like part of such a group.
She was dressed in a thick dark coat, wool shawl tied over her head. Like the horses, she seemed to sense his distress, for she approached him slowly, and with a soft smile. She was holding a bundle under one arm.
“Hi,” she said shyly.
“H-hi,” Kieran said, and then coughed, his voice hoarse. His mouth felt dryer than chalk.
The girl lifted a finger to her lips, turned to set the lantern on top of one of the hitching posts. She moved a little closer to him.
The bundle turned out to be a water canteen and some packaged food, wrapped up in an old blanket. She lifted the canteen to his lips and let him drink slowly, fed him some biscuits from a small tin. They were dry and a little stale, but they were heaven sent after so long without food. He struggled not to eat too fast.
“There, there, that’s a dear,” the girl’s voice was soft and pleasant, as warm as her face was pretty.
She leaned in close to wrap the blanket around his shoulders. The thing was threadbare and full of holes, barely holding itself together, and it smelled, but he said nothing of complaint. He guessed it was probably the only one able to be spared, and she was doing him a kindness by bringing it to him.
“Why are you doing this?” He had to ask, careful to keep his voice low. He felt a little stronger after the food and water.
“It’s not that I’m not grateful, miss,” he added quickly. The last thing he wanted was to offend her. “I just don’t understand.”
For a moment it seemed as though even she didn’t know the answer to the question, her eyes moving back and forth a few times before she replied.
“I know you’re an O’Driscoll, and I know I’m supposed to hate you, but,” she quirked her lip, offered him a sympathetic smile. “I felt sorry for you, I guess.” She gestured with her hand. “No one deserves this.”
Kieran managed to smile back. “W-well, I-I sure ‘preciate it, Miss.”
She looked him over, a frown creasing her brow. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“C-can you let me go?” He tried. He’d been expecting it, but he still felt himself sag when she shook her head.
“No. The only reason I’m here is you wouldn’t be any good to us dead, and I guess someone’s gotta look out for you.”
“Oh.” It weren’t the answer he’d been hoping for, but he tried not to look too disheartened. She didn’t know him, to her he was just a prisoner. Of course, her first loyalties lay with her gang. And, he reminded himself, she’d already been good to him, risked her own wellbeing to tend to him. He weren’t about to bite the hand that feeds.
“I-I understand,” he managed to nod. It wasn’t a lie. “Th-thank you anyway, Miss…?”
“Mary-Beth,” she said after a beat, seemingly finding no reason to keep her name from him. “Gaskill.”
“Kieran,” he replied. “Kieran Duffy.”
He couldn’t hold out his hand to shake hers, but he managed a smile. A moment later, she smiled back.