The deep hollow sound of a horn pierced the air, calling the warriors to their Chief. Makedewa pressed his lips into her hair as he held her close. He wanted to stay with her, but at his brother’s call he was bound to answer. Rebecca knew his duty well, however, and as he stepped away, a smile still graced her lips.
“Sleep well tonight. I will see you when you wake,” he promised.
He followed the bellow of the horn to his brother. Soon his duty would be satisfied, and he would be free to claim her as his own.
CHAPTER 7
Rebecca
SHE SLEPT LITTLE that night. When the first fingers of sunlight broke through the smoke hole above her head she tossed the furs from her body and quickly slid into her best dress. It was a deep green wool over her white eyelet shift, nothing particularly special except that it was clean and tidy. The neckline, however, was a bit too low for her tastes, so she tugged it upward to conceal her skin in a more modest manner. It would have to do.
It was still early for the village to wake, so she did not expect to see anyone outside yet. The Norse were quite different in that way from the English. When she had lived in Martin’s Hundred with her parents, each morning she was startled awake to hear mother’s bible readings before they scurried off to church, and by mid-day meal it often felt that she had lived a full day. For the Norse, however, it was common to socialize long into the night, sometimes even so late they might greet the sunrise as they made it to bed. They were not lazy people, by any means, but they made sure to take pleasure in each day as if it might be the last.
She had not stepped but a few paces away from the Long house when she saw Chetan and Makedewa sitting across the yard. They lounged on a rough-hewn bench, their dark heads bent together in quiet conversation. Makedewa’s long hair fell over one brown shoulder, and she noticed the fresh shaven crescent shape on his scalp over his right ear. He looked larger than she recalled, his usually lean physique filled out more along his chest and arms, tapering down to the waist of his braies. She wondered if he had been waiting for her, and if he had dressed for her.
Rebecca smiled when Makedewa looked up. He cocked an eyebrow upward, then said something brusque to his brother in their native tongue. Whatever Makedewa said made Chetan look her way and smile, and then Chetan thumped him in the shoulder with a closed fist.
“Go, then,” Chetan muttered, a wry smile gracing his face.
Makedewa shoved his brother as he left the bench.
“Good morning, my lady,” Makedewa said as he approached. She nodded, suddenly feeling quite exposed in the morning sun as they stood together in the courtyard. There were more people stirring, and she noticed copper-haired Cormaic walking toward the Northern Hall. Makedewa followed her gaze.
“Did ye sleep well, Makedewa?” she murmured.
“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I slept little.”
When Cormaic spotted them and appeared as if he might approach, Makedewa took her hand.
“Come with me,” he said simply, and she did. She would have gone anywhere with him for only his asking. He took them through the wooded trail away from the village, tracing the path that led to the ridge. She had only been there accompanied by the Norse for their ceremonies, as women were generally not permitted to roam alone so far away. She clutched her skirts in one hand as she gripped his hand with the other, and by the time they reached the steep peak she was panting to regain her breath.
He let go of her hand as she steadied herself. Taking off a satchel he had looped across his chest, he knelt down and rifled through the contents. She sank down to the soft moss beside him and watched, bemused, as he laid out a morning meal for them.
“Did you cook for me?” she asked. He frowned.
“No. I took this from the Northern Hall. Eat. You must be hungry,” he replied. She took the piece of bread he shoved in her hand and nibbled at it to hide her amusement. Why was he suddenly behaving so fierce? After the conversation on the previous evening, she thought surely they would pick up where they left things months before.
“Thank ye,” she said softly. He sat back away from her, resting his arm on one bent knee as he watched her eat. “Have yer travels truly ended, Makedewa? Or will ye leave again?”
He remained silent for a moment, and she saw his throat contract as he ate his food. He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, his dark eyes latched onto hers.
“I mean to stay. As soon as this business with Benjamin is finished, I will not leave again.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“You need not hear it. It matters not to us,” he replied. She was surprised at the sting his words caused, and although she knew he meant no insult, it still hurt. Did he not yet see her as one he could confide in? Had she been wrong about his intent to make her his wife? If he could not answer such a simple question, it seemed impossible he was ready for much more.
“You’ve stayed away a long time. I would like to know what keeps ye from yer family,” she said softly.
She heard him sigh.
“Benjamin stays in town now with strangers. I returned to warn Winn of what his brother has done,” he said evenly.
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“I did not bring you here to speak of Benjamin,” Makedewa answered, direct with his intention. “I ask if there is still room in your heart for this weary traveler.”
She swallowed back her wounded pride and rose to her feet, approaching the peak of the hill. Foam-capped waves crashed below, and she could see the beach where they had once sent Marcus to his final rest. The view swept the breath from her chest, the scent of the salty surf thick in the air as she closed her eyes. Even the scream of the seagulls was beautiful, echoing against the rocks, and as she turned her head and inhaled she could feel it in the breeze on her cheeks. Yes, he had left her for several months, but his intention had been one of honor as he took her failure on himself with claims that he needed more time. She had struggled with his decision then but had grown to see he was right. Their marriage would have suffered if they had married in haste, before she had excised the demons of her past.
“So ye found what ye searched for?” she asked, the sting of bitterness tangy on her tongue.
“If I returned to a maiden who is strong and sure on her own feet, then, yes, I have found what I searched for.”
His arms slipped around her waist, and she felt his breath warm against her ear.
“Come away from there, chulentet,” he murmured.
“If I am your little bird, then why must I fear? Perhaps I can fly,” she whispered. His embrace tightened.
“When you fly, I will join you. I have waited a long time for your wings to grow strong.”
She let him pull her down next to him on the damp earth, still close enough to the edge that she could smell the salt, but far enough away to ease his worry.
“I’m sorry,” she replied. She knew he had waited patiently for her, and it pained her to know it caused him distress. Her apology meant many things, the deepest of which she hated to acknowledge. The memory of their last argument still cut deep, when he had suggested she could never love him because, like the man who had attacked her, Makedewa was an Indian.
“I am not sorry. Every day happens for a reason. Every birth, every death. It is all part of the Great Creator’s vision, and it is all meant to be,” he said quietly. “The good things,” he said, kissing her ear, “As well as the bad.”
At that she lowered her head, the worst of what had happened in her life surfacing as an ache. It was buried, but still there, and he knew it.
“Do you know I waited many years for the day of the Great Assault…the day the English call the Massacre? My uncle was the one who gathered our tribes and planned it, but I looked forward to it as much as any loyal Powhatan brave. I wanted to drive the English away. I wanted them all dead,” he said.
“Please, you do not have to tell me–” she said. He shook his head.
“The d
ay my uncle ordered us to attack your town did not go as planned. Winn asked for my help to save those he loved, and I helped him, but there was one Englishman I meant to kill there above all others. His name was Nathanial Webb.”
Leaning into his embrace, she closed her eyes.
“I don’t care who ye killed. I would be dead now, if not for ye,” she said. “You saved me.”
“I saved myself.”
He rested his chin against her shoulder, pulling her snug into his lap.
“Makedewa–”
“I saved you that day, because when I saw the fear in your eyes, I could see straight through to your heart. Even before Maggie told us, I knew what had happened to you. I could see it here,” he whispered. He placed his hand over her heart, and gently placed a kiss on her forehead.
A sliver of fear washed through her at the luminous darkness in his eyes. She knew the time for her to speak was over, and now he meant to share the wounds that haunted his soul. She prayed she had the strength to face it with him, no matter how many of her kind he confessed to killing, or how much he hated her English blood. If he could just speak it, they could mend it, whatever it was in his past that had kept him away for so many long months.
“When I was a boy, my uncle sent me to the English to attend the new school at Henricus. The English wished to teach us their words, to make us more like them. It was Old Chief Powhatan in those days, and he thought his nephews would serve him better if we learned the English ways.”
“So ye learned English there?” she asked. He nodded. He stared out over the cliff at the seagulls, his eyes vacant as he spoke.
“There were three of us boys. Too young to be warriors, and too old to be children any longer,” he continued. “Master Nathanial Webb was the teacher we were sent to. The wealthy settlers were glad to have the Paspahegh children to serve them. Perhaps some of the English meant to teach us, as they had agreed with Chief Powhatan to do, but Master Webb did not honor that promise.”
Makedewa straightened his back and pulled her tighter to his chest. She closed her mouth to keep from gasping out loud at the way he gripped her, his arms bands of steel keeping her close. Her breaths came shallow from sheer necessity as she listened to him speak.
“I was told by my Weroance to obey Master Webb, to respect him as I did my own kin. When he summoned me to the house one night, I obeyed.”
“Makedewa–”
“On the day of the Great Assault, when that man attacked you, did you fight him?” he suddenly asked. The urge to bolt overwhelmed her, and panic welled in her belly as he brought up the events of that horrible day. She twisted around in his arms and tried to rise, but he held her firm in his grasp as he commanded an answer.
“Tell me!” he insisted, his voice growing quiet. “Did you fight him? Did you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. Why was he doing this to her? Why must he know the details of her shame? She choked on her own salty tears, confused and doubting the love she thought he held for her. “Yes, I fought him! I did! I–I tried to get away. He was too strong. Why must ye ask it now? Why?”
“Because,” he said softly, his voice trailing off low and hoarse, “You were brave. You fought. You ran. I did not fight like you did. I did not fight… when it was done to me.”
She sat motionless and cold for a moment, afraid to breath, afraid to move, until finally she felt the warmth of his skin again. She leaned back against him and linked her fingers through his where his hands crossed over her chest, their frantic breaths easing together as they held each other.
“When I saw you that day, I could see it in you, what had been done to you. I abandoned my vow to kill Webb for his crime, and instead I killed that savage for you. So that you could have peace.”
As the implications of his confession settled between them, Makedewa gently lifted her hands in his and spread their arms wide. The ocean breeze felt cool on her skin, and his lips brushed the tears from her cheek.
“If you spread your wings, I will hold you. I will let no harm come to you, as long as I take breath. Your heart is mine to bear, from this day forth. Are you ready now, chulentet? Is your heart ready to belong to me?”
His fingers entwined in hers and she drew his arms back down around her shoulders, settling into her lap.
“I love thee. I know that as true,” she said softly, her heart like a leaden weight inside her chest at the thought of what he had suffered. “I’m so sorry. You let him live…for me?”
He kissed her, taking her face in both hands, delaying the answer to her question. Finally he drew back and pressed his lips into her hair.
“You needed me more than I needed my vengeance,” he whispered.
They sat silently bound together, rocking gently on the cliff top as they watched the morning sun fully rise. Words were sparse for what remained of the day, but when they held hands and walked back down the ridge, they both knew something had changed.
She knew his heart was meant for hers, and she trusted he would tend it well in his keeping.
CHAPTER 8
Makedewa
MAKEDEWA AND CHETAN stood apart from the others. The Norse gathered on the banks of the sandy inlet shadowed by the steep ridge above, the place where they had sent Marcus to his eternal rest. Ahi Kekeleksu sprinted toward them, splashing through the frothy sea foam on the beach.
“Can I go with Iain, father?” the boy asked. Chetan cocked an eyebrow at his son in a questioning manner, then pointed at the raised platform the women were covering with flowers and gifts. The naming ceremony would involve the entire village. It was long overdue for Kwetii, but timely for the newborn son of Chief Winn.
“Do they need your help?”
“No. Aunt Maggie told me to go away, she thinks I made Kwetii cry,” Ahi Kekeleksu answered. Chetan cleared his throat and cast a sly grin at Makedewa.
“Did you make your cousin cry, son?” Chetan chided him. The boy’s cheek flushed, seeming with indignant anger more than chagrin, and Makedewa could not help smile at his nephew’s discomfort. Ahi Kekeleksu was nearing young manhood, and they could all see how patient he was with Kwetii following him around all the time. Lately, however, the other boys teased the youth for catering to his cousin, and the boy decided enough was enough. Although it made Kwetii sad, they all knew it was better for the boy to play with others his own age, and spend less time with the women.
“No. Well, I did not mean to. But she was crying when I left,” the boy admitted, poking at the sand with the toe of his boot. Chetan placed a hand on his shoulder and bent down to look his son in the eye.
“Kwetii will have a new name today, and she will forget why she cries. Go on, go with the other boys. I will speak to your aunt.”
Makedewa rolled his eyes and sighed. Yes, Maggie was his brother’s wife, and by honor of their blood that meant she was his sister as well. Yet it still aggravated him how she bent others to her will with little effort, even when some of her notions were far-fetched and downright dangerous. It was enough that Winn was a complete fool to her charm, but Chetan was another thing entirely.
“Your son did nothing,” Makedewa snapped as the boy ran off. “Why must you speak to Maggie of it? Kwetii is spoiled, like her mother,” he muttered.
Chetan watched the boy sprint down the beach, one long black braid bobbing down his back as he leapt through the surf.
“Unlike you, brother, I enjoy her company. It is good to sit and talk with her.”
“There are plenty of women to talk to. If you like white women, talk to Elli-dear. She is a woman who knows her place.”
“I like Maggie as a sister, nothing more. Do you forget I had a wife once, that I know what it is like to miss that? Maybe you were gone too long from us, brother. Maybe you left your sense in one of the English towns,” Chetan replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
The rising urge to fight suddenly waned, and Makedewa felt remorse over taunting his brother. He knew Chetan adored Maggie, and he was well awa
re that they spoke often as friends. Yet Maggie stood for something else to Makedewa, something foreign, something magical. Although he respected her role as Winn’s wife, he could not deny his deeper feelings. Perhaps it was that part of him that despised her still, so much that he could not truly love her as a sister. He did not know.
“If Rebecca accepts your pledge, you will be married tonight to an Englishwoman. Is your hate for them truly gone, or does the thought of bedding her cloud your eyes?”
Makedewa snapped. He grabbed Chetan by the shoulders and threw him backward, but Chetan met his assault in kind. Equally as strong and even more inflamed in his quiet way, Chetan broke Makedwa’s grasp with one thrust and shoved him back, nearly knocking him off his feet.
Makedewa stumbled but recovered, then swung around to confront his brother as he struggled to control his temper. What was wrong with Chetan? Why did his brother taunt him?
“Rebecca is nothing like Maggie,” Makedewa growled.
“Oh, no? When Rebecca questions you, will you punish her? When she refuses to obey your commands, what will you do? I think your woman is much like Fire Heart, you just do not see it yet.”
Makedewa glared at Chetan.
“Rebecca knows her place,” he muttered.
Chetan nodded. “Yes, she does. Rebecca was born to this time, as were you. Do you remember when you asked Winn why he did not punish Maggie? Do you remember how angry you were at him when he did not beat her? When he did not…kill her?”
Makedewa balked at that. Yes, he recalled those times well. So much had changed, even with the short amount of time that had passed. He felt shame knowing he had berated Winn for not killing Maggie on sight, especially when he knew what it meant now to love another so much. Before Rebecca, he had no notion of such powerful things. Now, his life took a new path, and he stumbled to find his own way among it.
“I regret my words. I see now why he did not harm her.”
“But do you see what a wife is to a man? Rebecca will disobey you. She will not always agree with what you want. That is not something only Maggie and Rebecca share; my Sapalente was that way as well,” Chetan said quietly. Makedewa watched as Chetan sat back against tall boulders in the sand, clasping his hands together into fists in his lap as he spoke of his dead wife. “My wife knew her place. Still, she challenged me. I would give anything to have those fights with her once more. I tell you this, brother,” Chetan said, glancing up to meet his gaze. “Tame your anger, let it out in other ways. Let your wife speak her mind, give her your ear, and you will be happier for it. I do not know much, but I know this is true.”
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