He nodded. His throat was dry, his mouth too tight to speak. He could only acknowledge her with the simple gesture before he turned his horse away.
Those eyes haunted him, as always, seeing through the barrier that shielded his heart. Yes, she was still angry, but simmering beneath that jaded emotion, he could see her fear. When he returned, they would speak on it, find some way to bend the rigid barricade between them before it drove them further apart.
He heard only soft muffled sobs from Teyas as they rode away, yet it was his wife’s image that clouded his visions instead.
CHAPTER 27
Maggie
Maggie watched the men work on a new frame house adjacent to the Northern Hall. It was built in the English style with two stories and a narrow staircase up the middle, sticking up like an ugly cousin among the litter of thatched-roof Long Houses in the village. Benjamin worked to oversee the construction, and although he labored alongside the men, he clearly directed the efforts. It was easy to convince Marcus a two-story house would be the best use of their limited space in the secluded area, so when the growth of their community demanded it, he approved the work.
Maggie and Rebecca remained in the village to tend the meal-fire, while Gwen joined the others gathering honey. After Kwetii’s brush with the bee sting Maggie was still on edge, and although she hoped it was an isolated incident, she was unwilling to risk it by going back to the fields.
The grazing season was nearing end, so the men had driven the herd of cows into a narrow pass above the valley. There they selected which to slaughter, and which to feed throughout the winter. Maggie and Rebecca spent the morning scraping the hides and storing the fat, while the children played nearby. Maggie could see Rebecca found the chore distasteful, but the younger woman carried on with little complaint. She had been even less talkative than usual since Makedewa left with Winn.
“Will they return soon?” Rebecca asked. Maggie tightened the hide over her knee and scraped away in a sweeping motion with her blade.
“Winn said only two days. Maybe tomorrow we will see them,” she assured the younger woman. Rebecca looked wistfully out toward the construction, pausing in her scraping with a hide sprawled over her lap.
“Do ye think he will find a bride there, as well?” Rebecca asked softly. Maggie cocked her head sideways at her, stunned at the question. Although it was clear from both their behaviors that Rebecca and Makedewa missed each other, Rebecca had never verbalized it before. Maggie wondered what had prompted her inquiry.
“No, I don’t think so. I think he means to return to you quickly,” she replied. Rebecca blushed and lowered her head, resuming her scraping with renewed intensity. Maggie smiled.
“Perhaps he should stay. He could find a wife very easily,” she mumbled.
“Why would you say that?”
“No matter.”
Maggie sighed in frustration. She noticed Cormaic and Benjamin had stopped working, and Cormaic leaned on a spade, looking in their direction. He stared at Rebecca across the courtyard as she continued scraping. Both men propped their tools against the new wood frame and started walking toward them.
“Great,” Maggie muttered as the men approached. Cormaic had a mischievous grin on his face, and although Benjamin appeared much less amused, he was still smiling. Both were covered with dust and grime, their skin smeared with the sweat of their labor. Cormaic reached for the bucket of fresh cider Maggie had brought out for the men, but Rebecca jumped to her feet and rationed it out to the men before Maggie could offer it.
“Thank ye, my lady,” Cormaic murmured, his green eyes focused on Rebecca. Maggie saw her skin flush from ears to nape, and although she quickly sat back down and ducked her head to her work, she was clearly unsettled by the exchange.
“It looks good so far,” Maggie said, trying to break the silence.
“Aye. It’ll do fine. I expect the women will like it,” Benjamin agreed. Maggie filled a cup and handed it to Benjamin, who took it with a graceful nod. Maggie kept her eye on her cousin, who openly stared at Rebecca as if he had never seen her before.
“Cormaic?” Maggie said.
“Hmm? What, cousin?”
“The house looks quite fine, I said,” Maggie retorted. She stuck out her foot and stomped on his toe. Cormaic muttered a curse as his attention was drawn away from Rebecca, and Maggie smirked. He kicked a pile of dust her way in a playful manner, and before she knew it the game was on.
“Aye, ye thorny hellcat, it that what ye are about?” he grinned. The last word came out sounding like aboot, and Maggie burst into laughter as she rolled a thin strip of deer hide up and snapped it at him like a bath towel.
“Go on, get out of here! Don’t you have work to do?” she admonished him. He roared when she smacked him with the hide, ducked his head, and grabbed her around the waist.
“I think my cousin needs a dunking! What say ye, Benjamin?” Cormaic laughed, picking Maggie up off her feet. He swung around as if he meant to dump her in the village well and Maggie punched him in the ribs, eliciting a grunt but no release.
“Aye, I think so,” Rebecca piped up. Maggie glared at her.
“Traitor!” Maggie shot back at Rebecca. The younger girl held her lips closed in a tight line, clearly trying to keep from laughing.
“Come on now, enough,” Benjamin interrupted. When Benjamin took her arm and pulled her away from Cormaic, she tried to shrug him off. Benjamin would not be swayed, however, until they had stopped their petty game.
“Ah, let her loose! I fear no simple woman!” Cormaic taunted her. Incensed at hearing Rebecca giggle behind her, Maggie kicked out at her loud-mouthed cousin, causing Benjamin to join the laughter as well.
“Ye should fear this one, she has quite a temper,” Benjamin grinned. “She’d let a lad bleed out before she offered a hand to save ye. Mark my word,” he said with a twinkle in his soft eyes. Maggie elbowed Benjamin hard in the ribs, and he released her. She stood glaring at the two men in mock defiance as she rubbed her wrist.
“I see no work done here.”
They all stopped laughing when Marcus approached, his face stern and not the least bit amused at the antics. Rebecca made a whispered excuse about returning to the Long House, and both Cormaic and Benjamin straightened up as Marcus reached them. Maggie crossed her arms over her chest as she waited for his criticism. It seemed Marcus had turned into some high-handed stranger since they settled in the village, and she did not care for it at all.
Cormaic took a swig of cider as his eyes followed Rebecca. Benjamin dipped his cup for a refill and turned his attention to Marcus.
“Leave the women be, ye have plenty of work to do before nightfall,” Marcus said.
“Aye, just having a drink, no harm,” Cormaic said. Maggie shot him a scowl. If his intent was to impress Rebecca, he had come away looking like a playful fool, and she was glad of it. Rebecca had enough to think about without Cormaic vying for her attention.
Marcus stared hard at Benjamin, who met his gaze with measured return. Maggie sighed and sat back down to her work as Cormaic walked back to the frame-house. Marcus appeared annoyed as he sat down beside her, taking the cup from her hand and pouring himself some cider.
“Well? How’s it coming?” Marcus asked, directing his inquiry at Benjamin, who stood in front of them. Benjamin drained his drink and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. At that moment she was struck by the resemblance, and she wondered how she had not realized it long ago. With his dark curling hair plastered along his neck, and round slate eyes staring at her, Benjamin was the image of his father.
“It goes well. It will be finished in two days time, if the weather holds. Gwen thinks a storm is brewing, so we shall see,” Benjamin answered.
“Good. I expect we will need the space when yer brother returns. Go on, get on with it then, son.”
Benjamin nodded, and she saw the muscles of his throat contract as he looked down at the dirt.
“Aye, well, en
joy yer drink. I’ll see ye at the meal,” Benjamin murmured.
Maggie took the cup Benjamin held out. The corner of his mouth lifted in a grim smile, and then he turned and left. She heard Marcus let out a deep breath beside her as they watched him leave.
“Ye seem to be getting on all right,” Marcus commented. Maggie was taken aback at the implied accusation in his tone.
She dipped her own cup into the cider bucket and took a drink, ignoring his prompt. She did not want to discuss Benjamin with him.
“He dinna trouble ye, did he, Maggie?” Marcus commented.
She looked sideways at him as she drank.
“No. It’s okay. He means no harm,” she replied tersely.
“Sure, he means none.”
“Spit it out. What do you want to know?” she asked, seeing through his fumbling attempts at conversation. It had been a long time since they spoke as friends, and she was certain his inquisition was more than just concern.
“I just worry, that’s all. I have two sons, more than I ever had to lose in my life. And you, and Kwetii– I want ye all here, with me. But I think it might be too much to ask of ye.”
“Why do you say that?” she said softly. Suddenly, as his shoulders sagged and his forehead creased over his thick brows, he looked like the old Marcus again. She felt a pang of regret over her rash anger.
“Can you stay here, with yer husband’s brother looking at ye like that?”
They both glanced across the yard at Benjamin, who was using a hatchet to split a log. As if on cue, he looked over at them, and when he saw Maggie he flashed a smile before he bent back down to work.
“He said he would be no trouble. He promised me that,” she said.
“Well, then, if he promised,” Marcus said, his words trailing off with unspoken doubt.
If she did not forgive Benjamin, how could she expect Winn to do so? Surely it was the only tangible way to move on, for all of them. Yet discussing her feelings for her former husband was too much to share with even Marcus, so she turned the topic to one they could be in agreement on.
“How is Finola today?” she asked, intent on changing the course of their conversation. She knew he had visited his mother several times since the older woman’s arrival, yet Finola had not spoken a word to him.
“Gwen is convinced she’s trapped in her visions. She must see something dreadful, the way she sits there.” He sighed. “I fear she will never be sane again. In our future time, she’d be locked away, fer sure.”
“She might come through. We can’t give up on her,” Maggie said quietly. She placed a hand on his arm, and he covered it with his own briefly before he stood to his feet.
She intended to reassure him, but the pounding of hooves invaded the village. Astride a horse much too large for his boyish frame was a tow-headed youth, who galloped the horse into the courtyard where he came sliding to stop as the animal buried his haunches in the dirt. The boy looked younger than Ahi Kekeleksu, no more than six or seven, but he handled the massive animal with surprising grace considering his diminutive stature. Dressed in linen trousers and a vested tunic, he was clearly English, and despite the lack of risk associated with his presence, she saw several of the men reach for their weapons.
Although Marcus growled a warning for her to stay put, she followed him anyway. What harm could the boy bring, no matter what people he hailed from?
“Are ye lost, lad?” Marcus asked. The boy shifted in the saddle, his eyes darting around the camp as his fingers gripped the reins. The whites of his knuckles gleamed like little white pearls across his fists.
“I’m looking for kin of the savage Winkeohkwet,” the boy said. His horse pranced nervously in a circle, but he kept his eyes sharp on Marcus.
“Who asks?” Marcus replied. Marcus took hold of the horse’s rein to steady the beast, who snorted at the action, but calmed.
“I’m Morgan White, ward of John Jackson. He sent me with a message, but I will only give it to yer leader. Would that be ye, sir?” the boy said as he thrust his chin out in an insolent manner.
“I am. Get down, and tell me yer message,” Marcus answered evenly.
Cormaic came forward unbidden, and pulled the lad down off the horse. Marcus handed the horse’s reins to another man, and she saw Benjamin bend down to inspect the youth.
“I know ye. Yer were friend to my father,” the boy said.
Benjamin put a hand on Morgan’s shoulder with a nod. It was then that Maggie recognized the boy. The memory of that terrible day rushed back to her. It was the day Winn was shot by Thomas Martin, setting into motion events that had changed all their lives.
Yes, Maggie remembered that day, and by the hollow look on Benjamin’s face, she was certain he recalled it as well.
“Aye,” Benjamin said quietly to the boy. “What news do ye bring, lad?”
Morgan looked up at the men towering over him. Maggie thought he must be afraid, with the semi-circle of brawn surrounding him, but the youth held his stance and glared defiantly at them.
“Ye need to come for yer savage if ye want him to live. There’s men planning to kill him when he leaves town with Joseph Benning. They say they will hang him in the square.”
Maggie felt a swaying beneath her feet. No. Not Winn. He had been faithful in his task, served the English and Indians fairly. How could they turn on him?
“Gather the men from the fields, send them to the Northern Hall. Boy, ye’ll stay here with us,” Marcus ordered. No one moved for a moment, until Marcus swung on them in a fury.
“Go!” He bellowed. The men scattered, and Maggie followed Marcus through the courtyard.
They gathered in the Northern Hall, yet Maggie did not understand why they did not immediately leave. Cormaic and Erich roused the others, demanding a quick response to aid Winn. Maggie grew frustrated as Marcus stayed silent, listening to the others argue on the best plan. Finally, Marcus threw back his shoulders and stood up, and the hall fell silent as attention shifted to the Chief.
“We will make two groups. I will take two men into town. The others will wait outside the palisades. If we show them he is not alone, they will not dare follow him,” Marcus announced.
Maggie hung back away from the others, poised at the door to the Northern Hall. She crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes as she listened to the men, their words blending into a senseless fog to her ears. There was only one thing she wished to hear, that they would immediately ride out to find Winn. Panic washed through her with each moment that they delayed.
“What if they already attacked? We must take them by surprise. It is the only way,” Cormaic argued. Erich placed his hand on his son’s shoulder, shaking his head.
“We have not enough men. And they have many more guns, we only have a few.”
“What of the Nansemond? Send a rider for help, the warriors will come fight with us,” another man suggested. The hall erupted with murmurs, discussions of what course to take trailing off between men.
Benjamin remained silent through the exchange as he sat at his father’s side. Tense through his shoulders, wearing the fur mantle of a Chief’s son, Benjamin glanced over at her. She met his eyes briefly before she left the hall.
Damn them for not leaving right away. Every sliver of her sense screamed it would be a mistake, but all she could think of was getting to Winn. After all, she had snuck into Martin’s Hundred to help Benjamin. It might be more sensible for a woman to try to go in. The English would not expect it, and she was fairly sure no one would recognize her, since she had not been near any English towns since the Massacre.
She needed a plan, but she would have time to make one on the way to town. Rebecca would keep Kwetii without alerting the men, giving her time to take one of the horses and slip away. She entered her empty Long House and took stock of her supplies: one rifle with half a bag of gunpowder, her bone-handled knife, and one of Rebecca’s English style dresses. It would have to do.
Her hands were slippery
with sweat as she clutched the rifle and grabbed a traveling sack to pack with supplies.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
At the sound of Benjamin’s voice behind her, she bit down on her lower lip. She kept her back to him and continued shoving items in her bag.
“Leave me alone,” she replied. He placed a hand on her arm and she shook it off, turning on him in a fury. She slapped his second attempt to reach for her, until he stepped back with both arms held wide to give her space.
“All right! Stop yer fighting! I willna touch ye! But yer not going anywhere, I canna let ye leave!”
“By the time the others decide what to do, he could be dead. I have the best chance of sneaking in without notice, and you know it,” she countered. “I saved your hide once, didn’t I?”
“Yes, ye did. At too much risk to yer own blasted neck. Jamestown is different than Martin’s Hundred, Maggie, ye’ll be caught. Even if ye get in, ye canna get him out. Did ye think of that, or do ye wish to sit in the cell with him?”
“I won’t lose him again.” She swallowed back a sob as the sting of tears blurred her vision, and he reached for her again, but then dropped his hands when she backed up.
“What of yer daughter? Who will see to her if ye end up dead?” he said quietly. It was that notion that finally rattled her, and she felt the tears streak down her cheeks. He was right.
She sat down hard on the bedding platform and dropped the sack onto the floor. He kneeled down in front of her, his tousled locks falling over his face as he bowed his head. She could hear each breath he took, slow, controlled, as if he meant to speak but could not. When he finally looked up, his fingers were clenched into fists and his slate eyes were round and shallow.
“Do ye remember that day, when we were children? The last time I saw ye?” he said softly. She nodded. She could recall it well.
She placed her raven on the ground as she played on the floor of the old barn. No one would bother her there. Grandpa had no use for the space, but she liked it. It was a secret place, her hiding spot, a place to call her own among the world of adults.
The Blooded Ones Page 47
