Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (39 page)

“Do I want to know how he got that coat, Chetan?” she asked, expecting a straight answer from the more reliable of the two. Chetan grinned, a gesture that did not convey any reassurance to her.

“No Englishman died, Fire Heart. Makedewa is good at dice, especially when the soldiers drink rum. Mind your business, sister,” he chuckled, using a phrase from her own repertoire. She jabbed him with her elbow and joined his laughter.

“Yeah, mind my business. Sure,” she replied.

If only she could take such advice.

Maggie

Her laughter tapered off when Chetan followed his brothers outside. She would need to figure out a place for Marcus to sleep, preferably outside, but she was not sure where the best place would be. Of the two
yehakins,
she shared one with Winn, and his brothers shared the other with Chetan’s son, Ahi Kekeleksu. Teyas and Rebecca slept in the cottage loft, leaving the small room in the rear of the cottage available, but she was reluctant to subject Rebecca to a stranger in the cottage. Although she was still angry at Marcus, it made little sense to see him sleep in the barn when there was a perfectly good cot available inside.

“I’ll tend to my horse with the others,” Marcus said.

“I’m sure the brothers will take care of it, it’s no problem,” Maggie replied. “Leave them be for now. Don’t you think we should all just cool off? There’s been a lot to take in today.”

Marcus nodded.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he said quietly. “There sure has.”

She heard the pause in his words as he looked out the window at the brothers. Suddenly she felt like a complete fool. Yes, Marcus had kept things from her, important things, but she was not so dense that she didn’t understand why. As she watched her daughter playing, she could see exactly why Marcus and her grandfather kept the truth from her. She would do the same to protect her child from such dangerous magic.

She remembered the day when Benjamin disappeared as a boy and the pain it caused Marcus to lose his young son. Marcus had changed that day, from a man who laughed easily to one who rarely smiled. Though still loyal to fault and protective of his family, the loss of his child had changed him.  Now as he stared out the window at the son he didn’t know he had, she could see in him a fragment of the desolate bereaved parent he once was. Though he had traveled to the past to find one son, he now had two to consider, and she could hardly imagine how the man must be feeling.

“We shall take Kwetii to yer
yehakin
, if it pleases ye, Maggie,” Rebecca said, breaking the silence. Kwetii grabbed the cap off Rebecca’s head when the young woman lifted her up, causing her springy blond curls to fall loose.

“Thank you,” Maggie replied. “I brought a bundle of garments back from trade with the
Chosicks. You can take a look if you like.”

Rebecca preferred the English manner of dress and continued to wear a heavy layered skirt over her shift with a jacket bodice fitted snugly over it, despite the constrictions it caused in the warm summer months.  Maggie made the offer knowing Rebecca would likely refuse, but she was determined to keep trying to help her be more comfortable.

“Nay, I like my own just fine. G’night to ye.”

Maggie gave Kwetii a kiss before she went off to bed. Rebecca adjusted the child on her hip and followed Teyas out the door, sneaking a glance at Marcus as she passed. 

“Night,” Maggie answered. “I’ll be there soon, sweetheart.”

When the door closed behind the women, she sat down heavily on the bench next to Marcus. She propped her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands for a moment, the events of the day sinking in as she let out a sigh.

“Don’t ye pass out. Yer husband will blame me for that as well,” Marcus said.

“Yes, he would.  He’s a good man. He would give his life to protect his family, if it was necessary,” she answered softly. “He’s
had a hard time of it, Marcus. He was shuttled around by his uncle to live wherever it suited him best–he lived with the Nansemond, the Paspahegh, and …” her words trailed off as she looked into his eyes. “With the English. He lived with Benjamin’s family for two summers. They were like brothers.”

“Like brothers,” Marcus said, the corner of his lip dipping downward. “Aye, it must have been hard on the lad.”

He ran his hands through his thick dark hair, the color of his skin flushed from neck to ears. He rose and thrust the wooden bench back with one quick shove, nearly causing her seat to topple as he arched his back and stared upward, as if begging the heavens for guidance.

“I never meant to cause this trouble. I thought to see you safe, find my lad, and have words with yer husband…now this. My son? Benjamin is likely dead, and yer husband willna forgive me.”

She shook her head.

“You’re wrong on both counts. Benjamin is too damn stubborn to be dead. And Winn? Winn will come around. He just needs time. After a good night’s rest, I think we’ll all see things more clearly, right?”

She stuck her hand in the stitched pocket of her shift, which was belted over her short doeskin skirt. It took a moment to find it, but when she pulled out the raven figure his response was quick. His eyes softened and rimmed with moisture at the sight of it. He reached out for it, palm up, but then pulled his hand back.

“You had that all this time?” he choked.

“Yes. I think it sent me here. There’s a reason for everything, Marcus, I’m more convinced of that than ever now.”

He crossed his arms over chest, the thin white fabric of the trade shirt stretched to near tearing over his shoulders.

“When did ye turn into such an optimist? I hardly recognize ye!”

It felt good to smile, and hearing him joke opened the doorway to the playful banter they once shared.

“Optimist? That’s about the only thing I haven’t been accused of in this time,” she laughed. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

*****

She waited as long as she could for Winn to retire to their
yehakin
, but as the night wore on the excitement of the day grew heavy and she succumbed to the fatigue to lie down without him. Should she search for him, or let him come home on his own? Perhaps the company of his brothers was what he needed, instead of his wife, who would ask him to forget the past and welcome his long-lost father.

What else could she do? Winn, the one who knew her best of all. He knew how much she loved Marcus, how the man had been family to her. Would he hold onto his anger, and follow through with the promise he made her long ago— the vow to kill his father should he ever meet him?

As much as she knew her husband, she admittedly knew little of the warrior he had been before they met. She could only guess upon it from the manner in which others regarded him. Even when his brothers voiced dissent, they still deferred to Winn’s decisions on every matter despite the fact they no longer lived with the Paspahegh tribe and Winn was War Chief no more. Yet as she lay beside him at night and traced the winding tattoo upon his flat belly, she could recall the meaning of each mark as he conveyed it to her.

“This one, here,” he said, “Is for the first man I killed. This part, here, is for the day I became a man. And this, this one shows I am different, that I am not true Paspahegh, that I carry the blood of the whites in my veins.”

No, there were some things about him she might never truly understand. Nor did she need to. There was no reason for her to know how many he had killed, or when, or why. She did not ask it of him after the massacre, and she would not ask it now. It was his past, a part of him he could share if he chose, or hold onto if not.

Her eyes had just closed when he slipped into the
yehakin
. With his usual stealth he slid between the furs behind her, placing his arms around her to pull her against his chest. The heat of the day had skittered away and she snuggled into the warmth of his skin against her back. She smiled as his lips ran over her ear and he placed a soft kiss against her neck.

“Winn?” she said softly as he gripped her chin with one hand. His warm mouth closed over hers, silencing both her words and her thoughts. She could feel the need in his touch when he twisted her around to face him and moved his body over hers. His fingers pulled at the binding on her shift and then with a frustrated groan he pushed it up above her breasts, giving no answer to her question with words, yet answering her quite clear as his hips bore down on hers. With all that had happened that day, she was flustered to feel the desire in his touch. Yet still she welcomed it.

“Winn –”

“Hmm?” he murmured, his lips busy marking a trail down her shoulder to her breast. She let out a moan when his mouth closed over one taut peak.

“I—we should—oh!”

“Be still,
ntehem.
I need you.”

He rose up with a single swift movement and joined their bodies, bearing her deep into the furs beneath him. Their flesh collided in eager anticipation, the intensity of the day’s events fading with each frantic thrust. His hands were everywhere, holding her tight so she could not move, as if he meant to take something that did not belong to him, that fragile bit of fear they needed to chase away. He shielded his eyes from hers in that moment, yet despite the attempt at concealment it only served to drive the flame deeper, licking at their wounds as they battled it down.

Later they lay together, and although she was satiated from the physical need of wanting him, she felt the distance of his thoughts. Even as he rested his hand on her hip and pressed his lips into her hair, she could sense the pull of his unease. The gentle rise and fall of his chest against her cheek was soothing as she snuggled closer, aching to calm him as he did for her.

“You’re going to town tomorrow?” she asked quietly.

His arms tightened around her.

“Yes,” he said. “If Benjamin still lives, I will find what happened to him. Do not worry, I will return before the sun sleeps.”

He rubbed her back absently, his blue eyes shadowed as he looked up at the moonlight through the smoke hole.

“I don’t like you going into town. I’m afraid they’ll turn on you. Look at how they burned the crops—they even attack the peaceful tribes. There’s no sense to it.”

“They have few men they trust to negotiate, and the new English soldiers have orders to keep peace. There will be no trouble for me, wife.” He was right. The English crown had taken over control of the colony in the last few months after revoking the charter of the Virginia Company, and so far, the English had sought to calm relations between the settlers and the Indians. She hoped it would be enough to save her small crop of corn this season, as it had been burned by English scabs in the fall.

“You’ll take your brothers, too, then?” she asked. “Makedewa and Chetan, I mean.”

“If you would have it so, then yes,” he replied.

She waited for him to acknowledge the unanswered question, giving him the chance to speak on it. After a few minutes his breathing slowed, and she knew if she did not broach the subject, it might never be said.

“Winn?” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“What about your …brother?”

She traced the line of his tattoo from the point of his hip to the indent of his navel, the black ink design raised slightly from his skin. She felt him shudder and he grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

“Chetan had a wife, years ago, when we were young warriors. She was called
Sapalente
.”

She opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it.

“English men visited the village to trade with us. We had little to share with them that year, enough for our people, but not enough for the English as well.  They were angry, they thought our women hid the corn. So they took our women to the Long House, and bound them hand and foot. They put the women inside and set the Great
Yehakin
on fire.”

His muscles grew tight beneath her hand.  She could see the throbbing of the pulse in his neck, standing out like a cord. The flat Bloodstone pendant lay on his chest, betraying the quickening of his breath as he spoke.

“Many men were away hunting, as was Chetan. Makedewa and I stayed behind to meet with the Council. Men of the Council were old men, no warriors, and they were rounded up by the English as well. I killed the man who touched Sapalente first. And then Makedewa and I killed the others.”

She swallowed hard.

“And the women? Sapalente? Did she live?” she asked.

“Yes. No women died that day.”

“But what happened to her?”