by E. B. Brown
Teyas pecked his cheek with tearful thanks, but it was Rebecca who held his gaze. She was covered in dust from the cellar, her cheeks stained with tears, yet her pale eyes bespoke something he had never seen in her before. When she cleared the last step and threw herself into his arms, he held his hands wide, afraid to touch her. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest and the tremble of her body as she cried. Her fingers clutched his skin almost painfully and it was all he could do to soothe her as he slowly placed his hands around her back. He was not the sort of man to comfort a woman, and in truth he did not know how. Yet for her, he wanted to try.
“Is Maggie safe?” she asked, her face buried in his shoulder. He nodded, words slow to form as he struggled to speak. She was filthy, but the brush of her soft hair on his skin and the scent of her sweet soap caused him to tremble as well. The last time he had held her so close she had been wounded and he had carried her into the cave. In the time since then he had ached with longing to hold her again, never truly believing it would ever happen.
“Winn and Chetan see to her. She lives,” he murmured, his voice strained.
“Did they hurt her?” she whispered. He suspected her meaning, and although he did not know the answer for certain, he shook his head.
“No. She’s fine,” he lied.
Kwetii wailed louder. Teyas bounced the child on her hip and pointed out the window.
“See? There they are, little one, it is fine now,” Teyas said.
Marcus and Chetan walked toward the house, and they could see Winn and Maggie on the trail as well. Ahi Kekeleksu raced out to meet them, greeting their return with a string of uttered war cries. The intent of the boy’s screams meant victory, a hollow utterance in the face of what might have happened.
Rebecca suddenly stiffened and looked up at him, then ducked her chin and backed away. He knew it might be a mistake but he took the chance, catching her fingertips in his hand as she tried to flee. He saw the panic there in her face, her sweet features creased with confusion, but she did not pull away. He opened his other hand where he clutched the red ribbon.
“Here,” he said. He reached around her shoulders, taking care not to touch her further as he tied her hair back at the nape. How he wished to run his hands over her face, to feel her heart beat against his once more. He saw the pulse throbbing below her jaw and the way her eyes widened, and he dropped his hands.
“Go. See Maggie,” he grunted.
She ran out of the cottage, her skirt flapping behind her as she followed Teyas to the others.
Chapter 9
Maggie
The sweet burning scent of pepper and fresh boiled meat made Maggie’s stomach ache as she put a spoonful of broth to her lips. It tasted good and would feed them all well later that day. Although she used the last of their precious spice to enhance the flavor of the small amount of venison, it had to be used up. They simply would not have space to take everything with them on their journey south. At least if she used up their meager supply of luxuries, it would not feel so wasteful leaving them behind to scavengers.
The others left her alone most of the morning. Teyas knew her well, and knew when she needed time for reflection. Maggie was accustomed to handling events in stride. Killing, maiming, assault—just another part of living in the time she had chosen as her own. Yes, she had grown adept at dealing with it all, yet sometimes she still needed a bit of space for her own thoughts.
Winn obviously had no such compulsion. She looked up as he entered the cabin. Thankfully, he was alone.
“Is Kwetii with Teyas?” she asked. He dropped his knife onto the table, making a small pile of weapons when he added his bow.
“Yes. They help break down the yehakins.”
“Oh,” she answered.
She bit her lower lip, uncaring of the sting, needing the pinch of reality to bring her back to her senses. Winn had decided they were leaving and once he made his declaration there was no arguing with him. He no longer held the title of War Chief, long lost since his village disbanded after the massacre, yet his every word was still viewed as law by his family. She would not presume to know everything of the ways of his world, but she could not sit silent without voicing her concerns.
“Can’t we wait? At least until spring?”
He sat down on the bench and leaned back against the table. She handed him a pewter mug filled with cold water which he placed to his lips, watching her over the rim as she fidgeted. She crossed her arms over her chest, her foot tapping nervously on the floorboards.
“We must leave now to settle before winter. You know this,” he replied. “I need to see you settled, so I can bring the Paspahegh to safety as well.”
“You’ll have them settle with us?” she asked. There were a dozen odd Paspahegh left that Winn worried about, struggling to remain independent of the conflicts with the settlers. The group had refused to settle with Maggie’s family so close to the English, so leaving their home was meant to ease all their lives. Joining with a larger village would be beneficial to them all.
“If they will. Why do you worry on this?”
“I just wish we could stay in one place, that’s all.”
She pressed the flat of her palm to her aching belly. Her appetite had been erratic since weaning Kwetii, only recently returning over the last few weeks. Although she loved the thought of another child, the reality of enduring another birth when their lives were so uncertain made her afraid. Even if they tried, she was unsure if she were even capable. Her weight had dropped as their food supply dwindled and her menses only came sporadically. They were suffering nearly as much as the English when it came to food. Winn was right; they needed to move on if they were to survive.
He took her hand and pulled her to sit on his lap.
“I think you will like the Nansemond. I have many friends among their people.”
She settled against his chest.
“Will you still help your uncle?”
He sighed.
“Yes.”
She wanted to argue, but held her tongue. Winn believed remaining loyal to his uncle helped keep them safe. As emissary to the English, he served as a translator and negotiator when either side had need of such. Tensions were past breaking with the English, and she had to admit Winn knew what he was doing by remaining cordial with both sides. Winn tried to limit the dealings as much as possible yet the connection gave him standing in both communities and generally kept them safe from harm, at least most of the time. Incidents like the interaction with the deserters were something that could be neither predicted nor avoided.
“Will it take us long to get there?” she asked.
“If we leave with the sunrise, we should find them by nightfall on the third day. Perhaps more, if the women tire and we must stop.” The corner of his lip turned up in a sly grin. “Your bladder is the size of a walnut, so you tell me.”
She poked him in the ribs as she giggled.
“Only from having your daughter!”
His hand slipped down over her belly as he laughed, one eyebrow raised slightly in question. She shook her head.
“No, it was nothing,” she said softly. She knew he questioned her diminished appetite and occasional bouts of nausea over the last week, but she was certain it was nothing more than weight loss and hunger pangs. Discussing such things as the arrival of her period was still a taboo subject for her, so she was glad when he took her word for it. There was no little Winn brewing in her womb.
“Oh. We must try harder, then, ntehem,” he said. His voice was low and throaty, his breath against her neck sending a shiver down her back. He kissed her ear very softly, his hand caressing the base of her spine as he held her close. It was easy to forget everything when he touched her. His fingers pressed into her flesh, branding her with the magic of his touch, as his lips brushed along her jaw where her pulse beat madly. His heartbeat throbbed under the palm of her hand, steady and sure, her anchor to reality as it all seemed to explode around the
m.
She closed her eyes and groaned at the shock of pleasure as he ran his warm hand up her thigh. His blue eyes gleamed in the dim light.
“How you distract me, wife,” he murmured. She smiled.
“I didn’t do anything,” she whispered.
“No?”
He pulled her slowly down across his lap so she straddled his hips, her skirt riding up to her waist. He kissed her as his palms gripped her bare buttocks.
“You’re the one bothering me, warrior.”
“Does this bother you?” he grinned.
“Yes,” she choked as he took her hand and placed it on the swell of his breechcloth. She glanced at the door. It was still closed, but she could hear voices nearby.
He nodded toward the back room, and she eagerly followed him. The respite was not theirs to be had, however. Before they reached the privacy of closed quarters, the door swung open and Teyas entered, followed by Marcus and Rebecca. Kwetii squealed from where she sat perched on Rebecca’s hip, launching into her own series of demands.
“Momma! Uppy! Uppy!”
Maggie took her daughter from Rebecca. She hid her flushed face against Kwetii and swung her around, causing the child to scream with laughter. Winn made a disjointed grunting sound, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he picked up his discarded weapons from the table and the others filed into the cottage. He kissed Kwetii on her head, and then his lips brushed Maggie’s ear as they parted.
“Later, you are mine,” he whispered. She smiled.
Teyas had a sharp eye and Maggie saw her nudge Winn as he passed.
“Interrupting something, brother?” Teyas asked.
“You have work to do,” he grumbled. “We leave in the morning.”
Maggie and Teyas exchanged grins as Winn left the cottage.
“He’s right,” Maggie agreed. “We all have a lot of work to do.”
Teyas and Rebecca went up to the loft, talking of what to do with the furniture they had grown fond of. Growing up as a Paspahegh, Teyas was well accustomed to moving several times a year, even more if necessary. Yet Rebecca in particular was having a difficult time with the idea of moving. Maggie wondered if she had second thoughts about her decision to stay with them instead of returning to the English.
“You rascal, stop squirming!” Maggie said.
She adjusted her wiggling child and tried to keep her pinned on her hip, but when Kwetii decided she wanted down, she would not relent. Maggie juggled the wooden ladle while trying to subdue her daughter, surprised when Marcus took the child from her.
“Here, I’ll watch her. She’s a handful enough without ye tending the food,” he said. He hefted Kwetii up against his shoulder and Maggie smiled when the toddler reached up and grabbed at his beard.
“She’s never seen facial hair on a man. I’m sure she’ll lose interest soon.”
“Oh? I suppose she wouldna, living out here with ye.”
Maggie turned back to the kettle, leaving them to their own devices. She heard Marcus clear his throat.
“We haven’t had much time to talk, with the others always about.”
She nodded, her back still turned to him. His voice betrayed his angst, his thick brogue strained and his words stilted.
“I know ye married Benjamin, I found record of it. Will ye tell me, or leave me guessing what happened?”
“Things are different in this time,” she said quietly.
“I know that verra well.”
“Winn was shot in front of my eyes, I thought he was dead. I didn’t know what to do.” She folded her hands and twisted her fingers together against her skirt as she turned to face him. “There was a man named Thomas Martin who claimed I was his niece, I suppose he did it for the bride price he would get when he settled a marriage contract. I had nowhere else to go.”
“Surely the Paspahegh would have helped ye.”
“I was carrying Kwetii. I thought they blamed me for Winn’s death. I had no way to reach them, and no means to take care of myself. Benjamin offered his protection, and I took it.”
Kwetii reached for her, and Maggie pulled her into her arms. The toddler stuck her thumb in her mouth and rested her head on her shoulder. Maggie rocked slowly to soothe the child as Marcus gazed at her with a frown. She could see the crease across his forehead and the way his jaw tightened as he considered her words. She had only given him the bare bones of the story. What would he think of her if she told him all of it?
“There’s no sin in such a thing, if that’s what yer asking,” he finally said. She swallowed hard.
“I didn’t know who he was until the day we gave him the Bloodstone. I thought we sent him home…to you,” she whispered, dipping her chin down into her daughter’s hair. There was so much she wanted to say to him, this gentle hulk of a man who had always watched over her. Yet seeing his eyes glazed with emotion and knowing her own tears were ready to surge, she held back the bulk of the truth until her breathing slowed.
“So there’s no hope for peace between Benjamin and Winn, then, is there?”
“You can’t fault Winn for that. They were friends before this, like brothers…” she paused, the statement sounding quite foolish.
“Aye, maybe. A woman has a way of changing things between friends. Even brothers.”
Marcus turned to the window. She followed behind him, swaying gently to ease Kwetii to sleep. Through the glass, she could see the yard where Makedewa stood with Rebecca, engaged in some sort of awkward discussion. She leaned in next to Marcus to get a closer look.
“It seems like you hate the Paspahegh. Your son is part of them,” she said quietly.
“Ye think I don’t know that? No, I don’t hate them. I hate the bloody foolish Weroance who caused all this grief. Without an old man’s senseless vision, none of this would have happened. We’re the last of our people because of him, Maggie. We’re what is left of the Gothi.”
“Finola used that word once. What does it mean?”
“It’s an Old Norse word for Great Priest. Gyoja for a Priestess, Gothi for all of us. It must be in yer blood, to use the stone. There were few of us even before Opechancanough wanted us all dead. He hunted them down, he ended our people. They’re all gone, except for us.”
“Us?” she asked.
“You, me. Benjamin and Winn. Your little one. That’s why I took your mother to the future. It was my duty to protect the last of our most powerful blood, that which flows in yer veins. You know nothing of what magic lies in your blood.”
“I think I know something of it,” she murmured.
She held her hand out, palm side up. The scar had faded to a silver-white hue, but the knotted design was still as clear as the day the Bloodstone had burned it into her flesh as it thrust her back through time.
“I didn’t have this until I came here. What really happened to my parents? Did you and Granddad lie about them, too?” she asked.
His mouth tensed tight at her question and his brows dipped down in a deep crease.
“They’re gone like the rest.” He reached inside his trade shirt and pulled out his Bloodstone. It was wrapped in tarnished copper, like Winn’s, and hanging from a rawhide cord from his neck. “I didn’t know if I could find ye and Benjamin, or if the Bloodstone would take my life when I traveled. But I had to try. Yer all that’s left that matters to me.”
His shoulders relaxed and he let out a sigh. He let the Bloodstone pendant drop back down against his chest.
“You have Winn now, as well,” she said softly. “Will you stay here with us, once you find Benjamin?”
“It’s a one-way ticket, lamb. I won’t risk it again.”
He kissed Kwetii softly before he left to join the men, leaving her watching them from the window.
Chapter 10
Makedewa
Makedewa threw an armful of sweet alfalfa grass to the ponies. He was restless, so he went to tend the horses and gather the livestock close to the houses. The animals now grazed loose inside the
large barn, a remnant left over from the previous occupant of the farm. He did not care for the enclosed structure yet he had to admit it was a sensible method of keeping the horses ready at a quick notice. With the attack by the deserters, it was more important than ever to be ready for anything. As he watched the horses, he heard footsteps on the packed clay path and raised his head. Rebecca peered around the barn door. At the sight of her round flushed face and curious stare, he felt his throat constrict.
“Are ye occupied, Makedewa? I willna bother ye if so,” she said softly.
Makedewa could utter nothing sensible, and all that came out was a half-snort, half-grunt as he shrugged.
“No, you are no bother to me,” he said with a frown. Rebecca ducked her chin and looked at her own clenched hands at the callous response. “Stay if you wish.”
“Are ye sure?”
“I said so, did I not?” he asked, his tone more irritated than he intended. “I meant—I—are you well, I mean?” he stammered.
She nodded and looked up at him, meeting his gaze for a fleeting moment, her corkscrew curls bouncing against her shoulders.
“I am well. It was only a fright for us hiding in the cellar. I worry for dear Maggie, though, she seems affected,” she murmured.
“Maggie has the heart of a brave, ease your mind of that,” Makedewa replied. Rebecca left the doorway and stepped into the barn, and he took an equal step backward. He did not wish to scare her off. In his haste to give her a wide berth, he knocked a pitchfork over and stumbled trying to catch it, and Rebecca leapt at it as well. They ended up each holding onto the tool, kneeling on the ground, laughing at each other.
“Makedewa?” she asked.
“Hmm?”
“Would ye teach me to—to shoot your bow? Or use thy knife? I think I should know more of such things, living among ye.”
