by E. B. Brown
“Stop that! I will stab you, Winn! I just want the stone!”
She dug the blade in and he flinched, but it was only a scratch and worth the risk. He grasped her hips and lowered them down against his own, smirking when she let out a gasp. She set her jaw and tried to pull back, but could not keep the knife in an effective position while she squirmed, and he took advantage of her imbalance by pushing her dress slowly up her thighs so she sat naked against him.
“Cut me now, woman, and I die a happy man,” he grinned.
She let out a furious screech, and he decided he had been tortured enough. He made no move to take her weapon, but swiftly lifted her and rolled until she lay beneath him. She grabbed the hair at his nape with one shaking fist and kept the knife firmly planted on his neck with the other.
“I have a knife, you idiot!” she shrieked.
“So you do. I don’t have the stone, nor will I give it to you.”
He settled his hips deeply against her, one hand sliding down, his fingers slipping beneath her buttocks. Sweat glistened on her skin in the glimmer of moonlight through the smoke hole, the salty slickness making a low sucking sound as their skin collided in her struggle. He groaned when she bucked against him and cursed.
“Let go of me!”
“You have the knife. Let me go,” he countered.
“No. You—you’ll punish me,” she whispered.
“That is the last thing I will do to you right now.”
“You’re lying!”
“No, I do not lie!” he growled, his patience wearing at her game and tired of fighting the urge to ravish her into silence. No other woman could have driven him so mad with need, nor escaped death after holding a knife to his throat. But for some reason he felt his power drain with her, as if it mattered not that he was the Great War Chief of his people, nor even a man larger and stronger than she was. She battered him to the ground with her fire, and he could not lift a finger to punish her for it.
The fist she clenched in his hair loosened. Her gaze did not waver from his. He dipped his head slowly, aware of the knife between them, and gauged her reaction when he ran his fingertips down along her side. She shuddered and closed her eyes, and he saw her throat contract as she swallowed and the knife wavered. He planted a soft kiss against her neck, not sure if she trembled in fear or lust, and suddenly the thought of her panic stopped him.
For all of her threats and demands, she was no more than terrified. He knew he deserved her fear, in fact he made great effort to show her he would be obeyed. Her behavior put her in grave danger from his warriors. She had no understanding of his time, or the ways of his people. He had none of hers, but he could see it was clearly quite different. He wanted nothing better than to pleasure her senseless, but she believed the worst of him. She had no idea he would never throw question to his honor by taking a woman who did not want him. As much as he wished he were a lesser man in that moment, he drew back from her.
He shifted his body to lie beside her, and pulled her against his chest before she could protest, allowing her to keep the knife if she chose. She was a stake in his arms, her back stiff against his skin, her body shrinking away from his. Let her keep her blade, if it eased her mind. He would show her that hurting her was nothing near to what he truly desired.
“Stop fighting.” The hoarse command strained from his lips as he pressed them into her soft hair. He pulled a fur over them and tucked her trembling body closer, noticing her knuckles were white and still clutched around the knife handle. He closed his hand over her fist and let it rest over her shaking one.
“When you must kill a man, strike swiftly,” he whispered against her ear. “But I am not that man. It is only me, eholkon. Sleep now and be safe, ntehem.”
It is only me—he who loves you. Sleep now and be safe, my heart.
It was a long time before her furious shaking finally slowed and her fight diminished enough to surrender, but eventually her breath eased into a shallow sleeping rhythm. Sleep did not claim him, and he rose at dawn to find the knife still clenched in her hand.
He kissed her softly before he left.
CHAPTER 14
He sat cross-legged next to Chetan while Makedewa paced near the entrance of the Long House. His brothers stood by his side against the Council, neither in defense of Maggie or against her, merely showing their support for him by their presence. Winn hoped it would be enough to spare her against the accusations Nemattanew made.
Technically, Maggie was a prisoner, his slave to be precise, since Winn was the one that found her and brought her to the village. Tradition called for the owner to discipline the slave, but if others thought he did not punish her crimes in an appropriate manner, he could be challenged.18
On return to the village, Nemattanew demanded immediate audience with the council. Before Winn could speak, the other warrior described how Maggie slapped his face and ignored his commands. Even worse, he told the Council that Winn did not raise a hand to her in return. Thankfully, Nemattanew had no idea Maggie had attacked him with a knife during the night, and for that he was grateful, since that offense would have him kneeling in the dirt before the Council, begging for her life.
As he sat beside Chetan that morning, waiting for word of the decision, he hoped his impromptu lie had been enough to sway the Council.
“Did you truly beat her, as you said?” Chetan asked quietly. Winn avoided his gaze, his throat tight with the lie he would tell his brother.
“Yes. She has been punished.”
Chetan snorted in response.
“I hope she stabs you in your sleep. How do you expect her to act? She knows nothing of our time! You must teach her our ways if you plan to keep her. She is in danger by knowing nothing of our people.”
Winn sighed, his brother’s words hitting closer to the truth than he realized.
“She knows much of our people. She chooses to attack me! I know not how to make her listen,” he growled. Chetan glanced over at him, one brow raised, his mouth parted in surprise.
“What do you do that angers her?” Chetan asked.
“Nothing! I do nothing,” he snapped. His brother chuckled.
“Do less nothing, and more something, or they will break her,” Chetan said, eyeing the Council as they returned in single file to their spots inside the Long House. Makedewa joined them, the strength of his brothers flanking his sides.
The speaker of the Council remained standing as the others sat, his long bear mantle dragging the floor behind him as his horned stag helmet graced his proud head. Diminutive under the trappings of his station, the man had served since the time before the English arrived, maintaining his position through many wars and deaths. Winn looked up at the wrinkled man now, hoping the decision was a fair one.
“Winkeohkwet, we have talked on the matter of your slave.”
“Yes, Council?” he said. His back was straight as a pike, his lungs barely moving as he held them without air, his mouth parched with thirst.
“We will leave the punishment of your slave to you. For now. Teach her well of what her defiance will cost in the future.”
He wanted to close his eyes and shout his joy, but instead he lowered his head and humbly bowed to the Council.
CHAPTER 15
Damn that man to hell.
Her waking thoughts brought the events of the previous day back in rapid succession. She groaned at the flush of warmth in her belly at the memory of their encounters, not sure what enraged her more – his treatment of her in front of Nemattanew, or the fact that he withheld the stone from her. Her fingers clenched down on the bedding and she ground her frustration into the furs, feeling abandoned by her traitorous body. Damn him. She would never let him touch her again in lust. She hated her weakness, despised the way she forgot everything whenever his crystal blue eyes met hers, but he had proven that all men were alike no matter when they were born.
The room appeared empty as she risked peeking out from the furs, and she was relieved
. She did not want to face him in her shame, unwilling to let him tear down her defenses. If he were in her time, he would be a goner after the way he treated her, dismissing her in front of his friend. She was not raised to tolerate that sort of behavior from a man, in his time or any other. A bitter frown formed as she recalled her last real date, disastrous, as it had been.
His name was Josh, a fellow student in her college Biology class, and he had asked her out several times before she said yes. Grampa had been sick for weeks and she was reluctant to leave him, but the old man knew she needed to get out of the house and he insisted she go. It wasn’t that she disliked Josh, in fact he was a handsome athletic man and he turned her head when he walked in the room, but she felt little interest in cultivating a relationship. Although she had been attending college for a year, there had been no one peak her interest enough to even think about dating. Between running the farm and worrying over Grampa, her plate was full.
After a pleasant but uneventful dinner, Josh took her to a movie. She recalled putting popcorn between them at one point, but he was persistent in his advances, and managed a few kisses and poorly aimed gropes anyway. Nothing earth shattering, and certainly nothing to cause her blood to simmer like a certain Indian did, she recalled with a frown.
The night ended with Josh parking his car in the driveway of the farm, a single gravel lane that the main farmhouse shared with the cottage. Maggie didn’t mind when he kissed her goodnight, expecting it would be the quickest way to end their evening before she jumped out of the car, but she was stunned when he continued to slather her mouth with his as she reached for the door handle. She was not interested in a petting fest in the driveway. She shoved him off and he came back for more.
“Goodnight Josh!” she snapped when she was able to come up for air.
“Not yet, babe,” he insisted. She screeched when one of his hands slipped inside the top of her blouse. Her desperate hand found the door latch, and she fell out of the car onto the gravel. Sprawled on her backside as she righted her blouse, she was speechless when her amorous date was yanked out of the car by a pair of very muscled arms.
Next thing she knew, a hulking mad giant stood spread legged beside the car with her date held by his neck. The veins stood out on his neck in thick cords and his usually gentle face was paved with a scarlet mask and no sign of remorse.
“Agh! Oof! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” her date gurgled as his face turned purple.
Josh choked as he stuttered an apology, and Marcus slowly let the younger man down from where he held him several feet off the ground. Maggie stood up away from the pair and watched as Josh scrambled into his car. He gunned it down the driveway, spewing a cloud of gravel smoke as he retreated.
Maggie burst into laughter at the sight of her date fleeing. She knew it would be a long time before any of her classmates asked her out again, but the notion did not bother her so much. Marcus raised one thick black eyebrow at her and shook his head in disgust.
“Ye think that’s funny, Maggie?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, I do!” she laughed.
“Are ye all right?” the older man asked finally as her laughter faded. He looked out of character at that moment, still the enormous beast of a man who had been her protector since childhood, but when his shoulders slumped in relief and he reached for her hand, she knew something was more wrong than her disastrous date.
“What is it, Marcus?”
His lips pressed into a line and his normally twinkling blue eyes clouded over. His brogue sounded thick and hesitant when he answered.
“It’s yer grandpa. You better come inside.”
Grandpa never did wake up after that night.
Maggie sat up in the furs and brushed back her tears, stowing the bitter memory away. Marcus must be worried sick about her disappearance. But it was no use thinking of the past. Or her future past. Or whatever it was properly considered now. She needed to get it together and figure out a way out of her current mess, regardless of what year it was. The knife lay discarded on the furs. She crawled over to the bowl of water and used it to rinse her mouth, then tied the wayward fastening of her doeskin dress to some semblance of decency before Teyas burst into the yehakin.
Teyas collapsed onto her knees in front of Maggie and took her hands in her own. The girl spread them wide, raking her over with a practiced eye, then broke into a wide smile of relief. Maggie squinted at her, wondering what on Earth the girl was up to.
“I knew my brother told lies!” she exclaimed.
“What are you talking about, Teyas?”
“He told the Council he punished you for your crime. He said he beat you, but I knew he told false,” she answered smugly in her glee. Maggie pulled her hands away and sat back on her heels. So that was his game, huh? Tell the other men he beat her into submission? Well, the warrior had another thing coming!
“That arrogant—”
“No! Do not be angry, sister!”
“And why not?” Maggie seethed. “He’s a liar!”
“Maggie,” Teyas smiled, taking her hands back and placing them in her lap between them. “Your ways are so strange. I do not understand your anger. My brother shows great love for you in this way. He risks much by telling a half truth.”
“He can shove it. And if he ever touches me again, I will—”
“You will what? Stab me with your knife?”
Both women went silent as Winn passed through the door. With one glance at his impassioned glare, Maggie averted her eyes and refused to acknowledge him. She held her breath to keep from returning his taunt with one of her own, aware that she tread precariously after attacking him with her blade. She rose from the furs and motioned to Teyas to follow.
“We have chores to do, right Teyas?”
“Ah, well—” the girl stammered.
“I need to see to Blaze, and I am taking my clothes to the river to be washed. My dress is ruined, and my only spare is covered in mud, thanks to that moody savage brother of yours. Stay if you want, but I’m getting to work,” Maggie said. She frowned at the way Teyas glanced at Winn for approval, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. With a shrug, Maggie grabbed her basket of clothes and moved to pass Winn, tucking her knife in the thong at her waist and hoping he did not notice. She should have known it would not have been so easy.
He stopped her with one hand closed around her upper arm, not painful, but still firm. She refused to look at him, but she felt his breath close on the skin of her neck as he bent his mouth to her ear.
“You may go,” he said simply. She bit back a harsh retort and jerked her arm from his grasp, annoyed that he felt the need to give her permission to leave and frustrated that she was incapable of submitting to him. With each passing day she felt she was slipping away from the independent modern woman she once was, instead becoming like all the other women around her.
Stepping out into the daylight, she stalked away from the house with a purposeful stride toward the river. She still had her knife, and she would stab him with it if he dared make any more advances on her. He would not find her hesitant again.
She vowed not to cry as she navigated the path to the river. Damn his blasted heathen heart. Perhaps she would jump in the river and drift downstream, surely someone would help her. As attractive as the notion was, she knew it would be foolish. She knew little of this time, nor how to live alone in the wilderness and survive. She was trapped here just as surely as if he tied her to a post. She bowed her head in frustration and kicked at the dirt in her path. When she heard the racket of none too careful footsteps behind her, she swung around in a fury to confront her stalker.
“Leave me alone. I have work to do,” she muttered.
Winn grinned when she turned and spoke. She had no idea what he found so humorous, and his chuckle enraged her to the point of violence. She gripped the basket until her fingers throbbed with the effort.
“What is so goddamn funny, Winn?” she asked.
“I should pretend to
beat you every day, if that is what it takes to make you work,” he laughed. She snorted a low curse in reply and turned on her heel, continuing down the path to the river. She would not let him bait her into attacking him, although every sliver of her being wanted to scratch the smile from his handsome face.
“Nothing to say, Tentay teh?”
“Go away.”
“I would have words with you. Stop walking.”
She stopped on his command, but kept her back to him as she stepped off the path. She felt him beside her, felt his stare sear her skin. His words dripped of heat as they rolled smoothly off his tongue. She refused to look at him, afraid one glimpse of his smoldering eyes would render her senseless.
“Yes?”
“You call me savage? The English use that word as well.”
“Well, you act like one,” she said.
“Why do you have anger at me?”
“You treated me like a whore.”
“Hore?”
A deep sigh escaped her as a huff, and she kneeled down to the riverbank where she could wash her clothes. She hoped he would tire of talking and just leave her alone.
“It means—it means a bad woman. A woman who does bad things. One who sleeps with any man,” she said, at loss to define it for him and blushing as she tried. He frowned as he considered her explanation, and then grinned sheepishly when he realized her meaning. But Maggie was surprised to see his eyes darken again after his initial display of amusement.
“Is that what you think?”
“Yes, Winn. If we were in my time, and did—we did those things,” she stammered, “and then you treated me so badly in front of your friends, I would never speak to you again. You don’t just kiss a woman, then toss her around and holler at her. How can you expect me to be okay with that?”
