The Blooded Ones

by Elizabeth Brown

  “I want to bring him back. Get Finola, or Gwen, and make them show me how,” she demanded. She grabbed hold of his tunic with fisted hands. “Please. Please, Winn.”

  “No, ntehem,” he said.

  “This is something I can do! I can make this right, I can bring him back! I’m the one who has this power, right? I’m the only one left to do it!”

  “Yes, you can. You can bring him back,” he said softly. “You can travel back in time to stop it. You can take us all to another place. But you must not.”

  “I must,” she replied.

  “How would you change things, Maggie? Would you change the day I was born, or the day the Norse came here? Would you change the visions of my uncle, or bring back the men he killed? Would you change the day you bloodied your hand and came through time for me? Is that what you would change? Our future lies here. Death is part of it. Living is more of it. This life here, this is our future. Yes, you can change it if you wish…but I know that you must not.” His hand slipped down over the gentle swell of her belly. No, she had not told him yet.

  “I don’t know what will happen. I can’t see the future like Finola can.”

  “I see it. I see our son, here with us. He laughs at his foolish father, and loves his brave mother…so very much,” Winn answered. He sank to his knees before her on the sodden ground, placing his forehead to her belly. “Tell your mother to give me her hand, my son. Tell her I will stand by her side in this life, and always.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, sinking down beside him on the damp ground as she closed her eyes to the tears and pain that tore through her soul. The scent of his skin, of earth and of her tears, sent her deeper into his embrace, his lips closing over hers. She savored the strength, and took hold of his hand, twisting her fingers through his.

  “I love you too, warrior,” she whispered, both to her husband and to their unborn son.

  Maggie felt numb as they joined the others on the sand. The villagers stood on the beach as Finola lit the funeral pyre with a torch, setting the Longboat aflame. The fire quickly rose high above, snapping and roaring like a beast unto itself as it consumed the last essence of the Chief’s earthly body, the heat of its fury licking their skin. Winn’s arm tightened on her waist and she leaned into him as Gwen began to sing. She had a beautiful voice, the sweet trill echoing in the smoky air as she cried her song of sorrow.

  As the ship drifted out toward the ocean, a glimpse of movement caught her eye. High on the ridge up above where she had tried to change the course of their destiny, Benjamin and Makedewa sat mounted on their horses, watching those below. Rebecca saw them as well, her eyes glistening as she stood beside Gwen.

  She felt Winn adjust his hand on her hip as he followed her gaze upward. He stood motionless for a moment, staring at the two men, and then slowly unsheathed the sword at his side.

  It had belonged to his grandfather, and it shimmered in the remnants of the pale sunlight as he raised it high above his head. She heard the sounds of metal weapons drawn, and around them, the remaining men copied Winn’s gesture, pointing their swords toward the ridge.

  Makedewa and Benjamin echoed the salute, thrusting their swords above their heads. The two travelers gave a silent acknowledgement to the new Chief, and then they turned their horses towards their journey.

  Winn squeezed her hand, and she held his tight.

  “Return soon, my brothers,” Winn whispered.

  INSIDE THIS HEART

  BOOK 3

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER 1

  Elizabeth City, Virginia Colony

  1626

  Benjamin

  BENJAMIN EMPTIED THE last of his ale and set his tankard down, his eyes scanning the inn for a glimpse of the brown-haired serving girl. She was a feisty lass. He had watched earlier in the evening as she waylaid the clumsy attentions of several Englishmen, swatting their groping paws as she busied about her duties. With more than a bit of annoyance he wondered where she had gone off to, and why she was not refilling his drink.

  “Enough yet?” Makedewa asked. Benjamin looked up at his Indian companion, shaking his head despite the glare of contempt the lean warrior bestowed upon him.

  “No. I’ll have one more,” he answered. He lifted his hand to beckon the serving girl near the stairwell, pleased when she nodded an acknowledgement in his direction.

  “Ah, kemata tepahta!” Makedewa cursed. Instead of pulling up the bench beside him, Makedewa muttered a few coarse words in Paspahegh and then left, swinging his fur-lined cloak around as he stalked away. Benjamin watched him shoulder through a few teetering Englishmen as he made his way to the door.

  “Fine then,” Benjamin sighed. They both needed a break after traveling together so long. Benjamin adjusted the long handled axe harnessed on his back with a sigh as he sat back in the rickety chair. Although it had been less than a year since they left the Norse village it seemed like much longer, yet not long enough to chase her memory away in a permanent manner. Even as he sat there, allowing his mind to wander to that forbidden place, he knew it was better to leave those things buried. The feel of her soft pale skin beneath his fingers, the honey-kissed scent of her auburn hair close to his lips… those were things he needed to forget. It was the reason he left the only true home he had ever known, and it was his mission to bear.

  Forget Maggie, the wife of his brother. A simple thing, yet one he was not ready to do. At least not until he had another drink.

  “More, sir?” the girl asked, pausing with a jug of fresh ale perched over his tankard.

  “Fill it. Took ye long enough,” he muttered. The utterance seemed to come from some dark place he did not recognize, the voice of a fallen man he did not wish to know. Apparently, she did not care for his tone either, and she slammed his mug back down on the table with a thud, spilling most of it in his lap.

  “Bloody sod!” she snapped. He had enough good sense left to be somewhat ashamed of his behavior, so when she turned to leave he grabbed her hand. Her mantle of brown hair fell across her face when she swung on him in a fury.

  “My apology, mistress,” he said as she yanked. He was about to let her go when suddenly her hand went limp and her tawny eyes softened. He regretted his clumsy attempt at chivalry as she stared down at him with a curious look on her face.

  “No, sir, no need. I’ve been busy, and I dinna see ye needed more,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. He tried to drop her hand but then her second hand tightened around his as well.

  “Well, no harm, then. Carry on with ye,” he replied, a bit unsettled but willing to brush off the uncomfortable episode.

  “Sir, might I ask a favor of ye?” she said. Her eyes darted briefly toward the tavern bar, where the innkeeper stood watching them. Benjamin saw the pulse throbbing in her throat and she suddenly appeared afraid.

  “A favor?”

  “I’ve not made enough tonight for my employer. Might I take ye upstairs to earn a bit of coin? I’m quite good at my job, sir,” she murmured.

  Benjamin stared hard at her. So that was her game? Only a working girl, picking her customers? Well, he might be tied down by memories of what he had lost, but he was not that far gone to buy the affection of a woman. He leaned forward and looked her in the eye.

  “No thank ye, mistress. I’ll be on my way now,” he snapped.

  “Please. He will beat me if I don’t take ye upstairs. He’s a fearsome man, I’m barely healed from the last time!” she pleaded.

  He paused in his attempt to flee, looking down at her hand on his arm. A memory of the beating Maggie had endured at the hands of an Englishman entered his thoughts, the remembrance of her bruised and battered skin tearing through his resolve. No, he would not wish such a thing on any woman, even one who earned her living peddling her body for coin.

  Funny, he thought, as he nodded his consent. She did not look like a harlot. He had not known any, but she certainly was not what he envisioned one might be. She wa
s a tiny thing, barely reaching his shoulder with the top of her head. A full mane of russet brown hair graced her narrow shoulders, and by Odin’s tooth he had to admit her snug corset was filled out in a pleasing manner.

  “Fine. I’ll go with ye. For show,” he agreed. He followed her up the stairs, avoiding the stares of the men and the assortment of laughs that accompanied them. He prayed Makedewa would not come asking for him anytime soon.

  He rented the first room at the end of the hall, so he opened the door and shoved her inside. It should be sufficient enough to please the innkeeper and save her from a beating. He paced away from her and cleared his throat, and when he turned back to her she had a smile on her face that did not reassure him in the least. She threw herself into his arms, knocking them both forcefully back onto the narrow bed.

  “Get off me, woman!” he barked. She ignored his request and settled astride him, her hands pressing him back into the feathered mattress.

  “I just want to thank ye, my lord,” she insisted, fumbling with the buttons of his clothes. He placed his hands on her waist in order to forcibly remove her, but she snuggled down over him and ran her mouth over his neck. Great Odin. Sweet Jesus. What was she doing?

  “Stop it, lass,” he croaked, his voice completely unconvincing.

  “Ye wear a strange pendant, sir. Might I see it?”

  He stiffened at the request. Yes, he wore a copper-wrapped Bloodstone around his neck, but surely she could not see it. His shirt fell open a bit since he’d loosened it in his cups, yet it was not enough to see the pendant that lay against his skin.

  He rose up to a sitting position, taking her with him. As he tried to shove her away she clung like a snake, her eyes fastened on the twisted scar upon his palm. She grabbed hold of his hand. Her jaw dropped open, and he felt his blood drain to his feet.

  Whoever she was, whatever she knew, he would not stay to find out. He jerked his hand from her grasp and pushed her onto the bed, running one hand reflexively over his hip to assure himself his knife was still sheathed there. With that confirmation he made for the door.

  “Wait!” she called out.

  The squared outline of a man blocked the gleam of moonlight from the doorway, and with a sliver of sickness streaking through his gut he knew he was correct on his earlier assumption.

  She was undoubtedly no simple working girl.

  CHAPTER 2

  Makedewa

  MAKEDEWA DISAPPEARED BACK into the shadows near the hearth as two rather large men hauled Benjamin down the stairwell. He did not recognize the Englishmen so he had no idea why they meant to retain his companion, yet it appeared the serving woman had a bit to do with the scuffle since she followed them outside. He wondered if Benjamin had insulted her and earned himself a beating. It was not likely since he knew the man to be a soft-hearted clod, but he could render no other explanation for the predicament.

  Benjamin seemed strangely subdued until Makedewa realized why his friend did not struggle. There was a knife pressed into his flank, held as a warning by one of the burly strangers. Although Benjamin had his captors beaten in both height and brawn, even he was not senseless enough to fight a trio of armed men by himself.

  Makedewa waited to see them take a path down the cobble lined street, keeping out of the moonlight so he would not draw their attention. If the woman spotted him she would alert the others, since he was certain she had seen him talking to Benjamin earlier.

  They brought him behind the tavern into a clearing where one man knocked him to his knees. He flinched as the second man struck Benjamin in the head, but Makedewa did not move in. There was little chance he could take three large men, especially if Benjamin was wounded, so his only chance was to watch and wait. Hoping an opportunity would arise soon, he crouched down behind the trees to listen.

  “Stop bashing him, ye fool! He canna speak if he has no teeth!” one of the men shouted. Apparently the more intelligent of the two, the man was difficult to see in the shred of moonlight. Taller than Benjamin and boasting a bald head, the man held the look of a seasoned warrior. A long beard hung from his round face, and he wore the clothes of a laborer.

  Another man kicked Benjamin in the belly, sending him sprawling onto the dirt with a moan. Makedewa could see his hands scrape at the earth so he knew his companion still lived.

  “Ah, Reinn! Then tell us, Blooded One! Where do ye come from? What’s your name?”

  Benjamin rolled over onto his side, one hand clutching his belly as he spit out a mouthful of blood.

  “My name is Benjamin Dixon. Ye have me mistaken for another,” Benjamin said. Reinn, the sensible man in the bunch, kneeled down beside Benjamin. He pointed a blade at his throat, flicking his wrist to draw a trickle of blood forth. Benjamin continued to stare at his captor, his eyes set in defiance as his chest heaved with each breath.

  “Waste my time lying, boy, and I’ll cut yer throat. The Seer found yer mark, she saw yer Bloodstone. When do ye travel from, and where is yer kin?”

  Benjamin glared at the man.

  “I have no kin. I traveled to this time alone, I have no one. Cut my throat if ye will, it matters not to me,” he muttered.

  Reinn stood up, glancing at the others. He reached out suddenly and grabbed the woman by the throat, shoving her over to Benjamin. He threw her onto the ground.

  “Get the truth from him, Jora. If he lies, he will die.”

  The woman looked up as if to protest, glancing back at the others at first, but then she reached out slowly to Benjamin with both hands. He shrank back away from her touch.

  “I willna hurt ye,” she said.

  “And why should I believe yer lies, now, lass?” he replied.

  “Just be still, ye stubborn clout. Ye want to live, don’t ye?” she hissed. He appeared to consider that for a brief moment and then let her touch him.

  She placed her palms against his bloodied cheeks and closed her eyes. The men fell silent as she held onto Benjamin, and then she sighed and her mouth fell slightly open.

  “He speaks true,” she said softly. “He has no kin.”

  Makedewa wondered if she was either a terrible Seer, or if she lied for some reason unknown. Benjamin stared at the woman for a long moment.

  “Then I’m no use to ye,” Benjamin said.

  With a shallow laugh, Reinn shook his bald head, and the other two men chuckled as well. Jora sat back away from Benjamin, her face clouded with a blank stare.

  “Well, I wouldna say that,” Reinn replied. He waved a hand at the others. “Bring him, men. Master Sturlusson will want to meet him.”

  The strangers hauled him to his feet. Makedewa watched them shove Benjamin into the back of a covered wagon. When they left him attended by a single Englishman and the others returned to the tavern, Makedewa took the chance and stole over to the wagon.

  As the lone man stood leaning against the wagon, Makedewa closed the distance between them with a few careful steps. With a blow to the temple the stranger collapsed to the ground, and he wasted no time in swinging up into the wagon. Makedewa reached for Benjamin’s wrists to cut the binding, and was shocked when his friend pulled sharply away.

  “We must go! They’ll not be long gone!” Makedewa snapped. Benjamin shook his head as if clearing cobwebs from his cluttered brain. Why was the stupid man dallying?

  “No. Leave me. They are my kind, I will know what they know,” Benjamin answered. “Tell Winn…tell him to stay away. Tell him I will not return to the village. Ever.”

  Makedewa sat back on his haunches. He heard the door to the tavern slam, and the sound of voices arguing nearby. He could not make the fool leave if he did not wish to, and if Makedewa stayed much longer he would be a prisoner as well.

  So this is how it would be. They would part ways, their journey had ended. Makedewa sheathed his knife and gave Benjamin a curt nod.

  “May your Gods keep you, brother,” he said. Benjamin grimaced in acknowledgement, and Makedewa jumped down off the wagon.


  Although Benjamin made his intent to stay with the strangers clear, Makedewa tracked them to their destination, a tobacco farm outside of Elizabeth City. It appeared active, and to his dismay, brimming with activity. He laid in the tall grass watching for more than an hour, during which time a man arrived escorted by a small detachment of English soldiers. The newcomer was dressed extravagantly and the King’s men obeyed his command, and by the time Makedewa was satisfied with his surveillance he knew one thing for certain. The leader was a wealthy man, one who had the King’s men at his disposal. Perhaps Benjamin had not been so foolish after all in his quest to discover their motives.

  When he made his way back toward the Norse village later that night he felt some comfort that he knew where Benjamin could be found. It was information Winn would surely wish to know.

  Yet the image that caused a throb in the very hollow of his chest was that of a golden-haired woman, smiling and happy to see him. With each step closer to the village the ache grew stronger.

  Things had been left unsaid between them, but he was at least sure she knew his intention to return. She had given him a pledge of her love, after all that had happened between them and to them, and it was those words that he clung to each lonely night when he slept under the stars. Although it had been nearly a year since he had held her, he recalled every detail as if she stood next to him.

  He had saved her from the massacre and slain the man who attacked her, and then watched her grow older in the care of his family for two years. Two long years he had watched her, spoke kindly to her, given her tokens of his devotion, all under the pureness of friendship as they lived together. She had been only fifteen on the day of the Great Assault, yet even then she had captured part of his blackened heart. No woman before had ever caught his attention, and he knew no other ever would.

  On the day they finally breached the barrier of friendship with a few innocent kisses, he could no longer go back to watching her in silence. It tore his heart to shreds when she said she could not be a wife to him, because she still saw the ghost of that Indian who hurt her when she thought of being a true wife to him. There had been many wrongs done to Makedewa in his life, but he could think of nothing more horrible as when Rebecca confessed her fears that day.