Their wagon followed in the trail of the caravan, sat in the front next to her new husband, was Charity. They were headed into the wild west to a business opportunity her husband had arranged. He had not been her husband by choice; her parents had traded her as part of a financial deal with this man, more than twice her age. It might have been easier to stomach if he had been handsome but he was unfortunately not and had let himself become overweight as well. His red bulbous nose and yellow teeth might have been something she could have ignored if he had redeeming qualities.
But she had yet to find any. He wasn't kind, he was almost cruel and treated her with no respect. Even when he expected her to perform her 'wifely duties' he focussed on his own pleasure and gave her none in return. Even when she asked him to touch her in ways that would be pleasing, he refused, beaten her and called her 'defective' for not being satisfied with his exceptionally short period of thrusting. Charity looked at this foul man who was her husband and realised she hated him. She was never going to love him and was going to be stuck for years bound to him, she dreaded the idea of bearing his children.
The caravan paused for some reason. She closed her eyes and made a silent prayer. To god or to whatever other forces might be at work in this distant place far from home. May she be rid of her odious husband and free to choose. As if the fates answered with an immediate sense of humour. She heard a bang and felt a splash of warm liquid hit her face. She turned to look at her husband and saw that a large chunk of his head was missing. She heard more bangs and realised. Gunshots, this is an ambush.
She dived into the back of their wagon and took cover. She heard a barrage of gunshots as the caravan guards exchanged fire with the attackers. As it continued the gunshots became less and less until they finally stopped. The air was clagged with the smoke from gunfire, she risked a peek out of the wagon to see if the guards had won or if she needed to make a run for it.
As soon as she did a hand yanked her out of the wagon, she was winded as she smacked into the ground. A scruffy scraggly man stood over her his face covered in beard and filth. He rolled her onto her stomach and bound her hands behind her back. He dragged her to her feet and marched her over to a spot where three other women had been tied up.
She looked around, everyone else was dead. It was just the remaining bandits going through the wagons looting them. They had emptied a wagon and were filling it with valuables. She and the other women had no choice but to sit and watch as they did this. One of the bandits stood over them knife drawn, ensuring obedience. The bandits eventually secured their haul. Charity and the three other women were thrown over the backs of horses and led away.
As the sun was beginning to set the bandits stopped and made camp sheltered in the trees. The eight remaining bandits erected tents, started a fire and retrieved the women from the horses and placed them on the ground, their backs resting against the wagon wheels.
The bandits stood in front of them gawking. One approached and ripped off her bonnet. Charity's long, cooper hair came pouring down. He lifted her chin moving her face side to side, examining it.
"What's yer name beautiful?" He rasped
"Charity." She answered in a flat tone. Not wanting to answer but didn't want to receive punishment for disobedience.
"Charity..." He sniggered. "...I guess I'll be doing charity later. We can all be doing charity later!"
He addressed the other bandits who laughed at the lazy, lowbrow joke.
"Will that count as our good deed for the day?" Joked another.
"I've got something I can donate...I'll leave it deep inside!" Another jeered at her.
As they all laughed, charity refused to react. She wasn't going to let them see her scared. She held onto her disgust, wearing it like armour.
Her lack of expression annoyed the bandit who had ripped off her bonnet. He wanted to see her fear, it was no fun if women just lay there like dead fish.
He pulled her away from the others and threw her on the ground.
"You puritan girls all put up a quiet chaste front. But you'll be making plenty of noise soon. You'll be moaning like a whore as we all have a go!" He derided.
Charity's visage did not crack, she steeled herself. As much as it filled her with nausea and revulsion, the idea of these men touching her, as her hands were bound this was her only means of resistance and she would deny them to her last breath.
The bandit ripped open the front of her dress. He was about to rip through her undergarments when an arrow flew through the air and pierced his throat fully. He pawed at the arrow before falling to the floor gurgling as blood poured out. Several more arrows and gunshots rained down. The bandits fired blindly, unable to tell where the enemy was, they dropped like flies as they were hit by bullets or impaled by arrows.
When the bandits were all downed. Their killers emerged from the trees, they checked all the bandits were dead. Natives, four of them. The bandit still gurgling next to her was promptly ended. An axe buried in his head and the arrow removed, the man who did it stood over and looked at her.
He was tall, densely muscled, golden brown skin, black eyes with long straight black hair, half tied back with feathers arranged in it. He had defined jaw, high cheekbones, a strong brow, set into an angular face. Despite the angry expression he wore, Charity found him handsome, beautiful. Even as he yanked his axe out of the bandit's skull.
One of the natives approached them and spoke English.
"We will not hurt you. Let us cut your bonds and we will talk. Yes?"
She and the other women nodded and consented to have the men come closer and cut their bonds. Charity rubbed her wrists once freed of the ropes and tried to pull the front of her dress back together.
Charity addressed the native who spoke.
"You have our thanks for killing the bandits, but forgive us for asking what your intentions are?"
She gestured to the other three women who were huddled together still scared.
"What are your names?" The native asked.
"That's Catherine, Torrence and Mary. I am Charity." She answered, pointing to each woman.
He nodded.
"I am Moonshadow, that's Dakotan, Ahanu..." He finally gestured to the man who had stood over her earlier. "...and that's Goshawk. We have been hunting these men for a while. They preyed on the caravans that pass through our lands. We have no quarrel with you. We will take their spoils and leave. They slaughtered your caravan, correct?"
Charity nodded.
"To leave you four alone in the wilderness...would be certain death. You are miles and miles from the nearest settlement. The landscape is wild, full of danger from man and beast alike. Even if we were to leave you horses, supplies, guns. How many of you know how to ride and shoot?"
Charity looked back at the other women. All of them shook their heads.
"I can't shoot, what do you suggest?"
Moonshadow continued.
"You could return with us to our tribe. You would have safety and shelter until we deal with white traders who can escort you back. You would have to live amongst us and respect our ways. If this is unacceptable, we understand."
Charity saw the other women reluctantly nodding. Even if they hadn't agreed she was going. Anything was better than dying out here.
"We accept your offer, Moonshadow."
"Let's go then."
The natives looted the bandits. When it came to set off, a small argument started next to the wagon between Moonshadow and Goshawk
"What's the issue?" Charity asked.
Moonshadow sighed.
