Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (50 page)

“Fire Heart,” he mumbled gruffly with a nod when she approached. His arms were crossed over his lean chest as he watched Rebecca eat with the women. He wore a new vest over his bare torso, made from the thick hide of a brown bear and edged with a knot work of intricate silver thread, a gift from Erich to welcome him to the village.

“You could go sit with her,” she commented. He made a shallow grunting sound.

“I can stand here, just as well,” he replied.

“You’re as stubborn as your brother,” she teased, taking a sip of her drink. He tilted his head a bit and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Hmm. Who is more stubborn, my brother, or his wife? He is much changed from the brother I know.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, turning back to watch the crowd.

“My brother forgets his people for you. Yet still you cannot be happy. What would you have of him? To live here? With his white brother, whose bed you once shared?”

She froze at his hateful words, her response caught in her dry throat.

“I’m happy as long as I’m with Winn,” she finally whispered.

“My brother is the strongest brave I know. But even he could not bear what you want of him.”

“I’ll go wherever he wants.”

Makedewa sighed as he shook his head.

“No. You will stay here, and Winn will let you. He forgets who he is, for you. With each sunrise I see less of my brother, and more of a
Tassantassas
.”  Makedewa drained his mug. “If that is what being bound to a woman makes a man, I will stay away. Let her find a
Tassantassas
to make her happy.”

Her mouth dropped open when he abruptly turned and walked away. His hateful words stung, the truth of it mixed in with his conflicted feelings for Rebecca. She shook her head to clear the rush of tears that threatened, trying to convince herself he did not mean what he said. Yet on some level, she knew he did, and the guilt nipped at her heart.

She took a long gulp of mead and made her way back to the table to join the women, where perhaps the conversation would be more welcoming. She took a seat on the bench next to her aunt.

“Who is that boy?” she asked Gwen, as the Indian youth began to wrestle with Ahi Kekeleksu in the crowd.  Gwen was fussing with her kirtle strings which had fallen loose, and she stopped for a moment at Maggie’s question.

“Iain? He’s son to Ellie-dear, by a Chesapeake brave. Some of them stayed here for a bit when the Powhatans attacked. We’ve taken in quite a few stragglers. We’re not the only people who’ve lost their kin,” she said.  Maggie raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Why did he go after the Chesapeake?”

“We heard it was a prophecy. It was the old Chief Powhatan back then, he and his brother Opechancanough were much alike in that way,” Gwen said with a shrug of her shoulders. “A priest said the Chesapeake would rise up against the Powhatan Empire, so he attacked them. We sheltered some of the Chesapeake for a time. Most of them moved on with the Nansemond, but Ellie and Iain stayed with us.”

“Is Ellie-dear here?” Maggie asked.

“Oh, aye. She’s the blond one, sitting near yer sister. Her bairn’s an Indian, like yer husband,” Gwen replied, nodding toward the end of the table where Teyas sat.

Maggie did not know how to respond to that as she looked over at her husband’s sister. Cultural tolerance aside, she was well aware that the Norse were uncharacteristically welcoming to the Indians. Perhaps it was their shared history that bound them, or the need to have allies to survive. Whatever the reason, she was glad for it. 

She spotted Ellie-dear sitting beside Teyas, engaged in a discussion. Ellie had long, straight blond hair, pulled demurely back with a single tie at the base of her neck. Her features were delicate, like Rebecca’s, and although Ellie was older, she was clearly English.

“What a pretty lady,” Maggie murmured. Gwen chuckled as Maggie took a bite of bread.

“That Chesapeake brave thought so, too. He took her to wife from that group of Roonok settlers, and she’s lucky to be alive. I think all her kin are dead.”

The bread caught in a dense lump in her throat and Maggie gasped into a choking fit. Gwen thumped her on the back with a
closed fist until Maggie was able to suck the air back into her lungs and catch her breath.

“Shoo, slow ye down! Can’t have ye choke yerself into the grave!” her Aunt chastised. Maggie took a swig of the proffered wine, coughed up more bread, and took another sip.

“Elli’s from
Roanoke
?” she sputtered.

“Nay, I said
Roonok
. The English left a few of their people on the Island early on, and they right starved to death until the Chesapeake took them in. Elli-dear’s one of them. Her ma died when she was still a wee thing, so they called her by her ma’s name. Eleanor,” Gwen mused, “Eleanor died early on. Terrible time, that was.”

“Eleanor Dare,” she whispered. The lost colonists, starved and desolate, had sought shelter with the local Indians, just as historians had suggested. She recalled no one knew for sure what happened to them. Some surmised they went to the Chesapeake, others believed they went to the Croatoan. There were various rumors of blue-eyed, fair-haired people living amongst the Indians, but the reports were unreliable and impossible to verify. Knowing firsthand how those early years of English settlement played out, Maggie was not shocked to hear of whites living among the Indians. Yet the village of Time Walkers had apparently escaped documentation in written history, just the same as the fate of the Roanoke Colony.  

With a sinking desperation in her belly, Maggie realized her safety and that of her family was just as tenuous. She could hardly believe she was sharing a meal with Virginia Dare, as the woman’s half-Indian son ran amok in a breechcloth amongst a group of Viking children. The Roanoke Colony had met a gruesome end no matter how history reported it, as evidenced by the lone survivor sitting across the table. Would her family fare any better?

She braced her elbows on the table and rested her forehead in her hands for a moment. Gwen patted her shoulder.

“Ye sick, dear?” Gwen asked. “Ye look like ye’ve had a fright?”

“I’m fine,” Maggie murmured. 

Marcus raised his drinking horn to start the celebration, and the crowd responded with a roar. Pounding fists rocked the tables, and a lyre wailed a joyful tune. Her mouth watered as the scent of thick spicy venison rippled through the air, a smoky cloud lingering over the still-smoldering meat laid out on the long table.

Maggie waited to raise her own cup, knowing it was the proper way to behave toward the esteemed chief. She often felt frustrated with the cultural constraints of the time, and becoming acclimated to the Norse way of life was no easy task. The more time she spent in the village, the more she felt she belonged, even when she was expected to defer her opinions to the men around her.  As Maggie stared down the table at her kin, she wondered what her life would be like if they settled with the Nansemond. Would she raise a strong, proud, daughter? Or a subservient woman waiting for the next order from a warrior? It was a question only Winn could answer, and she would have to abide by it.

A raucous thud of fists upon the dry wood table roused her thoughts, and she looked up toward the men.

Benjamin sat to the right hand of Marcus, and she could not help noticing it was the place of honor Winn had occupied the day prior.  Although Winn was resistant to forging a relationship with Marcus, she was pleased they stopped trying to kill each other. At least that was progress.

Yet as she watched Benjamin sit beside Marcus, reveling in the attention like the long-lost Prince, she wondered how it would affect her husband. He spoke little of his feelings for his father, but Winn had gradually involved himself in the Norse activities within the village and seemed to fit in.  She hoped when he returned matters would continue in the same vein.

“May the Gods bless the return of my son. Thank ye, Odin, for waking him from his rest!” Marcus shouted. He raised the horn higher, and then took a long gulp. The men shouted in agreement and the pounding of fists resumed. Erich stood, raising his tankard as
well, and although heads turned to listen, there was still a rowdy murmur among the crowd.

“Bless his hard head, yet it might be made of rock! It is good to have ye back, Young
Nielsson!”

A roar of laughter ensued, and both Marcus and Benjamin grinned.

“Why, thank ye, Erich, I hear I owe ye a clouting for this lump on my skull,” Benjamin said. 

“Aye, ye’ll get your chance, lad. I expect to see ye training as soon as ye get yer fancy arse outta Gwen’s sickbed. Unless ye prefer the women helping ye piss, I’d say it’s time to find another place
fer ye to sleep.”

“There’s space among the men, it will suit him fine,” Marcus said.

Maggie suspected they spoke of one of the larger long-houses where the single men slept.  Their sleeping accommodations were similar to the Indians in that respect.  Marcus, the Chief, slept in his own house, which had previously been occupied by the men.  On the day of their arrival, Erich had insisted on giving it to Marcus, and although they argued about it, Erich prevailed. The single men moved to a smaller Long House, and it looked like Benjamin would join them. It seemed the only other way to procure a private space was by being married or by having several children.

Maggie’s emotions toward Benjamin ran the gamut between relief and frustration.  Of course, she was glad to see he lived after wondering if the magic of the Bloodstone had taken his life. Although he had lied to keep her as his wife, she vowed to put her anger aside. No good would come of holding onto the past.

Then there was Marcus and Winn to consider as well. She cared enough about Marcus to want his son returned to him, yet it was a confusing desire to see reconciled. Benjamin had been taken from Marcus as a child, and Winn had never known a father. She hoped her old friend wanted to make a relationship with both men he now called son.

After glancing down the table at Kwetii, who was sitting happily with the other women, Maggie left her seat to refill her tankard. As she dipped it in the large oval serving kettle, a familiar shadow fell over her shoulder.

“They have good drink here, at least,” Benjamin said.

She nodded, without turning toward him.

“Vikings know how to make merry,” she agreed. She raised her full tankard to her lips and drank down the brimming rim.

“Would you walk with me for a spot, Maggie? It’s quite loud in here, I canna hear much at all. Mayhap it’s the ringing in my ears, or the mead, I do not know. But I would like to speak with you.”

She wrapped both hand around the tankard and squeezed it as she raised it to her mouth, turning to glare at him. She drained half of it before she spoke.

“No, I will not. I’m glad you’re not dead, but that’s it. I have nothing else to say to you.”

“You need say nothing. I only ask ye to listen.”

She shook her head.

“None of it matters now, just let it go, Benjamin. You have a new life, take it and be happy. Leave me be.”

“I woke up today in a strange place. All these strangers,” he said, his voice strained with emotion as he waved toward the crowd, “they say it was two years past. But for what I know, it was my bed you shared only a
sennight ago.”

“If that is what you recall, then you must remember sending me to hang as well!” she whispered.

“I set ye free, didn’t I? I sent ye back to him!”

He took hold of her wrist, and she looked slowly down at it in awe. How dare he put his hands on her!

“Take your hand off me,” she warned him. His throat tensed as he swallowed, and he ran his other hand through his thick black hair.

“Must ye hate me so? I willna harm ye, I only want to talk!”

She shook her hand away, and he released her wrist without further issue.

“My wife says she does not wish to speak to you, Englishman.”

Maggie froze at the sound of Winn’s voice. Winn placed a hand on her shoulder as he joined her, standing by her side to face Benjamin. She tried to edge back to push him away and give them distance, but Winn would have none of it and remained firmly rooted in place. She could only hear the three of them, as if a fog descended around them, and it seemed the other Norse continued their celebration without interruption. Perhaps she could get Winn away before something terrible happened.

“Let’s go, Winn,” she whispered, trying to pull her husband back. Her attempt was unsuccessful, and she felt the muscles of his arm tense beneath her hand. She saw Chetan standing a few feet away and cast him a pleading look, hoping he would intervene before there was bloodshed.

“She can speak with me if she wishes,
brother
,” Benjamin replied tersely. “By English law, she is still my wife.”

Maggie put herself between the men, but it was too late.

Winn

Winn meant to walk away.

Yet somehow he found his hands around Benjamin’s throat. He slammed the Englishman up against the table, jostling the mead bucket so that a considerable amount of it splashed their feet.  The confrontation passed by as a blur, his vision clouded by fury at the sight of his brother near his wife. Benjamin gripped his wrists with more strength than Winn expected, and although his white faced paled as Winn squeezed his neck, his brother held a look of quiet anger hooded in his blue eyes.

“Is this how ye treat her, ye bloody savage?” Benjamin groaned through his narrowed airway. Winn frowned and glanced to his side, where he expected Maggie to be.  She was a few feet away beside an overturned chair, and Chetan helped her to her feet. Her bright red hair fell about her shoulders in a tangled wave, and she brushed her hand over a scrape on her forearm.  He felt a rising heat in the pit of his stomach as he realized he must have shoved her. Winn dropped his hands from Benjamin’s throat and stepped back.

“I’m fine!” she hissed at Chetan, slapping her hands against her skirt to brush off the dust. He wanted nothing more than to finish what he started with his deceitful brother, but seeing what he had done to his wife took the wind from his lungs.

With the last semblance of control he could muster, Winn turned away from Benjamin without answer to his taunt. He swallowed hard when Maggie slipped her hand into his.  He could
feel her tremble, with anger or fear, he knew not. He only knew Benjamin would not yet face justice for what he had done.

Marcus stood up as Winn took Maggie by the arm and led her away. The Chief observed without intervention as they parted. Winn felt his father’s eyes upon him, but he owed the man nothing and would not acknowledge his silent question. The altercation had occurred in the corner away from prying ears, the music and celebration continuing on as if no disturbance had occurred.  Marcus watched quietly as Winn left the Northern Hall.

“Winn?” she asked softly. “Kwetii is with Teyas—”

He swung around and barked a command to Chetan, who grunted a curse at him in reply, yet returned to stay with Kwetii nonetheless. Chetan would watch over the women and children and see them safely to their Long House when they finished the meal.  For all his bluster, Winn knew Chetan could see how angry he was, and he was grateful to have the kinship of his true brother.

His blood brother, his family. Chetan and Makedewa, they were the ones he knew would never betray him, who would stand at his side no matter what the cost. The sniveling Englishman inside? Well, he knew nothing of true brotherhood. The fact that they shared a father was of no consequence.

“Leave her with my sister. Chetan and Makedewa will see to them,” he snapped.  He saw Maggie flinch, her mouth falling open at his tone.

“Fine,” she said. Her voice wavered, and she made a point of walking faster so that she reached the Long House before he did. He tried to slow his breathing as he followed her, making the effort to calm his irritation so that they might speak.  It caused nothing but grief when they railed at each other in anger, and he needed to speak with her on other matters.  Benjamin was a complication, one which Winn saw as temporary.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his fists clenched at his sides.  Once they entered the dark Long House, she began to rifle through a basket of linens.  She pulled out a long drying cloth and a
cake of soap Gwen had given her, and then produced a bone-handled comb.

“If Teyas is babysitting, I’m going to take a bath. It’s not like I get much time to myself,” she said.  “It’s call
ed de-stressing. I need to think.” He frowned.

“You can’t go to the river alone.”

“I’m not.  Gwen showed me the bath house, I’m going to try it out.”

He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity peaked. Bathing inside a house? Perhaps he would escort her.

“I will see you there,” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. She shrugged.  Gathering her bundle in her arms, she left the Long House and he followed her.  “I need to speak with you first. I have news from Pepamhu,” he said.

“Then come on. I’ll let you scrub my back while you talk,” she chirped, casting a sly look over her shoulder.  She trudged on toward the edge of the settlement, and soon he could see a miniature Long House nestled into a crop of boulders.  The house appeared built on top of the rocks, the roof extending across an overhang and dipping into a crevice, topped by a round smoke hole. When he followed her inside, he was pleased to feel a warm mist heating the space, rising up from a bubbling hot spring inside a nest of boulders.

“Wow. Gwen was right, this is nice. It looks like a whirlpool!” she laughed.

Her attention was on the shallow bath, but his attention was on her. Her laughter was a ringing of bells as she shed her clothes.  She lifted her chemise over her head and tossed it on the ground, then shimmied out of her doeskin skirt and dropped it at her feet.  His breath caught in his throat as moonlight illuminated her lithe body and she bent to place one tentative toe into the water.  She squealed with joy and stepped into the pool, immediately submerging herself.  By the time she surfaced, he had already shed his breechcloth and leggings and was stepping down to join her.

It was good to see her laugh. Despite the upheaval in their lives she managed to trudge on, doing her best to care for their daughter and keep their family together, yet he knew it wore on her in ways she would not admit. Her stubborn streak was her greatest strength, and also her weakness, her refusal to give in to despair that which drove her on. As he watched her dip her long red hair back into the water, he wished he could shield her from it all. The last thing he wished to do was tell her about Teyas, and about Finola’s condition.

“This is amazing!” she said. He stood waist deep in the pool next to her, and as she reached up to squeeze the dampness from her hair he could bear it no longer. He needed his wife in his arms.

“Yes, amazing,” he murmured, pulling her against his chest. She let out a squeak and he smiled, running his lips gently over hers. He felt her relax as his fingers caressed her back and moved lower to her buttocks, slick, yet firm, beneath the water.

“You’re not going to wash my hair, are you?” she whispered.

“If you wish it so, I will wash it now,” he replied. He slid his knee between her willing thighs, covering her mouth with his when she moaned.

“Later. Wash it later,” she agreed. She let out a gasp when he moved inside her, her hands encircling his neck as he pushed her back. He held her close, pinned against the smooth rock, their flesh making a soft sucking sound as they moved beneath the water.

The ache rose within, that monstrous demon held deep in his blood. It rose up to consume them, wrapping them in steely tendons as thoughts of losing her nipped at his mind. He could bury himself in her softness, feel his soul merge into hers, through hers, as if nothing could part them, yet he drove himself further to push past the truth.

If only he could make time weep, as he made her cry out with pleasure, make it stand still and obey him as he tried to make her obey. Neither would be conquered, however, and as she cried his name against his ear, he knew it was the closest he could come to being master of either.

He gently kissed her cheeks, tasting the salt of her tears on his lips. He could feel the welts her nails left upon his skin and the sting of his wounds from the warm water, but he held her close all the same.

“
Ntehem,
” he murmured.
“Nouwami
.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered.

They gently bathed each other, taking care with the fragile release between them. He recalled she once explained what a chauvinist pig was, and he wondered sometimes if she suspected him of that behavior when he buried his fear and longing in her willing embrace. Yet if his actions angered her, he was sure she would tell him so. At least he had been sure of that a few short weeks past. Since they had arrived in the Norse village, the bond they shared seemed strained, a tenuous thread that might break loose at any moment. Winn hesitated to share the news of Finola…and he had no idea how he would discuss the marriage of his sister.

“Finola is here. We took her from her English master,” he finally admitted as they walked back toward their Long House after their bath.

“She’s here? Can I see her?”

Winn was afraid she would ask, and he would not deny her.

“She is not well,
ntehem
. Perhaps wait until tomorrow to see her. Gwen cares for her now, I am sure she is sleeping.”

“I just want to say hello, we won’t stay long. Come on,” she insisted, taking his hand firmly as she broke into a faster pace toward Gwen’s house.

“And what do you mean, you took her from the English?” she muttered. Maggie thrust the door open unannounced, obviously expecting a different sight than what greeted her. Instead, he watched, unable to soothe her, as her face crumpled. Finola looked worse than before. There was no way to hide it.

“What happened to her?” Maggie whispered. Winn stood helplessly by as she went to Finola. Gwen muttered something low under her breath in what sounded like her Norse language, shaking her head. The older woman looked strained, her face weary as she watched them.

“She’s had a fright, I think,” Gwen answered.

Finola stared forward, even as Maggie squeezed her hand. At least Gwen had bathed her, so in that respect her care had improved. He wondered if anything could be done to help her.

“What is wrong with her eyes?” Maggie asked. Winn had noticed it earlier. Finola’s eyes, once a clear blue like his own, now clouded near white in color with only a hint of their former luster.

“I’ve only seen it once before, when a
Gothi
left this earth on a journey. When a
Seer
knows too much, it can haunt her. Sometimes the visions can take her away, and she cannot return.”

“So she’ll wake up soon, then?” Maggie asked.

“It was a man I saw it happen to, and nay, he did not wake. I am sorry, lamb,” Gwen spoke. “Can ye imagine, knowing what will happen to those you love, yet having no power to stop it? She must have seen something dreadful. Aye, I think she is on her own journey for now. Pray Odin will not welcome her at his table just yet.”

Winn took his wife by the shoulders and gently urged her away. For once, she let him guide her.

“You will tell us if she wakes?” Winn said to Gwen.

“Aye, ye and my Chief. Without delay.”

*****

Later, when they returned to the Long House, they lay nestled together under the furs with Kwetii sleeping peacefully nearby. His wife was silent, which was unusual for her, and although he knew the events of the day wore heavy on her, he did not expect her silence.  She laid her head in the bend of his arm and pressed her lips against his chest, her breathing shallow as if she were near sleep.

“We should leave within a sennight,” he said. He felt her breathing catch, and her hand resting on his belly slowly clenched into a fist.

“Finola can’t travel,” she quickly answered.

“She will stay here with my father.”

“You’re
Jarl
to these people. We can stay here among them,” she replied.

“My father has his son returned to him. It is time we go.”

His muscles tightened and he felt his ire rise at her words. Did she truly wish to remain with the Norse? As if he had not shown enough restraint yet, did she ask more of him?

“These are your people, too. And mine,” she added.

His mouth felt dry. Of course, she would want to stay with her kin, as well as Marcus.  He could not fault her for that, but it still angered him. There was nothing for him among the Norse, except to stay as the ill-favored son of a Time Walker Chieftain. For a time he thought perhaps they could make a life with the Norse, since even Chetan and Makedewa fit in well with the warriors, but having Benjamin there changed things entirely. Winn heard the words his father spoke, and although he understood the reasoning, he could not forgive him the intent. He thought of the words often, since that day.