by E. B. Brown
“Sawwehone Shacquohocan!”
Although his body was tense behind her, the words he spoke were calm. Not knowing what they were saying infuriated her, especially since she seemed the target of the other man’s anger. At the sight of her hand, the two men fell silent. The silence stretched as they stared.
“What is going on?” she asked, half turned around in Winn’s lap. She snatched her wrist away, a motion that brought laughter from the shorter man. The other remained silent, his lips pursed in a thin line.
“Your woman has a loud mouth, nimahtes. Maybe you should tame her first, then come back home,” the short man laughed. His dark eyes brightened, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he chuckled. The second brother did not smile.
The horse beneath them stomped the ground and tossed its head.
“She has a wound that must be cleaned. I will tame her after it is healed.”
They spoke in English this time, but Maggie did not like the conversation any better in her own language. What happened to the man who comforted her so sweetly, as if he wanted to chase her fear away? Why was he laughing with his brothers about taming her? Scarlet warmth rose from her neck to her cheeks at the implication.
She decided enough was enough. Winn’s hold lessened a fraction as he spoke with the men. Maggie took advantage of the distraction and jumped down off the horse, taking off in a sprint out of the clearing back into the woods. The wound on her shoulder screamed in protest at the effort, and a fresh surge of blood saturated her torn parka. How could she be so stupid, trusting a stranger! Maybe she was trapped in another time, but she did not have to act like an imbecile, and she was certainly not going to be tamed by any man!
It took him mere seconds to catch her.
His fist caught her around the waist, knocking her off balance and sending them both sprawling into a heap on the forest ground. Maggie kicked and tried to scratch him, but his hands were quick and he proceeded to shove her fists above her head into the dirt. She cried out at the searing pain in her shoulder and tried to catch a breath through aching ribs. His strapping legs entrapped her kicking limbs, and his hips pinned her pelvis to the ground. He panted shallow with the effort of containing her struggle, and seeing his frustration felt like a measure of triumph. He glared at her, wordless, as she tried to scramble away, and she felt the cold earth against her bare back as her thin tee shirt rode up under her open parka. The shirt bunched up around her breasts, exposing her pink lace bra against his chest. She twisted her hips in an attempt to squirm away, but his free hand pushed her back down. His gaze flickered as he glanced downward and his eyes widened when they surveyed her breasts caught against his skin. The hand holding her hip traveled slowly upward and his fingers brushed the side of her lacy bra.
“Oh, no you don’t!” she exploded. She slammed her head up against his, and his blue eyes flared as a scowl creased his face with a low uttered curse.
“Enough!” he shouted.
Blood dripped from his mouth as he thrust his hand into her hair and slammed it back to the ground. She cried out in pain and surprise at the reaction and frustrated tears formed across her lashes. She understood immediately that her plan to get away was a foolish one. The man who chased her tears away was gone, replaced by an enraged warrior bent on submission.
“Do not run from me again!” he said.
“I won’t stay here. I don’t belong here!”
“You do belong here.” His cold glare betrayed no emotion other than anger and she knew she treaded a dangerous path with her resistance. She expected his fury, but was shocked when he produced a long cord of rawhide and began to wrap it snug around her wrists.
“No! Goddamnit, let me go!” she screamed. He ducked to evade her head butt and continued to tie her hands, otherwise ignoring her outburst as blood from his split lower lip dripped down his set jaw. She cursed through gritted teeth. “You bastard! No! Let me go!”
He dragged her to her feet, and when she kicked out at him he snatched her chin painfully in his fingers. He spoke the warning low, a hiss that only the two of them could hear.
“I will bind your legs if you kick me. I will bind your foul mouth if you speak. Do you understand?”
She glared at the face now shrouded in an unreadable mask. Her wrists ached against the binding, and her shoulder throbbed where the bear claw marked her. There were few options available to her. She closed her eyes and nodded one time in reluctant submission.
He grunted a word she did not understand, and then hoisted her into his arms with disturbing ease. The obedient horse waited a few paces away. He placed her back on the beast and swung up behind her before the other two men joined them.
There was no more talking.
Chapter 4
Winn did not look at his two brothers as he rode with the woman. She remained silent now, her fire subdued for the moment. He regretted the need to threaten her, but he was stunned by the way she fought him. Memory of the manner in which she defied him in front of his brothers caused a scowl to darken his face again. He knew she was from another time by her odd clothes and strange way of speaking, but even so, he could not fathom why she dared challenge him. Did woman in her time disobey their men and just do as they pleased? He could not let her defiance go without reprimand, especially when his brothers stood by as witnesses.
He gripped the reins tighter and sighed. Maybe the Great Creator made a mistake. He looked down at her head lying against his chest, amber locks sprawled across his skin. By the Gods, she was beautiful, but so willful! He remembered the way it felt when she fought beneath him, the way she ignited when he touched her. Even then, with anger clouding his thoughts, he wanted to possess her. When she made him bleed, it took every measure of strength he had not to tear her strange clothes from her body and ravage her in the dirt. Only the knowledge of his brothers approaching dampened his lust.
The Great Creator must have made a mistake. She could not be the one he was meant to kill.
His brother Chetan laughed no longer, although he seemed to enjoy questioning Winn’s manhood when the woman first tried to get away. Makedewa, however, kept a tense silence. Other than his original outburst of disbelief that Winn did not slaughter the woman on site, Makedewa kept his thoughts to himself and rode ahead, alone. Winn suspected it was not the last he would hear from his temperamental younger brother on the matter, but at least he had sense enough to let it be until they returned to the village.
It was good the men remained silent, since he was in no mood to answer to any more of their jibes. Her soft, round bottom jammed up against his hips drove him so senseless he could barely concentrate on guiding the horse, let alone argue with his brothers. With each stride she rocked back against him in a maddening rhythm and her soft auburn hair brushed his chin. Closing his eyes gave no relief, damn her. Even her scent maddened him, a sweet honeysuckle aroma that drifted to his senses with each pace of the horse.
Winn shook his head, confused at the pull this woman held over him. He grew up listening to tales about the Bloodstones, how someday a Time Walker would arrive who would end the life of the Great Weroance. All young braves longed for the chance to kill a Time Walker, and bring honor on the tribe for the sacrifice. Everyone knew the prophecy, his brothers included, and they all had reasons to anticipate the coming of the next Time Walker. Many wished for another sacrifice to gain favor with the Weroance, with the belief it would bring prosperity to their decimated Paspahegh tribe. Opechancanough bestowed the greatest rewards on those warriors who served him the head of a Time Walker. But those gifts had been the heads of men, never a woman.
Winn let his chin rest against her soft auburn hair for the briefest of moments. He did not want to wake her, giving her less opportunity to cause trouble in front of his brothers. As much as her presence was a shock to him, it was even more so to his brothers.
Winn knew not why he failed to kill her on sight. Perhaps because she was a woman. Once his Uncle learned of her arrival he w
ould be bound to act, her gender of no consequence.
The bundle of sleeping fire in his arms stirred, her rose stained lips falling open as she sighed. He needed badly to shift his weight, but he did not want to wake her. Her battered body needed rest, and he needed to regain some semblance of control.
Her hand slipped down across his waist as they rode. She was a curious thing. She was not tall, about the same height as the women of his village, perhaps shorter. Her skin was creamy ivory like the bone-handled knife in his belt, her hair scented with meadow flowers. Dirt smudged her face and neck and leaves tangled in the bright auburn hair that flowed nearly to her waist. He wished to take her to the river and bathe her himself, but he knew his sister and mother would not allow that once they laid eyes on her.
Despite the surge of possession that railed through his bones when he looked at her, a current of anger remained. How could the slip of a woman defy and belittle him in front of his brothers? If he had any sense he would end her life now and leave her body to the wolves.
How could he follow through with what he was bound by honor to do?
He uttered a half-snort, half-growl at his own thoughts, eliciting a curious glance from Chetan. Winn ignored the wordless inquiry from his brother and continued the ride in silence. If the woman was powerful enough to cause him both barely constrained anger and uncontrolled lust in the span of one evening, he feared what any more time in her presence would wreak on his self-control.
He wondered again if the petulant gods made a terrible mistake as he glanced down at her. He could see the curve of her breast pressed against his chest, covered by the remarkable thin pink fabric binding she wore beneath her torn clothes. Winn grinned as he recalled how she exploded when he examined the strange fabric, her eyes alight with fury as she fought him like an animal. Of course, she must have feared the worst by his actions, and for that he was sorry, since he meant no harm. Ah, she probably thought he was a dog, pawing at her like that!
He let out a groan as he adjusted her sleeping body in his lap.
Perhaps the Great Creator enjoyed watching him suffer.
***
“Shh, shh, Maggie-mae, it’s only a dream.” Marcus wrapped her in his burly arms, smoothing the hair back off her tear-stained face as she cried. She trembled with the force of the nightmare. Although she knew Marcus would never let anyone hurt her, she still feared the darkness. Once the lights dimmed again and he left her alone, the shadows would dance across the walls and her toys would begin to talk. The mischievous teddy bear on her dresser would grin, and the string puppet hanging from a hook would taunt her, until she was again screaming.
“Please don’t go! They’ll come back!” she sobbed.
“Aww, lamb, it’s all right now,” he soothed her, his deep voice humming through his chest. He took something from his pocket, and placed it in her hand. “Here, my ma gave this to me when I was a wee thing like you. It keeps the nightmares away.”
She looked down at the grey metal figure. Heavy in her hand, it was the size of her palm, the edges pitted and scarred. It was a bird, its wings just beginning to lift in flight, with a slightly open beak that seemed to cry out some unanswered promise.
“It will keep them away?” she asked. He nodded.
“Of course. It’s a raven, a great brave bird. The raven keeps safe those he loves.”
“Well,” she sniffed, “how do I know he loves me? He just met me!”
Marcus chuckled.
“He’s always known ye, lamb. He’s loved ye forever.”
It was the second time Maggie woke in a strange place, but this time the disjointed feeling lasted for only seconds as the echo of her dream dissipated. She could not explain how or why she was in another time, however she was painfully aware of the reality of her predicament as her hands twisted against the rawhide ties. Her damaged shoulder throbbed in time with her rapid heartbeat as she glanced furtively around the unfamiliar place.
Above and around her a rounded roof over a circular walled structure protected her slumber, and Maggie vaguely recalled something about Indians who lived in wigwams. Lined with thatch and shingles of rough-hewn tree bark, it confined the warmth from the fire into the space, giving it a cozy ambience. A soft pile of fur cushioned her spot on the ground, and she could feel the lick of the flames warm her skin as they funneled upward in a wisp to escape through a soot-stained smoke hole. Across the fire, she could see a girl in a rawhide dress bent over a large basket, rummaging through the contents.
When Maggie tried to push herself up and failed, the girl noticed. She left the basket, shaking her head at Maggie as she muttered to herself in that other language. The agitated gesture tossed her two dark braids around her head as she kneeled down, and Maggie bit back a scream when the girl produced a knife from her waistband. Was the girl going to stab her? She had done nothing wrong!
Maggie scrambled backward as the woman crawled toward her.
“No! Please, I didn’t do anything!”
The Indian girl paused and tilted her head, then her lips widened in a smile.
“Shhhh! Be still!” the woman laughed, her English stilted but easily understood. Maggie thought it was decidedly not funny, but she did as the woman demanded and prayed it was the right thing to do.
With a quick practiced flick of the knife, the woman sliced the rawhide binding around Maggie’s wrist. She then sat back on her heels and chuckled, continuing to shake her head in amusement.
“I’m glad you think that’s funny,” Maggie replied. She rubbed her sore wrists, glad to see the skin was not broken, just a bit raw. Her wristwatch remained intact, shimmering in the firelight. The woman reached for her hand and Maggie let her examine it, figuring she would be dead already if the Indian girl wanted to kill her.
“You wear a strange bracelet,” the girl said softly. “And you carry the Bloodstone.” Maggie nodded.
“I-I didn’t steal it. I already told him that.”
“I know. It marked you. It belongs to you now,” the girl agreed. She smiled again and closed her small brown hands around Maggie’s fist. “I am Teyas, sister to Winkeohkwet. I cleaned the wound. The bear marked you…make a deep cut. You understand?”
The girl spoke slow and careful, her English edged with uncertainty but still quite understandable. Grateful to her for her kindness, Maggie smiled back.
“Yes, I understand. Thank you, my shoulder does feel better.”
Both women relaxed in a mutual appreciation and curiosity. Maggie allowed the girl to remove what was left of her parka, and watched as Teyas examined it in fascination. The girl rubbed the fabric between her fingers and squealed when it made a scratching sound, then she held it to her pert nose to catch a scent. Seeming satisfied, she placed it aside and reached for the basket. Made from woven reed, the large flat basket held an assortment of garments similar to the ones Teyas wore. Maggie did not want to undress in front of the girl, but she was fearful of damaging the tenuous bond between them so she did what the girl asked. Her cheeks flushed as her exposed skin remained bared longer than necessary, since Teyas insisted on careful inspection of each item of clothing removed. Maggie eventually ended up in a plain tan dress with bits of rabbit fur on the edges, her legs wrapped in fur-lined leggings and soft flat moccasins decorated with colorful beads.
Teyas picked up an object that tumbled from the heap of clothes. It was the heavy raven figurine. Maggie held out her hand for it, hoping the Indian girl would return it. After turning it over in her fingers a few times, Teyas placed it in her palm with a smile.
“My friend gave it to me, it’s just a toy,” Maggie explained. “A raven to keep bad dreams away.”
“Raven? Ha!” Teyas snorted with a giggle. “They bring trouble. Just ask my brother.”
Maggie shook her head. She tucked the raven into a fold of her soft new dress.
“Uhm, that’s okay, I’d rather not.”
Her shoulder ached, but the bleeding was finished and the bandage wr
apped snugly around her gave it support. She gladly took the cup Teyas offered, not knowing what it was, but too thirsty to care. It was a sweet, thick fruit nectar that did little to quench the dryness, but felt warm as it settled in her belly.
“Thank you,” she said after finishing the entire cup. Teyas said she was Winn’s sister. She wondered if the man was still nearby, and if so, what were her chances of leaving? He made it abundantly clear she was here to stay, whether she objected or not. She wondered why the man seemed at ease with the notion she was from another time. Maggie was in tentative acceptance of the idea, but still had hope of waking up in her own bed at some point. Winn, however, almost behaved as if he expected her to drop into his lap. Did he know something about how she arrived? And if he did, could he send her back?
The bear-skinned door flap being pushed aside interrupted her musing. An older woman with one long grey streaked braid entered the enclosure, followed by Winn. She was dressed in a simple doeskin skirt, with a loose fur shawl covering her bare breasts. Winn had discarded his buckskin leggings and stood glaring at her behind the woman, his jaw rigid and any emotion he might have had well hidden. Anger welled inside her as she boldly glared at him in return, and she was certain he noticed. His eyes widened for a moment and his lips parted as if to speak, but he quickly clamped his mouth shut and face returned to an impassioned blank slate.
Teyas tugged at her hand. The old woman spoke, and both Teyas and Winn deferred to her with the respect of their attention. Teyas began to smile and nod, but Winn remained silent. He said nothing until the older woman folded her arms across her chest and gave an emphatic nod. At that point, Winn said something abrupt and tense. It was frustrating to have no idea what was being said, especially when she could plainly see they were discussing her. After a terse exchange, they turned to her.
