“Contract me?” she choked. One of his eyebrows rose up and he peered back at her.
“Ye signed the contract before you left England, girl. You will wed one of the men in the colony, which is why I paid yer passage. Jack-of-a-Feather is a good friend to us, be glad he returned ye. Your rescue came at a good time, lest I would be lost of my money with no bride to barter with.”
“There has been some mistake, I am not your niece!”
He looked sideways at her. “Yes. Yes ye are. Hold yer tongue, girl, if ye know what is good for ye.” He spit out a dark wad of tobacco and clucked to the horses. “Ye have the look of yer mother, ye know, blasted bloody wench she was.”
Maggie had learned something of the time she was stuck in and knew when it was prudent to keep silent. As much as she wanted to jump from the wagon and start running, she had seen enough of the untamed wilderness and knew better than to risk her neck in it with little more than the doeskin on her back. As if he read her thoughts, Thomas looked down at her, a frown on his lips and his heavy brows slanted.
“We will get ye into suitable clothes as soon as we return. Yer heathen dress will surely give yer aunt a fright, but she will make do.”
Maggie agreed. She would give anyone a fright with little trouble.
Nighttime had fallen by the time they reached the town. The wagon came to a stop and Thomas jumped quickly down, but Maggie remained frozen, unable to remove her fingers from where they were clenched around the plank supports.
“Miss?”
Benjamin stood beside the wagon, holding his hand out to her expectantly. She turned slowly and looked down into his clear blue eyes, noting with a flush that the shade reminded her of Winn’s odd blue eyes. The man smiled at the color rising in her cheeks, and she imagined he assumed it meant something else. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and took his offered hand, and as she stepped down, she glanced past him.
Still seated on his pony, Nemattanew watched them. His face was a flat mask that betrayed no indication of unease, but Maggie thought she spotted a flicker in his gaze when their eyes met.
She choked back a sob. She had thrived on the strength of her anger, and it fed her resolve to carry on like a dysfunctional crutch. Now, separated from Winn, she felt that urge drain away like a wound gone bloodless, and the sickly taste of fear pricked her soul as she wondered if he would ever find her. She knew her American history, and she knew Jamestown was not a safe haven. Nemattanew was leaving her there to rot with the other whites, getting rid of the Blooded One one way or another.
“Thank you,” she mumbled. She turned her attention to Benjamin. Taller than the others, with thick wavy dark hair curling around his collar, he took her dusty hand and tucked it in the crook of his elbow. A stray curl fell over his brow as he dipped his head to speak. She stared hard at him for a long moment in the moonlight, his image reminding her of the hulking protector she left behind in the future. Similar in stature to Marcus, there was something about Benjamin that radiated protection and strength. She wondered if she could trust that instinct in regards to Benjamin, or if her desperate imagination was only reaching for the safe haven she once knew back home.
“Are you steady, Miss? I will carry ye should ye have need. ‘Tis understandable if you are weary,” he said quietly, heard only to her ears. She shook her head and let him lead her to the house.
Larger than she expected and constructed of stone and wood, she followed Benjamin through the plank doorway inside the house. Thomas Martin had already roused a woman she imagined was his wife, and she was comforted by the kindness in her eyes. Short and pleasingly round with a swath of ebony hair twisted at her nape, she listened to a whispered explanation from Thomas and placed both hands to her lips as her eyes widened. The woman then nodded vigorously and pressed her hands against her heart as she turned to Maggie.
“Welcome home, dear. How do ye fair, yer uncle said ye took a blow to the head? We haven’t seen ye since ye were a child, but I am yer Aunt Alice. What a blessing to see ye live and well,” she said. She motioned with a hand for Maggie to follow. “Come with me, we shall leave the men to their business.”
Benjamin nodded at her as if in blessing, and Maggie let her hand slip from his arm to follow Alice into another room off the main area.
“I fear my dress may be a bit short for you, dear, but it will do until we can fit ye for another. Anything will serve better than that which ye wear—thank our Lord no other women were about to see ye arrive. ‘Tis good they know nothing of where ye have been,” Alice muttered, pulling a white cotton shift from a wooden chest next to the lone window in the room. Two functional shutters stood open to admit the brisk night breeze through the small high window, the opening naked and free of glass. Alice noticed her staring at the space.
“My husband says he will have glass windows for us before the winter falls. He is so busy now with managing those who work the tobacco fields, he canna tend to it yet. But soon he will remedy that,” she assured Maggie. Maggie said nothing as the woman thrust the shift and a wool dress at her, as if Maggie knew what to do with it. “I will tend to the men and return for ye, dear.”
Maggie stared blankly at her back as she left the room, pulling the door closed firmly behind her. She sat down on the edge of a narrow cot, one of the few furnishings in the room. Dropping the clothes in a heap on the floor, she put her head in her hands. The tears came fast, staining her dusty cheeks with hot denial. She had no idea how to get herself out of the unbelievable mess she was in. Maggie lay down on the stiff cot and curled her knees to her chest, hugging herself as she cried. She startled at the hand on her hair, relieved to see it was only Alice patting her head when she opened her tear-swollen eyes.
“There, there, dearest. Ye just sleep now. I told yer Uncle ye need sleep before he speaks with ye. The rest will wait for morning.”
The older woman pulled a soft woolen blanket over her shoulders and tucked it under her chin, patting her back softly in comfort. Maggie closed her eyes to the gesture and let the exhaustion of sleep carry off her weary mind.
She heard the lock click securely into place when the woman left.
CHAPTER 25
Winn ignored the stares and whispers as he rode into the Powhatan village. On his last visit, he was received as the favorite nephew of the Weroance. As War Chief of the small Paspahegh tribe he was given some respect, but many remembered that half his blood ran white and treated him accordingly. For some, it would never be enough that his mother was sister to Opechancanough, or even that Winn had proved himself as a warrior among his people. Within any community there were those with long memories tainted by fear, and the Powhatan people were no exception. To many, he would never be anything more than the son of a white man.
He stopped directly outside the Great Yehakin and dismounted, thanking the wiry boy who ran up to take his tired pony. Winn had ridden hard and the beast panted with the need for water. Although his own throat was stretched dry, he would not see to his own needs until his journey’s purpose was fulfilled. It was the only thing within his power to do at a time when he felt control of his life slipping away.
He knew the warriors guarding the Great Yehakin. The older of the two, a man called Assapanick, was one of the most decorated warriors in the village. Winn dipped his head in respect to the man, earning a tap on his shoulder in return. As one of the few who were permitted to enter the Great Yehakin unannounced, Winn was allowed passage.
Once Winn lived among them as an unsure youth, and he recalled the kindness Assapanick had always bestowed upon him. Like Winn, Assapanick had white blood in his veins. It was Assapanick’s father that was half-Spaniard and his mother a Pamukey, but others still remembered. There was a time that it garnered him some sort of kinship with Assapanick, yet Winn was acutely aware that his role as one of the Powhatan was coming to an end.
If Opechancanough called for Maggie’s death, there was only one choice Winn could make. The acknowledgment of his dec
ision felt like a stake driven through his belly, hard and unyielding as it tore his flesh. The pain of leaving everything he had ever known was harsh, but it was nothing compared to the thought of losing Maggie. He recalled the words spoken the first time they shared furs. In her shyness at their intimacy she had blushed asking him questions, but he quickly deduced the reason for her distress. When she asked if she was special to him, his heart clenched into a fist. He needed to make her truly understand what she meant to him.
“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.”
He meant every word he spoke, as he meant it when he kneeled before his uncle. The Great Yehakin was filled with people, including several of the Weroance’s wives. It was all he could do to hold onto his temper when Opechancanough tapped his mallet on a stump and bid him to rise.
“I see you kneel before me, nephew, but I wonder what path you will choose,” Opechancanough announced as Winn stood up. Winn straightened his back and faced his uncle.
“So Nemattanew had your ear before I arrived. Then you know what I ask of you,” Winn replied.
The Weroance grunted with a tight grin stretched across his weathered face. Winn noted that his uncle seemed more tired than usual, his eyelids heavy among his creased skin.
“Eat first, and then we will speak on your matter. It has been a long time since you sat beside me, nephew.”
Opechancanough waved his hand and three women immediately responded. They presented him with a bountiful supply of food, placing the best of the nightly meal before him. Winn joined in despite his frustration, knowing he could not refuse his uncle without insulting him. For some reason his uncle was delaying their conversation, and there was little for Winn to do but play along.
The Weroance was in no hurry to finish his meal. Winn refused the offer of English rum, which earned a raised eyebrow from his uncle but no other comment. As the night wore on, Winn felt his ire rise. Opechancanough seemed in no hurry to speak with Winn, despite the fact he had long since finished his meal and he was completely enamored by one of his wives who sat in his lap.
Just as Winn decided to pursue his request, the Weroance turned his attention to him.
“I think you should rest, nephew. We can speak on your matter in the morning, so I have time to think on it,” Opechancanough called out. He clapped his hands together, bringing forward several women who were eager to please. Before Winn could object they led him from the Great Yehakin and escorted him to a smaller yehakin nearby. It was a place he knew was reserved for guests of the Weroance, and with a twinge of unease he let them lead him inside. Was he only a guest to his uncle now? On other visits Winn had slept in the company of the Weroance’s family members—sisters, wives, or children. To be relegated to the position of guest unsettled him.
He faced the empty yehakin, noting a fire burned brightly and warmed the space well. As he absently shed his tunic, two small hands embraced him and slithered up his chest from behind. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to keep his voice calm. It would do him no good to insult the woman, as insulting his uncle’s “gift” would be the same as a challenge.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, swinging around to face her. He peeled her hands away. “But I am tired now, and I must rest alone.”
She had the look of youth about her, but her eyes spoke of experience when she laughed and continued to pursue him.
“Surely you are not so tired for me?” she asked, placing her hands on his shoulders. He backed away, stumbled over the bedding, and was incensed when she wrapped her arms around his waist.
She laughed as he gritted his teeth and pushed away her groping hands.
“Enough!” he growled. When she tried to kiss him he let out a growl and shoved her – hard.
The motion sent her sprawling onto her backside, and suddenly the woman was speaking rapidly and crying. With the sounds of her crying and the roar of his pulse throbbing in his ears, he did not understand much of what she said.
“Get out,” he said hoarsely. “I have no need for you.”
His breathing was shallow as he watched her gather her belongings, which she had left conveniently beside the sleeping furs. She paused at the door.
“If you tell him I did not please you, I will be shamed,” she said. He closed his eyes for a moment, running his hands over his head. He suspected the woman was a gift from his uncle, and her words were only confirmation of the Weroance’s game.
“What did he ask of you?” Winn asked.
Her eyes dipped down and she hesitated to answer. Winn was surprised to see her skin flush, as if speaking to him was much more difficult than bedding him.
“He said I must make you forget the Blooded One. If I fail…” her words trailed off, the unspoken threat left hanging.
It was bad enough his uncle sent a half-naked women to his bed. Worse than that, her fate was now on his shoulders. He knew he could not send her away. He sighed.
“Sleep here tonight on my furs. I will tell him you pleased me well,” he muttered.
Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Winn watched her place her bundle on the floor near his furs, and then he left the yehakin on his own mission. He was through with the games his uncle played, and after the scene with the woman, he was exceedingly ready to return to his wife. Damn the tribal rules and damn his uncle, he would wait no longer.
He pushed past the warrior guards at the door, knowing that by his actions his time as Opechancanough’s favorite was at an end.
“So this is the path you choose, nephew?” Opechancanough asked, gently disentangling himself from his wife as Winn stalked toward him.
“I have no time to wait, uncle. I must return to my woman. I only ask that you grant her your protection,” Winn said, dropping down on one knee in deference.
“It is said she is a Blooded One—a Time Walker. Is it not a Time Walker that will end my life? Did I not see it in a vision with my own eyes? Why, then, nephew, would I give her my protection?” Opechancanough asked. He rose from the furs and picked up his ceremonial mallet, which he held as he made way to a bloodied stump centered in front of his royal platform. Once there, he tapped the mallet on the stump, his eyes fixed on Winn.
“Because I have asked nothing of you, in all the years I have served you,” Winn said quietly. “I know that you are a great leader, uncle, and my request is easy for you to give.”
“I once decreed I will have the head of all Time Walkers.”
“Yet the Pale Witch lives,” Winn shot back, eliciting an annoyed grunt from the Weroance.
“She is not the one who brings me to death.”
“Nor is my wife.”
Opechancanough’s eyes widened and after a pause, his lips curled downward in a scowl.
“Your wife?” he asked.
“Yes. My wife,” Winn replied evenly.
Opechancanough shifted his gaze, his attention turned to the stump once more. Suddenly he raised the mallet, sending it down to smash upon the bloody wood.
“It was here that I placed her head, and with this hand I moved to end her life,” The Weroance said softly. His voice was whimsical, as if he meant to tell a story. The darkness reached for Winn, grasping his gut, twisting it so that he could not ignore the rising terror.
He was speaking of Maggie. His uncle had placed her head on that bloodied stump. He would not—could not—believe that the gore on the stump belonged to his wife.
“Where is she?” he demanded. Had he not left her safe in his yehakin? He needed answers.
The guards moved inside the Great Yehakin at the sound of Winn’s raised voice, taking position on each side of the leader. His uncle smiled. His mouth had very few teeth, his grin appearing more menacing than well humored.
“So you have made your choice,” the Weroance said quietly, nodding his head. “I sent her to the Englishman who claims her. She rid
es there with Nemattanew. Go to her, if you must.”
Winn swallowed hard. He tilted his head in acknowledgement and left without further words spoken. The warriors who guarded his uncle shook their heads sadly at him as he left.
Winn knew there was no return from the journey he embarked on. His future was unwritten, tangled within the destiny of one red-haired woman.
CHAPTER 26
Maggie kicked at the ankle length skirt restricting her pace as she tried to keep in step with Alice, but her gait was clumsy enough to cause the other woman to pause in wait. Alice pursed her lips but said nothing while she waited for Maggie to regain her bearings.
“I hate this dress!” Maggie muttered. If she had even a notion of where she was at in relation to the Paspahegh village, she would have made a run for it as soon as they stepped out of the house, but being that Thomas already had an idea she might be a flight risk her opportunities to flee were kept to a minimum. Not that she would have made it very far. She suspected that in the clothes she currently wore, she was more likely to fall on her face than escape.
She could feel the sweat dripping down her back and her scent was no better, reminding her of the way sweatpants smelled after a good workout. The stench did not seem to bother Alice as much, and she knew the other woman thought her daft for insisting on a bath that morning. Maggie had a two-fold reason for her cleanly ways, the most of which was the desire to keep her freshly healed shoulder wound from festering in the moist warmth. The other was her fear of becoming too much like the women around her.
“Hush, girl! What else would ye wear?” Alice chastised her.
“I have a few ideas,” Maggie mumbled. They resumed walking toward the church. Nervous about her ability to sit through a long Christian church service, Maggie was eager to have it over with. She tried to plead sickness, but Alice would not be swayed, insistent she must do her duty and attend her first church service at Martin’s Hundred after her “terrible ordeal with the savages.” The constant proximity of either Alice or Thomas kept her imprisoned, and she was acutely aware she had not any private moments other than using a chamber pot. They used an outside closet, but they insisted she not “tax” herself. Maggie was convinced it was just another method to keep her from fleeing.
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