by E. B. Brown
With a triumphant smile she managed to reach the nest and pull it out from under the wagon. She quickly placed the half dozen eggs in her basket and replaced the nest. It was a good spot and hopefully the hen would return. As she moved to stand, Dagr placed his hand under her elbow and helped her to her feet.
“Enough for me?” he asked, peering into the basket. One brow was raised slightly, a curious grin on his lips.
“Ye and the rest of yer family,” she replied. She was glad to see the hint of humor on his handsome face, even if it was only for a moment. It had been too long since she saw him truly happy, and she would do anything to see him that way again.
“We will be leaving before you can cook them, but save them for when I return,” he said, his smile fading somewhat. His hand slid down to her waist, sending a rush of goose bumps over her skin.
“Ye all must go to town?” she asked.
“My grandfather will stay here with ye, as will Erich. John Bass will visit while we are in town. My father thinks we can settle this peaceably with the English.”
She noted the way his jaw clenched and his hand tightened on her waist. In the late afternoon sunshine she squinted as she looked up at him, his blue eyes shining as he met her gaze.
“Then I wish ye a speedy journey,” she murmured. He placed a hand on her cheek, cupping her face gently. Turning her face towards the warmth, she closed her eyes for a moment to enjoy the simple pleasure of his touch.
Respite was not theirs to be had. The sounds of horses approaching shattered the air, and as they looked towards the sound her blood rushed cold. A group of Englishmen rode into the yard with Malcolm trailing behind them. The presence of visitors was not usually a cause for concern, but the fact that there had been a man killed on the Neilsson farm only the day prior gave her the sickly feeling that the visit was not a friendly one.
Dagr stepped in front of her and faced the Englishmen. By the way he greeted them it appeared he knew some of them, so Skye tried to conceal her rising panic.
“What bring you here, Nathanial?” Dagr asked. The man he referred to lowered his head, tipping his wide-brimmed hat in a polite gesture. He wore a long blue coat and a stark white blouse, and his tall boots were made of shiny black leather. A tuft of grey-streaked brown hair peeked out as he bowed, and although he remained mounted, his horse danced impatiently beneath him.
“’Tis a serious matter, friend,” Nathanial replied. “Do ye know a man named Emry Hill?”
She saw the way Dagr’s jaw tightened. They all knew who the man was.
“I know him not,” Dagr replied evenly. “But I am eager to meet him.”
“Well that willna be possible, seeing he was found dead in the river last evening. Ye were named as the man seen with him before his demise. We’ve come to escort ye to town to answer fer it.”
Skye let out a gasp. No. Dagr had never left the farm.
Or had he?
An exchange occurred between Dagr and Malcolm at that moment before Dagr answered the accusation. Mounted astride his horse, Malcolm met Dagr’s gaze with stony silence. The look in Malcolm’s eyes sent ice through her veins, as she recognized it from the time she spent with him in her homeland. It was the look of a man who had captured his prey, a man who had done unquestionable things to hold what he desired. Gone was any trace of regret for his actions, his eyes glazed as if seeing through his brother.
Dagr stared at his brother as he spoke.
“I was here all night. My kin will provide witness to it,” Dagr said slowly. Malcolm’s lips twisted into a thin line, but he did not open his mouth.
“I am sorry, but ye’ll need to come with us,” Nathanial replied.
“No,” another strong voice interrupted. A twinge of relied surfaced when Winn joined them. Dagr’s father was unarmed, but behind him stood Marcus with a musket leveled in aim at the Englishmen. “My son will not join you this day,” he said.
“If he will not come now, we shall return with the King’s men. ‘Tis not a matter we can ignore,” Nathanial said.
“Do what you must, as I will do. There has been no crime, except the one Emry Hill and his men committed against my family.”
Nathanial’s turned his horse in a tight circle. He gave a curt nod.
“Very well. Good day, gentleman,” the Englishman said.
They watched the riders leave, and it was not until Skye felt Dagr’s hand on her arms that she tore her eyes away from them. Winn and Dagr exchanged nods, and Winn said something low to Dagr in what she thought might be his native language.
“Come inside. I need to speak with my father,” Dagr said.
“What was that man talking about?” she asked.
“I know not, but surely Malcolm is at the heart of it. He knows as well as any witness that I was not in town last night.”
She followed him inside, her basket of eggs forgotten.
There was no question who was responsible for the accusations against Dagr, yet Skye was stunned that Malcolm would go so far. As the men discussed what path to take, Skye sat quietly by the hearth with Maggie. Hands entwined with Dagr’s mother, Skye clung to the comfort of her presence, knowing Maggie had just as many unanswered questions as she did.
“Surely ‘tis not past reasoning. We can bear witness that he was here,” Skye whispered. Maggie tucked a wayward strand of her red hair behind her ear, her eyes troubled.
“You would think so,” Maggie muttered. “But the English are never reasonable when it comes to these things. Especially when it comes to anyone with native blood.”
Yet it was much more than that. With Malcolm bent on revenge, there was no telling what power he wielded with the support of the townsfolk. Although it was another time that she was born to, Skye suspected an altercation with English soldiers would be no different at Basse’s Choice; those daring to challenge the crown were in just as much danger as if they lived in the fifteenth century.
“’Tis my fault,” she said quietly. “Malcolm acts from his heart. It was my choice that drove him to this madness.”
Maggie squeezed her hand. “No, I don’t believe that for one second. You’re not responsible for what Malcolm choose to do. He is my son, and I love him…but I do not recognize him right now.”
When the men seemed to come to an agreement, Winn stood up and handed Dagr a flint-lock musket.
“When it is safe, we will send word,” Winn said, placing his hand on Dagr’s arm. Dagr nodded. Marcus handed him a knapsack, which Dagr placed over one shoulder.
What was going on? Where was he going?
She watched, stunned, as Dagr embraced his family members. His eyes met hers as he approached, the truth like a brand on his face. Maggie put her arms around him as if she knew what he must do, her silent acceptance displayed as she held her son.
“I will return soon,” Dagr said softly when he took Skye’s hand. Despite the urge to embrace him, to beg him to stay, she bit back that weakness and pulled her hand away.
“How will ye come home to me,” she whispered, “if he will never stop?”
“My father and uncle will find a way. Until then, I must go,” he replied.
“No. No,” she shot back. Taking a deep breath, she took him by surprise when she brushed past him and left the house. She headed towards the barn, her vision clouded with angry tears as she closed the door behind her.
It was all too much. Too much heartache, too much blame. For all they had been through, was this where it would end? Would she spend her days living with his family, while Dagr sought the wilderness alone as a fugitive?
She did not have to wait very long before she heard the barn door creak open. Dagr closed the door and she could feel her pulse racing when he latched it, realizing that they were barricaded inside. No one could interrupt them, and there was nowhere for her to hide.
“You canna leave. There must be another way,” she said, attacking first with her demands before he could offer up an explanation.
“I
have no choice. The English will come. I’ve lived through it before, Skye. If I stay, it will put us all in danger. It’s my duty to do what is best.”
She swallowed hard, losing what was left of her composure.
“Damn yer duty! This isn’t about the Blooded Ones. No one here cares about that! I willna let you go. Not again,” she said, her voice breaking. “Please don’t let me lose ye again. I canna bear it. I’m not strong like you.”
He breached the space between them in a few brisk strides, taking her into his arms. His fingers slipped into her hair, his blazing blue eyes meeting hers.
“You’re wrong, my lady,” he said. “When I see you, I see a woman with bleeding feet who would crawl across the glen if she must. I see a woman with a pure heart, one who cannot be broken. You will survive. You will abide. And when it is safe, I will come for you.”
“I’m not that girl anymore,” she whispered, clutching his tunic.
“Oh, yes,” he said softly. “In my eyes, you are.”
He pulled her closer, his lips resting in her hair. She wanted to stay there forever, that place where they could escape the boundaries of duty and consequence, yet her need to prevent him from leaving pierced her paradise.
Running her hand across the span of his chest, she could feel the firm lines of his muscles beneath her touch. He let out a sharp gasp when her hand slipped inside his tunic, his flesh warm and receptive to her exploration.
“Please,” she whispered. She did not know what she begged for, only that she did not want to stop. He seemed to hear the unspoken demand in her voice, sweeping her up into his arms at her request. Laying her carefully down on a bed of fresh straw, she watched him with wide eyes as he pulled his tunic over his head.
“What are ye doing?” she asked.
“Breaking my vow,” he replied. Gone was any regret or lingering propriety, his mouth crashing down on hers in one fell swoop. The urgency in his kiss soothed her soul in submission, and it was all she could do to steady herself as she sought his embrace.
It was in no careful way that he handled her this time. It was a claiming, pure and simple, and he would not be distracted from his task. She thought for one moment she should protest, remind him she was a maid, but she pushed that notion aside as his mouth moved down her neck. She cried out at the contact, moaning his name into his dark hair. The delicious sensation of his touch washed through her and swallowed her whole.
In the glimmer of moonlight through the high windows she could see him, his sculpted body entwined with hers. She gladly gave him the reins of control, not as a means to bend his will, but to keep him close for one more moment. Later, when they drifted off to sleep, he whispered promises of keeping her safe, and she closed her eyes with the belief it would be enough.
Skye woke when sunlight streamed in from the high loft window, casting a soft glow of warmth upon her face. Rubbing the sleep from her eye with one closed fist, she focused on the empty straw bed beside her and abruptly sat up.
She was alone. Dagr was gone.
Had he left, despite everything?
Hastily brushing the straw from her dress and straightening her shift, she tried to make herself presentable as she went back to the house. She pushed away the embarrassment she should feel for what they had done, overwhelmed by the fear that it might be the last time she ever spent with Dagr. It was only Maggie and Kyra who greeted her when she went inside, but Skye’s cheeks still burned despite her resolve.
“Tell me where he went,” she blurted out.
Maggie looked up from her sewing and cast a glance at Kyra, who proceeded to usher the children from the room. Placing the shirt she was mending onto the table, Dagr’s mother folded her hands in her lap.
“He’s gone to the Pamunkey. Winn has a blood tie to the Chief’s wife through his mother. Dagr will be safe there until the men can convince the English he had nothing to do with that man’s death,” Maggie replied.
“How will they do that? Do they have a plan?” Skye asked.
Maggie shook her head. “No, not yet. But they will.”
But what if the English never backed down? What if they never withdrew the charges against Dagr?
Kyra returned to the room in time to hear the end of their conversation. With the children out of earshot, it seemed Kyra felt bold enough to cast a scowl at Skye.
“’Tis your fault,” Kyra snapped. “What did ye think would happen, when ye cast one brother aside for the other? Is that how women behave in yer time? As if a man’s heart is something to be toyed with?”
“Kyra!” Maggie exclaimed.
“You doona know me,” Skye shot back, holding a hand up to stop Maggie from jumping to her defense. What did she have to lose? She was more than through with feeling like she had done something wrong by loving Dagr. “And ye know nothing of what happened between us all. I love Dagr and I will go to him, with or without yer help, but I bid ye keep yer sordid tongue to yerself!”
Kyra opened her mouth to speak but then clamped it shut, her lips twisted in a frown. There was a long silence as they stared each other down.
“True, I do not know ye, but I know ye cannot find the Pamunkey village on yer own,” Kyra finally muttered.
“Then perhaps we should help her,” Maggie interrupted, the hint of a grin on her face. The older woman cocked her head slightly at her daughter, waiting for Kyra to respond.
“Well, we cannot very well have Dagr angry at us for letting her run off alone. ‘Tis enough to bear the brunt of Malcolm’s ire,” Kyra said quietly.
“Ah, I think my son is a lucky man,” Maggie said with a smile. “Come on now, we’ll need some supplies. Can’t go traipsing through Indian territory with only the shoes on our feet. Hurry now, before your father and the other men return.”
Skye was stunned when Kyra starting filling a traveling sack with food and Maggie opened the chest in the corner to retrieve a musket.
“I’ll meet ye in the barn. Gwen will watch the children, and she’ll not tell a soul,” Kyra said as she brushed by Skye, their shoulders nudging each other. “I did not want Dagr to leave anyway. ‘Twas a senseless plan from the start,” she added.
Kyra left and Maggie handed Skye a knife.
“Put that in your boot. Better safe than sorry. Oh, and Skye – did I ever tell you the story of how Dagr’s father and I were married?” Maggie said. Skye was bent over trying to secure the knife when she looked up at Maggie.
“No, my lady,” Skye replied.
“Well, it’s an interesting tale. We’ll have plenty of time for it on the way to the village.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
Skye followed Maggie out the door. As long as the woman helped her find Dagr, she would listen to anything Maggie had to say.
Chapter 7
Dagr
HE WOULD REMEMBER her that way, with her dark hair spilling over the golden straw and her eyes closed in a quiet slumber as she snuggled against his bare chest. Lying beside her and feeling the warmth of her touch on his skin made him wish there was any way except the path he knew he must take, and he ached to remain there beside her for all of his days.
Yet the words of his vow echoed through his head, sending him back to that moment when he made his pledge with Kanor by his side.
“Know ye that this is no light promise; this is no easy debt. Ye will serve to protect the Blooded Ones, above all else, for the rest of yer days. Cast no promise to any other, for ye shall uphold what we know to be true and right. It may take ye from this time. It may take ye from yer people. But it is yer duty now, and you will honor it.
Would he have refused it, if he knew it would someday take him away from Skye? Or would he have made his vow despite the risk and hoped he could somehow thwart the march of destiny? No answer gave him solace. If he stayed and the English returned with the King’s men, there would be bloodshed. He had no choice if he meant to protect those he loved.
Ahead he could hear the call of seagulls over the
water, and the pull of the land he knew as Tsenacomoco. His horse heard it as well, turning his head towards the cries and letting out a low snort. It was the place his father was born to, a place where men did not claim to own the land and instead they simply shared in the bounty of earth’s splendor. After living among the English for so long, surrendering to a new life seemed like a distant dream. Yet if he had ever been his father’s son, he knew in his bones he was doing what was best for those he loved.
Malcolm had betrayed him. Dagr did not wish to believe Malcolm actively sought to blame him for the Englishman’s death, but the truth remained. There was no way Dagr could remain at Basse’s Choice without bringing the vengeance of the English down upon all those he loved. As much as he longed to find some common ground with his brother, this time Malcolm had sent them on a journey they could not return from.
It was near sunrise when he reached the Pamunkey village. He had not visited in many years, but his father kept contact with his kin that remained there. Dagr knew most of his Nansemond and Paspahegh kin had left years ago and now lived in the north beyond the great mountains, yet some still lived under the rule of the Weroance Totopotomoi. A few years before, the Chief negotiated a treaty with the English with strict land boundaries; as long as the Pamunkey paid the annual tribute of game and pottery to the English Governor, they were left in peace. Dagr knew Winn was right by sending him to them. Although it was likely a safe haven, it still gave Dagr some unease.
A boy took his horse when he dismounted. The native tongue did not flow easily from his lips, but the women who greeted him seemed to understand him well enough. He was escorted through the busy village to the great yehakin of the Weroance, and he accepted their blessings as they announced him and left him alone.
The young Weroance Totopotomoi kept company with his first wife, Cockacoeske, who was a blood relative of Winn through his uncle on his mother’s side, the Great Weroance Opechancanough. In all truth, Dagr did not remember ever meeting Cockacoeske, but Winn assured him his kinswoman would greet him warmly on his arrival. She was a petite woman, with long black hair lying flat against her back and an oval shaped face graced with delicate features. She reminded Dagr of his Paspahegh grandmother, and he took comfort in that fact.
