PART ONE

Victoria sat at the dressing table in her dingy hotel room and stared into the mirror. It wasn't a very good mirror, at some point one of the rooms previous occupants had shot it, leaving a spider web of cracks. One forked like lightning through the centre of her image, splitting it in two, an irony which wasn't lost on her. As a child it was often said that she had the face of an angel, and as an adult, maturity had refined those features. Her liquid eyes retained their astonishing blue, her hair it's white curls, though those tresses now tumbled down to her hips. The shape of her face was thinner now, no longer cherubic, but there was still innocence in her expression. Men found her beauty incredibly desirable, but they rarely acknowledged that there was a person trapped behind the face, a soul that existed within that curvaceous body.

The door to the room burst open suddenly, and she jumped to her feet in fear and surprise as four men entered.

"We brought you a little present honey!" Curly Bill Brocius roared at her.

The two thugs with him, both cowboys and easily identifiable by their red sashes, carried in the unconscious form of Johnny Ringo, and deposited him on her bed before leaving. Curly Bill lingered and moved a little closer, still smiling as his eyes roamed over her, resting on the cleavage left exposed above the ivory lace of her peignoir. The right thing to do would be to cover herself, but she would not give him the satisfaction of letting him know that he disturbed her.

"He's dead drunk," he told her. "Ain't no use for nothing."

"So I see." Her voice was expressionless. "He'll sleep it off, no doubt. Good day Mr Brocius."

He laughed loudly. "Well good day to you Duchess."

To her relief he turned on his heel and left the room, closing the door behind him. His departing laughter echoed down the hallway.

Victoria went over to the bed and looked down on the man who was lying there. He was unconscious and he stank of whisky and sweat. She sat beside him on the edge of the bed and reached tentatively across his body to remove his gun from it's holster. His hand shot out suddenly and grabbed her by the neck, his pistol appeared in the other hand, cocked and pointing at her face. He stared at her without recognition.

"Johnny!" she rasped, gently stroking the hand that tightly gripped her throat.

With relief she saw the flash of recognition in his eyes. He put the gun down on the nightstand and pulled her roughly down, onto the bed. His hard mouth covered hers with urgent whisky kisses, his hand raking up the hem of her nightdress, fingers clumsy and painful on her thighs. To her relief his ardour vanished just as suddenly as it had arrived, and his body became heavy on top of hers. He was unconscious again. With an effort she rolled him over onto his back, and got out of bed. He had ripped the nightdress, she realised, and the peignoir was filthy with the dust from his boots.

A decent woman would leave him. Pack a bag and get away. But what decent, respectable woman would be with him in the first place? If only they knew, those women who stared and whispered about her when she left the hotel. What would they say then? She turned and stared into the mirror at her fractured image. How could anyone else be expected to understand when she could make no sense of it herself?

He slept until sunset and awoke with a groan, sitting up in the bed. He looked around slowly until he caught sight of her curled up in the chair by the window, where she had watched the sun go down.

"How long have I been here?" His voice was dry, rasping.

"Since just before noon," she told him quietly.

He poured himself water from the carafe she had placed on the nightstand for him, and drank it down.

"How did I get here, I don't remember?"

"Curly Bill had a couple of cowboys carry you back, you were unconscious."

He frowned, clearly reliving the past days events in his mind, and then nodded. "Too much whisky."

She smiled. "I know. Was it a wake, for Billy and the other cowboys they buried yesterday?"

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots. "It started out that way."

"Will there be trouble?" she asked him, knowing that the outcome of killing a cowboy was always inevitable.

He walked over to her and raised her chin with his fingers to look into her eyes. "Nothing that you should worry about." His eyes caught sight of her neck where the marks from his fingers remained a livid red. He brushed the fingers of his left hand over them so lightly that it made her shiver. "How did that happen?"

"I tried to take the pistol from your holster, I thought you were unconscious. I startled you, I didn't mean to."

He knelt down in front of her. His green eyes burned into hers, his fingers traced the line of her jaw, the contours of her neck. He leaned forward and planted gentle kisses on each of the marks.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. He held her face almost delicately in both of his hands. "Forgive me?"

Gone was the cowboy she hated, the killer she feared, they were replaced by the man whom she loved with a passion that bordered upon insanity.

His eyes were close to hers, and fevered with his emotion. "I never meant to hurt you."

"Ssh." She placed a fingertip against his lips. "I forgive you." She kissed him softly.

"I can make it up to you, if you let me?" The smile on his face left her in no doubt as to what he had in mind. But his words surprised her. "I could take you out. We could eat dinner together downstairs in the hotel dining room, then maybe I could take you to the Oriental."

"The Saloon?" She couldn't keep the shock from her voice.

"That actor and actress from the Birdcage will be there tonight, you said you might like to see them."

"I meant in the theatre," she told him quietly.

He shrugged his shoulders suddenly and turned away from her. He went back over to the bed and removed his gunbelt, prior to shedding his clothes. She knew that he had turned away from her because she had hurt him. Hurt him, most people thought him devoid of feelings, but he wasn't, that wasn't the truth at all. His feelings were eating away at him like some dreadful canker. She didn't want to add to that, but even so, a saloon? The very idea of entering one of those places was outrageous.

"I refuse to enter a saloon with you Mr Ringo, or anywhere else for that matter, until you've taken a bath. You smell worse than a wet dog."

He turned, halfway through removing his shirt, and looked at her with one of those too rare smiles on his handsome face. "I'll have them fill the tub."

When they had first met, one of the many things that had disgusted her about John Peters Ringo was the fact that he rarely bathed. She had pleaded with him to do so, but her protestations either fell on deaf ears or made him angry. She soon learned that there were ways to coerce him that made life far more pleasant for both of them.

He was the first, and only man that she had ever seen naked, but even so she wasn't foolish enough to imagine that all men looked the way that he did without his clothes. She found him quite beautiful. His lean body was as muscular as those of the sculptured male figures she had observed in Italy, though her mother had rushed her away before she had a chance to look too closely. A statue was one thing, a well sculptured man was quite another. She rinsed the soap from his hair as he lay back in the steaming tub, his eyes closed. The soap suds ran over his shoulders, and down his chest. She lathered the cloth and washed his shoulders, then his chest. As her hand snuck down beneath the surface of the water he caught her wrist and his eyes snapped open.

"I'm clean already," he told her quietly.

Victoria smiled at him. "I just wanted to be sure."

"To be sure I didn't catch a wink or two of sleep before we went out?" His eyebrows raised in question.

She laughed. "You might have missed somewhere, I wanted to check. Besides it's not safe to sleep in the bath, you might drown."

"With you around, there's no chance of that. You just like to handle the goods, now aint that the truth?" He asked her, his smile growing.

"Damn you, you can be coarse!" Angry with him she shot to her feet, but he still had a grip on her wrist, he pulled her off balance and down on top of him in the tub, displacing half of the water onto the floor. Despite herself she laughed, and he laughed with her.

"I ought to hate you," she told him.

"No," he pulled her face close to his and kissed her slowly and deeply, before pulling away and gazing into her eyes. "Don't ever do that."

---

PART TWO

Her courage almost failed her as they walked into the Oriental Saloon, her arm linked through Johnny's. She would have felt better if she could have held his hand, but that kind of sentiment was missing from him. He would give her no reassuring squeeze, no whisper of encouragement, and should she lose her nerve and run back to the hotel he wouldn't even consider coming after her. She had agreed to come here with him, and that was what he considered to be a bargain between them. He expected her to do her part, and nothing less. She would try not to let him down.

She had dressed in one of her finest gowns. He had helped her, concerned at how tightly she had forced him to lace her corset, to affect a waist even smaller than usual. When she was ready though the look on his face made it worth the discomfort. During dinner he spent more time feasting his eyes on her than on the food they had ordered. That was one thing she loved about him, he never took her appearance for granted, never expected the effort she made for him. Men had always appreciated her looks before, but she often felt that she was nothing more than a bauble, some glittering prize they were displaying. With Johnny it was different because he made it clear that she meant so much more.

The saloon was full. Full of men, all drinking and talking at once. It was hot and noisy, the air was hazy with the smoke from cigarettes and cigars. The smell of some of it's patrons was clearly not too pleasant either.

To her acute embarrassment the room fell silent as they approached the bar, and she realised that almost every eye in the place was focused on her. She took in as large a breath as she could, and focused on the approaching bartender, grateful that she had been able to fight down the blush that had threatened to creep up her cheeks. The man behind the bar was quite elderly, and smartly dressed beneath his surprisingly clean white apron. He gave her a half smile and then turned his eyes on Ringo, swallowing nervousley.

He shook his head apologetically. "I don't really think this is the place,.." he began.

"Whisky," Johnny told him quietly. "Champagne for the Lady."

The silence was deafening.

"Perhaps she'd feel more comfortable at, at the hotel?" the man stammered.

"Come on now Milt," Bill Brocius boomed, stepping up to the bar on the other side of Ringo, a huge grin on his broad face. "Don't be such an old stick in the mud."

Johnny's expression had not changed. His gaze, which focused on the bartender, was unflinching. She had seen that look before, and she realised with horror that he was capable of killing the man if he insisted that she leave.

"Milt, you sour puss!" The voice that spoke up was loud and drunk, but it was clearly the voice of a southern gentleman.

Victoria gazed at the owner of the voice. He was quite tall and well dressed, though uncomfortably thin. Quite a handsome man if you liked that sort, but his pallid complexion, and the sheen of perspiration on his face, made her think he might be ill. What could not be denied was that this man was clearly the worse for drink.

"Surely," the man continued, weaving his way through the crowd of people around the bar. "It cannot be your intention to deny us the pleasure of gazing on such extraordinary beauty?"

Though his attitude did not change, and his gaze never shifted from the bartender towards the man who approached them, she felt a change in Johnny's demeanour that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. There was something between these two that everyone seemed to either know about, or to sense. People began to move away, clearing the space between the two of them.

"Come on now Milt," urged Bill Brocius, clearly feeling the tension himself. "We don't want to be spoiling anyones fun, now do we?"

"No!" the bartender said quickly, reaching for a glass and filling it with whisky as he spoke. He set it down in front of Ringo. "And champagne for our lady guest, coming right up!"

He continued to glare for a moment, and then picked up his whisky and sipped it. "Best pour another one for Bill."

As soon as he spoke the tension vanished, and the atmosphere in the room, along with the volume of noise, returned to normal. The bartender poured another whisky, and a glass of champagne. He put the bottle down beside her glass. The southern man wandered away, after replenishing his own drink, and went to one of the gaming tables where he stood watching a dark haired woman deal the cards.

"On the house. I meant no disrespect ma'am," the bartender told her.

She smiled at the man who was still clearly nervous. "None taken I assure you."

She picked up her glass and tasted the champagne. To her astonishment it was very good. She squeezed Johnny's arm gently, and he turned to look at her. The hardness was still there in his eyes. She leaned forward to kiss him softly beside his mouth.

"What was that for?" he said quietly so noone else could hear.

"Admiration," she told him. "All of that, simply for a free drink."

He laughed suddenly and kissed her back full on the mouth, for all to see.

Josephine Marcus looked on in surprise as the gunfighter kissed the woman he had brought in with him. She was surprised at the tenderness of the moment, as much as anything else. When Milt Joyce, the Oriental's owner, had protested at someone bringing a lady into the saloon she had felt a little insulted to say the least. When she looked around her though she saw that the only other woman in the place was the one with Doc Holliday, the one called Kate. She wasn't sure exactly what Kate was, but she was no lady that was clear, nor did she pretend to be. Perhaps that was her problem. She had chosen to be an actress, chosen to be forward with men, to defy convention, yet when it reared it's ugly head and she was found wanting she was insulted. No wonder Wyatt Earp chose to feast those hawk like eyes on her yet wouldn't stray from his proper wife. Perhaps the only person Josephine was really fooling was herself.

"Who is that woman?" she asked the County Sheriff John Behan. The woman was incredibly beautiful to look at. The pale peach dress she wore was exquisite, clearly made of the finest silk, it must have cost a fortune. "And more to the point, what on earth is she doing with Johnny Ringo?"

Of all the men she had been introduced to since arriving in Tombstone, Ringo was the only one to make her feel uncomfortable. If he looked at her, and he seldom did, he made her shudder. It was almost as though he could look straight through her, as if she didn't exist at all, and his displays of temper terrified her.

"You mean you haven't heard?" Behan seemed surprised.

"Heard what?" she asked him.

"That decorous beauty is none other than Lady Victoria Wellesley."

"Lady?"

"Well I don't know if that's her exact title I must admit. She's the great granddaughter of the Iron Duke himself."

Josephine almost choked on her drink. "Wellington! You have to be joking."

"I promise you it's true, every word. The old man must be spinning in his grave." Behan was clearly enjoying himself.

"What would she be doing here?" Josephine asked him. It made no sense at all.

"There are two lines of opinion. One is that she is the victim of a kidnap, the other that she's Ringo's mistress. It seems fairly clear from here which opinion is the correct one, she hardly behaves like his victim does she?"

She shook her head. "This is all heresay. I don't believe a word of it."

"That was my thought too, until two detectives, hired by the Wellesley family to locate her, found their way here."

"So she really is his great granddaughter?"

"Without a doubt."

"What happened to them, couldn't you find out anything else?" She was intrigued by the whole affair now.

"All I found was their bodies a mile or two outside of town, both shot through the head. One of them had taken a considerable beating before he died."

"Do you think Ringo did it?"

"Without a doubt, but of course it's impossible to prove. I thought Fred White might approach him with it, but the man was hopeless."

"Hasn't anyone approached the girl, tried to establish whether she's with him or not?" Josephine was certain the girl had been kidnapped, it was clearly the only possible explanation. The fact that she feigned fondness for him was no doubt to make things easier on herself. This whole thing must be a nightmare for her.

"Can you imagine anyone daring to approach her with Ringo to deal with?"

"What about Curly Bill Brocius, if he thought there was money in it for him, some kind of reward, wouldn't he?"

"Curly Bill may seem the part, but rumour has it he's afraid of Ringo. Don't concern yourself my dear, all the evidence points to the fact that the girl is clearly exactly where she wants to be."

Josephine looked at Behan in disgust. ""You're a damned coward," she told him, and walked away.

Victoria had seen many actors like Mr Fabian, and it amused her that half the saloon thought him effeminate, simply because of his long dark hair and Byronesque way of dressing. No doubt he heard all the comments they were making about him, but it didn't seem to bother him, his broad smile made her think that the man was probably quite amused by it all.

He held up his hands and the saloon quickly fell silent.

"I should like to perform for you Antony's famous speech from Julius Caesar," he told them.

"Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; Icome to bury Caesar, not to praise him; The evil that men do lives after them, So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answered it..."

It was a strong, stirring speech, and the mans rich voice did it ample justice. It had always been one of Victorias favourites and she knew every line.

He finished it beautifully.

"....Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it comes back to me."

There was tumultuous applause from the saloons patrons, and Mr Fabian took his bows gratefully. To her surprise and delight, when he had finished he made his way over to her.

"Forgive me," he told her, "for intruding upon your company." He smiled politely at Ringo. "I couldn't help but notice that you knew every word."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't distract you I hope?"

"No, not at all. You know it by heart."

She smiled. "It's quite a favourite of mine."

"Then I hope I did it justice?" He had a wonderful smile.

"Yes, you did, and I thank you. I hope to come and see you at the theatre before you leave. Tell me, will Miss Marcus be singing for us a little later?"

"Alas no, not this evening. She has to rest her voice for tomorrows performance."

"Now that's a real shame," Bill Brocius spoke up. "Would have been nice to hear that nightingale sing, eh Johnny?"

Ringo shrugged. "She aint nothin' special." His eyes rested on Victoria.

"Do you sing Miss,.. Forgive me, we haven't been introduced," Fabian smiled at her.

"Wellesley," she told him. "Victoria Wellesley."

"She sings like a godamned angel, I heard her." Ike Clanton staggered over to them. He was so drunk he could barely stand. "Sing somethin', somethin' pretty like I heard you sing before."

"Would you sing for us Miss Wellesley? I'd be happy to accompany you, if you'd like." Fabian told her.

"I, I don't know." She looked at Johnny for guidance. "Should I?"

He nodded. "Sing."

"Sing somethin' fer Billy," Ike Clanton urged her loudly.

Victoria took in the black arm band. She realised that was why he was so drunk, the wake for his brother Billy was still going on.

"Do you know what Billy liked?" She asked him.

"The music lover!" Doc Holliday, as drunk as Ike was, intruded on the conversation. "He liked Stephen stinking Foster!"

She feared trouble, she had already heard that Holliday had been amongst the men responsible for Billy Clanton's death.

Ike though was too drunk to even realise who had interupted. "It's true, he liked Foster."

"I only know one song by Stephen Foster, but I'll sing it for Billy, if that's what you'd like?" The question was for Ike, but her eyes were on Johnny. He gave her a nod. "Mr Fabian, would you play for me?"

"But of course dear lady."

Fabian was surprised when she whispered the key to him. He had expected that she would sing soprano, but her voice was deep and full as she sang "Beautiful Dreamer". Her voice was as beautiful as she was, and her singing seemed to calm what had been rapidly turning into an awkward situation. He had heard about the shootings behind the OK Corral, and Josephine had seen a little of it, though she admitted that she had hid for most of it, fearing that she might be killed by a stray bullet.

When she finished her song the saloon errupted into applause and cheers.

"Will you sing another?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "No," she blushed delightfully. "I prefer to leave public performances to the professionals, but thankyou for playing for me."

He took her hand and kissed it. "The pleasure was mine," he told her, and he meant it.

She made her way through the crowd back to Johnny. He gave her her glass of champagne and she saw the smile he held for her in his eyes. She had sang for him, as she had done many times before, and he knew it.

---

PART THREE

Josephine Marcus made her way over to the table where Wyatt Earp stood watching a game of poker. He was embarrased that she approached him, that much was clear, and normally she wouldn't have done so in such a public place, but she needed help from someone, and he seemed the obvious choice.

"Mr Earp."

He gave her a half smile. "Miss Marcus, what can I do for you?"

"They say that you were a law man, when you were in Kansas, that's true isn't it?"

"Well I guess it's just about common knowledge now." He nodded.

"And you're Marshall here now?"

"No, my brother Virgil's the Marshall here, I just acted as his deputy the other day." He stared at her with those penetrating blue eyes of his. "Is there something bothering you.?"

"That woman, the one who sang just now. What do you know about her?"

He shook his head. "I don't know anything, why, should I?"

"She's a member of the British aristocracy. I think she's been kidnapped by John Ringo. I think he's holding her here against her will."

Wyatt Earp looked over to where the woman stood beside Ringo. He was talking to her, whispering into her ear, and she was listening, her eyelids lowered, a soft smile on her lips. She didn't look like anyones captive, that was for sure.

"I doubt it." He told Josephine Marcus, with a smile.

"Doubt what?" The deep voice of Virgil Earp the town Marshall asked. He had been shot in the calf during the OK Corral shootings and was walking with the aid of a silver topped cane.

"Marshall, I've been trying to tell your brother, but he doesn't seem to want to believe me. That woman over there with Ringo, her name is Victoria Wellesley. She's the great granddaughter of the Duke of Wellington."

"The Duke of Wellington, what the hell's she doing with Ringo?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. I think she's been kidnapped, that she's being held against her will. Sheriff Behan said that there were some men in town a while ago looking for her, detectives. They were both found shot dead outside of town."

"Behan told you this," Virgil Earp said thoughtfully.

"Now don't go jumping to any conclusions," Wyatt admonished him. "Look at her, she doesn't act like someone who's been kidnapped to me."

"You can't know what kind of threat she might be under, she's probably acting that way in order to make things easier for herself. Do you think she's the kind of woman who would be with a man like that willingly?"

"She has a point. It won't hurt to go over there and talk this thing out."

"Talk it out! " Wyatt couldn't believe his ears. "Do you think that Ringo's going to sit down and talk through his private life with you?"

"He has no choice, I'm the law!" his brother insisted.

"You're a dead man if you go over there and try it! Virg, we're not talking about Billy Clanton and the McLaury brothers now, we're talking about John Ringo, and he's as sober as a judge. Even as drunk as he was yesterday, and with Doc on our side, I was loathe to take him on with the four of us. It's true we might have killed him, but at least one of us would have died, you know that. Now you want to take him on, just the two of us, 'cos Doc's as drunk as a skunk?"

"You don't think we could do it?"

"Dear god man, do you!"

Josephine left the two men arguing. It was clear that they wouldn't do anything, at least not without proof. But if she could get to the girl, talk to her and maybe get her to talk to the Earps, perhaps that would be enough. She made her way over through the crowd, stopping to talk to people on her way. To her releif when she neared Victoria Wellesley she saw that she was, for the moment at least, on her own. Ringo was deep in conversation with Curly Bill Brocius.

She gave the younger woman a smile and walked over. "Your song was lovely," she told her.

"Thankyou. It's Miss Marcus isn't it?"

"Josephine please."

"And I'm Victoria, Victoria Wellesley."

"I know," she lowered her voice. "I know everything, and I want to help."

"Help," Victoria stared at the dark haired woman, confused. "I don't know what you mean."

"I know who you are, who your great grandfather was," the woman whispered. "I've told the Marshall, he can help you if you let him."

"The Marshall, what would it matter to him who my great grandfather was, to anyone for that matter?"

"He can get you away from Ringo, back to your family."

She laughed suddenly. "Why on earth should I want to leave him Miss Marcus?"

"He can't keep you with him, not against your will," the woman insisted.

She smiled, the woman clearly had the best of intentions, even if she was a little misguided. "He doesn't have any kind of hold on me, I assure you Miss Marcus. At least not of the type you seem to mean. I'm with John Ringo because I want to be, I'm in love with him."

"In love with him!" The woman's face curled in disgust. "He's an animal!"

"An animal! What do you know about him? About any of this? Do you think you know a man because you've heard stories of his reputation?" She was furious with this woman.

"But you come from such a fine family, you,...."

"None of that means anything Miss Marcus, don't you know that? " She laughed. "Let me educate you, let me tell you how I came to be here with this man you find so reprehensible.

---

PART FOUR

"I came here to America as part of a hunting party, organised and led by my fiancee Charles. You would think him the perfect man for me Miss Marcus. He is handsome, wealthy, a peer of the realm in fact. He is a little older than me, but not too much. Though I didn't love him I was happy with the man who had been chosen to be my husband, and my mother convinced me that love would blossom in time."

"That's a lot to accept," Josephine realised.

"One of the conditions one has to accept when coming from such an illustrious background. My parents were more liberal minded than most. It was a measure of their attitude, and of course of the absolute trust they had in my fiancee, that they allowed me to go along on the hunting party. Lady Saunders, an old and trusted friend of my mothers was coming along on the trip with her husband, and she had agreed to act as chaperone. We were all very eager to come here. None more so than I. I had seen a Wild West Show in London, and I had read all about the exploits of men like Wild Bill Hickock.

"When I arrived here the west lost most of its appeal quite quickly, and so did Charles. Very little hunting took place at all, the majority of the men who were his friends, spent their time drinking and gambling, amongst other less palatable pursuits. We ladies did our best to make good of the situation, but it got worse.

"Charles had employed a number of local people as scouts, guides, wranglers and servants. They were treated very badly by him, and most of the good ones left, leaving us with nothing but the dregs. By the time we arrived in New Mexico quite a number of our party had left too. My chaperone Clara Saunders had been quite ill, due to the heat, and her husband thought it would be wise if they returned home. They wanted me to leave with them, but Charles convinced them that I would be in the safest of hands with him, and to be honest I wanted to stay. This was my first taste of freedom, and I was eager to savour every minute of it...."

It wasn't until she arrived in New Mexico that she first saw Johnny Ringo. They had made their camp in the ruins of a long abandoned fort. She had been helping Maria Sanchez, one of the women they had hired, to do the laundry. There had already been words between her and Charles about her helping the servants. He had told her she was demeaning herself, but that wasn't how she saw it. There just weren't enough people to do the work, and she needed clean clothes so it made sense to help.

Maria was a nice woman. Since Clara left she had taken on the mantle of unofficial chaperone, but Victoria didn't mind.

Three riders rode into the fort that hot, dusty afternoon. She was surprised to see the hired men take care of the strangers horses and welcome them into camp, they were a surly collection of men at the best of times. They were deferential to the three newcomers though, that was plain to see.

"Do you know who those men are Maria?" she asked the older woman. "The ones who just rode in."

"You see the red sashes they wear at their waists?" she pointed out. "Those sashes show that the three men are Cowboys. That's what they wear, so that you will know."

"Cowboys?"

"Pistoleros, senorita. Out here there is no law, other than the word of the Cowboys. The one in front there, the one in the dark jacket, is Johnny Ringo. Of all the Cowboys he is the one who is feared the most."

"Why?" Victoria studdied the man. There didn't seem to be anything fearful about him that she could see. In fact he was a rather attractive man. Taller than Carles, and though he was quite slim he was broad at the shoulders. His face was unusually handsome, with large eyes and a sensuous mouth, captured between his pointed moustache andsmall goatee. Cleaned up, and with the right clothes he would look extremely presentable.

"He has done many bad things, killed many men," Maria told her. "And they say that it gives him pleasure."

At that moment the man turned and locked eyes with her. He broke the stare first, but only to let his eyes rake over her body.

The older woman pulled at her arm. "Come inside senorita I beg you."

For a moment it was almost as though she were mesmerised. She lowered her gaze and went into the tent with Maria close on her heels.

That evening, at dinner, the reason for the visit of the Cowboys became known to her.

"It would seem," Charles announced, in a voice and manner Victoria had come to find very boorish. "That these three men wish us to pay some kind of tribute, a tax if you like for being here."

"A tax?" Sir Geoffrey Rushton asked him.

"So Jesse Mallory the head wrangler tells me. He urges us to pay it, no doubt because he's privvy to this little scheme." In polite society Charles Stephenson was considered to be quite a catch, by far the most eligible batchelor of his generation. He was thought to be a very handsome man. His fine black hair was always immaculate. His heavy lidded eyes were unusually blue, though rather deep set. He sported a full moustache, but no beard, which suited his square jawed face. He wasn't a very tall man,barely taller than Victoria, but he had a vert powerful build.

"You've refused of course?"

"Of course. Now Mallory insists that if we don't pay, he and most of the other hired people will leave. He tells me that we can't pay them enough to stay on and go against these villains. All bluff of course."

"I wouldn't be too sure Charles," she interjected.

"Really Victoria, and what would you know about it?" His tone was condescending.

"Well, I watched those three men ride in today, and I saw the way the hired men treated them. Mrs Sanchez told me that those men are what they call Cowboys. You can identify them by those red sashes they wear. It would seem that because of the lack of any kind of law and order here, the Cowboys are firmly in control."

"What utter nonsense," Charles laughed. "Mrs Sanchez is simply filling your head with wild tales to frighten you."

"If that's the case then she was succesful," Victoria admitted. "I am convinced. What does Mr Mallory advise?"

Charles slammed his wine glass down hard on the table, clearly very angry. "Advise! What does he advise? Mallory is a hired man,a servant. He is a menial, paid to perform menial tasks, not to think, not to advise! We have already had occasion to discuss your demeaning yourself by doing manual labour, now it would seem that you are more disposed to listen to the servants than you are to listen to your fiancee!"

"But Charles," she insisted, she knew she had a point.

"Enough!" he was furious. His face had reddened in rage, and his pale blue eyes glared at her. "You are excused."

She couldn't believe it, he was dismissing her from the table like she was a little girl. She gazed around at the faces of the others for support, but none of them would even meet her eyes.

"You will mind me madame!" He snarled at her.

Victoria stod up. She could feel herself shaking in both anger and fear, but she managed to walk steadily back to her tent.

She wouldn't cry, she was determined not to. She was not a child, nor was she his wife, and he had no right to speak to her in that manner.

Senorita?" Maria popped her head through the tent flap. "Is everything alright?"

She smiled half heartedly at her. "No, I don't think it is."

"I heard him shouting," the woman told her as she stepped inside. "Was he shouting at you?"

She nodded. "I should have left with Lady Saunders. I was wrong to stay," she realised.

She sat down on the bed and Maria came to sit beside her.

"He wouldn't listen to me at all," she told her. It was odd, she would never have cosidered confiding in one of the maids back home in such an open manner. There was a difference in this place, and in these people. An independence of mind and spirit. She found it both refreshing and engaging, but doubted that many of her peers would think the same.

"I know it is not my place to say," the woman said hesitantly,"but I am a mother, and I have daughters of my own."

"I didn't know that." It was a trivial thing, but suddenly it seemed important. "Where are they, your daughters?"

"With their husbands, all four of them." She smiled proudly. "I have ten grandchildren and another on the way. My daughters have found good men, and so should you senorita. The Lord Charles is not for you. There is spirit in you, laughter, perhaps a little wildness, and I do not think that is what he wants. It is not my place but,.."

Victoria looked at her. Maria had such a nice face, such genuine concern in her eyes. She took her hand and squeezed it gently. "Thankyou, for caring enough to say this to me, for being my friend when I need one. I think I've known for a while now that Charles isn't the man for me. I can't marry him."

"What will you do?"

"I don't know, speak to my parents upon my return, I'm sure they will understand."

"What will he do about the Cowboys?"

"Nothing." she admitted. "He thinks it's just some plot Mr Mallory and the others have hatched to get more money. He refuses to pay."

"Then you should leave," the older woman told her flatly.

"Leave?"

"It will not be safe for you here senorita," she told her. " The men will not stay, they will not risk their lives for your friends."

"But what about the others," she asked. It was a prepostorous idea. "I can't just leave them?"

"Do you think any of them would stay for you?" she asked.

Victoria remembered the way that no one at the table would look at her. "What about you Maria?"

"I will travel to the nearest town with you, there will be a telegraph there, perhaps even a stage. It is time for you to leave I think. Go back to your family, and I will go back to mine."

"Just leave?" It seemed such a final thing to do, such a frightening thing, to be alone in this strange, huge country.

"I could speak to senor Mallory for you. He is not a bad man. We could take one of the wagons and let him escort us to the nearest town. Do you have money of your own you can pay him with?"

She nodded."A little."

"I have some saved, together it will be enough," She assured her. " Shall Iask him then?"

"I don't know Maria. To leave everyone, it seems so wrong. I have to think about this." She picked up her shawl from the bed. "I need some fresh air, some time to think."

One thing she would always remember about this place was the vastness of the sky. The night sky in particular held an endless, magical beauty for her. It was ever changing, and she never tired of looking at it. Perhaps the trip had not been entirely in vain, this country had proved to be beautiful. It was wild, and untamed perhaps, but it was more spectacular than anything she could ever have imagined. She smiled and stared back up at the sky, filled with it's countless stars.

"Think God's in his heaven?"

The voice came out of the darkness right beside her, and it startled her. It's owner stepped out into the light, and she saw that it was the man, Ringo. He was looking up at the stars, just as she had been.

"I don't know," she told him. "It would be nice to think that were so." She answered him as evenly as she could, but she was afraid. She had walked some distance from the camp, and this by all accounts, was not a man to be trusted.

"Do you believe Miss Wellesley?"

"You know my name." She was surprised.

"One of the men told me," he answered matter of factly. "Someone told you mine too, didn't they?" He had a surprisingly soft voice, with a sing-song quality to it that she found very pleasant.

"You're Ringo. Why are you holding the hunting party to ransome?"

He laughed. "You're scared, but even so you just come right out with it, don't you?"

"I want to know." He was right, he did scare her, but she wasn't sure it was for entirely the right reasons.

He shrugged. "Seems like the thing to do. They gonna pay these fancy englishmen?"

"I don't believe so," she admitted. "Why should they?"

"It would be the wise thing to do," he told her quietly. "There's no law out here. The army won't come out lessin they have to, and they surely wouldn't give no permission for you folks to be out here either. You didn't answer my question before, do you believe?"

She was busy trying to take in the information he had given her. Charles had assured him that they were safe here, that they were here with the full knowledge and cooperation of the army. She looked at this man, he had no reason to lie to her.

"Yes," she answered his question. "I believe. I take it that you do not."

"Well that's where you're wrong. I was brought up to believe that God was good, that he loved me."

"Then how could you do the things they say you have done if you're a believer?" What was she doing debating morality with a man she had been told was a murderer?

"God in his heaven aint waitin' for me. I lost my soul to hell a long time ago, God made sure of that."

"How could god make you sell your soul?" she asked him.

"Cause one day he looked down on me from heaven and he shat on me. Go back to your tent Miss Wellesley, before you become another sin on my list." He turned and walked away into the darkness.

---

PART FIVE

Her encounter with Ringo left Victoria in no doubt about leaving. As soon as she returned to her tent she sent Maria off to talk to Jesse Mallory, whilst she started packing away her things.

Maria returned to confirm that Mallory had agreed to her plan. They would leave tomorrow, take the wagon and travel to the nearest town. She wanted to avoid another confrontation with Charles, so they would leave mid-morning, once he and his cronies had left on their shoot. She didn't have a problem with trusting the wrangler. He had always come across to her as a decent man who should have earned Charles' respect at the very least. But it would appear that her fiancee had little respect for anyone or anything, other than himself.

The only thing that worried her about this whole debacle was what her parents would think. She knew that when they found out that she had left the others and set out, as they would see it, on her own, they would be angry. But, surely once she had explained the circumstances to them they would understand. She would not be forced into a marriage she did not want, at least she was sure of that.

At breakfast the next day she sent word that she was indisposed because of the heat, and would not be joining the shoot. Charles would no doubt assume that she was sulking after their disagreement of the night before, but that suited her well enough, he could believe whatever it was he liked. Maria kept her eyes open and told her when the shooting party had left.

Moments later Mallory arrived. "These your things Miss?" he asked her, nodding at the trunk and the bags.

"That's everything," she assured him.

He lifted his hat and scratched at the sandy hair beneath. "Well, if I drag out that trunk thing, do you think you ladies might manage the bags between you? The wagon's all ready, I just need to hitch up the team."

The one part of the ruined fort that was still in fairly good condition was the barn, and the wagon stood waiting for them inside. The three of them loaded up the trunk and bags with surprising alacrity, and the wrangler was soon at work hitching up the horses.

"Going somewhere my dear?" Mr Mallory was about to help Victoria up into the wagon when Charles' voice interupted them.

She turned and looked at him. "I was hoping to leave without anymore fuss Charles."

"Leave," he laughed. "I don't think so."

"I won't stay here any longer," she told him firmly and evenly. "I'm sorry."

"You'll do as I damned well tell you!" he roared, his large face flushing with colour.

"No! I won't. I had meant to spare you this in front of strangers, but you make reasonable behaviour impossible. I do not intend to marry you," she told him. "Our engagement is off. It's clear to me, and I'm sure it must be clear to you by now that we simply are not suited."

"You're a head strong, insolent little bitch, with far too much to say for herself, but rest assured Victoria, on our return to England we will be married, and I shall take it upon myself to correct your behaviour."

She shook her head sadly. "It's clear that talking to you any further is pointless. Come along Mr mallory, it's time we were leaving."

"Yes Ma'am."

She turned to Mallory who prepared to help her up onto the wagon.

"Leave her be Mallory, that's an order!"

"I'm sorry Sir Charles," the wrangler told him. "I don't work for you anymore. I quit. I'm working for Miss Victoria here now."

"Then let me put it another way for you. Unhand my fiancee, at once!"

"You're full of sh,....."

The blast from the shotgun took off the top of the mans head and left his body suspended, twitching for a moment, before it collapsed lifeless to the floor.

Victoria screamed. The wranglers blood and god knows what else was all over her. She couldn't believe her eyes, couldn't believe what he had done. He must have been holding the shotgun behind his back the whole time.

"Your lover can't help you now Victoria."

She looked up at him, flabbergasted. "What are you talking about? Dear God Charles, what have you done?"

He walked towards her, learly not listening to a word she said. She backed away from him as far as possible, but the wagon was behind her and blocked her escape from him.

"So, what was it you gave him?" he asked her. " A kiss on the cheek and just a glimpse of those pleasures perhaps, just as you gave me? No, I don't think so. Is it the rough trade you enjoy Victoria, is that what he was giving you?"

"Don't be so disgusting!" She couldn't believe the things he was saying or what he had done.

"Disgusting. You let that bastard fuck you and you call me disgusting?" He had her pressed up against the wagon bed. He was mad, his eyes looked as though they would pop out of their sockets at any moment.

"Get away from me!" She screamed at him.

He back handed her suddenly across the face. Pain, the likes of which she had never felt before, exploded in her cheek.

"Is this how you like it madam, is this what you want?"

He must have dropped the gun because he was pulling at her clothes with both of his hands, ripping her travelling costume. She tried to fight him so that she could get away. She never expected the punch he delivered to her stomach. She doubled over in agony. She was barely able to breathe and yet she was sure she would be sick. He didn't give her time to recover, he grabbed her, ripping open her blouse and tearing it away at the front.

"Now lets see what you've been hiding from me all this time, shall we?" With all his force he ripped away her underwear exposing her breasts, whilst his other hand held her neck in a vice like grip, choking off her air.

"Leave her be!" Maria Sanchez flew at him like a hell cat, desperately trying to pull him off her.

He turned suddenly and caught Maria with a blow to the head that felled her. "Interfering witch!" He scooped up the shotgun from the floor, clubbing wildly at the unconscious woman.

"No!" Victoria screamed. "No!"

"Quiet!" he turned on her again, throwing her down onto the floor. He came down on top of her and started pulling up her skirts.

"No Charles," she begged him. "No please! Please, don't do this!"

He struck her again, open handed across her face. His knee rammed into her, forcing her legs apart. He was like some animal, and he was hurting her, hurting her so much! Everything room began to spin...

Ike Clanton fought to keep the horror he was feeling off his face as he watched Johnny Ringo work on the screaming Englishman with his knife. His brother Billy didn't have as much self control, and ran into one of the animal stalls. Ike could hear him throwing up.

"Hell Johnny, why didn't you just kill him?" Ike asked his friend as he moved away, cleaning off his knife with a handful of straw.

"He can't remember if he's dead." The voice was soft as usual, but the eyes were lit up wildly. It was a look Ike had come to recognise in the man, and it scared him shitless.

He walked over to the girl who lay unmoving on the floor. It looked like she'd fainted, but that didn't bother him none. A girl didn't have to be conscious, 'specially if she looked as good as this one.

"We gonna take our turn now, show her what it's like to be with a Cowboy?" The thought made him hard as a rock.

"Put her in the wagon," Johnny told him. "She's coming with us. You make a move on her Ike and I'll cut your eyes out. You understand me?"

"Sure Johnny," he gulped. "Whatever you say. Billy!" he shouted over to his little bother. "Stop puking your guts up and give me a hand here!"

---

PART SIX

Victoria opened her eyes and woke up to pain. Her face was on fire. She remembered, Charles had hit her! Dear god, Charles, where was he? She sat up in panic and looked around her.

She was in a bed in a place she did not recognise, some kind of dwelling. The room was untidy, and it had a musty smell, but she felt warm enough, and the lumpy bed was comfortable enough.

"It's not that I don't mind admiring the view, but it might be best if you covered yourself." A familiar voice told her.

Johnny Ringo sat in a chair in the corner of the room, his feet resting on the end of the bed. She hadn't noticed him at first. It took her a moment to realise what he meant. She was half naked where Charles had ripped away her clothes. She grabbed a blanket and covered herself quickly.

"Where am I, what is this place?" It hurt her to speak.

"It's just a ranch," he told her quietly.

"Who lives here?"

"I do, now and then. I bought this place a while back with a couple of friends of mine."

"Charles, the man who was, he was,..." Oh god, what he did, she couldn't say it, didn't want to think about it. "H,how did I get here?" she asked him.

"We interupted him having his fun. Had a little chat with him."

"Maria," she remembered. "What about Maria?"

"She's dead, like Mallory."

"Oh God!" It was too much to take in.

"Why'd he do that?" Ringo asked her.

She looked into the green of his eyes. "I don't know." It was beyond her imagining how one man could be so violent, so cruel. "I think he's insane."

"I was meaning God," he told her. "Why'd he let that wrangler die, the mexican woman? You think he should have let that bastard rape you, what did you ever do to god that made him so angry?"

"God didn't do those things, Charles did. What happened to him?"

"I told you, I had a little chat with him." He sat forward in his chair. "That's not what you want to hear is it? You want me to be your avenging angel, you want him dead and you're hoping I did it for you, aint that the truth?"

"Yes, it is! To my shame it is!" She looked away from him and down at her hands.

"He just shat on you too."

She looked up at him slowly. "Is that what you believe?"

For a moment he met her eyes and she saw more grief in them than she ever hoped to witness, but he looked away quickly and got to his feet. "You can stay here till I decide what it is I'm gonna do with you. I had your things brought in," he pointed out her trunk and bags.

"Thank you," she told him, but he was already half out of the door.

To her surprise she was left pretty much to herself, no one disturbed her. This ranch, as they called it, had two rooms, and the men used the other. The two other Cowboys she had seen at the fort were with him. Her face was painful, and when she looked at herself in the mirror she could see why. She was badly bruised, and her cheek was swollen, but there were no cuts. When she took off the tattered remnants of her clothes there were more dark purple bruises all over her body. Her more private parts felt raw, and it hurt her to walk, but what hurt her the most was the memory of it, and the shame.

"Can I clean myself?" she asked Ringo. He was the only one than came into the room, and when he did it was to sit in the chair. Sometimes he would talk, and other times he would not say a word, or even look at her. It was strange behaviour, but she didn't feel threatened by it.

"There's a jug, just say when it gets empty."

"No, I mean can I bathe, is there a bathtub I could use?"

"There ain't one of those," he told her.

That at least explained the smell. "Then I'll make do with the jug, thankyou."

"There's the river, you could use that," he suggested.

"Could I go there now do you think?" It was the warmest part of the day.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I guess."

She got her things together hurriedly, before he had a chance to change his mind. He led her outside the confines of the ranch buildings for the first time in the four days since she'd been there. The only time she had left her room was to use what they called the outhouse. To be fair he had not confined her to the room, she just felt more comfortable there, alone. In fact Ringo had treated her quite well and she was afraid to do anything that might make his attitude towards her change.

It was nice to be outside, and despite a little discomfort it was nice to have the chance to stretch her legs. The ranch was just a large cabin really, built of logs. It had a couple of outbuildings but it ramshackle, not up to much at all until you saw where it was situated. The valley it was in was one of the prettiest places she had ever seen. The river was only a short walk away and lined with trees and bushes. It looked easy enough to get down to the water.

She smiled at him. "Thankyou."

She started to make her way down to the waters edge until she realised that he hadn't moved. He was still stood where she had left him, watching her.

"Do you have to stay?" she asked him.

"I don't have to, but I ain't goin' anywhere," he told her.

"Please?" she asked him.

"Tell you what, I'll sit myself down here against this big old tree. You can get your things off in those bushes so I can't see you."

"Alright," she would agree To almost anything for the chance to bathe. No matter how many times she had tried to wash herself in the cabin, she was sure she could still smell Charles scent on her.

"Miss Wellesley?"

"What?" she asked him.

"If you try and run,..."

"I won't, I swear." She didn't want to hear what he would do to her.

Ringo sat down, his back against the tree and took off his hat. He liked this place. He had seen the look on her face when she saw the river, it told him that she liked it too. He wished that that didn't matter to him, but it did. She had been in his thoughts ever since the first time he had laid eyes on her at the fort, and he couldn't take his mind off her. It wasn't just the way she looked it was the way she was, the way she moved, and spoke, the way her eyes were when she looked at him. When he saw her, pinned under that sweating hog, saw him ramming into her! He rubbed his eyes as though to push the thoughts away.

He stretched his neck a little to see if he could see what she was up to. The bushes near the bank were covered in womans clothes, all manner of things. Damn fine way to spend a hot afternoon. He heard a splash and then he saw her stood waist deep in the water, her back was to him and she was naked. He smiled to himself, she'd be mortified if she knew that he could see her through the gap in the bushes. She was unpinning her hair he realised. Like all women she wore it fastened up. He liked the colour of it, it was almost white, lots of tiny curls always framed her face. He felt himself become hard as she released her hair and shook it out. It was beautiful, right down to her hips at least he realised, as it floated on top of the water.

He couldn't watch this. If he watched anymore he would go down there and take her himself. What was stopping him, why didn't he just do it? Push that wet body down into the soft earth and take away the ache he had been feeling all this time. But they weren't there, the devils in his head that drove him to do those things. She was driving them away when she looked at him. He covered his face with his hands and wept, he hadn't wept since, since,....

He didn't know how long she had been there. She was knelt in front of him, her arms around him. She had some kind of underwear on, and she was still wet. His nostrils were filled with the smell of lavender soap.

"Get off of me! Get off!" he screamed at her. "I don't want to hurt you, I don't. Don't you understand?"

"Ssh, it's alright." She whispered to him. Instead of moving away she came closer, her body against his, tentatively at first, and then she began to stroke his hair.

He couldn't help himself, he put his arms around her. He needed to hold on to someone.

She held him for what must have been well over an hour. He had placed his own arms around her waist, his head was against her chest. There was nothing sexual in the way he hald her, it was more like the embrace of a child. He sobbed at first, but after a while he became quiet. She couldn't do anything other than hold him, and as she did she continued her gentle stroking of his hair.

She had never seen or heard anything like that before, but it was clear that he was hurt in some way that she did not understand. She had heard his cries as she bathed in the river, and at first she had been fearful, until she realised where they were coming from.

He had begun to tremble, and she place her hand on his forehead. He was hot, burning up in fact.

"We should go back," she told him, hoping that he could hear here. She struggled to her feet, and he rose with her, yet he seemed oblivious to his surroundings. He seemed to be off in some world of his own. Still barefoot, and dressed only in her underwear she led him back to the ranch.

As she approached she saw Ike Clanton, one of the other two Cowboys, sat out on the porch. He saw them coming and rose to his feet.

"Help me!" she shouted to him. "He's sick, help me to get him inside."

The man came running. "Holy shit. Billy, Billy!" he yelled. "Get your ass out here!"

"I don't know what's wrong with him." she told the older man. "He was fine earlier."

"I seen this before, we better get him inside." His younger brother Billy came out and together the two men half carried Ringo inside the ranch house.

They went into the room that Victoria had been using and put him down on the bed. He was shivering violently now, but his body was drenched in perspiration.

"Billy, go get some rope so we can tie him to the bed," Ike instructed.

"Tie him," she was horrified. "Why?"

"I told you, I seen him like this before. It's the brain fever. He don't know where the hell he is or what he's doin'. He'll as like try to kill us, if not hi'self. We need to get that pistol and knife off him."

"Let me try?"

She didn't wait for his answer, but went to sit beside him on the bed. He was conscious, or at least his eyes were open, but they were staring and he was mumbling incoherently. She reached up and brushed the hair back, out of his eyes with her fingers. He seemed to focus on her then.

"The voices!" he told her, his eyes were wild and staring. "Keep them out of my head!"

"Ssh," she told him, tenderly stroking his cheek. "Rest now, everything will be alright. Just close your eyes."

Obedientley he did as she said.She continued her gentle caress until his breathing evened out and it became clear he was sleeping. Carefully she slipped his pistol from it's holster and handed it to Ike Clanton. She was able to do the same with his knife.

"Well I'll be damned," he said in surprise.

She talked Ike out of tying him down to the bed by promising that she would keep him calm, though she had no idea how she might do it. His sickness lasted for days, and a fever raged in him. She peeled the sweat soaked clothes off of him, placing cold compresses on his brow to cool him. She gave him drinks of water whenever she could, fearful that he might otherwise die of thirst. As the fever raged in him the words came pouring out. He relived what she took to be terrible tragedies from his youth, and he had the most horrific nightmares, dreadful things seemed to haunt his sleep. She nursed him, held him, and cared for him as best she could. When all else failed she sang to him, lullabys from her childhood, even hymns, and the sound of her voice seemed to soothe him.

She was so beautiful. Johnny Ringo woke to find himself in bed with Victoria Wellesley beside him. Her head lay on the pillow, and her arm lay protectively across his bare chest. She was wearing a nightdress, a modest affair, trimmed with lace and a little ribbon. Her hair spread out around her like a cloud, framing her face with soft curls. He could feel the warmth from her body, and see the flush of colour in her cheeks. Her lashes were long, thick and fair, fanned out onto her cheeks, he had never noticed them until now. Her lips were different, he found it hard to keep his eyes off them. They had that perfect bow shape and a soft pinkness. They were slightly parted and he had to fight the urge he had to kiss them. He didn't want to spoil this moment, lying beside her.

He watched her stir, her eyes open slowly and widen as they focused on him. The hand that had lain on his chest reached up now to touch his brow.

"How do you feel?" she asked him.

"How long have I been sick?" he asked her. He had vague recollections, fragments of memory, or dreams, he wasn't sure which.

"Four days now," she told him. A blush was creeping up into her cheeks. "I should go if you're feeling better, this isn't proper."

"No, don't go." He placed a hand on her shoulder to restrain her and saw her cringe in fear.

"Don't hurt me." she asked him. "Please."

The bruises had all but gone from her face and he had forgotten for the moment, what had happened to her.

"I won't hurt you," he told her. He could never hurt her, but he couldn't admit it, not even to her.

"Let me up then."

He released her and she clambered quickly out of bed. He lay there and watched her slip on a dressing gown. She brushed out her hair then and tied it up with a ribbon. He knew that his watching her like this was making her self concious, but he couldn't resist.

"You ought to rest," she told him. "Do you think you could eat something?"

He nodded.

She went out into the other room, grateful to find that Ike Clanton was there on his own. His brother Billy made her nervous, the way he looked at her. Ike on the other hand went out of his way at times to avoid looking at her.

"How is he?" the man asked her.

"He's awake, but he should rest for a while. I came to get him some food."

He nodded. she could feel his eyes on her as she spooned out some of the stew they had been eating into a bowl.

"You're scared of him now, ain't you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked him, turning to face the other man.

"You weren't afraid of him when he wus sick, y'are now."

"He couldn't hurt me when he was ill, now he can, that scares me," she admitted

"He ain't gonna hurt you none. Did he tell you what he did to that fella who tried messin' with you."

"No, I just know that he didn't kill him."

"No, he didn't kill him, he took a knife to him and slice up that face of his so bad no ones ever gonna want to look at him again. Then he gelded him."

"Oh god!" she was horrified.

"I seen the way he looks at you," Ike told her. " I didn't know then why he done it, but I know now."

"Do you think that makes it alright?"

"That ain't whaut I'm sayin'. You ain't no dime a dozen whore, you're a real lady, I know that. You can't tell me that you nursed him, held on to him in that bed the way you did, with out you had some feelin' fer him too. Me and Johnny been friends a long time, and sometimes he scares me shitless, but I ain't never seen him act the way he done since he saw you. That's all I'm sayin."

"Is Ike still here?" Ringo asked her when she returned with the food.

She nodded. "Billy too."

"They give you any trouble while I was sick?"

She came and sat beside him on the bed. "No, no trouble."

He tried to sit up a little, but he was weaker than he thought. She noticed though, and propped some more pillows behind him, her body moving close to his as she did so. When she saw how unsteady his hands were she spoon fed him too.

"Have you done this before, taken care of someone who's sick?"

"No, never."

"No, I guess not, guess you had things real easy huh?"

"I live the life I was born to, the life circumstance dictates for me." She took a damp cloth and almost unconsciousley wiped around his mouth.

"Why did you come here with him?" Ringo asked her. "Did you love him?"

"No, I've never loved him, but I thought he was a good man." She stared at the cloth in her hands. "I didn't know him>"

"But you were going to marry him?"

"Yes, that was the plan for me. I was expected to make a good marriage, and my parents thought that Charles was the perfect partner for me. I thought so too." She looked up into his eyes, her own seemed to be a more startling blue than usual. "Ike told me what you did to him. Why did you do that? Why didn't you just kill him?" Tears filled her eyes.

"I wanted him to remember what he did to you," he told her. "What he can never do again, that's if he lived." He smoothed his moustache and his green eyes blazed with passion. The intensity of the words and the look startled her.

"Why?"

"Cause I," he shook his head. He reached out sudenly and grasped her hand. "I've been thinking about you ever since I saw you that first time. I ain't ever had much time for women before, never seen one like you before, I,... " His eyes bored into hers. "When I saw what he'd done, I wanted to cut his heart out, I couldn't hurt him enough for touching you. Don't you understand?" He squeezed her captured hand. "If you want him dead then I'll hunt him down and kill him."

"No, no more death, no more pain, there's been enough of both."

"I bring death with me," he told her, his voice quiet. "There's a darkness within me that threatens to overwhelm me, a kind of madness maybe. I never saw a chance to redeem my soul until I met you. I need you, I want you more than I ever thought possible. Do you, do you have any feelings for me?" He pleaded with her.

"I don't know what I feel about you. So much has happened and I don't know where i am, who I am, what I want, not anymore. I'm afraid of the past, the future, and I'm afraid of you. The things you say and do are all too much for me."

"You've no feelings for me then?"

"That's just it," she told him. "I do. That first day, you looked at me. I didn't know that a look from a man could make me feel like that. You talk of redemption, of madness, and you want me to love you, to make all that right, but that's the one thing you haven't said. Do you love me?"

He nodded slowly. "I love you." He reached out to touch her hair with his fingers.

His greatest fear was that he might hurt her, or frighten her. He touched her face with his fingertips, tracing it's contours. When she didn't pull away he kissed her lips as softly as he could. He had never had to coax a woman before, never had to consider one when it came to lovemaking. The truth was that sex had only ever fulfilled a need for him, he had never considered it lovemaking before this.

As she relaxed a little he pulled her into his arms, but did nothing more than continue to kiss her, her face, her neck, her ears. Nothing else, she was too frightened for him to go any further, and he was too weak to try it.

---

PART SEVEN

She had wandered down to the river to bathe, she had not dared to do so whilst Ike, and Billy in particular were around. They had left as soon as Ringo was back on his feet. Being alone with him, now his health had returned was an entirely different prospect for Victoria. She knew that he had been restrained with her, more considerate than she ever thought possible, but she didn't know what would happen now, despite his declarations of love. She found it difficult to trust him, not because of who he was, but because of what had happened to her.

She finished stripping off her clothes and climbed down into the water. It was a beautiful spot in which to bathe. This part of the river was crystal clear and caught the sun for the better part of the day.He had told her there were hot springs a little further up river, and that no doubt accounted for the warmth of the water. Being here, feeling free and uninhibited was wonderful, and she lingered much longer than she intended to.

"Victoria?"

His voice startled her, and she almost turned in surprise, until she realised that he was stood right at the waters edge, and she had nothing to hand with which to cover herself.

"W, what do you want?"

"I was worried. Sun's gonna be setting real soon."

"Oh," she looked around her and realised he was right. "I lost track of the time," she explained.

"Never known anyone spend as much time washing themselves as you do."

A little more time spent washing themselves wouldn't have hurt anyone she had met out here so far, she reflected, though she would not say.

"You about done there?" he asked her.

She nodded, though her back was still towards him. "Yes, I'm finished, thankyou."

"I'll wait," he told her. "Further up the bank, walk you back."

She waited for the sound of him moving away until she felt safe to turn around and climb out of the water. He hadn't moved too far from her, she peered through the bushes and saw that he was sat on a fallen tree nearby, his back to her.

"You know, by the time you put on all those layers of clothes it'll be dark. Why don't you just slip something on to cover yourself?"

"It wouldn't be proper," she told him.

"I seen you in your nightdress, and it ain't as if the neighbours are gonna come calling," he sighed.

"You have a point I supose." For proprieties sake she slipped on her dress. He was right, it was becoming darker. She struggled with the buttons at the back for a while until her patience gave out, then she bundled the rest of her things over her arm and stepped out from behingd the bushes. She walked right past him. She was annoyed with him for rushing her, annoyed with herself for losing track of the time.

"Hey, wait a minute," she heard him call after her, laughter in his voice.

She stopped in her tracks.

"I didn't mean to rush you that much," he told her coming up behind her. She heard him laugh again. "You're all messed up at the back here."

She felt him lift her tangle of wet hair and move it over her shoulder.

"All these little buttons here are mixed up, let me?"

The fingers that touched her neck felt surprisingly warm. He had nice hands, that was something she had noticed about him. They were quite delicate really, for a man. He was standing so close to her that she could feel his breath on her back as he carefully unfastened her buttons, in order to refasten them again in the right order."

"You're trembling," he told her. "Are you cold?"

"No."

"Is it me?" There was dissapointment in his voice. "Are you afraid of me touching you?"

"No," she admitted."It's how much I want you to touch me that frightens me."

He turned her around, and pulled her into his arms. She dropped the things she was carrying and tentatively embraced him.

Ringo kissed her deeply, slowly, and felt her respond to him. He let his hands trace the shape of her body, naked beneath the light dress she was wearing, and he heard her gasp.

To his surprise he felt trembling fingers reach up and slowly unfasten his shirt. Her hands slipped inside to explore his chest.

"Let's go inside," he urged her.

"No, not there, here beside the river, please."

In answer he lwered her down onto the soft grass and knelt beside her. He unbuckled his gun belt and took it off, pulling out his shirt. He bent to kiss her again, but her hands came up to hold heim of.

"Before, before he did what he did, I was a virgin, I,.."

"You still are," he told her. "What he did to you, and what this is between us, it's not the same, I promise you."

"I want to see you," she told him.

He had never undressed for a woman before. He lay on his back in the soft grass and let her look at him, touch him, he had never expected that anything could arouse him so much. When she was ready she peeled off her own dress. He sat up beside her to explore her full breasts, first with his hands and then with his mouth.

He lay her down on the grass beneath him and his mouth came back over hers. He began to kiss her, moving slowly down her beautiful body. His fingers stroked her silky flesh. He hesitated only as he moved below her waist, he felt her body jump and she became tense once more.

He looked into her eyes. "It's alright, I won't hurt you. I'll stop whenever you tell me."

She did her best to relax as his hands and lips explored her body, bringing her senses to life in a way she had never felt possible before. It made her tingle and caused a flush of warm moisture in her morst private parts. Feeling him lower himself onto her made her a little frightened, even embarrased. He entered her and it hurt her, but only for a brief moment, there was no more pain, none of the expected violence.

Johnny slipped inside her. Despite her tightness she was already moist. His instinct was to push down into her, satiate himself quickly, but he knew if he did he would lose her. It was hard to take his time, agonising to restrain himself. But her face was his reward as he watched her mounting pleasure, and felt her responding beneath him, her body moving in unison with his. As her back arched he released his seed into her, an act that left his body shuddering in pleasure.

He had opened a door for Victoria to a world that she had never realsied existed. A world where two human beings could lose themsleves in each other. She discovered in him someone she could share anything with. For his part she gave him peace, a peace he could only attain when he was with her, and one he could express to her alone. They moved into towns, taking the best rooms in the finest hotels, and they lived for each other. Sometimes he would have to leave her, for days and weeks on end when he rode with the Cowboys . The man who returned was often not the same man who had left her. His darkness would often return, and his sleep would be plagued with nightmare images of his past. Sometimes she would hear tales of what he had done, but seldom did they come from him. He kept her separate, protected from his otherselves as much as he could.

She wrote to her parents, telling them everything that had happened, telling them that she was well. The letter put Johnny into a dark despairing mood, and set him to drinking heavily. Despite her assurances that she had found a life with him now, he was certain that she would leave him, that her parents would convince her to return home.

He needn't have worried. Her reply when it came was brief and to the point. Charles had made it back home to england, and he had filled their ears with lies. They would not accept her version of the story. Clara had died before leaving America, her husband followed her to her grave short weeks after, only days after setting foot on English soil. There was noone else to coroborate her story, and her own letter, which told of her love for Johnny Ringo, had served only to give credence to Chaarles' story of betrayal and violence. They had disowned and disinherited her, never wanting to see or hear from her again. A sum had been deposited for her in an American bank, which, if managed carefully would serve to keep her, and prevented her from contacting them again for any reason.

She had wept for days, barely eaten, only Johnny's love and endless patience had prevented her from doing something very foolish. In the end, she realised that she had love, and that was what truly mattered, and in the end it was the thing which brought her to her senses.

---

"So you see Miss Marcus, I am not the prisoner of John Ringo, and as difficult as you might find it to believe, I love him."

"That's clear from all that you've told me, but if all this is true then what about the detectives?"

Victoria had no idea what she was talking about. "What detectives, I don't understand?"

"Sheriff Behan told me that two detectives came into town, he said they had been hired by your family to find you. They were asking questions about you."

"When was this?" Victoria asked, she suddenly felt very hot, confused. "Why haven't they spoken to me?"

"They're dead, their bodies were found outside of town, both shot through the head. One of..."

She never heard any more, she felt as though she couldn't breathe, everything seemed to be tilting beneath her.

She was fainting, Josephine Marcus realised. She moved quickly in an effort to catch her, but Johnny Ringo was faster, catching her before she fell.

"She needs air," Josephine told him.

He scooped her up into his arms and carried her outside into the night, and she followed along behind them.

She wasn't entirely unconscious, and the fresh air was already begining to help her recover. Ringo sat her on a bench and knelt down beside her, ready to catch her if needs be. Concern was etched on his face, and his expression when he looked at her was so tender. Josephine had never expected to witness such naked emotion from the gunfighter.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

She nodded and pulled in a ragged breath.

"That damned dress!" he cursed.

"No!" She pulled in another breath. "Not the dress."

"Then whaat?"

"My family. Did you stop them from contacting me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He looked up at Josephine Marcus. "Did you cause this, sticking your nose in where it's not wanted?"

"She told me that my family sent detectives here to find me, that someone shot them. Is it true Johnny, did you kill the men my family sent to find me?"

He didn't get a chance to answer her.

"Is everything alright out here ladies?" Virgil Earp asked. His brother Wyatt was with him.

Ringo got to his feet. "This don't concern either of you."

"I'm the Marshall. If these ladies are in distress then I'm making it my business." He tipped his hat to Victoria. "I'm Marshall Virgil Earp ma'am, this is my brother Wyatt."

Wyatt Earp nodded at her.

"I assure you gentlemen, you are not needed here."

"You heard the lady Earp, this ain't your business!"

"Maybe I'm making it my business."

"Take it easy Virg," Wyatt Earp warned his brother.

"Go ahead Marshall," Ringo urged him. He moved his jacket away from his gun. His eyes, even in the difused light from the saloon, were wild.

Victoria got to her feet and went to stand directly in front of him, her back to the two other men.

"Don't do this," she told him.

"This ain't your concern Victoria, go back to the hotel."

"No I won't. Please Johnny, listen to me."

His eyes flicked onto hers and she reached out a hand to touch his cheek. After a moment his own hand came up to cover hers. He took it to his lips and kissed her palm.

Victoria half turned to the Marshall and his brother. "You are two of the men responsible for the death of Billy Clanton, aren't you?"

"He broke the law ma'am." The deep throated Marshall told her.

"What law?"

"He was carrying a gun within the city limits>"

"And you shot him for it?" She looked the tall man in the eyes, "There are at least a dozen men in that saloon who are armed, including the drunken southern gentleman in your company. You don't seem quite so zealous this evening Marshall."

"It ain't quite as simple as that ma'am--"

"You are not needed here this evening Marshall, you're free to administer your frontier justice elsewhere. Goodnight gentlemen."

"Now you just wait a minute!"

"Leave it Virg," Wyatt Earp told his brother. "Let's just go back inside."

With some reluctance the man went with his brother back into the saloon. Victoria turned to Josephine Marcus.

"Thank you for your good intentions," she told her.

The older woman laughed. "Are you dismissing me too?"

She smiled. "I think it's for the best."

"Goodnight then. I wish you luck Miss Wellesley."

"And to you."

She turned back to Johnny, he still held her hand in his.

"I need you to tell me the truth, did you kill those men?"

He nodded, and for a moment she thought she might scream.

"Your parents didn't send those men, and they weren't looking for you."

That made no sense. "I don't understand."

"That's just the story they gave Behan, and every other law man in every town we've passed through. They were hired by Charles, and not to fetch you back, they were sent to kill me for what I did to him. I got the whole truth out of one of them before he died."

She could see from the look in his eyes that he wasn't lying to her.

"I'm sorry Victoria, I know how much you miss your parents, if I could,..."

"I know."

"This thing with the Earps," he began.

"I don't want to know about them, about Josephine Marcus, or the damned Cowboys, not tonight. I want to walk back to the hotel and look at the stars, and pretend that we are the only two people beneath them."

He smiled at her and took her arm, linking it protectively through his. "Sounds like a plan to me."

---

Josephine Marcus came off stage at the San Francisco theatre in which she was headlining to tremendous applause, and made her way through the press of fans, friends, and well wishers into the sanctity of her dressing room. Agnes, her dresser, was waiting.

"There are lots of flowers Miss, and mail."

"I'll get 'round to the flowers later. Anything interesting in the mail?"

"There's this one. It's a little old, it looks like it's been following you halfway across the country."

"Let me take a look at that."

The handwriting on the envelope wasn't familiar, and there was no return address, but it had originated somewhere in Arizona by the looks of it, and over a year ago. Was it too much to hope that it might have come from Wyatt Earp. She ripped it open and began to read the neatly penned letter inside.

Dear Miss Marcus, I hope that I find you well, and that your stage career is flourishing. I never did have the pleasure of seeing you perform at the Birdcage Theatre in Tombstone, but Johnny told me that you were very good.

That all seems to have happened so long ago now, when in fact it was just a little over nine months.

I heard, with deep sadness, of the death of your friend Mr Fabian. He seemed such a kind and gentle man. I am truly sorry for your loss.

There has been too much death, too much sadness, but I would burden you with a little more. John Peters Ringo is dead. Though that may be of little consequence to you, it is everything to me. He was found shot in the head near the spot where we first made love. At first it was believed that he was murdered by John Holliday, but it now seems more likely that he shot himself.

Ike Clanton believes that he killed himself whilst in the grip of what he describes as a brain fever, and I am inclined to think he may be correct. I wish I had been with him, perhaps, who knows?

I loved Johnny Ringo with every fibre of my being, and I cannot bare to be parted from him any longer. I plan to make the journey that I pray will reunite us forever.

Remember me Miss Marcus, it may be that you are the only one who ever will.

Victoria Wellesley.

THE END