by E. B. Brown
“This is not your time, it is mine,” he answered, with no trace of harsh intent. “Women do not challenge their men. I would kill a man for less than what you have done to shame me.”
“I’m not your woman.”
“I found you. You belong to me.”
“This is useless! I just want to go home. Why is that so hard for you to get through your thick head?”
He tilted his head a bit and grinned when he realized the meaning of her insult.
“Why do you not understand I cannot let you leave?”
“Because I can’t just give up. If you were me, wouldn’t you do the same?”
Neither offered an answer. She filled the silence by slapping her wet dress against a rock to rub it clean. He sat down a few feet away on the riverbank and watched her.
“Yes,” he said softly. “I would do the same.”
She looked up at him. His eyes were soft blue orbs as he watched her, briefly lingering before he lowered his head, his braid falling over one brown shoulder.
“What fills your day, in your time?”
She startled at the earnest question, and dared a glance his way. He sat cross-legged in the grass, leaning forward on his knees. His eyes followed her movements without a semblance of threat. She felt her skin prickle in a warm rush and quickly turned back to her work.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I would hear it.”
“If I tell you, will you stop pestering me?”
He considered her offer, and agreed with a curt nod.
“I will go back to the village,” he promised.
“Fine! I went to college during the day, and then I came home. I took care of my grandfather. I looked after the farm. I kept it running pretty well.”
“You lived with only your grandfather?”
“Yes. Well, no. Marcus lived with us. He was like family.”
“Like a husband?”
“No, like family. He looked out for me. He was like—like an older brother. Or an uncle. I never had a father.”
He scowled and changed his tactics. Maggie was stunned when he tossed a pebble at her, hitting her backside. The gesture seemed playful, and completely out of line.
“What is college?” he asked. She picked up a sizeable stone and considered launching it at him, but let it drop, annoyed as two more pebbles struck her thigh in quick succession.
“A place people go to learn. We sit in rooms and listen to other people who teach,” she answered.
He joined her at the creek and took one of her garments from the basket, which he began scrubbing against the stones next to her. She scowled but said nothing.
“What you told me of your time… my people. Is nothing left of us, nothing at all?”
She stopped squeezing water from her dress, and glanced sideways at him. His furrowed brow sheltered his eyes as he continued to work on the garment in his hand.
“Winn … I shouldn’t have told you.”
“I asked you. I wanted to know.”
She slipped her fingers over his hand, the urge to comfort him as strong as the reflex of taking another breath, wishing she could take away the anguish shadowed in his eyes. How could she comfort such a man? A man she watched rise to her defense against a bear, not knowing who she was, only that she needed saving. A man who acted in the moment, who took the life of another warrior that threatened her, without hesitation or question.
How could she console him, when it was her own words that caused him such misery? The guilt hit her hard. What right did she have to tell him what the future would bring? As for specific dates and years that events would happen, she was useless. She knew the basics, but she had never been an ardent student of history.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. His calloused thumb moved against her hand, then squeezed it, only a gentle motion, but enough for her to hear the words he left unspoken. She did not want to move, afraid to shatter the tenuous strings binding them in the moment, unwilling to lose any ground when they worked so hard for every inch of the fragile peace between them.
She saw him swallow as he abruptly pulled his hand away and stood up.
Chetan walked toward them on the path, chuckling at the sight of them washing clothes together. His son followed behind, also bearing a curious grin, but too respectful to laugh at Winn as his father did. Chetan obviously had no such compulsion, holding a fist against his lower belly as he goaded Winn.
“Will you wash my clothes as well, brother?”
Winn pursed his lips for a moment, then one corner of his mouth crested into a grin.
“No, you are not quite as pretty, you can wash your own clothes,” Winn shot back. He tossed the dress he had wrung out into the basket, and playfully snatched the basket from her hands.
“I’m not done with that!” she said, trying to take the basket back. Much to her annoyance, he dodged her attempt, dropping her basket to impishly deflect her attempt to recover it. If she did not clean what few clothes she had, she would have nothing presentable to wear to the feast, and she was bone tired of feeling like the beggar visitor.
“Yes, we are done here,” he argued, laughing.
Frustrated beyond measure, she swung around back to the creek bed.
“I answered your questions, now you can leave,” she said.
“As you wish!” he grinned. She had no sooner bent back to her task when he swept her up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, slapping his palm against her buttocks when she kicked out.
“You liar!” she screeched, furious at being treated yet again like a piece of property.
“I said I would go back to the village. I did not say you could stay here.”
She reached out to strike him, but when her fist hit his back he slapped her bottom again, this time with more authority. She realized they had reached the village, and that people stared open mouthed at the warrior carrying the crazed flame-haired woman. She remembered his warning about defiance in front of the villagers and clamped her mouth shut. When he finally entered the yehakin and dropped her to her feet, she stalked off to the corner and sat with her back to him.
“I won’t stay here! I have things to do! You left my clothes at the river, now I have nothing to wear!”
“You will stay here until I say you may leave. If you leave again I will tie you. Do you understand?”
“Don’t threaten me.”
“Then behave!” he bellowed. He kicked a fur closer to the fire and thrust out his hand toward it. “Sit,” he demanded. She hesitated long enough to see the spike of rage cross his face, then decided it would be wise to heed his request. Slowly lowering herself down to sit on the fur, she met his furious gaze without yield.
“Opechancanough sends his advisor to see how our people fare,” he began. Maggie let him speak without interruption, her curiosity sparked when he spoke of his family. She knew little about him other than what she gleaned from his sister and mother, which was next to nothing. They would not hear of her desire to leave, and placated her with assurances that Winn would keep her safe—as if that was a consolation.
“My uncle has much hate for the white settlers, and he wishes to make them go back across the great sea to their own land. He grows tired of their demands and would see every white man dead.” His jaw hardened as he continued, and a shadow of disgust fell over his face. “I serve him as council to the whites. I speak their English, and I eat at their tables. I learn their ways, so I can see their lies to my people.”
“So that’s why you speak English so well,” she murmured. He nodded.
“My uncle sent word of his plans to rid us of the English. It will happen soon. He wants my help, as I have always given him.” He paused and looked away for a moment, then shifted his eyes back to her. “Nemattanew has heard whispers in the village…I think he knows you are a Time Walker.”
“Nemattanew?” she stammered. “I don’t understand.”
“Listen, woman! Nemattanew will tell my uncle a Time Walk
er is here. Opechancanough will demand your death…and it must be done.”
Her teeth slid over her bottom lip and squeezed as she felt a wave of nausea surge up her throat. She leaned forward to fight the urge and slowly felt it wane.
“You can just let me go.”
“He will hunt you.” She grimaced at the words unsaid. If Winn did not kill her, his uncle would.
“You won’t kill me,” she whispered.
He stared at her across the flames of the fire. “I should end your life. I should kill you and feel no regret,” he said softly in return. Her spine stiffened at his quiet admission.
“Then do it,” she taunted, regretting the foolish words the moment they left her lips.
“Perhaps I will. If I smother your breath while you sleep, will I still see you in my dreams?” He rose from his spot and bent down in a crouch in front of her. She trembled at the luminous darkness in his eyes, his body tensed and ready to strike. “Perhaps I will cut your throat as you tried to cut mine. Will I still want to touch you when your blood is on my hands? Or will it chase your ghost from my thoughts?”
He held his palms out and considered them for a moment, shaking his head.
“I think not, my Tentay teh. I think still you would haunt me.” She closed her eyes as he reached for her and felt his fingers take a strand of her hair. She felt his breath close and dared not open her eyes for fear of losing the last shreds of willpower she had left. Her heart hammered so loud she was sure he could hear it thump in her chest.
He slowly rose to his feet and put distance between them. He parted the hide covering the doorway and paused, his back turned and his face shrouded from her questioning gaze.
“You will join the women for the feast tonight. You worked hard to prepare it.”
She found no power to answer him before he left.
PART TWO
CHAPTER 16
Although the remnants of their conversation left her reeling, Maggie went along with Teyas to take the evening meal. Teyas graciously provided another garment for Maggie to wear, since all that she had was still wet from washing. The women sat apart from the men, seated in a group by the large fire burning in the village center outside the Long House, the steady hollow beat of drums echoing through the air and the smoke of their pipes wafting into swirls above their heads. She was glad to be among them, but still frustrated by her slow grasp of their language. Teyas did not seem to notice, giving her a smile now and then as she chatted with the other women.
Dusk settled over the treetops, casting a magical hue on the festivities as near naked children raced through the crowd, shrieking and laughing in their games. Their antics shadowed the behavior of youngsters in a schoolyard, and the bitter reminder of her home brought on the sting of sadness. She would not break down in front of the women. Most of them viewed her with suspicion, and she would not have them see her as a weak simpering fool.
She wished they would hurry on with the meal so she could escape to the yehakin and work on plotting how she would return to her own time. If she could only find out where Winn hid the Bloodstone, she knew she would be one step closer to going home. Of course, she had no idea how to make the time travel magic work, but there was no chance of ever figuring it out without it.
Winn was seated across the fire with the other warriors, looking more relaxed than he had earlier. She watched as he took a puff from a long handled pipe and then passed it to the man beside him who did the same. He looked sleepy as he laughed, with pink tinges of bloodshot around the edges of his eyes, and Maggie wondered just what exactly was in the wild tobacco blend they smoked. Apparently, it was a luxury only the men enjoyed, not that she wished to partake, but it still intrigued her that women were not allowed the same pleasures. As she watched the men enjoy the smoke, Winn lifted his head and their eyes met across the fire. Her stomach lurched and somersaulted when he smiled despite the anger she still harbored for him, and it was all she could do to look away when a crimson blush crept across her cheeks.
Nemattanew did not share the smoke with the others. He wore a multitude of feathers, his back decorated with the full wings from an unlucky swan. He looked like a treacherous angel, the wings spread from his shoulders, fluttering in the brisk night breeze. She quickly averted her eyes when he noticed her gaze. His eyes held nothing but bleak hatred, dark brown orbs full of restrained malice as he stared back at her across the fire.
She needed to get away from them all, even for a few moments.
Maggie made an excuse to check on Blaze, escaping from the happy gathering if only for a short time. If she continued to enjoy their company and take part in their lives, it would only be that much harder when she left. She had doubts about saving her own heart from breaking, but she pushed that indecision aside and concentrated on the colt instead.
She expected to be joined by the children as she tended to Blaze, but she was surprised to see they did not follow her as she made her way to the lean-to. Horses stomped and their hooves made impatient thuds in the straw at the sight of her, and she imagined they thought it was feeding time by her presence. Blaze usually ran to her on sight, and she was puzzled to find him missing.
She twirled around to make her way back to the feast, intent on finding Winn to see what had happened to the colt. Suddenly a hand closed over her mouth and she was jerked into the shadows against a broad chest slick with sweat. She let out a muffled screech against the hand and stomped on his moccasin-clad foot, eliciting a deep chuckle from her captor.
“You fight like a wildcat,” he laughed. “Do not fear, it is only me.”
“You scared me! You—”
“You left the meal,” he murmured as his mouth came down softly on hers. She could not recall what curses she meant to call him, her senses scattered by his touch. The tangy scent of the smoke clung to him, sending a tingle through her lips that slowly changed to a pleasant numb twinge. She clutched his face in her hands as his mouth moved lower, tracing a path down her neck, knowing she should push him away but hungry for him to continue.
“I didn’t think anyone would notice,” she answered.
“I noticed.” His lips caressed her shoulder and she could feel the warmth of his heavy breaths upon her skin. “I missed you,” he said softly, his face still hidden against her.
She closed her eyes at his admission, for once in her life at loss for words.
“What magic is this that I cannot leave you? Why do I stay here with you, when I should go join my men? Do you cast a spell, Tentay teh?”
Maggie shook her head without a response, afraid to interrupt the flow of his words as the dam of his emotions began to crumble. Even if the smoke had clouded his judgment and loosened his tongue, she still longed to hear the words from his heart.
“My uncle calls for your death. If I make you my wife in truth, I know not what he will do. Even he cannot make a man kill his wife. Should I just take you and be damned?”
“You think I would agree to be your wife?” she asked, breathless as his lips dipped down her neck, tracing a path of delicious torture across her skin.
“You would agree,” he murmured, intent on his work as he continue to nuzzle her.
“No I would not,” she insisted as a moan escaped her lips.
“What if I take you to my yehakin now, would you still argue?”
“Wait a second,” she said, tearing away from his seeking lips. “I don’t have to marry you if we- if we just sleep together.”
“This is my time. I can see your fire for me, I feel it in here,” he insisted, placing his hand on her heart. “And I promise you, when I take you as mine, it is forever. That is my way.” His hand fell to her waist and he pulled her tight against his chest, his face hardening. “Have you given your body to others then before me?”
“I haven’t given you anything. You never ask, you just give orders,” she stammered.
“Answer me,” he groaned, his hand sliding beneath her dress to cup her buttocks. She writh
ed at the contact and felt him shudder in response.
“No. Never. I have never loved a man enough…to do that,” she admitted.
A flush crept over her neck and cheeks when she saw his eyes widen, the sudden understanding of her words apparent in his face.
“Then if you only pledge your heart with your body, do I have your love when I do this?” His mouth closed over her aching breast, bringing her nipple to a straining point as she moaned. “Or this?” His hand reached beneath her other breast, lifting it gently as his thumb brushed across it, teasing one side with his fingers as he sucked gently on the other.
“So I have your love you say?” he murmured, his gaze heated once more.
She knew no other answer to give him. For once, she felt no urge to deny him. The words slipped from her lips.
“You do,” she whispered, meeting his soft blue eyes with her own.
His mouth covered hers, stemming the tremble of her lips. The possession in his kiss left no question, the words once spoken, never to be rescinded. The shadow of consequence fell away, smothered beneath the urgent need to be a part of him, with him, swallowed whole by the unknown, tempered by his strength.
With one swift movement, he lifted her into his arms. He carried her across the clay packed path to his yehakin, where he dropped the bearskin hide across the door to shield them inside. He let her legs fall so that the tips of her toes brushed the ground, holding her so tightly she could not attempt to flee if she had wanted to.
His fingers tugged at the rawhide tie that bound her dress down the middle, unraveling it slowly as his lips probed lower. She needed his heat, the contact of his skin like a ripple of electric through her body, the only motion she could command was that which brought him closer. One round breast fell free, aching for his touch, and he complied by covering it with his wet mouth. His hand slid under her dress and he clutched her bare bottom, refusing to release when she strained against him with a cry of pleasure. He knelt down in the soft furs, his lips tasting her navel, gently biting and licking a torturous path. Right and wrong held no meaning, nothing left inside except an empty ache that longed to be sated. He was a storm, and she was fire, and each touch of his hand inflamed her soul with frantic need. She shuddered when he tugged away the remnant of her dress, the thrill of his caresses chasing away the fear of her nakedness.
