A hint of lavender brandished at the base of the horizon, inking it's way into the fading fierce reds of the sunset – an indication of the nightfall soon to take over.

Not that Lana was fussed, laid out carefree on a blanket amongst the wild, long blades of grass. The brazen heat of the day had long since dissipated into a gentle caress of warmth that lingered, oh so welcoming in the sweet summer evening air.

"I must say," that low and broad voice sounded from at her side, pleasantly pulling the singer out of her thoughts, "Your poetry is something else."

The appreciative and sultry enriched tones made her heart beat a little faster.

It was almost like she was wearing this constant rose tinted veil, where she could only seem to see this god-like figure who saved her, and adored her as a person – and seemed to treasure the one thing she loved most about herself – her ability to write.

"Thank you, Dutch." Miss Grant replied in somewhat small voice to masquerade the giddy girlish feeling in her gut.

Sat at her left side, the man sidled closer. Lana had been so busy watching the dreamy skyline that she had not noticed he actually had her very own poetry book in his hand, and had been enjoying reading it in the moment's peaceful silence.

The gang leader made a small noise of quiet contemplation, a smug smile on his face, dark brown eyes fleeting back to the page he was currently reading. "Summer is in the air, and heaven is in your eyes." He narrated from the page. Hearing her written words come from his eloquent and well read tones felt like a perfect match, and it just made the dazed damsel want to sit and listen forever.

After a few more moments, he deterred his gaze back to the singer's; a doting look as he seemed to want to take in the details of her pretty face. The intensity and length of the look had the blush rising at Lana's cheeks. He had been making her feel as of recent very like a little figure lost in the blinding lights cast by a particularly persistent spotlight; the stark white of it overruling the girl from seeing anything else.

"That line is very true when it concerns you, my dear." He adorned his prey with these compliments regularly; not that he really needed to lay it on so thick when Lana was so evidently wrapped around his finger.

Shyly, she had gone to look away to avoid the potency of his stare; but before the singer could do so – he had caught her jaw softly in his fingertips, guiding her shy glance back to look at him. There Lana remained, locked in, her conscious in that moment seemingly eaten alive by the infatuation in his eyes. It was a powerful emotion that ran through her system; something that was frightening – she was sure she had never experienced feelings like this before.

"Are you happy here?" he then asked, blowing up the silence whirring around in Lana's head like a shaken snow globe, causing a sharp fall back down to reality.

Like a hypnotised starlet, Lana looked at him – all rosy-cheeked and starry eyed.

"Yes." A confident answer that took no more than a second to fall from her lips. She had such a strong urge to please him with her words, continue to keep him happy and in her favour.

Dutch's lips quipped into a confident smirk, and between the pair of them, he reached down with his free hand to take Lana's, squeezing it softly.

"... You weren't happy with Harper, were you?" he seemed to be stoking the fire more with his questions, like he just wanted to fill up his ego. This went unnoticed by the girl, who was more shocked to hear Jim's name for the first time in weeks. It soured against her ears, she just wanted rid of him from her mind.

"No. No, and I never want to go back." Lana swore poignantly, and with the secret hope that if she vocalised it then Dutch would not make her go back there again either.

Like light creeping through an opening door, his smirk broadened. He seemed elated with those words, and in turn, this sent a joyful little spark shooting through Lana's chest. Staying in this current dreamworld felt okay, even if she couldn't seem to see past Dutch himself. In this moment, it seemed he was her everything, the singing career which Lana had held so dearly wasn't even in her current trail of thoughts. Whatever potent current of infatuation he had pulled her under, she was well and truly drowning in it.

"No matter what anyone else says," Dutch then whispered to Lana, leaning forwards to press a chaste kiss to her forehead, "You're here because I care."

He cared. The words swelled in her heart and blossomed as full as a summer rose. Someone cared it seemed, for the first time in a long time.

-

~ Weeks Later ~

Low profile trips out to Saint Denis did prove that Harper was indeed searching for his girl, even if he did seem to be taking a backseat with his approach.

Arthur often tripped into the city on small errands on behalf of the gang, and he liked to secretively make note of how many posters went up in the city – or how many of Harper's hired guns he could see without them spotting him.

Arthur just wanted inclination of whether Dutch was going to be in serious trouble when Harper got hold of him, and at least now he had some idea that the Cobalt Jackals' leader was not just about to let his prized possession go without a fight.

The Cobalt Jackals' were a nasty lot of men, they seemed to be a more refined version of the Murfree Brood – sharply dressed animals thirsty for blood. Violent, sadistic and cruel in their ways – but they always managed to do a job relatively cleanly. They never seemed to leave bodies at a scene, it was like every crime was polished chrome. Men who had been in tangles with the gang were never found, they just seemed to disappear without a trace.

And as much as Arthur wanted to punch Dutch at the moment; he didn't fancy his mentor and father-figure coming to any sort of intense harm.

Although these feelings did become conflicted when Arthur wandered back to camp, as in the past few weeks things had heightened to new levels.

Miss Grant had been freed from the back room that had acted as prison.

By now, the whole camp knew something was going on – and no one but Micah seemed to be raving about it.

Molly O'Shea had not been seen in weeks and the last anyone had seen of her, the woman was practically insane from insecurity – drinking herself stupid and reaching the bottom of several gin bottles every night. It seemed that one night every one had gone to sleep, and the next morning – the Irish woman was gone.

A lot of the gang, as much as they had not really enjoyed Molly's company most of the time, were quite angry that Dutch didn't care at all – but no one dared to challenge him as of recent due to his fiery temper. It seemed he hadn't even acknowledged the fact his former partner had just disappeared. Either that or he was pleased about it, so kept the acknowledgement to himself.

On this late August afternoon, Arthur and his reliable Belgian Draft mare, Juniper – plodded into camp back from a quick run to the Gunsmith's in Rhodes.

Running the stirrups up the leathers and tucking them through, Arthur had otherwise been busy sorting Juniper's tack when he caught sight of the singer's figure from the periphery of his eyes. It was then he seemed to stop what he was doing, unable to fixate himself from her form ostensibly floating across camp – dressed stunningly in one of those new summer dresses. It was a china blue colour, a button down front that displayed her slight collarbones that were littered in a faint smatter of sun-kissed freckles. The skirts swept just above her ankles, whilst she crossed the grass barefoot; not looking dissimilar to a whimsical, story book fairy princess of some sort. (Arthur had been reading a lot of storybooks to Young Jack as of recent and was unable to get this image out of his head).

Treading featherlight footsteps into the clover green grass, the woman's direction was unsurprisingly headed for Dutch's tent – which was always opened up and welcomed to the likes of the beautiful Lana.

"Good afternoon, my sweet," Dutch charmed her upon approach, and Arthur had to scoff to himself noticing Mary Beth was already laid out a small distance from the tent (another one of Dutch's favourites it seemed) – as she too greeted  Lana, gesturing to come sit beside her.

What was the big draw with Dutch? Arthur thought to himself, 'if she dislikes Harper – how is he so different?'

Crunching boots in the slightly parched summer grass behind him caused Arthur to turn, and John Marston met him with an equally as perturbed and slightly disgusted look on his face.

"This is gettin' ridiculous." Marston exasperated, standing at Arthur's side as the two watched the scene of Lana and Mary Beth chatting away, laid out in the grass, delicate-looking and untroubled in their dresses whilst Dutch watched on intently from the edge of the tent like some obsessed creep.

"Look at him –starin' at them like a goddamn pervert." John then added, glancing sparingly at Arthur who's jaw was shifting in confusion and disgust alike.

"I know," Arthur returned, "S'like he's still tryna' kid himself he brought her here for questioning when he knows full well what he wants from that girl." Arthur returned back, feeling himself growing angry at Dutch's selfishness for what felt like the millionth time in the past few weeks.

A sweet chorus of girlish laughter from the distance rung in the air like tuneful bluebird chirps, whilst Miss Grant and Mary Beth murmured something quietly to each other with hushed laughter.

"It's weird though, don't ya think?" Marston then added after seeing the delightful smile that lit up the singer's sun-kissed face, "She seems so happy here, like she was never even kidnapped." John chuckled with a scoff of disbelief, as it appeared he was recollecting how absurd this whole thing is.

"He's manipulated her, that's why." Arthur was quick to reply, trying to distract himself from the uncomfortable feeling in his chest as he continued to sort Juniper's saddle in order to remove it, "Y'know what he's like with the ol' Dutch charm." His low tones were laced with bitter sarcasm as Arthur unbuckled the clips of Juniper's girth.

The two men were both very aware of that charm, they too had been subject to it when they had been rescued by Dutch as young lads. They too, could recall the feeling of being saved, as if their suffering would be over at the hands of this godlike figure of a man; who appeared to stand 100 feet tall with his courageous ways.

It was very easy for Dutch to paint such an idealistic picture of himself.

Sparing another glance over the top of Juniper's back, Arthur looked just as Lana lifted herself out of the grass – a delicate sweetheart stepping daintily through the wild, lush green and towards the tent with an adoring smile on her face. He witnessed the way Dutch opened his arms wide- and this was enough to watch for one day. This charade was becoming increasingly more frustrating.

"Poor girl." Arthur grunted as he slogged the heavy leather saddle from Juniper's back and heaped it onto the branch of wild wood that settled between the two tethering posts, making the thing momentarily bow with the sheer weight of the piece of tack.

The outlaw grabbed a nearby pail of water Kieran had just finished using on one of the cart horses – and hauled it over by Juniper.

"He's gonna break her heart, mark my words." Arthur then gruffed, pulling the sodden cloth from the pail and then running it over Juniper's sweat covered mealy chestnut coat. Morgan busied himself with attending to his horse, aware of the fact Marston had not spoken in the last couple of minutes.

John had been quietly watching on, feeling a little sick at the overly affectionate display going on in the tent – Lana now nestled on Dutch's lap, him having pulled her down to sit there – so he could read what the talented girl had been writing in the notebook. John had to pull his gaze away eventually as he cringed at the way Dutch had positioned his chin on her narrow little shoulders, his hands around her waist.

"Yeah.... I can imagine he will." John's gravelly tones finally replied, following by a hefty sigh. "I don't feel this is entirely innocent... S'like he's tryna' butter her up... perhaps he still thinks she knows stuff?" John added.

Marston was very much on Arthur's side of things, the two of them were on the premise of believing that Lana Grant was just a singer, who was forced on the arm of the criminal – she had no interest or need to want to know anything about Jim Harper and the Cobalt Jackals' side of things.

"I don't know... Maybe," Arthur replied to John half-heartedly, having rolled his sleeves up again whilst he carried the pale to the other side of Juniper to wash her coat down. "All I know is that Dutch's got bad habits, he ain't no good for her. No better than Harper."

The two men settled in momentary thoughtful silence, both doing their upmost to avoid looking in the direction of Dutch's tent.

"Anyway, it ain't my place to try and tell her what to do," Arthur then relented, sounding truly fed up as he patted Juniper's strong neck, "The girl will see soon enough," he stated. "One way or another."

Tossing the cloth back into the half full pail of water, Arthur picked up the metal bucket and went to tip it out on the small jetty that overlooked the swamp.

John nodded in thoughtful agreement to Arthur's statement, and decided it too was best he kept out of it. As John cleared out of view, Arthur found himself once again locked in a trance staring at that tent.

It all seemed so wrong, all he could see was a helpless, hypnotised young woman sat in the lap of a monster; her back pressed to his chest whilst he shrouded her like a shadow.

Shaking his head, Arthur turned his back and tried to make a beeline for the jetty without casting a look back again.

It caused him so much frustration to see the girl so under Dutch's self-absorbed spell, and Arthur knew there was nothing he could do help.

Not until, Dutch caused the fall of his own pretence – and shattered the idyllic view Lana had of him. Only then, would Arthur be able to get through.

-