Not only did she have the notice of every eye in the tavern, but that of his benefactor as well. Agnarr studied her, surveying her from head to toe, until suddenly a glimpse of recognition surged across his face.
“She reminds me of a lady I once knew,” he murmured.
“Oh?” Benjamin replied. The glass he held in his hand cracked in his fist and he dropped it discreetly into the barrel of rubbish behind the bar. He wiped the blood away with a flannel cloth.
He was helpless to warn Kyra. Unless he was prepared to kill Agnarr in front of a tavern full of Englishmen, which he was not, there was little he could do. He watched, his chest tight, as Agnarr spoke with Kyra and invited her to sit. Too far away to hear their conversation, he decided offering her a drink would not arouse suspicion.
“Who is she?” Jora asked. Benjamin glanced at his wife. Her mood was difficult to discern, be it jealousy or curiosity he did not know.
“I know not.”
Jora looked at Kyra, then back at Benjamin. “Ye lie,” she said simply. She grabbed two cups of ale and stalked toward the table where Agnarr sat with Kyra, destroying his means to hear what was said. He felt his face flush with anger, yet he could not fault her. There were too many secrets and lies between them for anything less than mistrust.
As Jora bent and placed the cup in front of Kyra, she made a purposeful movement to touch the girl’s hand. Agnarr’s eyes narrowed and he made a sharp retort to Jora, and Jora quickly finished serving them.
When she returned to his side, he could see she was shaking. As Agnarr left the table and made his way toward them Benjamin realized there was no time for deceit.
“She is a Blooded MacMhaolian. If a savage comes looking for her, ye must help him,” he whispered briskly.
“But where did she come from?” Jora demanded.
“I will tell ye when there is time. For now, ye must promise ye will do as I ask.”
“Benjamin, ye must meet my young friend,” Agnarr declared, approaching the bar with Kyra’s hand tucked under his arm. Benjamin saw Jora silently nod and he released his breath in a sigh. At least he could count on her.
Agnarr looked like a smug cat, proud of the mouse within his paws, and Kyra appeared anything but reserved. Her eyes widened in recognition when she met Benjamin’s gaze.
“Oh, I know –”
Benjamin quickly cut her off.
“Pleased to make yer acquaintance, mistress,” he said with a nod. “What brings ye here on this fine day? Surely I’ve ne’er seen ye in town before?”
His warning seemed to resonate with Kyra. Her smile faded.
“Why, no, of course not. I only traveled here in search of a friend, and then I shall be on my way.”
“I promise we shall locate yer friend, my dear. There is no person I lose sight of in this town, man or woman alike, I assure ye,” Agnarr offered. “Will ye ride with us, Benjamin? I am sure it willna take long to locate her friend.”
“A ride?” Benjamin asked, bile rising in his throat.
“Yes. What, my dear, did ye say was yer family name?” Agnarr hummed, his surly voice little more than a contented purr.
“Oh, it is –”
“Of course,” Benjamin interrupted. “A ride. Right away. Shall we?” He took a chance by offering his arm, but he was relieved when Kyra took it and Agnarr did not seem to object.
One of the King’s men engaged Agnarr as they left the tavern, and it was all the opportunity Benjamin needed. He hurried Kyra out the door.
“Doona tell him yer name, nor where ye live. Say ye are from Jamestown, or anything ye like,” he ordered. “Ye do not know me, and ye know nothing Norse. If ye were not grown, I’d tan yer hide fer coming here!” he added, frustrated with the girl for her foolishness. “Dinna I tell ye never to return here? Let me guess, yer searching for Morgan White? I’ll kill him myself if this ends badly!”
“Why must all ye men wish to kill each other? First my father, now ye! I’m going to marry Morgan, and all of ye can stop yer yammering!” she hissed in reply.
“If yer dead, ye’ll marry no man, will ye? Now quiet yerself and do as I say until I figure out how to get ye gone!”
Benjamin lifted Kyra onto her mount as Agnarr joined them with a handful of his men trailing behind.
Dusk settled over the horizon as they set off toward Wakehill. Agnarr continued to make casual conversation with Kyra, but Benjamin was reassured to hear her divert his questions. It was not long before he was jarred from his thoughts by the sound of a rider approaching.
He heard the men whisper as Winn met their party.
“A savage,” they said.
Winn did not meet his gaze, his attention focused only on Kyra. When he seemed satisfied that she was well, he addressed Agnarr. Although they had never met, it was clear who was in charge, and Winn was not the sort of man to waste time with anyone else.
“I thank you for your kind escort, but I shall ride with my daughter now,” Winn said, his voice unwavering. It was impolite not to introduce oneself, and Benjamin could nearly see the questions spinning in Agnarr’s mind.
The Norseman’s eyes narrowed, his lips pursed as he considered the savage making demands at his side. Winn leveled his gaze in return, refusing to give Agnarr notice he might be swayed.
“May I ask yer name, friend, before I release the lady? Surely ye understand I must consider…her safety,” Agnarr replied.
“Winkeohkwet, of the Paspahegh people.”
Benjamin hid his grin. Yes, Winn was a clever one. It was a name without ties, one Sturlsson could not track. If he looked for those that remained of the Paspahegh people, he would surely be disappointed.
“He is my father, sir, and my only kin. I thank ye as well for yer kindness. ‘Tis my luck to have met ye today,” Kyra interjected. She moved her horse to her father’s side.
“My pleasure, mistress,” Agnarr murmured. “How fortunate yer kin has recovered ye. I shall pray we meet again. Forever your servant.”
Winn did not wait as Agnarr gave a tight bow to Kyra. Instead, he urged his mount into a gallop and Kyra followed behind. Benjamin finally let go of his tension, assured that his niece would be safe.
With a flick of his wrist to one of his men, Agnarr pointed at the departing riders.
“Follow them,” he said.
As Agnarr continued on his way to Wakehill, Benjamin left him with the claim of returning to the tavern. He immediately doubled back, and although it was dark and he was unskilled at tracking, it was not too difficult to find the way.
He needed to find the scout. If the man found the village, all would be lost.
Moonlight lit the sky, shimmering down upon the sandy path. Shadows plummeted around him as he rode, taunting him with memories of what once had been, and the promises he had made long ago.
He saw Marcus as he lay dying, demanding an oath from his sons. Despite the years, the sound of his voice was clear, ringing through Benjamin as if his father still stood before him.
“The power of time travel must remain our secret, and ye are sworn to protect it. Put aside yer quarrels, for the good of your people. I left my family, and all those I loved, to see it safe. Do not make it for nothing. Keep them close, see that they live on. I was born to protect them, and so are ye. I ask ye both, as my sons, to make it so.”
The memory was fresh as he came upon his brother in the woods. Kyra, still astride her horse, was waiting by the edge of the tree line that opened to the meadow, silently watching her father. She was an eerie outline in the light of the moon, her dark hair streaming back off her face with the cool night breeze. In the middle of the path before her Winn crouched down, pulling his knife from the body of the tracker sent to find them.
As Benjamin stopped, Winn wiped his blade off on the dead man’s jacket. The hilt of the knife flashed in the glare of the moon, and Benjamin could clearly see the rune engraved on the end.
It was the knife their father used to seal their bond. Brother t
o brother, blood to blood. They made a promise, and as Winn stood up and stared back at him, Benjamin knew it was only the beginning. They exchanged no words before Winn left.
He watched them ride away, safe for another day.
CHAPTER 21
Maggie
THEY GATHERED THE SICK into the Northern Hall. When the fever affected only a few, they cared for them in their homes, but when the number of those sick became greater than those who were healthy, the only way to care for them was by having them all in one place.
Maggie did not know what ailed them. At first she suspected it was a simple flu, with the fever and body aches that accompanied a virus. Yet soon she realized it was a more serious illness. It spread rapidly, claiming the life of an elderly woman as the first victim. Several children deteriorated, and she feared there was nothing they could do to stop it. They received word the Nansemond people suffered as well, pointing to some contagion likely spread during the gathering.
“How does he fare?” Winn asked. She wiped the sweat from Dagr’s brow. Her son smiled in thanks but did not open his eyes.
“The same,” she said quietly. “Have you seen Kyra?”
Winn shook his head and his jaw tightened. She sighed. Kyra and Winn had not spoken since they returned from town. Kyra avoided her father at every turn, taking her meals alone in the longhouse and settling down to sleep before Winn finished his duties with the men. Winn did not seem eager to fix the situation, making no effort to mend things with his daughter as the days wore on. With so many sick in the village, Maggie knew it was not a priority, but she could not help but wish her husband and daughter would resolve things.
“I sent a rider to Basse’s Choice. We cannot go until all of our people are well again.”
“I know. We’d just make more people sick,” she murmured. She placed a hand on Winn’s lower back and was surprised to feel him tense. When Morgan entered the Northern Hall, she understood why. Morgan searched the hall, obviously looking for someone, and Maggie bit her lip when his gaze settled on Winn. With the tension still fresh between them, she hoped Morgan had more sense than to confront Winn.
“Come quick, it’s Kyra. I canna rouse her,” Morgan stammered.
She lay quiet on her pallet when they arrived, her skin dappled with sweat and colored a sickly shade of grey. Her breathing was shallow, her pulse rapid. Maggie clutched her daughter’s hand, as helpless to do anything as she had been long ago when Kyra was stung by a bee. All of her future knowledge meant nothing, all of her magic blood meant nothing. Those she loved were suffering, and there was not a blessed thing she could do to stop it.
Winn sat down beside her. He brushed the damp hair from Kyra’s face and kissed her softly on her forehead. The regret was etched into his eyes, his anguish reflected back at her.
“What is this? What can we do?” he said, his voice hoarse.
“I think it’s an infection. I don’t know for sure,” she replied.
She stood up abruptly as the solution occurred to her. No, she could not go back to change the past, but was there any reason she could not go to the future to save them all?
At home on the farm in the future she came from, she had a cabinet of medicine. It was full of bulk bottles, with several different types of antibiotics one might use for sick animals. As far as she knew, the medicine would work the same for people. Bactrim was Bactrim, wasn’t it?
“Winn,” she said. “I have an idea.”
Maggie intended to go, but Winn would not allow it. As she watched Erich paint the runes on Winn’s arms, Gwen reminded her she could not go to a time she once lived. It was impossible for Maggie to use the Bloodstone; it must be Winn. Reality did not ease her mind, nor did it sway her husband’s resolve. Presented with a way to save his children, Winn could not turn away.
Erich explained to Winn how to return, and how the order of the runes on his skin would take him to the place he meant to go. The only belonging she still possessed from the future was her wristwatch, and she gladly surrendered it to her husband to guide his way.
“But how can we be sure he’ll return to us?” Maggie asked her uncle. Erich’s face clouded at the question.
“The runes will help point the way, and yer bracelet will steer him there. But to return here, to this time, he needs one of these,” he said, taking one of the figurines from the mantle. It was a turtle, with a rune engraved on the shell.
“Can’t we give him this one to take?”
“No. It will keep him tied here, or confuse the magic. He must find one in the future. It is the only way.”
“What if it’s not there waiting for him?” she demanded.
“I buried a few in a place only Marcus knows. Marcus must have looked fer them, there’s no o’er way he could have ‘em in yer future time. If he gave ye the raven, and gave Benjamin the eagle, then I suspect he must have looked for the others I buried as well.”
It made her head ache to think of it. She knew in the future she had her raven, and she suspected Marcus had other figurines as well, yet she could not be sure. If Winn did not have a figurine to return, he might not come back to them – or worse yet, he might go somewhere else.
Yet he made his decision and there was nothing Maggie could say to sway him. With the strength of his purpose bending her into submission, she tended the task of preparing him for the future. She thought it was best that he make an attempt to blend in, and it was only with Erich’s persuasion that Winn allowed her to shear his hair. If Winn should find himself lost in the future or worse yet, go too far ahead, she feared he might run into trouble if he appeared too out of place.
She did not expect the simple preparations to bother her. Yet standing over her husband with his fresh shorn hair in her fist was the strike that sent reality crashing home.
Although she bit down on her lip, he still heard her sigh. He turned his chin slightly as he placed his hand over hers where she braced it on his shoulder.
“Do you know,” he said softly, “that our history was written even before you were born?”
She swallowed back the rush of despair that gripped her as she shook her head. Not trusting herself to speak, she clenched her fingers into the thick of his shoulder.
“Before you took your first breath, I had already loved you for all my life.” He turned on the stool to face her, his hands slipping around her waist as he gazed up at her.
If she touched him now, she feared she would lose her last grip on reality, but at the same time she could not stop from reaching for him. She placed her palm flat over his heart, over the puckered scar where he had once been shot. The wound was shallow and long healed, the skin smooth yet tough.
“Stay here. Please. Don’t go,” she whispered. He sighed with a shake of his head. She felt him shudder as he wrapped his arms tighter around her. Her words were a simple request, yet they both knew beneath simmered so much more.
“You must listen to me,” he said quietly. Every muscle in her body tensed. She knew what he was about to say and she did not want to acknowledge it. If they spoke of it, then it meant it could happen. She could not make that recognition; she felt like she was giving up if she did.
“Please, Winn. I’ll be waiting for you. That’s all we need to say.”
“No. You will listen!” he said, his voice rising an octave and his blue eyes gleaming. She swallowed, and he closed his eyes. “I ask you to listen.”
“All right,” she whispered.
“Erich will protect you and the children. Chetan will watch over you as well. You will move into town and join with the Nansemond and English at Basse’s Choice.”
“But Winn–”
“It is the only way to keep you all safe. I cannot take on this task without knowing you, and our children are safe. Promise me you will abide. Give me your word.”
“You must come back to me,” she whispered.
“Time is nothing to us,” he said, kissing her tear-stained cheeks. “For all that I am, I am nothing b
ut yours. Every moment of every day. In this life and all others. I will not let you walk alone, ntehem. I will find you again.”
She took his hand and placed it over her heart. As their breathing moved in unison, he laid his cheek flat against her, his arms surrounding her in an unbreakable hold. When he clutched her close, she bit back her denial, knowing it was time to let him go.
Maggie helped him dress, knowing it might be the last time she ever completed that task. He handed her his knife and her hand shook as she slit his palm, but the blood flowed quick in response.
With his eyes fastened on hers, he closed his hand around his Bloodstone and faded into nothingness.
CHAPTER 22
Winn
He closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself before he entered the house. With the knowledge that Maggie would soon be taken by the Bloodstone, he knew he had precious little time to speak to Marcus. If Winn did not get what he needed before that happened, he doubted Marcus would be willing to listen to anything he had to say.
His father sat at a small table, his head bent down over a book. He seemed to be scribbling in it with some sort of quill, one without a feather or ink. A heaviness surged through him, squeezing his chest as he watched his father.
As Winn pushed open the door, Marcus did not glance up.
“Change yer mind? Good. We can worry over the barn another day,” Marcus said.
Winn cleared his throat.
“Marcus,” Winn said, not entirely sure how to start the conversation. Marcus lifted his eyes and dropped his pen. He surveyed Winn, much as Maggie had done. Winn could see some sort of denial, and then recognition change his features, and Marcus stood slowly up from his chair.
Winn had never seen him without a full beard. His father seemed younger, and if Winn was correct on the date, Marcus was a few years younger than they day they met. He wore a snug black shirt with short, tight sleeves, similar to what Maggie wore, and a pair of blue trousers that looked terribly uncomfortable. Marcus backed up against the cabinet before he spoke.
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