He easily deflected her blows as he laughed, finally stopping her onslaught by wrapping her in his arms. Soaked through and shaking, uncertain if anger or amusement drove her, she relaxed her fists. She uttered a half-laugh, half-choke and clutched his shoulders to keep her footing. The creek bed sand shifted easily beneath their feet, and he repositioned to a wider stance yet continued to hold her. His laughter eased when their eyes met. His clear, sparkling blue eyes reflected humor, which she could see rapidly changing into something more. She swallowed back her own unwelcome response, confused by the way his gaze sent a tingling down her spine.
“Have I silenced you yet, Tentay teh?” he asked, his voice low and throaty. She meant to look away and laugh, but she only managed to shake her head. He called her Tentay the often, and although she did not know the meaning, it sounded nice enough, so she did not mind.
“No. You can’t make me stop talking,” she whispered.
She regretted the words immediately, for she saw his eyes widen in surprise and a wicked grin creased his face.
“I must try harder, then,” he answered. Before she could object, his mouth closed gently over hers and then curled into a smile.
“See? I can make you stop talking,” he breathed against her mouth.
Still shaking, her eyes flew open and she yanked away, her cheeks burning. She tried to turn away to escape to the bank, but he held her tight, shaking his head. He glanced briefly over her shoulder, and then his eyes returned to capture hers.
“You’re a pig!” she whispered.
“Perhaps. But my men watch, and I would not have them question what is mine.” She shivered when she looked toward the bank and saw he told the truth. Several of the warriors stood nearby with the women, talking and laughing as they watched the spectacle in the creek.
“I don’t belong to you,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.
He paused before he answered, his eyes glancing at the warriors and then back to her. She tensed when his palm tightened on her waist and he pulled her closer as if to solidify his message.
“Stop that!” she hissed.
He spoke again, low and firm, his lips so close to her own shaking ones.
“Why do you defy me? Do women in your world speak to men this way, or is it just you?”
The sincere question caused a surge of despair to swell, which overflowed to darken her gaze before she could stem it. The utter reality of her situation had been easy to put off for the last few days as she spent time with Teyas, but now that Winn stood in front of her making demands, it all rushed back. She was far from home and had no idea how to return – or if return was even possible.
“Women of my time take care of themselves. We don’t have men telling us what to do all the time. We call men like you chauvinist pigs,” she whispered. His eyes narrowed into slits.
“My men watch, Tentay teh. When they watch, you must…obey.”
She scowled and opened her mouth to protest, but this time he covered it with his hand.
“When they watch, you obey,” he repeated, slower this time. When she finally gave in and nodded, he let his hand drop from her mouth. “It is the way of this time, and my right as your captor.”
“Am I a prisoner?” she whispered.
“I found you. It is my right to keep you as a slave if I choose. Or I may give you away to one of my men, if you do not please me.” He held her face with his hands so she could not look away. “Do you understand?”
She did not answer, but held his gaze.
“The men choose women to share their furs after the hunt. It is what we do when we return. I would keep you with me now.”
“And if I run?”
“Do not run.”
She followed his logic and could make no response. She thought her silence would pacify him, but it only seemed to agitate him further. He carried her from the creek then, passing the group of warriors with a nod and making his way back to his yehakin.
A fire in the hearth greeted them, and Maggie’s bundle of bandages lay next to the fur-sleeping mat. She reached for the bundle, knowing her dressing needed to be changed and the wound cleaned, but afraid to make her request known to Winn. The man was frustrating beyond measure, and she had no idea why he fascinated her so much. Why on Earth had she let him kiss her? Had time travel warped her brain?
She peered at him from the corner of her eye as she pretended to study the bandages. His confidence alone was enough to send even a modern woman into a swoon. Tight sinews flexed in his limbs as he bent to remove his leggings, then stood and dropped his wet breechcloth to the floor. She glimpsed a dark winding tattoo from one hip to his tapered navel, and gritted her teeth as she quickly turned her back, noting that his flaming eyes met her own before she cowered.
Damn him, she seethed.
She sat down with her back to him and began to unroll the bandages, the motion echoing the unraveling of her senses. What did he plan to do with her?
She stiffened and closed her eyes when he placed a hand on her shoulder from behind, the scent of evergreen and sweat that was distinctly him invading her senses. The truth of her situation hit her like a bolt through the gut. She was trapped in the past and her very survival depended on his mercy.
His fingers kneaded her shoulders, and she bit back a harsh retort as his fingertips brushed over her skin. When he untied the laces of her dress from her nape, she stubbornly held the dress up with her fists pressed into her chest to keep it from falling away. She would not let him continue without a fight.
“I will fight you,” she whispered. His fingers paused the gentle massage for a moment at her words, then resumed a lazy rhythm. She remained there unmoving, knowing she could not outrun him, but sure that she could at least hurt him in some way.
“Be still. That is an order.” She felt his breath hot against her neck and the command chilled her, but she obeyed it as she awaited his next move. He tugged at the binding of her wound dressing and she felt it unravel.
“I can’t,” she replied as tremors shook her body.
He removed the remnants of the dressing and a moment later a warm gush of water flowed over her wound. Winn repeated the process several more times before he was satisfied, and then gently patted the wound with a clean cloth. Maggie held her breath as he reached around her for the bowl of healing salve and then smeared it over the wound. What game was he playing? She felt like a toy, twirling aimlessly at his mercy. Motionless and silent, she waited as he replaced the bandage with a fresh one and secured it around the sensitive skin of her shoulder.
Maggie did not expect the pile of clothes that landed in her lap, and she startled at the quick motion. A soft, dry white doeskin dress lay across her legs, along with a pair of small white moccasins, decorated with a delicate pattern of red and black beads. She slowly turned to look at him and was surprised to find him standing near the fire, a frown on his lips and his blazing blue eyes fastened on her.
“Change your wet clothes. Then we will eat.”
She held her wet dress up with one hand and clutched the new one with the other.
“I – I’ll change when you leave.”
He closed the distance between them in three strides, snatching a fur from the bed and wrapping it around her shoulders like a cloak. He grabbed the white dress from her. She noticed his hands were clenched, and she could see he struggled to contain his ire.
“Change now, woman,” he growled. “Or I will do it for you.”
She returned his challenge by glaring back into his seething blue eyes, then snatched the dress from his hand and turned her back to him. She heard him stalk away, but even knowing he was across the room still sent shivers down her spine as she let her wet dress fall to the floor. She managed to keep the fur wrapped around her as she stepped into the dry dress, but waited to face him again.
She felt the flush of her skin and hated herself for her weakness. Naked skin was nothing special to the Indians, she knew from her observations over t
he last few days. Women went topless more often than not, or had a flimsy fur shawl wrapped around their shoulders to cover bare breasts. Maggie was grateful for the modest dresses Teyas gave her, but she was aware that she was much more covered than any of the other young women. She struggled to be so confident, as Winn obviously expected, but she failed miserably.
Maggie sat down across from Winn at the fire, keeping the thick fur around her shoulders as they ate. He took a few bits of food from each bowl and passed it to her, keeping his eyes on hers as he slowly chewed.
“Your wound looks like it heals. You are lucky.”
She refused to meet his eyes as she ate and nodded in response.
“Thank you…for helping me. I can’t reach it very well on my own,” she murmured.
He rested one hand on a bent knee and lay back onto an elbow, studying her as she finished her meal. She stole a glance at him over the rim of her cup as she drank, seeing a bemused tilt of his head and a furrowed brow which seemed distinctly non-threatening.
“Women of your time, they have no need of men?” he asked. He twirled a piece of straw in his fingers as he waited for her response.
“Women take care of themselves is all I meant. They don’t need a man to tell them what to do, or to look after them.” She took another sip from the cup and watched as he struggled to find his words.
“No husbands? The men must be weak to let women behave that way,” he declared, tossing the straw into the fire. She smiled despite herself.
“We still like men, and women do marry. But it’s not necessary to have a husband, it’s just… nice.“
“And you? Did you leave a man in your time?”
“Yes,” she said, although she believed she would regret baiting him in such a way when she saw his jaw clench. “My grandfather. I feel like I left him. He died last month, and I’m not there now to put flowers on his grave…or to take care of the farm. But a boyfriend? No, there is no one.”
His tense demeanor relaxed at her explanation, and he met her tentative smile with a wry smile of his own across the blazing fire. Good thing she had not mentioned Marcus. Although the thought made her smile, the ache of missing her home felt heavy in her chest. The orange flames cracked and spit when he tossed in a loose stick, and she wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked back. She rested her chin on her locked hands and stared into the fire, remembering the way it felt when she grabbed the Bloodstone and the sun engulfed her being. She wanted to ask him where the stone was, but feared to damage the uneasy peace between them.
“It is strange for me to talk so much to a woman,” he admitted. Now it was her turn to laugh, and she scoffed at his admission.
“Oh, is that so? If you were in my time, I would never give you the time of day with that attitude,” she retorted. Her confidence grew as their exchange remained playful, but she knew she tread a thin line with his ancient ego.
“Humph,” he snorted. “Maybe so, Tentay teh. But here,” he said, pointing to the ground he sat on, “here women obey their men, and wait to be spoken to. My men see you defy my words, and they ask why I did not punish you,” he said quietly. Maggie stopped rocking, aware the conversation had taken a turn. She pushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear and noticed her hand trembled. Damn the man and his veiled threats!
“I thought I was being punished. You keep me here like a prisoner,” she whispered.
“Pishi, I do keep you, it is my right. Not as a prisoner. If that was so, I would have cut out your tongue days ago.”
She said nothing as he sat up, his face shrouded now in an unreadable mask as he stared at her across the fire. A not-so-veiled threat? She liked it even less.
“In this time my warriors follow me without question. They wait even now for my command. If I ask them to leave their women, they do so. And their women honor them as they go.” His voice dipped as he stared into the heart of the fire. “Warriors do not answer to women. I will not answer to you out there,” he pointed toward the door where they could see members of the village taking a meal by a large central fire. “Here, in my yehakin, I will hear you. You can call me… show-vist pig…and I will hear you.”
Maggie stifled a hysterical laugh at his attempt to placate her as she bit back her despair. Winn was clearly throwing down the gauntlet, and her life was held in the balance. She would obey him without question, or she would be punished as women of this time were punished. He understood her own time was very different, so he was giving her a way to talk to him without damaging his authority with the tribe. She wished she could feel more grateful, but the only emotion she could summon was frustrating defeat. She was trapped, not only in his time, but also in his yehakin, to be punished at his discretion.
She would play by his rules, but only until she discovered a way back home. She refused to admit she had little choice, deciding instead to fool him into trusting her. It was the only way to get what she wanted.
“Chauvinist. You’re a chauvinist pig,” she said softly, enunciating the syllables.
“Pishi,” he nodded. “And you may keep your tongue.”
He rose from his spot and approached. Her eyes never wavered from his, glaring in muted defiance when he gently pulled her to her feet. He led her to the sleeping mat, and with a few careful tucks, he nested the furs around her, and she closed her eyes.
When she dared to open them again, she saw him across the fire. He lay on his side, head on his forearm, his eyes closed in sleep.
CHAPTER 9
A stream of morning sunlight warmed her face when she woke to find the yehakin empty. She should be glad the heathen left her alone, but a nagging voice in her ear wondered when she would see him again, or if he would return soon to continue ordering her about like she was his personal property. Well, he could stay away all day for all she cared. She was not thrilled with the prospect of deceiving him to get the Bloodstone back, but it was the only chance she had.
Her bladder felt near bursting, so she stopped off in the bushes to relieve herself before she made her way to the lean-to. She could take care of Blaze, and maybe come up with a few ideas of where Winn hid the Bloodstone. He had few personal belongings, and she had already searched them thoroughly, so she was certain the stone was not in his yehakin.
She grimaced at her toileting options, leaves or more leaves, and hurriedly completed the task before anyone noticed she was gone. It was bad enough walking around with no undergarments, but to have been observed during such a personal act would be humiliating. She never thought herself a shrew in her own time, yet among the women of the village, she was most assuredly the strange one. Maggie insisted on covering herself, unwilling to wear the skirts the others wore with only a mantle loosely covering their upper bodies, her modesty a well-ingrained trait she was unable to change even if it meant fitting in. Teyas understood, and Maggie felt lucky to have her as a tentative ally. The younger woman took to wearing a full dress very similar to the ones she gave Maggie, as if she gave her silent support by emulation. Maggie was glad for any camaraderie she could get.
Chetan was preparing to mount his Spanish pony when Maggie arrived. Makedewa was already astride, his horse pawing impatiently at the dirt as they waited for the other warrior. She was unsure if she should approach Chetan, but when a warm smile creased his face, she decided it was safe enough and continued.
“Red Woman,” he nodded. “Your Blaze grows well, I think he will be a great stallion someday.”
They turned to watch the colt, who perked up his ears and issued a shrill whinny at the sight of her. Chetan chuckled and Maggie reached in the fold of her waistband to find a sliver of apple she brought for him, reaching over the rail with the flat of her palm in offering. The colt quickly slurped up the fruit, leaving a slimy mess on her palm, which she rubbed off on the edge of her dress. Chetan watched the exchange, but his smile faded as he took her hand in his own.
Startled by the contact, but unafraid, she watched as he slowly turned her hand over to
stare at her scarred palm. It was the hand that she held the Bloodstone in, and it was creased with a healing silver scar, a heart shaped knot that looked strangely organized as if it was a brand.
“Ah, you have been marked. I see now,” he said softly, as if to himself.
“What do you mean, marked?”
“The Bloodstone. It marked you, so you must truly be from another time. A woman Time Walker,” he muttered as he shook his head, his round cheeks now more serene than smiling. “Is it a peaceful place, this time you come from?”
“It is very different,” she offered. “Peaceful enough.” Thoughts of the life she was torn away from were like lead in her throat, and she shook her head against the tears that threatened. “I miss it very much,” she admitted. He ducked his head, squinted his eyes, and uttered a nervous cough to clear his throat.
“Maybe you are here because you should be. I think if you open your eyes, you will find happiness here with our people.”
She did not answer him, unwilling to argue when he was trying to be kind, so she shrugged her shoulders in response as she remained silent.
“Winn buried the Bloodstones to keep you away, but still you are here. He thought never to disobey our uncle. He was sure he would kill the Red Woman if ever she arrived.”
“Everyone would be happier if he just let me go home.”
Chetan smiled, shaking his bowed head.
“No, I think not. Not my brother, and not you. I hear your words, but I see your heart. You were meant for this place, Fire Heart.”
A protest formed on her lips, but she did not voice it. There was no argument she could make against such magical things.
“Do you ride horses as well as you care for them?” he asked. She raised her eyebrows at his words.
“Well, yes, yes I do. I’m a good rider.”
“Then come with me. I go to scout our border.”
She glanced around him at Makedewa, who she could tell was listening but held his tongue. What harm would it do to take a ride? She was tired of being treated like a prisoner, as if she had no more value than an ear of corn, so perhaps a ride would ease her anxiety for a few hours.
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