The Blooded Ones

by Elizabeth Brown

  Winn paused before he answered, knowing his words would only serve to incite Erich further. Winn feared Erich’s willingness to retaliate against the English could not be stayed, but he had to try somehow to make his friend hear sense.

  “Stay with your wife until dawn,” Winn answered, placing his hand on Erich’s shoulder. Erich grimaced, his fists clenched tight upon the mantle. “Then I will go with you.”

  Erich remained still for a moment, and then his shoulders and head dipped down. He nodded, his gaze still focused on the fire, and Winn knew the man was at his breaking point. Winn could not fault Erich for the desire for vengeance; it was a desire that Winn was most familiar with. Yet it was the strength of a Chief that Erich needed then, and giving in to primitive desire without a plan would serve no one.

  Winn turned to the bed and gathered up his sleeping children. Kyra stirred in her sleep with a tiny sob, her cheeks stained with the remnants of dusty tears as she burrowed into his chest. Malcolm, thankfully, stayed asleep, merely tucking his face into his father’s neck. Maggie followed mutely behind him with the babe in her arms. Winn called to Dagr to join them, and soon his children were all accounted for.

  His two sons slept in the back of the longhouse, and Maggie tucked Kyra into her bed in the loft above. Though the infant was not his son, he was still of Winn’s blood, and he counted as one of those Winn meant to keep safe. Five beating hearts entrusted to his care, five people he would give his own life to see protected.

  Yet it was greater than that, a greater duty than even the ties of love he felt for his family. He had promised to lead the villagers, the blending of Norsemen and Indians that looked to him for guidance. Winn had taken his father’s place, pledged to honor his ancestors by seeing their bloodlines go on.

  It was with a coldness stealing over his skin that he knew they could not go back. If being Chief meant he would hide his people and allow the English to abuse them without retaliation, then Winn was no Chief.

  He would find them, and make them suffer. The man who harmed Gwen would die, and all those who aided him would bleed. It did not matter that it was the way of the Paspahegh, or the way of the Norse. In the end, it would be a husband’s vengeance, and Winn would stand beside Erich when he struck that final blow.

  As he lay next to his wife he stared into the darkness, letting the echoes of old battles with the English clutter his thoughts. Although Maggie curled up against him with her hand resting lightly on his chest, the images haunted him. The screams of men, the feel of bloodied flesh beneath his hands, it stayed with him even when he meant to forget.

  Perhaps the taking of life would always plague him. After all, could any man truly hold the soul of another in his grasp? To send another to the afterlife left some trace. It was a stain that could never be washed away.

  “What will you do?” Maggie whispered. He knew she did not sleep, and he was not surprised at her question. It was the same question he asked himself.

  “What I must,” he replied quietly.

  Her fingers tightened into a fist on his skin. When he placed his hand over hers, she relaxed her hand flat against his chest.

  “Winn?” she asked, a tentative question in her voice.

  “Hmm?”

  “Teach me to how to use the musket. It was sitting here, I could have used it –”

  “No,” he replied. He repeated his command, so there would be no question that she would obey. “No. You did your duty today, and that is all you must do.”

  “I ran away like a coward, and Gwen suffered for it,” she said, her voice unsteady.

  “Would it console you if you killed one Englishman? The musket cannot kill them all. Gwen would still be beaten. And you would be dead as well.”

  From where her cheek rested against his skin, a trickle of tears dampened his skin. She did not raise her head, hiding the frustration he knew simmered in her heart.

  “You will not worry on the matters of men,” he said. “Give me your word, ntehem.”

  She did not answer him for a long time. Finally, her head moved where she lay against his chest. It was a slight nod, but it was enough. He had her promise, and that was all that mattered to him in that moment.

  It was not long before her breathing slowed, and he listened to her rhythmic slumber long into the night. His sons uttered muffled snores, and he could hear the rustle of the bedding as his daughter shifted in her sleep.

  Although his family was safe, the truth of it was enough to strike fear into his bones. Tomorrow they would set out on a new path, and the life they led would exist no more.

  “I will do what I must,” he said, his voice only a whisper in the darkness.

  Those he loved slept on.

  Winn joined Erich before the light of dawn graced the sky. He was relieved to find his wife’s uncle at Gwen’s bedside, and although it appeared Erich had not slept, at least he had not left the village on a one-man vengeance spree. It was all Winn could ask for.

  “She woke fer a time. She said his hair was black and his speech was queer, like he’d a mouth full of honey. The others called him Hayes,” Erich said quietly before Winn even announced himself.

  “An Englishman?” Winn asked. Erich nodded. The older man rubbed a thick hand across his eyes, rubbing away the remnants of sleep not taken. He bowed his head to his wife, his thatch of reddish gold hair nearly touching hers as she slept.

  “I dinna understand most of what she said before the poppy silenced her, but aye, it was an Englishman who did it.”

  Winn took a cup from the hearth and poured some warm ale, handing it to Erich, then took a cup for himself. Erich shrugged with a long sigh yet downed it in a single swallow as he eyed Winn over the rim.

  “Go ahead. I see yer mind twistin’. Say yer piece. I’ll hear it now,” Erich muttered.

  “You will hear it, yet will you listen?” Winn replied, more to himself than to Erich. His uncle-by-marriage stood up away from the bed.

  “If ye mean to tell me we willna avenge this deed –”

  “We will find the one who did this,” Winn cut him off. “And the ones who helped him. My horse stands ready; I wait only for your word.”

  “No.”

  Gwen’s cracked voice emerged from the bed. The men turned to see her sitting upright against a bundle of furs, her eyes glazed from the strong herbs but her face set with a stubborn edge. Her hair stuck to the wounds on her back, thick pieces entwined in the poultice and blood. Winn noted her grimace as she took a deep breath.

  “Ye canna go after them. Agnarr didn’t know me, but if ye go thrashing his men, he’ll surely think to come back here. What then, ye brazen louts?” she berated them.

  Erich’s face turned a peculiar shade of crimson as Gwen railed at them. She continued citing numerous reasons why they were idiots peppered with a slew of colorful insults until Erich exploded.

  “Ye’ll not tell me how to take care of ye, ye bletherin’ harpy!” he shouted. “If I wish to dispatch an Englishman it’s my right as yer husband, and ye’ll stay here and wait fer me!”

  “Oh, will I? Aye, I’ll stay ‘ere! And I’ll shove a stick up yer –”

  “Enough!” Winn hollered, slamming his empty cup down on the table. “Agnarr was here? And he did not know you?”

  Gwen scowled. “No. I feared he might remember me, but he dinna seem to. Even when I spit in the lout’s face.”

  “Ah, bruor, why did ye do it?” Erich said quietly. His voice shook with the uttered endearment, and clearly, the ferocious spat was over. The older man sat down next to his wife on the bedding platform and took her hands in his. “Ye risk too much.”

  “I know. I regret my temper, but the things he said!” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve held my tongue. The risk to our niece and the weans –”

  “He might have killed ye,” Erich interrupted. “And then where would I be, my love, without ye to rile me?”

  Gwen placed her hand on Erich’s cheek, tears welling up in
her round eyes. Winn stepped outside, closing the plank door quietly behind him.

  Seeing the way Erich looked at his wife made Winn’s duty seem all the more just. Vengeance still called, but it would wait for a touch of affection to bless them. Erich and Gwen needed a moment, and Winn needed to decide what to do about Agnarr Sturlsson.

  With a touch of restlessness, Winn dismounted from his horse. Elizabethtown was much busier than he recalled from his last visit, a veritable mess of commerce and excess crowding the marketplace. Chetan stayed behind to oversee the village, and although Winn had ordered it, he was uneasy with his brother’s absence from his side. Cormaic was more than capable of meeting any threat to their party and the Norseman seemed to enjoy giving orders to young Iain and Tyr. Chetan’s son, Keke, however, stayed close to Winn’s side, soundless as he listened to the prattle of English clamor around them.

  Paspahegh to the bones, Keke remained silent as the others made noise, and he studied the townsfolk as his companions gathered their wits. Onamen.

  Watch. See your enemy before you strike. Every warrior knew that simple truth.

  The young men were excited to ride into town despite the risk and Winn could not fault them for their enthusiasm, but his reason for bringing them was more of a selfish one. Erich was not himself, and Winn hoped the presence of the impressionable youths would keep the older man in check.

  Winn knotted the end of his rawhide rein around a post, adjacent to the rest of his men’s mounts outside the tavern. Since they had arrived in town he felt increasingly unsettled, knowing the risk they were taking by searching for the men who came to the village.

  “I trust thy desire is to settle this matter peaceably.”

  Winn looked over at John Basse, a stout young Englishman with a round face. His cheeks were sunburned in spite of his wide-brimmed hat, a trickle of sweat running down his neck. A devout Christian landowner and one who was adamant about his desire to spread his views to the Indians, Basse was a man Winn held some trust for that he believed would be useful. Satisfying Erich’s vengeance would serve no one if they all ended up dead, so Winn decided the best way to deflect attention from their activity would be to engage the Christians. When Winn asked for his assistance, the Englishman was more than happy to comply.

  “That is my desire,” Winn agreed. He heard Erich make a gruff snorting sound behind him.

  “Verily, thy friends should feel the same?” John asked, casting a nervous glance at Keke, who was wiping his knife on his tan leggings.

  “They do,” Winn replied. His answer seemed to satisfy John.

  One might think he would be accustomed to the stench of the English by now, but the rancid odor of too many people in a small space hung heavy in the air, broken by the occasional waft of roasted meat from inside the tavern. He did not wish to follow the scent, but it came from where he meant to go and there was no other way. Winn motioned to John Basse to follow, and nodded to Erich and Cormaic to remain outside.

  They had discussed the plan on the ride into town, which involved Winn taking John Basse to speak with Benjamin and Erich and the others standing watch. John Basse was a convenient diplomat in a time of need, but he was no soldier, and as such, the man was little assistance in locating the Englishmen they searched for.

  Benjamin was a different matter entirely. Winn was certain his brother would know exactly what men they were looking for and where to find them. The only question remaining was if Benjamin would help them or not.

  “Is that thy friend, perchance?” John asked as they moved through the tavern. Benjamin stood behind the bar, but his eyes narrowed on Winn as soon as he entered the room.

  “It is,” Winn agreed.

  Benjamin met them where they stood. From the way his eyes shifted about the room, Winn could see his brother was uneasy, which only served to cause Winn more caution.

  Could he be trusted? Years before, Benjamin had abandoned his family and declared his allegiance to the English after the death of their father. Winn knew the reasons Benjamin left, but to see his brother in league with their enemies left one little choice but to question his loyalty. Although Benjamin claimed staying away was the best way he could protect his kin, for all outward appearances Benjamin was just as much a threat as his employer.

  Benjamin made a motion towards a table in the corner and they sat down. John Basse stammered a declaration about watching for trouble and left them to stand by the door. Slightly away from the bustle, the shadowed corner gave Winn and Benjamin some privacy. Winn sat upright against the back of the chair, considering his brother’s nervous demeanor with suspicion.

  “I give you my thanks for your aid to my family,” Winn said evenly, “yet I must ask where to find the men who raided my village.”

  Benjamin ran a hand through his hair, then opened his mouth to speak and reconsidered. With a groan he slammed his fist down on the table and glared back at Winn.

  “I dinna do it fer ye! And – and ye need to tell me what ye know! Why does yer wife know nothing of Agnarr?”

  Winn leaned forward, gripping the edge of the plank table with his hands.

  “She need not know of him,” Winn replied.

  “Why? D’ye truly think yer safe here? Why not take them away? Why stay here when ye run the risk of being found?”

  “So you think I must run from one man? Leave the place I was born, the place my children were born? I think not,” Winn shot back, feeling the heat rise to his throat as he bit back his anger.

  “D’ye know what they did to the Blooded Ones, in the land our father came from?” Benjamin asked. “How the women were fought over by the Chiefs – at least the ones that might bear children? The barren ones had only one use, and that was –”

  “I know the tales,” Winn growled. Yes, he knew what had been done to those like Maggie in the past. History was the very reason why the Blooded McMillan needed protection, why the Neilsson Chiefs had sworn an oath to protect them.

  “Then why must ye stay? Ye’ve always been a stubborn lout, but I canna see why –” Benjamin’s mouth fell open as he sat back in his chair. “Oh, aye, I see. It’s like that? Yer wife really knows nothing, ‘tis plain. Who are ye serving by keeping her senseless? Maybe yer Indian uncle?”

  Winn rose slowly to his feet. His pulse throbbed in his ears, his muscles taut with desire to throttle his brother. Who was Benjamin to question his actions? Benjamin, who had abandoned them to seek refuge with their foe?

  “When you return to your kin, brother, you may question my command. Until that time, you have no voice,” Winn said quietly. Old wounds surged in the space between them, betrayal and anger spiking his words. “Tell me where to find the men I seek, and I will leave you to your duties serving my enemy.”

  Benjamin remained seated, meeting Winn’s gaze without waver.

  “Ye shall find them at the docks. Sturlsson is expecting a shipment forthright.”

  Winn loosened his fists and turned to go. John Basse stared inquisitively at him from the doorway.

  “He is the enemy to me, as well, brother,” Benjamin said, standing up and grabbing Winn’s arm as he moved away. “I pledged an oath to protect the Blooded Ones, and that is what I do. I know ye do the same.”

  Through the rank anger that flared, Winn realized the trace of truth in Benjamin’s words. It hit him like a hammer, the thought of his actions squeezing him tight.

  Did he stay in Tsenacommacah for his family, or did he stay to satisfy his own base desire to remain in his birth land? As a Paspahegh-born man, he knew he was tied to the land just as surely as his soul was a gift from the Great Creator. Yet he had made a promise to protect the Blooded Ones at all cost – even if that meant his own desires must stay buried.

  “Uncle!”

  John Basse stepped back a pace as Keke entered the tavern, giving the lean young brave a wide berth. Keke’s dark eyes were wide as he called out to Winn.

  “They went to the docks,” Keke said.

  Winn sh
rugged his arm away from Benjamin.

  Damn his blasted uncle-by-marriage, and damn his traitor brother. As Winn left for the docks, the others followed.

  If they did not all end up dead by sundown, it would be only by the grace of the Gods.

  A seagull screamed as it dived down from flight, settling on the palisades as Winn and John approached the docks. Tyr and Iain stood beneath the low hanging roof of a mud and stud house near the supply post, close to the port where a newly docked ship was being unloaded. Standing a good measure taller than most young men his age, Tyr’s flash of auburn hair blazed like a beacon, making it easy to pick him out of the crowd. Winn knew Erich and Cormaic must be nearby if they had left the youths on their own. Iain nudged Tyr with an elbow as Winn approached.

  “Where is he?” Winn asked. He kept his tone even, despite his annoyance.

  “Inside,” Tyr replied. “The smithy knew a man called Hayes. Said he had half a tongue and spoke queer. Erich thought he might have a word with him since the man was ‘ere in thee tobacco inspector’s warehouse.”

  “Seems most reasonable,” John said. The Englishman removed his hat, wiping his face with a bit of white cloth he pulled from his pocket.

  “It is not,” Winn muttered. He had no doubt what he would find inside, and it would be a scene that was far from reasonable to the Englishman. “John, keep watch. Knock twice should any soldiers come near.”

  To Keke, Winn gave a curt order in Paspahegh so that John Basse did not understand. Watch for trouble, Winn said. Keke nodded.

  John eagerly nodded, and Winn could not help but think the man seemed relieved. If their meeting inside went badly, it would be unlikely John Basse would be willing to help them again. Winn had spent months cultivating a friendship with John, knowing the alliance with him would only benefit those in his village.

  They needed to maintain ties with the Christian landowner, despite what Erich planned to do to the man inside. Better John Basse remain outside, taking no part in their business.