“You can just let me go.”
“He will hunt you.” She grimaced at the words unsaid. If Winn did not kill her, his uncle would.
“You won’t kill me,” she whispered.
He stared at her across the flames of the fire. “I should end your life. I should kill you and feel no regret,” he said softly in return. Her spine stiffened at his quiet admission.
“Then do it,” she taunted, regretting the foolish words the moment they left her lips.
“Perhaps I will. If I smother your breath while you sleep, will I still see you in my dreams?” He rose from his spot and bent down in a crouch in front of her. She trembled at the luminous darkness in his eyes, his body tensed and ready to strike. “Perhaps I will cut your throat as you tried to cut mine. Will I still want to touch you when your blood is on my hands? Or will it chase your ghost from my thoughts?”
He held his palms out and considered them for a moment, shaking his head.
“I think not. I think still you would haunt me.” She closed her eyes as he reached for her and felt his fingers take a strand of her hair. She felt his breath close and dared not open her eyes for fear of losing the last shreds of willpower she had left. Her heart hammered so loud she was sure he could hear it thump in her chest.
He slowly rose to his feet and put distance between them. He parted the hide covering the doorway and paused, his back turned and his face shrouded from her questioning gaze.
“You will join the women for the feast tonight. You worked hard to prepare it.”
She found no power to answer him before he left.
PART TWO
CHAPTER 16
Although the remnants of their conversation left her reeling, Maggie went along with Teyas to take the evening meal. Teyas graciously provided another garment for Maggie to wear, since all that she had was still wet from washing. The women sat apart from the men, seated in a group by the large fire burning in the village center outside the Long House, the steady hollow beat of drums echoing through the air and the smoke of their pipes wafting into swirls above their heads. She was glad to be among them, but still frustrated by her slow grasp of their language. Teyas did not seem to notice, giving her a smile now and then as she chatted with the other women.
Dusk settled over the treetops, casting a magical hue on the festivities as near naked children raced through the crowd, shrieking and laughing in their games. Their antics shadowed the behavior of youngsters in a schoolyard, and the bitter reminder of her home brought on the sting of sadness. She would not break down in front of the women. Most of them viewed her with suspicion, and she would not have them see her as a weak simpering fool.
She wished they would hurry on with the meal so she could escape to the yehakin and get some kind of handle on the situation. If she could only find out where Winn hid the Bloodstone, she knew she would be one step closer to going home. Of course, she had no idea how to make the time travel magic work, and then there was the added complication of the feelings for Winn that she tried desperately to ignore.
Winn was seated across the fire with the other warriors, looking more relaxed than he had earlier. She watched as he took a puff from a long handled pipe and then passed it to the man beside him who did the same. He looked sleepy as he laughed, with pink tinges of bloodshot around the edges of his eyes, and Maggie wondered just what exactly was in the wild tobacco blend they smoked. Apparently, it was a luxury only the men enjoyed, not that she wished to partake, but it still intrigued her that women were not allowed the same pleasures.
As she watched the men enjoy the smoke, Winn lifted his head and their eyes met across the fire. Her stomach lurched and somersaulted when he smiled despite the anger she still harbored for him, and it was all she could do to look away when a crimson blush crept across her cheeks.
Nemattanew did not share the smoke with the others. He wore a multitude of feathers, his back decorated with the full wings from an unlucky swan. He looked like a treacherous angel, the wings spread from his shoulders, fluttering in the brisk night breeze. She quickly averted her eyes when he noticed her gaze. His eyes held nothing but bleak hatred, dark brown orbs full of restrained malice as he stared back at her across the fire.
She needed to get away from them all, even for a few moments.
Maggie made an excuse to check on Blaze, escaping from the happy gathering if only for a short time. If she continued to enjoy their company and take part in their lives, it would only be that much harder when she left. She had doubts about saving her own heart from breaking, but she pushed that indecision aside and concentrated on the colt instead.
She expected to be joined by the children as she tended to Blaze, but she was surprised to see they did not follow her as she made her way to the lean-to. Horses stomped and their hooves made impatient thuds in the straw at the sight of her, and she imagined they thought it was feeding time by her presence. Blaze usually ran to her on sight, and she was puzzled to find him missing.
She twirled around to make her way back to the feast, intent on finding Winn to see what had happened to the colt. Suddenly a hand closed over her mouth and she was jerked into the shadows. She let out a muffled screech against the hand and stomped on his moccasin-clad foot, eliciting a deep chuckle from her captor.
“You fight like a wildcat,” he laughed. “Do not fear, it is only me.”
“You scared me! You—”
“You left the meal,” he murmured as his mouth came down softly on hers. She could not recall what curses she meant to call him, her senses scattered by his touch. The tangy scent of the smoke clung to him, sending a tingle through her lips that slowly changed to a pleasant numb twinge.
“I didn’t think anyone would notice,” she answered.
“I noticed.” His lips caressed her shoulder and she could feel the warmth of his shallow breaths upon her skin. “I missed you,” he said softly, his face still hidden against her. They stayed like that for along moment, clutching each other.
She closed her eyes at his admission, for once in her life at loss for words.
“What magic is this that I cannot leave you? Why do I stay here with you, when I should go join my men? Do you cast a spell, Tentay teh?”
Maggie shook her head without a response, afraid to interrupt the flow of his words as the dam of his emotions began to crumble. Even if the smoke had clouded his judgment and loosened his tongue, she still longed to hear the words from his heart. Surely, the thing between them meant something to him.
“My uncle calls for your death. If I make you my wife in truth, I know not what he will do. Even he cannot make a man kill his wife. Should I just take you and be damned?”
“You think I would agree to be your wife?” she asked, breathless as his lips traced a path of delicious torture across her cheek.
“You would agree,” he murmured, intent on his work as he continued to nuzzle her.
“No I would not,” she insisted.
“What if I take you to my yehakin now, would you still argue?”
“Wait a second,” she said, tearing away from his seeking lips. “I don’t have to marry you if we- if we just sleep together.”
“This is my time. I can see your fire for me, I feel it in here,” he insisted, brushing his fingertips lightly over her heart. “And I promise you, when I take you as mine, it is forever. That is my way.” His hand fell to her waist and he pulled her tight against his chest, his face hardening. “Have you given your heart to another before me?”
“I haven’t given you anything. You never ask, you just give orders,” she stammered.
“Answer me,” he insisted.
“No. Never. I have never loved a man enough…to do that,” she admitted.
A flush crept over her neck and cheeks when she saw him smile, the sudden understanding of her words apparent in his face.
“Then you admit I have your love?” His mouth closed over hers.
She threaded her fingers in his hair and clutched
him against her, and she knew no other answer to give him. For once, she felt no urge to deny him. The words slipped from her lips.
“You do,” she whispered, meeting his soft blue eyes with her own.
His mouth covered hers, eager and intense. The possession in his kiss left no question, the words once spoken, never to be rescinded. The shadow of consequence fell away, smothered beneath the urgent need to be a part of him, with him, swallowed whole by the unknown, tempered by his strength.
With one swift movement, he lifted her into his arms. He carried her across the clay packed path to his yehakin, where he dropped the bearskin hide across the door to shield them inside.
“Ntehem. Let me love you,” he murmured.
Maggie felt the warmth of golden sunshine across her face from the smoke hole as the sun rose overhead, gently dousing their skin as they lay together on the furs. Limbs entwined with his, her head resting against his chest, she could hear the thud of his heart beneath her ear. It was slow and steady, humming a peaceful rhythm that soothed her senses back into memory of the night they shared. Her lips curled into a smile, and he must have felt the motion, for he sat up a bit and arched one brow at her, his thick dark lashes opened slightly over sleepy eyes.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
Although fresh off the intimacy between them, shyness overtook her at the thought of discussing the act.
“Nothing,” she lied. It was his turn to smile. He pulled her upward against his chest so that she had to look at him.
“If you want me again, you only need ask, my wanton woman,” he grinned. She blushed harder at his taunt and giggled, and he covered her lips with his own. Teasing at first, he nipped at her lip, but his kiss became more wanting when she lowered her head for more. He held her head with both hands and tilted her face, the taste of sweet tangy smoke clinging to his lips. His eyes twinkled with mischief, soft and wide as he gazed at her with a boyish grin.
“No – I mean, yes, but that’s not it.”
“No or yes?” he smirked.
She buried her face into his chest, feeling the blood rise to her cheeks at the turn of the conversation, at utter loss to explain the questions she wanted to ask.
“Where is Blaze?”
“You think of a horse now? Perhaps I should distract you better,” he murmured, tugging playfully on her ear with his teeth. “He’s in the meadow with the other young horses, if you must know.”
“Okay. What does ntehem mean?” she asked. He smiled.
“My heart,” he said softly. “More questions, ntehem?”
“You’ve done this before,” she blurted out, her cheek still lying hidden against him. “I, well, I haven’t. I was just wondering what … wondering if … oh, Christ! I want to know if this was good for you. I mean, if I was good,” she stammered, the last of her words trailing off as a mumble. She regretted the question immediately, sure she would be unable to answer him coherently if he chose to entertain her ridiculous conversation.
She squeezed her eyes shut when he slipped his fingers under her chin and raised it up.
“Look at me,” he demanded, his tone teasing yet insistent. She complied, grudgingly, and met his steady gaze with her own.
“I just…I just want to know. Was this…special to you?” she said softly.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out, then he clamped it shut. She saw him swallow and he shook his head a bit as if clearing it from a fog, then pushed himself up to sit. She moved with him and settled in his lap, her belly flipping in cartwheels when he settled his arms around her waist.
“Look up, ntehem,” he said finally, glancing upward with her at the rising sun through the smoke hole, its shimmer too powerful on their eyes to view for more than a moment.
They bowed their heads together and he paused, taking her hand in his and turning it gently over. He considered the scar in her palm, gently tracing his thumb over the silver knot that seared her skin like a brand. He brought it to his lips and kissed it, then laid it against his chest over the steady beat of his heart. She felt the heat, the pounding, the joining of the connection as warmth spread through her body to the deepest recess of her soul.
“A man is only a mountain in the darkness, waiting for the day when the sun will smile on him,” he whispered. “But no man can look on the sun without burning. You burn me, but I will not let you go. I have waited too long to feel you smile on me.”
He kissed her tears gently away as they slid down her cheeks, kissing her mouth with the tangy taste of salt between them.
“Special? If you need a word, then take this,” he whispered. “You are mine, and I am yours. I know no other word for that.”
She settled back down deep into his embrace, her questions answered.
CHAPTER 17
Maggie and Teyas rode alongside each other as the men rode ahead. When the women were invited to travel to Martin’s Hundred for supplies, they both gladly accepted. Maggie was anxious to see the English town, curious to connect it to the little she knew about the history of the settlement. Over the last few weeks as they explored their newfound intimacy, she noticed Winn seemed reluctant to take her to town, so it was a surprise when he made the offer. She had many questions about the English, and she hoped her curiosity would be satiated by the visit.
Her fat pony plodded along, swinging her back and forth in a lazy rhythm. The glutton resorted to grabbing at every piece of tall grass they passed, so Maggie was forced to tap him frequently with her heels to remind him his job was to walk, not eat. Teyas had no such problem with her mount, but she was kind enough to lag behind with Maggie anyway.
“C’mon, you lazy hog!” Maggie groaned, kicking her pony for what seemed the hundredth time. Teyas giggled and helped her along by swatting Maggie’s horse with her rein, which did absolutely nothing.
“He only does that with you,” Teyas smirked.
“Well, maybe I need an upgraded model,” Maggie huffed.
“Upgrade?” Teyas asked, raising her eyebrows.
“A better horse. A faster one,” she explained. Teyas shrugged and tossed a round orange fruit at Maggie, which she caught in her lap. It was a maypop, and it seemed ages since she’d tasted anything she recognized.
“Try it. The elders say this fruit holds magic.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow but took a bite of the overripe fruit anyway, laughing when a bit of the sweet juice dribbled down her chin.
“Thanks. It’s good,” she agreed. “A little soft, but good.”
They followed the men along the coastline for what Maggie estimated was several miles. Once the beach began to narrow they came to an inlet, suddenly in sight was the outline of some sort of civilization shimmering as a mirage against the sand. Maggie pushed herself up as high as she could manage on the short pony and craned her neck to see.
“There it is!” she said. “Is that Martin’s Hundred?”
Winn must have heard her exclamation. He circled his horse around and rode back, trotting up to ride beside her. Sandwiched between Winn and Teyas, Maggie let out a frustrated groan. She wanted to gallop in for a closer look.
“It is part of Martin’s Hundred they call Wolstenholme Town. We will get there soon enough, no need to hurry,” Winn teased her.
“Are you sure they’re friendly? It doesn’t seem safe to me,” she asked. He made a half grunt, half snort sound and frowned, shaking his head.
“As safe as it always is. I’ve had no trouble, but I will have you stay with me. No wandering off. Hear me, Teyas?” Winn called over his shoulder. Teyas tossed her long braid over her shoulder with a shrug and retorted with the same grunted admonishment the men frequently used, and Maggie giggled at their exchange.
A shrill whinny pierced the air. Chetan’s stallion reared and began to prance as the palisade gates opened, and Winn rode ahead to help steady Chetan’s wayward animal. Their party entered amidst shouted greetings and waves of welcome, and as she looked around at the
bevy of faces in the crowd, Maggie suddenly felt her body sway as if she were on a boat.
Blurred faces swirled around her, cleared, and then clouded. The strange sensation hit again, and with the threat of losing her breakfast, she leaned forward against the coarse mane of her pony and promptly evacuated the contents of her stomach down the side of the horse. When she let out a groan, Teyas swung back around, and she reached over and grabbed Maggie’s reins.
“What ails you, Maggie?” Teyas asked. Maggie shook her head as another wave of nausea came, milder than the last. She was able to straighten up somewhat by the time Winn reached them.
“It must have been the maypop, I thought it tasted off. I’m fine now,” she muttered. Whatever it was seemed to be passing, for which she was grateful. She wished she had passed on eating the fruit, since it seemed too soft to her, but the deed was done and now she could only face the consequence.
“You look like an eel, all green and wet,” Winn laughed. He held out his arm, and she gladly slid over onto his lap, rather than risk falling off her own mount. She supposed it was all right to behave like a damsel in distress once in a while.
A damp cloth covered her eyes as she rested. She suspected it was meant to lie on her forehead, but as such things happen, it drifted downward like a mask, and when she pulled it off her face and looked around, she figured she was lucky it had not fallen over her mouth and stopped her breathing since no one would have noticed.
She sat up on a padded bench. She had not noticed much when Winn carried her inside, but now that she had recovered from her bout of sickness, she was eager to look about. Gathered around a long wood slat table were the Indians she had arrived with and several strangers. She seemed to be in the parlor of some sort of store, a saltbox style building as far as she could tell, with whitewashed walls and glass windows. Outside the large picture window toward the open door sun streamed into the room, and she could see what looked like a packed clay road, with the semblance of further similar buildings across the way.
The Blooded Ones Page 11
