Authors: E.B. Brown
Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (61 page)
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.
THE END
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E.B. Brown enjoys researching history and genealogy, and uses her findings to cultivate new ideas for her writing. She resides in New Jersey.
BOOKS BY E.B. BROWN
Time Walkers Series
The Legend of the Bloodstone, Book 1
Return of the Pale Feather, Book 2
Of Vice and Virtue,
Book 3
COMING SOON
A Tale of Oak and Mistletoe, Book
4
The Faithful, a Fantasy Romance
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Official Website
Read on for an excerpt from
Of Vice and Virtue
, A Time Walkers novella.
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 empty cup.
“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, the warrior muttered a few coarse words in Paspahegh and then left, swinging his fur-lined cloak around as he stalked away. Benjamin watched the Indian 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. 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 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 her fingers tightened around his.
“Well, no harm, then. Carry on with ye,” he replied.
“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 whore, 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 pandering her body for coin.
Funny, he thought, as he nodded his consent. She did not look like a whore. He had not known any, but she certainly was not what he envisioned one might be. She was 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 shouted. 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 breeches. He placed his hands on her waist in an attempt to forcibly remove her, but she snuggled down over him and ran her mouth over his neck. With her round breasts pressed close to his face, he closed his eyes, swallowing hard.
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 had 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 as he threw open the door, and with a sliver of sickness streaking through his gut he knew he was correct on his earlier assumption.
She was undoubtedly no whore.
Of Vice and Virtue
, coming in 2013.
