The Legend of the Bloodstone (36 page)

She untied the girl’s blood sodden apron and placed it in a pile, adding her scuffed leather boots and brown wool stockings as well. The girl did not stir. Maggie lifted her skirt to untie her starched petticoat, still not accustomed to English fashion, but thinking she could wrestle it off without waking the girl. She found the stays and pulled them loose, and then pulled the petticoat gently off.

She inhaled a quick breath and held it when she pulled the garment away. The inner lining was smeared with blood, as were the girl’s inner thighs. As the air hit her skin, the girl opened her eyes and began to thrash, kicking and hissing like a cat held under a waterspout. Maggie did the best she could to deflect her blows, unwilling to hurt her further.  Finally she wrapped her arms around her in a bear hug, as Marcus had so often done to her when she had flown into a temper, rocking her and murmuring soothing words as she patted her back.

The girl howled against her chest, her white little hand clenched under her chin as she sobbed.

Makedewa and Winn came to the cave opening at the screams. She held up a hand to them over the girl’s trembling back, and they stopped still.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay now,” she soothed her.

“I couldna stop him,” she cried softly into Maggie’s breast. Maggie held her as tight as the girl could tolerate, rocking back and forth together, mimicking the easy sway of a babe inside a cradle.

“It’
s not your fault,” Maggie whispered.

“I wish he killed me. Why didn’t he just kill me?” she sobbed.

Maggie continued to rock her.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, at loss to give her any semblance of comfort.

***

Despite the
closeness they shared on returning to the cave, when dawn arrived and they parted, Maggie felt the slow strangle of distance growing between them.  Makedewa and Chetan joined them with more supplies, and she was pleased to hear they would join them soon in their exile. Winn would never admit it, but she knew how much he missed his family and she was glad they would all settle together in one place to ride out the coming winter.

Maggie wondered how Rebecca would adapt. The girl followed Maggie everywhere and took a liking to Teyas, so it was a welcome relief that Teyas decided to
join them. The girl was only fifteen, as Maggie suspected, and she looked at the men with tribulation most days, but she was smart enough to understand they meant her no harm. They never spoke of returning her to the English, and Maggie had a feeling the girl would not go even if it were offered. Rebecca held a deep shame for what had happened to her.

“It’s better off my Ma and Pa li
e dead. Better dead then to know the truth of it,” Rebecca said.

The cave served as their home
and also as a central gathering place, the large enclosed space adopting the usage the community longhouse would traditionally take in their new settlement. The men built two yehakin in a semi-circle outside the cave, and also a smaller house to keep their gathered food and supplied. Teyas and Ahi Kekeleksu joined them as well, and their private sanctuary suddenly was a bustling mini village. Maggie welcomed the companionship, but at the same time she longed for privacy with her husband, who seemed to be slipping further away.

It was nothing she could point to
that suddenly changed things.  The first night the others arrived, she thought he was merely trying to placate her shyness when he did not attempt to make love to her with his brothers sleeping nearby. He held her tenderly in his arms, his desire evident, yet he made no move to press his attention and she soon fell asleep in his embrace. However, when the next night followed the same routine, Maggie knew something was amiss, and on waking alone in the furs once again she decided to confront him.

Makedewa and Chetan worked on completing the supply house.
Makedewa grunted in greeting as Chetan secured a flat bark shingle to the roof and tapped it into place with the blunt end of his iron axe, a gift he had gleaned from the English when they were all still on better terms.

“Have you seen Winn?” she asked.

“He checks the snares by the cliff.  Take care if you follow him,” Makedewa answered, disapproval evident in his tone.

“Thank you, I will,” she smiled.  She left them to their work.  Stopping by the cave to grab her heavy wool cloak, she also tossed some crusty bread and some cheese into a small satchel before she set off up to the cliff in search of her husband. Although she knew the trail well, it still might take a bit of time to find him and she did not want to
be trapped without any recourse if her stomach acted up. Most of her nausea had diminished in the weeks they spent in the mountain valley, but there were still waves of dizziness that seemed to get better with a bit of food in her belly.

She found him on the ridge by the cliff, standing at the edge. His ears were sharp and she was surprised he did not hear her advance as he looked out over the valley, his empty gaze searching over the tumble of green that graced the land as far as the eye could wander. His chin dipped down and he cocked his head to the side when he finally noticed her, but he did not turn to greet her.

Maggie slipped her arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to his bared shoulder. He was dressed simply in a breechclout and buckskin leggings, his copper skin shimmering with a layer of fresh sweat dampening his skin, slick against her lips.  He placed one hand over hers and held her tightly as he continued to watch the valley.

“I miss you, husband,” she said softly. She felt his ribs move as he let out a sigh.

“I do not go away for long.”

“I’m not talking about j
ust this morning. I miss more than that.” She let her hand slip down over his breechclout and smiled when his body responded to her touch. He shuddered and let out a strangled groan at the contact, but his hand closed over her wrist and he moved her hand to his chest.

She refused to be dissuaded, and ran her fingers over his taunt nipples to entice him further. He made a low choking sound and swung her around into his arms, and she sighed with pleasure as his lips came down upon hers. Needful and wanting, his mouth made promises, but she
was left panting and empty when he pulled back.

“You should go back to the cave. I will return soon,” he said. One of his hands caressed the small of her back as he held her, and she felt the fingers of his other hand twisting in her hair.  He kissed the top of her head as he often did and made to part, but she circled her arms around his waist and would not yield.

“Please tell me what troubles you,” she asked. She wished it was only the uncertainty of the coming winter, or worry over storing enough food before the first snow, but when his almond shaped blue eyes fell dark and he gazed down at her in despair, she feared perhaps it was something she did not want to know after all.

“I…I will not worry you over my thoughts,
ntehem
,” he said softly.

“But I would hear them anyway. What keeps you from my bed, warrior? Am I too round now for you to love?” she tried to joke, infusing a bit of humor. The corner of his mouth turned up and he did smile, but it did not reach his eyes and it
was rapidly replaced with a frown.

“Of course not. I know my babe grows inside you.” He broke away at the confession, and turned back to the cliff
.

Maggie winced at his words and made no move to follow him.
So that ghost was rearing its memory, shades of the time they spent apart, and she had no idea how to battle such things. They had not spoken of that time since they were reunited, and although she knew someday it would need to be said, she feared it was still too fresh of a wound to risk bending it.

“Do you doubt this babe is yours?” she asked, the words
so hoarse as to be nearly silent as uttered from her lips. His shoulders flinched and sagged, but he did not move otherwise.

“I know the child is my blood.”

“Then what are you getting at, Winn?” she whispered. She felt the sting of tears and thrust the despair away, instead embracing the rising tide of anger as a means to clear the path. He was stubborn, she would give him that, but she was even more so to a greater fault, and she would not let his accusations go unanswered.

She put her hand on his arm but he shrugged it off, turning on her. His eyes flared like beacons in a storm, his cheeks flushed, his fisted hands at his sides, the veins in his neck and arms standing out in rails along his skin.

“Did you love him?” he asked. His lips trembled with the force of holding back, and his hands reached for her once but pulled away, instead rising to squeeze his temples and then run through his thick hair.  “I fear to ask it, but not knowing haunts me.”

“Winn – “

“I know you shared his bed. I must know – did you share his heart as well?  I will hear it from you. ”

“Then
hear this, husband,” she said. “I have loved no other but you.”

He stepped back, putting space between them, and when she reached for
him he gently pushed her hands away.

She turned to go as a sob reached her throat, stifling it with a fist clenched against her mouth as she made for the trail. Through blurred
eyes she followed the path back down to the cave, but instead of returning to the others, she followed the tree line to the crevice where the spring sat beneath the falls.

She wanted to be angry
with him, but she could not. Would she be any better, had he been with another woman? She cringed at the thought of her warrior in the arms of another, and with the intensity of disgust that surfaced within her she could hardly hold him accountable for the anger he now felt. 

Shedding her dress, she stepped into the shallow pool and sank down onto the flat ledge, closing her eyes to the warmth and wishing it was his arms that surrounded her instead.  Was it a matter of forgiveness between them now, some demon they needed to exti
nguish, or was this the slow tearing of the bonds that held their lifeblood together? Should she feel shame for doing what she thought was best when she believed Winn dead, or should she hold it up and demand it be forgotten, never to be spoke of again?  She knew no answer for mending the tear between them.

She felt the water ripple and saw the flash of his bared skin as he dipped beneath the water. His clothes lay in a pile next to hers, and two dead rabbits
tied together lay staring with blank eyes at the mouth of the crevice.  She closed her eyes when she felt his hands circle her waist and his slick body surfaced in front of her. Like a glorious heathen God, he shook the water from his hair and droplets ran down his rippled chest, dipping into the scarred crease below his left shoulder.  She wanted to brush it away, but she was afraid to touch him, fearful to breathe or make a sound lest he go back the way he came.

“Winn, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, pulling back slightly from his kiss. He cupped her face with two wide hands and gently kissed the tear than ran down her cheek.

“As am I,
ntehem
.”

“But can you ever forgive me?” she whispered.

“Maggie,” he said softly. “You once asked me if I would not do the same, if I was trapped, like you, far away from my home. Yes, I had anger at you! By the Gods, Maggie, I wanted to hurt you for marrying him!” He trembled as he spoke, his eyes skewed into shallow slits and his face contorted in a grimace, as if he pained with each syllable. “But I know why you did it, and when my head cleared, I could not keep anger at you,” he murmured.

“Oh, Winn,” she breathed. “
I love you. It’s always been you.”

He pressed his lips to her hair and drew her close.

His hand slid up her back, and she could feel the sensation of something rough yet yielding against her skin.  He took her hand in his and placed the object in her outstretched palm. Filled with water and scented with sweet oil, a fat sea sponge sat in her hand. She looked up at him, uncertain of his intention, and was pleased to see the beginning of a smile on his lips.

“Among my people, a story is told of the First Husband,” he said softly. He brought her hand to his chest, where he guided her to make circles across his skin with the sponge. “The man loved a beautiful maiden, and this maiden was a
s dear to him as the sun is to the moon. He married her, and they lived as one. So blinded by his love for the maiden, he could think of nothing else but her. One day he was called away to hunt, and he left the maiden alone.”

Maggie remained silent, but she followed his lead, and she continued to sponge him gently as he told the story.
The sounds of the water lapping against their skin echoed in the cavern, as loud as his shallow breaths upon her skin. His hands settled on her waist, and he pulled her closer, her breasts pushed flat against his chest as she gently scrubbed his shoulders and arms. 

“The man never returned to the village, and the maiden knew some evil had taken him from her, since she knew he would never leave her. Soon her family found her another husband, and she married again.” At
this his voice dipped lower, and he took the sponge from her to gently caress along her skin.  He dabbed her face and neck, and traced tiny circles over her breasts and ribs. “Many moons later the First Husband returned, as he was not dead at all, but only lost in the woods. He challenged the new husband for his wife, and when he won she was returned to him.”