The Blooded Ones

by Elizabeth Brown

  Winn nodded. “Yes, the dog marked her. It was clear he meant to take her.”

  Murmurs erupted among the men. A canopy of smoke hung over them, a wisp funneling up through the fire hole at the top of the Long House where the wind whipped above. Rumbles of an autumn storm shook the walls and the wind wailed outside. Winn wondered if Maggie was warm by the fire in his yehakin.

  “We will send word to Opechancanough. He will want to hear of this.”

  The men grunted in agreement with Winn and resumed passing the pipe amongst them.

  CHAPTER 11

  She lay curled under several furs, chilled by the unseasonably cold winds and eager to warm her frozen fingers and toes. Darkness had fallen hours before, yet Winn had still not returned. She waited up as long as she could, trying to keep the fire burning and failing miserably, until finally she gave up and retired to her sleeping space. Her mind would not rest, however, even though the remainder of her body begged to succumb, fatigue not enough of a distraction to keep away visions of the dead warriors.

  An arrow to the temple, quick and effective.

  A blade jammed into the neck? Equally as efficient, yet somehow seeming much more brutal. She recalled his eyes when he did it, the frigid, focused stare, flaming with violence, intent on bloodshed. Yet Winn came to her afterward, the fire dimmed, his gaze anxious, his touch gentle and calming.

  He had killed a man to protect her, taken a life as if it meant nothing. She could not grasp how such violence could be turned on, and then off, like a simple switch to be flipped at a whim. He could turn that on her at any moment, yet some tiny voice inside whispered he would never direct that hatred on her.

  She heard the flap of the door covering and knew he returned. With her scattered thoughts still fresh, she did not immediately rise, instead keeping her eyes closed to mimic sleep. She was afraid to face him, wanting to thank him, but unsure if thanking him for killing a man was something appropriate to do.

  “Tentay teh,” he said softly. Warmth rushed through her when she felt him sit down beside her. Although the furs separated them, she still felt his heat, and his closeness caused her throat to tighten and her palms to moisten as they lay curled under her chin. He ran his hand over her hair, drifting down her chin, then to her shoulder.

  She swallowed back against her closed throat and opened her eyes. He seemed unsurprised she was awake. His nearness was disarming, so much so she sat up and put a bit of distance between them. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I did not mean to wake you,” he said.

  “It’s okay. I wanted to see you.” She bit her lower lip, the words seeming to come out in a disjointed mess instead of how she wanted them to. She held her breath as he reached over. He pulled a fur up over her shoulders and enclosed her in it, his fingers brushing her bared arms but nothing more.

  “Oh? Why?” He sat back away from her, staring at her with his wide full mouth slightly parted, his blue eyes soft and serene.

  “To thank you. For what you did,” she replied. He frowned and ducked his head a bit, then met her stare again. She hesitated to explain further, but made the attempt anyway. “Men don’t do things like that where I come from. Kill people, I mean. Not over a woman. Certainly not over me,” she stammered.

  His gaze hardened, and she saw the skin across his abdomen crease as he held his breath. She was confused when he left her side and began adding kindling to the fire.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Men of your time,” he snapped. “Are they all such weaklings? Are there no warriors? I protect what is mine, Tentay teh. Until breath leaves my body, I will do so.”

  Maggie sat back, stunned at his confession, unwilling to move a muscle before she could gather her senses to respond. He continued to toss wood to the flames.

  “You think me savage, because men of your time spill no blood? I say your men know nothing of honor. Why do you want to return to such a time?”

  “It’s where I belong, Winn,” she said softly.

  “Je fais partie ou la lumiere me prend,” he murmured.

  “Is that Paspahegh?”

  “No. French words, from a book. It means ‘I belong where the light takes me’. Just as you do.”

  “Who are you?” she asked, filled with wonder at each snippet of soul he revealed to her. She rose from the furs and approached him. “Where did you learn that? You speak so beautifully.”

  His shoulders tensed, and she felt him stiffen when she slipped her hand into his.

  “You think this savage knows nothing? I know many languages. I can read from your books. I am quite valuable to my Weroance.”

  She placed her other hand softly on his chest and moved closer to him so he could not avoid her gaze. He looked angry, yet controlled, but she needed to ease the fire and staunch the distance between them.

  “I meant no insult,” she said, trying to lighten his mood. “I was being nice.” He frowned.

  “Nice? Humph,” he grunted.

  “Here, sit. I have a gift for you,” she said softly. He let her pull him down next to the fire, where Teyas had left a few supplies for her. A clamshell that fit snug in her hand, a bowl of thick bear fat, and a soft deerskin to use as a towel. When Maggie asked her how to properly thank Winn for what he had done, Teyas assured her that shaving his scalp would show him just how grateful she was. She only hoped she could do it without hurting him.

  “Maggie—”

  “Please. Let me do this for you.”

  When he watched her dip her hand in the grease, she saw his throat tighten. She kneeled in front of him, and while placing one hand on his shoulder to steady herself, she carefully smeared the grease on the crescent of short hairs over his right ear. His eyes followed her every movement.

  “Be still,” she said. She took the sharp shell in the palm of her hand as Teyas instructed her, and slowly scraped it along his skin. She was pleased when the hair came cleanly away, leaving his bared scalp slick from the grease. His breath felt warm on her neck as she worked with her face close to his, going over the moon shaped patch to ensure it was smooth. As she leaned in to pat his skin dry, he turned his chin, a slight movement, yet enough for his lips to brush the side of her neck.

  “Thank you for what you did today,” she said.

  She touched his cheek softly with her closed lips, meaning to give him something to show her sincerity, but at the contact, he caught her face in his hands, moving his mouth to gently cover her lips. Sweet with brandy wine he kissed her, his palms cupped around her cheeks.

  She felt him shudder, and her own hands shook as she placed them flat upon his chest. She meant to move closer, every ounce of her being drawn to him, but suddenly he broke the kiss, breathing heavily as he looked down at her. His gaze flickered down, as if it pained him to face her.

  “Go,” he said, his voice hoarse, “take your rest. I will see you when the sun rises.”

  She thought he would kiss her again, yet he did not. He left her there alone by the fire, wondering what exactly had just happened between them.

  “Did you cut him?” Teyas asked.

  Maggie shook her head.

  “I did a pretty good job, if I may say so myself,” she replied. They worked together with the other village women, grounding Tuckahoe root into flour. Maggie would have liked to go out on the boats to retrieve it, but she was reluctant to make any suggestions since most of the women viewed her with suspicion. She imagined they wondered if she was a slave or a guest, and since she was hardly sure herself, she could see why they might be leery of her.

  “Oh, good! He liked it, then?”

  “Seemed so,” Maggie admitted. The memory of his kiss distracted her, and blood rushed to her cheeks as she dropped her wooden mortar. Teyas giggled.

  “Is that so? My brother makes you clumsy. Maybe you should do more wife duties!” the girl laughed. Maggie stiffened and turned on her.

  “What are you talking about? Wife duties?” she asked. No
, surely Teyas would not be so sneaky! Maggie was fully aware it would take years for her to grasp the extent of the Paspahegh customs. Simple things she saw no meaning in were chock-full of implication in their world, so much so that she was afraid to make any move without prior instruction. When Teyas suggested she shave his scalp as a show of thanks, Maggie suspected nothing of it.

  “When a woman shaves a man, she tells him she accepts his courting. Do not worry, Maggie, it is the proper way to show love.”

  “Wait a second!” Maggie sputtered. “I only wanted to thank him! I don’t love him!” she hissed. Teyas grinned.

  “Ah, thanks…love? The same,” she laughed. Teyas continued with her grinding, and the women around them broke out in song, perhaps as a way to muffle the strange strangled sounds Maggie was making. Teyas nudged her with her foot, flashing a faux chagrined smile.

  “Not funny, Teyas,” she seethed. “Not funny at all.”

  Some of the other women chuckled, and Maggie clamped her mouth shut.

  CHAPTER 12

  The celebration feast lasted three days. Maggie felt her body ache as she helped Teyas raise the large chunks of venison onto stakes for preparation. It surprised her to feel so fatigued from the daily chores the rest of the women churned through so easily, but she imagined her fitness level would catch up soon. Determined to perform her share, she trudged on, but she still looked forward to dusk when everyone slowed down. Then she could spend some time with Blaze. Although she instructed the children how to care for the growing colt, she enjoyed working with the animal and found it a distraction from reality. The best part of the day was also unfortunately the most uncomfortable, since it involved spending time alone with Winn in his yehakin.

  Maggie met little progress trying to figure him out, and she was even more confused since he kissed her. Teyas explained he was War Chief of the tribe, a title of great honor to their people. She could see how the tribe respected him, how they deferred to his orders without question. She noticed how the women flocked to him and how Winn rarely stood in a crowd without one of them hanging on him. He acted kindly and near affectionate with many of them, although she noticed he never disappeared with the woman as the other warriors did. Teyas shared bits of information with her in their conversations as they worked, and she giggled about how Winn was blinded to any other women since Maggie arrived. It was meant as a compliment, but it gave Maggie pause. She was more afraid of her own growing feelings than she would care to admit.

  Winn spent the mornings with the other warriors and attending to his duties, which was fine with her, especially since he had become much more thoughtful after their conversation of the future. She hardly knew what to say, and the urge to comfort him in some way squeezed her chest so much she could barely speak to him without longing to ease his distress.

  Maggie worked to learn some of the language and relieve her frustration, intrigued by the smooth cadence of their speech and eager to communicate. Perhaps if she learned more and behaved as if she was trying to fit in, she could find others who might help her with the Bloodstone. She suspected Winn had something to do with the way Teyas clammed up anytime Maggie asked about the Bloodstone, and she was sure Winn hid the stone from her. Maggie spent many mornings searching the yehakin for it without success.

  Maggie sliced her knife through the venison top to bottom, and as she watched the meat yield, a hand fell on her shoulder. She swung swiftly around, the blade clutched in her fist, thinking about how Winn had ended the life of a man with such a weapon.

  Winn plucked the knife from her hand, his brows arched in challenge. She bit back a harsh retort and took a breath before responding. She crossed her arms and held her hand out to him, palm up.

  “I can’t finish without the knife,” she said evenly. He nodded.

  “Teyas can finish. I would walk with you.”

  “Are you asking me?”

  He sighed, then nodded.

  “Yes. Would you walk?”

  Teyas smiled as if the exchange was normal courtship, and resumed her chores without complaint. To her surprise, Winn returned the knife to her hand and watched as she tucked it into the cord tied around her waist. She followed when he walked away, wondering where he would take her. He spoke little in the last two days other than to ask random questions about her time, which she tried to answer even though it made her more homesick, so this change in his behavior intrigued her.

  She noticed eyes of the women follow them as they walked through the village toward the corral. Other than Teyas, Maggie was not allowed to spend much time talking to the others. She knew she had to earn Winn’s trust if she was ever going to make any progress with her plan to leave.

  His sorrel horse stood waiting. Winn helped her up and then mounted behind her in one lithe leap. He had not allowed her to ride alone since the attack in the woods. She twisted her hands in the coarse mane and tried to touch him as little as possible, but her attempts were useless when riding bareback with the man. They balanced much easier when she relaxed and leaned back, and she felt his thighs fit behind hers with less effort. He rode with one hand looped around her waist, the other guiding the horse with a single hackamore rein around its nose.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “A surprise,” he replied simply.

  The horse trudged up a loose gravel path which became too steep to climb safely, so they dismounted and walked the rest of the way while Winn led the animal. The air felt crisp, cool against her skin as a light breeze lifted her winding auburn hair from her shoulders. She realized they stood on a peak overlooking the village valley. She stood closer to the edge of the slope, amazed at the miles of evergreens covering the valley, scattered by clumps of peaked hilltops entwined along the winding river. Maggie twisted her hair into a knot with one hand and closed her eyes as the breeze flowed over her again. She took a deep breath and let it out slow. How strange she never noticed before how beautiful this place was!

  “You can see all of Tsenacommacah lands from here,” Winn said. She heard his footsteps and felt his presence behind her when the tiny hairs on her neck stood at attention, but he did not move to touch her. The scent of leather and faint evergreen followed him, a scent she recognized now as belonging uniquely to him.

  “It’s beautiful,” she replied.

  “It is yours now as well. This land is part of you.”

  She bit her lip and tried to soften the blow of her answer.

  “I—I can’t stay here. I need to go back to my own time, Winn,” she said softly.

  She felt his chest brush against her back as he let his breath out in a sigh.

  “You have no choice. You are here, and it is done.” The quiet urgency in his voice left little room for compromise. “I give you this. I give you time to forget your sadness. There is no more time.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Many summers ago a Pale Witch arrived by magic and became one with our people. She had knowledge of the future, and guided our tribe. On the moon of my birth, she saw a Red Woman arrive with a Bloodstone. She foretold that I would fight the bear to save you, a maiden Time Walker.” His voice lowered, and she felt his head rest against her hair for a moment. “She said the Red Woman was no sacrifice, and she was banished for her disloyalty to the Weroance. When time came near for the prophecy to fulfill, I took all the Bloodstones of my tribe and buried them. I thought the legend could be broken.”

  His hands slid down on her arms as his lips pressed close to her flushed cheek over her shoulder.

  “My uncle is Opechancanough, Great Leader of our tribes, our Weroance. Long ago my uncle ordered the death of all Time Walkers. It is a great honor for a warrior to bring our Weroance the head of a Time Walker.”

  She shook her head at the truth, the meaning of his words sinking in. A sacrifice? Bound by a legend, forced to obey by his tribe and his honor, would he follow through by ending her life? For all she knew of him, she believed he felt some care for her, but wa
s it enough to risk the wrath of his uncle? Even if he knew how to return her to her time, she was certain he would never agree to do so now.

  “Did you bring me here to – to kill me?” she whispered.

  “No. Only to make you see. There is only one way I know to keep you safe, and that is to keep you with me. I will not let you go.”

  Maggie closed her eyes, relief washing through her at the revelation he did not drag her up the mountain as a sacrifice.

  “Winn,” she said softly.

  “Can you learn to love this land, Tentay teh?” he asked. His warm breath caressed her ear as he spoke, sending a shiver down her spine. “I feel sorrow for your pain. I wish you to love my time like your own. Is there nothing here you could stay for?”

  She did not expect the surge of confusion his words brought forth.

  “There are things I love about…your time,” she admitted. “Your uncle wants me dead… is that the only reason you’re doing this?”

  He gently tilted her head to the side and closed his warm mouth over hers. Her hands found his neck, and his fingers twisted in her loose hair.

  “No. I would keep you even so.”

  She told herself it was only an act, a way to gain his trust. A means to an end. Yet in that moment, her traitorous heart knew wanted more of him.

  She glanced over his shoulder and her eyes fluttered open, her body suddenly frozen as she uttered a scream.

  Standing behind them was another Indian male, his body littered with scars, one hand perched on his hip and the other clutching a feather-tipped spear as he watched them. Tall and lean, with a long narrow face and a sneer across his lips, his dark eyes met hers, betraying no hint of embarrassment but rather disappointment the show had ended.

  At the sound of her scream, Winn pivoted fast and grabbed his knife, shoving her backward. She could only see his back as he stood between her and the stranger, but she saw the way he straightened as he spoke to the man.

  The way the stranger continued to stare at her as he spoke to Winn made her blood run cold. She recognized little of the exchange as they spoke in their native language, but she heard the restrained anger in the words Winn spoke. Her breath caught in her throat as Winn suddenly breached the space between himself and the intruder, his knife gripped in his white-knuckled fist, and the other man raised his spear away from his hip in reply.