Death took him. In the shadows of the Northern Hall, Winn saw them descend. The Norse called them Valkryies; he thought them only messengers of the Great Creator. Across the divide of time and the separation of their lives, they came together in that moment, two sons and a father, as they watched his lifeblood slip away.
“See to the final arrangements. We will send my father to Valhalla tonight. I will speak to Benjamin,” Winn said. Erich nodded and left to join the men. Winn went in search of his brother.
Winn searched the village for Benjamin without a hint of his whereabouts, finally checking on his wife again in the hall before he looked in one more spot. In his travels he had seen nearly every person in the village, and none knew of where Benjamin might be. There was only one place Winn had not thought to look, and it was that place that he finally found his brother.
The door to the Long House he shared with Maggie was ajar, and Winn could hear the murmur of Kwetii’s laughter inside. She was a cheerful child who reveled in any attention shown to her like a hungry scamp, taking it all in with her greedy little smile. Although she likened to most adults with ease, it made his chest heavy to see her so enthralled with his brother. She sat perched in Benjamin’s arms as they stood by the hearth, speaking softly and pointing to the figurines on the mantle. Benjamin handed her one tiny sparrow, which made her coo with delight, and then he carefully returned it to its spot so they could consider the next one.
There was little resemblance between Benjamin and Winn, other than the peculiar blue berserker eyes and their physical size. With Kwetii, however, Winn could see the Nielsson blood. Her small, round tipped nose, her thick brown brows, and the shape of her high, flushed cheeks. Did her heart-shaped face come from them as well, or was that a feature of her special blood? Yet it seemed to no longer matter as he stood watching his brother hold his daughter, and Winn knew with a sickness in his gut it would be the last he saw of Benjamin.
Winn cleared his throat, more in defeat than meaning to disturb them, but Kwetii quickly perked up, distracted from her quiet conversation with Benjamin.
“Da!” Kwetii cried. She held her arms out to Winn.
“Go on, then, ye fickle one,” Benjamin chided her, handing her over. She smothered Winn with a wet kiss, and he smiled.
“I thought Rebecca watched her,” Winn commented.
“Makedewa walks with her to give her his farewell.”
Winn took in that confession, the ache in his chest growing stronger. He had suspected it of Benjamin, but not Makedewa, yet he was hardly surprised by the revelation. Both men were damaged. Perhaps they would find peace as they journeyed together.
“Must I order you to stay?” Winn asked. He saw a wry smile twist his brother’s mouth.
“Aye, order me, then, my Chief. And I will disobey you. Then what? Will you take your sword to my neck?” Benjamin shook his head. “Nay, give me no order, brother. It is better this way, surely you know it.”
“If it is for the sake of her,” Winn said, unwilling to speak Maggie’s name, “Then put it from your mind. She wishes you to stay, as I do.”
Benjamin shook his head.
“What part would I play in this life here? It is our father’s blood that stains my hands, just as surely as if I dealt the blow. It was my mistake that ended him. I cannot see the faces of these men every day, knowing what I have done. I cannot see yer face, each day….knowing what I have done.”
Winn knew his meaning ran deep. Benjamin had not forgiven himself, and for want of the truth Winn was not sure he had forgiven him, either. He did not blame his brother in the least for the death of their father; that was a separate thing, more of an excuse to give him more strength of resolve. No, the thing that drove his brother away was the love Benjamin still held for Winn’s wife, and they both knew it.
“Then find peace once more. Go. Be safe, my brother.”
Benjamin clasped his arm, and he returned the gesture in kind. As he held his brother’s embrace, Winn looked into the eyes so similar to his own. It was then that he could see it. A glimmer, a hint, a sliver of hope that someday he would return. After all, they had made a blood vow to protect the Blooded Ones. It was a vow Winn was certain Benjamin would honor when he was needed.
CHAPTER 32
Makedewa
Makedewa did not touch Rebecca as they walked quietly through the village. People bustled in every direction, making the last of preparations for the burial of their fallen Chief. He was glad for the distraction, since he did not know how to tell her what he planned to do.
“You were brave to save Kwetii,” he finally said. Perhaps if he started off with a compliment, it would ease the way for the rest of what they must discuss. She tilted her head a bit to the side and looked gainfully at him with her soft round eyes, her hair falling back away from her face.
“Thank ye. My teacher was quite skilled,” she said. Her shirts rustled with each pace, her hands swaying at her sides instead of tucked up in fists. He took a chance by catching her fingers, entwining them in his own. He was glad for the risk when her lips curled into a shy smile.
They walked together to the edge of the village, where the clearing opened up to the meadow. He stopped her when she started to take the path toward the ridge, afraid of betraying too much of himself should they be alone so far from the others. The sounds of the villagers behind them reminded him of his intent.
“I wish to say goodbye,” he said softly, pulling her to a stop. She turned quickly back to him.
“Another task, for yer uncle? I thought ye men were through with doing his deeds,” she said, uttering a sharp sigh as if his statement made no sense.
“It is no task for my uncle. I leave with Benjamin today.”
His chest tightened as her face crumbled and her mouth formed a half-opened denial. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she struggled with her response.
“But why? Is it because…” she said, her words trailing off unsaid. Her fingers clenched tight around his.
“No, little bird, I do not run from you,” he replied. He cupped her face gently with his hand, running his thumb over her lips. He smiled when she turned her face toward his touch and closed her eyes.
“Then why?”
“Because I am not ready to be a husband to you. A man should have a great journey before he takes a wife,” he whispered. A tear spilled down her face, and he brushed it away. They both knew it was a lie. “So you must wait to be my wife. When I return, I will be much stronger. I will be ready to be a good husband.”
He closed his mouth gently over hers as her tears fell, holding her face his hands, his body trembling at the touch of her skin against his.
“Nouwami, chulentet,” he whispered. I love you, little bird, he thought as the realization of leaving her felt like a stake piercing his chest. He had never considered his heart before, but as he looked down on her, he suddenly felt it breaking. Yet he knew it was what they needed, what they both needed. Soon, when she was ready to spread her wings, he would return, and she would welcome him.
He kissed her urgently once more and then pulled away. It took strength he did not know he still possessed to leave her, but thankfully, it was enough. As he walked away he heard her voice, only a whisper, yet still resilient, and he smiled through his pain.
“I love ye too,” she said.
It was enough for now.
CHAPTER 33
Maggie
Maggie placed a bundle of fine linen into a deep thatched basket for Gwen to add to the burial pyre. Although she was painfully aware of her new role in the community, she leaned on Gwen’s strength to finish the task ahead. Hearing the bustle of the villagers prepare the feast, and the roar of the fire in the yard as Finola muttered a pagan chant was near too much to bear. It was expected of Maggie to attend and oversee the details, yet she deferred to the others not out of obstinacy, but of grief. She simply could not look at the lifeless body of her beloved friend without falling apart.
Maggie cl
utched her thick fur mantle up around her neck with two fists, rubbing her chin against the lush white pelt. It was new to her, an exorbitant gift from her husband to wear to the ceremony. Looking around at the others, her vision began to blur and her heart raced, so she decided she had enough. They could do without her for a short time.
She spotted Winn walking toward her across the yard as she left the Northern Hall. His pace was brisk, his eyes troubled, and she hoped there was no more trouble for him to bear. Her husband had already borne too much.
“What is it?” she asked as he reached her. He did not touch her, keeping his hands loose at his sides. His pulse danced rapid on his neck, his veins standing out like cords across his skin. She put a soft hand on his cheek, relieved when he did not flinch away, but instead covered her hand with his own.
“Benjamin is leaving,” he said.
“Oh,” she murmured. She was not shocked by the news, but stunned that it was Winn who spoke the words to her.
“He watches Kwetii now, while Rebecca speaks with Makedewa. It seems Makedewa will join Benjamin on his journey.”
She searched his gaze for a hint, anything to guide her in what Winn expected of her. She sighed with the realization that she had never been any good at doing what he ordered, and now was not the time to fret over it. Her husband was hurting, despite whatever had transpired between him and his brother, and she could plainly see he was troubled over the impending departure.
“You should go see to Kwetii,” Winn said quietly, his voice low and hoarse. He drew her close then, pressing his lips gently to her hair, his voice meant only for her ears. “Go. Go see to our daughter now. I will wait for you in the Northern Hall.”
She closed her eyes to his words. No, this was not her husband sending her to tend their child. It was her husband sending her to say goodbye to his brother, in the only way he knew how, the only way he could accept.
“Go,” he whispered. He swept the hair back off her face and kissed her roughly, his lips harsh with possession, although they both knew she belonged only to him. She tried to cling to him, but he gently peeled her hands from his face and placed them at her sides. He turned abruptly and walked away.
She folded her arms across her chest, her breath coming fast as her heart pounded in her ears. How could their lives have taken this turn? To finally find safe haven, a family, for Winn to have a father? Now they stood on the edge of losing it all. His father had fallen, and now he would lose two brothers as well. For all they had suffered, she could not watch it end this way. Instead of a goodbye, there would be a different conversation.
Kwetii was asleep when she arrived, snoring peacefully on the bedding platform. Benjamin sat beside her, swaying gently in the new rocking chair Erich had made for her. His eyes were closed, but he opened them and stood up when she approached.
“She’s sleeping sound, I bid ye she’ll stay like that for some time. Give ye a spot to yerself,” he said, as if he did not guess why she was there. She knew him better than that, and she resented his games.
“How can you leave like this? Now, of all times?” she asked.
Benjamin placed his hands on his hips, in that way he did sometimes when he had no answer, giving himself time to say something meaningful in return. She could recall him making the gesture as a child, and later as a man. He looked like Marcus then, his blazing eyes shadowed by a furrowed brow. Suddenly he flinched and turned his back to her, as if to shield himself from her accusations.
“How can ye ask me to stay? You, of all of them. Ye who know me best,” he replied.
“Marcus wanted you here, with your family. He risked his life using that damn Bloodstone, just to come here to find you!”
“Aye, he traveled far to find me. But it was ye he meant to see safe, on his sworn vow. I know now what it means, to be the son of such a man. In yer blood lies the power of the Blooded Ones, and mine is bound to protect ye.”
“You can’t protect me if you leave,” she said.
His shoulders stiffened.
“I think my brother will serve ye well in my absence.”
She put a hand on his arm.
“But you can’t leave,” she whispered. “What can I say to make you stay?”
He swung around, his hands shaking in closed fists at his sides. He came so close they nearly touched, staring down at her with a mixture of despair and sadness she had never seen in him before.
“Your words would not make me stay. Nay, woman, get ye gone. I have no more for ye, except goodbye.”
She wanted to comfort him, to give him something. For all he had given her of his heart, she could not keep it, yet looking into his red-rimmed eyes she was flooded with grief. Grief for what he had suffered, for what pain she had caused him. Anguish at the truth that lay between them, as thick as the smoke from the burial pyre burning in the courtyard. He had given, and she had taken. She knew he could not stay.
“Where will you go?” she asked quietly. He lifted his head, his tousled hair falling back from his face. Stark blue eyes faded to dull glimmers as he looked at her.
“I don’t know. I shall know when I get there, I suppose.”
Her breath slowed as met her gaze.
“Your family is here,” she insisted.
“Aye. And they will be here someday, when I return.”
“Benjamin, I–”
“No,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Say nothing more except goodbye. Bid me farewell, as your good brother.”
“I cannot.”
“If ever a woman could bear such things, it is you. Look at me, with a smile on your face, so that I might remember it.” He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes hard yet searching, until he dipped his head down. She felt his hand brush over her hair, and then the soft touch of his lips near her ear. He brushed past her, close, but without further contact as he headed for the door. She heard his voice behind her, low and strained with the last few words he might ever speak to her.
“I know ye never truly belonged to me,” he whispered. “But I loved ye once, and I loved ye well. I do not regret that part of it.”
The tears came unbidden as she heard him walk away and the door flapped shut behind him. She settled there, wishing there was another way to keep him close, not for her selfish heart, but for his family and all those who loved him.
But even the asking of it was too much. She could not bear to wound him further. He was right, she could see it then.
She looked down at the twisted scar on her palm. As she closed her fingers around the time travel brand, suddenly things seemed clear. Had Marcus not said her blood was powerful? That it was so dangerous it must be protected? That the secret of time travel lay squarely in her hands?
“Maggie? Are ye here?” Rebecca called. Maggie swung around, her hands shaking with the realization of what she meant to do.
“Would you stay with Kwetii until I return?” she asked the younger woman. Her shimmering curls bounced as Rebecca nodded.
“Of course. But will ye not come to the Northern Hall?”
“I will. I have something to do first.”
Maggie avoided looking into her friend’s searching eyes as she brushed past her, clutching her mantle around her shoulders. A dampness in the air betrayed the upcoming storm, and as she made her way to the ridge, she felt the sprinkle of cold raindrops on her face.
Yes, she thought, as she climbed to the peak. Her legs ached from her rapid gait and her lungs felt the stress of the journey as she reached the clearing. As she stood, trying to slow her breaths, she looked down upon the ship below. White tipped waves splashed into the vessel, rocking the final resting place of her beloved friend as the men below filled it with gifts. She could see the line of warriors and women, even the children, and although they were small at the distance she stood from them, she could see their arms filled with treasures intended to ease his journey.
None of it needed to happen. She had the power to change it, didn’t she? Winn had suffered
without a father his entire life because of her blood. Countless others unknown had given their vow to protect the Blooded Ones. Marcus had given his life.
“I know ye think ye have no power here, Maggie. But ye have it all, ye just don’t know it yet.”
She took the bone-handled knife from her waist. No, she did not know how to control it. If her Bloodstone could take her to another time, could spilling a greater amount trigger the magic? She recalled Harald’s story of Chief Drustan, and how he said all the blood of a Chief Protector, or that of a Blooded MacMhaolian, could send a ship through time. She knew the others feared the magical power, but Marcus had believed enough in her blood to spend his life in service of protecting it. Perhaps it was as simple as draining her vein and demanding her wishes be done. Then they would all wake up, together again, before death took Marcus.
She lifted her chin against the wind, the rain now needles spiking her skin. Her shift was soaked through, sticking to her skin, her cloak feeling heavy with the dampness over her shoulders. She shrugged the cloak away and it fell to a heap at her feet.
“Listen to me, Odin! Whoever you are! I want him back, do you hear me! I want him returned to me! Take my blood, and bring him back!” she screamed into the rain. A crash of thunder rolled close overhead as she drew the knife across her forearm. She felt no sting as she watched the blood trickle down her wrist and drip to the ground. “Bring him back!”
The wind continued to howl, whipping her hair back off her face as she confronted the storm. She felt the fight leave her body as her demands went unanswered. As she covered her face with her hands, she heard his footsteps behind her on the wet grass.
Winn pulled her into his arms and slipped her fallen cloak over her shoulders. When he spotted the blood he uttered a sigh. He ripped the edge of his tunic and bound her wrist with the strip of fine cloth. It seemed fitting that he stemmed her bleeding with the garment of a Chief. Had they not already died to protect it? Her precious, useless, magical blood?
“You’ll catch your death up here,” he said softly, his blue eyes gleaming sadly down at her.
The Blooded Ones Page 51
