Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (14 page)

Maggie rose up off the bench, pleased to find her legs were steady again and her vision seemed clear instead of like a swirling typhoon.  Winn met her gaze from where he stood talking to the stranger, cocking his head inquisitively at her, then smiling back when she nodded reassurance to him.

The healer motioned Maggie closer with a tilt of her head and a smile, and Maggie tore her gaze away from Winn and approached her rather than interrupt the men. The curly-haired girl brushed by Maggie on her way out, the child sobbing with his little legs wrapped around her middle and his pudgy hands twisted in the girl’s apron.

“Hello,” Maggie smiled.  The woman nodded. She clenched the front of her white apron and wiped her hands clean, her linen stained with the bloody remnants of previous tasks from the day.  Her hair was a bright shade of gold that laid in a thick braid down her back, a few loose strands of grey at her temples the only testament to her age.

“You must be this Fire Heart I hear of. Welcome, dear. I am pleased to finally meet you. You’ve caused quite a stir in the village, yes?”

The woman held a twinkle in her eye as she gazed at Maggie, the corners of her thin lips turned up in a smile. She had an odd lilt to her voice, not quite the same formal English accent as Maggie had heard the other townsfolk speak with, but something different altogether. Her words, although innocent in appearance, sounded laced with knowing, as if she held some secret knowledge she wished to share. 

“Why, yes, I guess I have,” Maggie replied evenly. Finola winked and tittered with laughter as she turned and dumped the tongs into a copper pot beneath the table.

“Does my grandson treat you well?”

“Your grandson? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh? Winkeohkwet is so full of himself now, he does not speak of his grandmother? They call me the Pale Witch in his village. 
Here, I am Mistress Finola, a healer,” she said, casting a wink at Maggie. “Witch is a word we do not speak loudly in this time, dearest.” Finola turned away to tend to a potential customer and smiled an apology to Maggie.

Maggie felt the color drain from her face at her words. Finola was the Pale Witch? Finola knew about the Bloodstones! She wished she could speak privately with her, if only for a few minutes, but she knew the conversation would be too risky around the English ears.

She felt the gentle pressure of a hand on the small of her back. Glad Winn returned to her side before she made a fool of herself by getting sick again, she gave him a terse smile. The man he had spoken to earlier accompanied him.  The stranger extended his gloved hand to her with a genuine broad grin streaking across his square jaw.  She placed her fingertips in his hand, and when she looked up at him to smile in greeting, she noticed his kind blue eyes darted downward and a flush crept up his neck.

“Benjamin, this is Maggie,” Winn said.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mistress,” he murmured. “Benjamin Dixon, your servant.”  He bent at the waist, a considerable task for the tall man, and pressed her fingers quickly to his lips before he released them. She saw his throat tighten and he swallowed before he raised his head with a stunning grin directed at Winn.

“How long have you lived with the Paspahegh, miss? I can yet recall seeing
ye on my last visit to the village,” Benjamin commented.

Her tongue stuck to the dry lining of her mouth, and her back stiffened at the thought of disclosing anything to him.  No matter how friendly he seemed to be with Winn, she was fully aware of the history of violence between the English and Indians, and she was still perplexed trying to make sense of their relationship. She suspected time traveling and Bloodstones would stick her right into the category of witch, so she clamped her mouth shut and shrugged demurely in return.

“She is under my protection,” Winn said. He still smiled, but Maggie could see his eyes narrow and his jaw twitch as he gritted his back teeth. 

“Ye haven’t been raiding, have you?” Benjamin asked. He tilted his head toward Winn, and lowered his voice an octave. “You know the folk here
willna abide you having a white slave! I beg yer pardon, miss,” he stammered, darting a quick look at Maggie. “Tempers are high today, man! I heard an Indian left with the Elder Morgan two days ago and he hasna been seen since.  Do ye know any ‘bout that?”

“I know nothing of
of, but I will see to it. I’m sure it is just idle talk,” Winn replied.

“Then take yer rest at my yard tonight, and I shall speak to ye later on it. I think it best for ye to lay low,” Benjamin said, nodding curtly at Maggie. “Especially seeing the womenfolk with ye.”

Winn and Benjamin clasped arms in farewell.  Benjamin tipped his head to her and made a quick exit.

“What was that all about?” she asked as soon as he was gone. “And your grandmother? The Pale Witch? That information would have been helpful
before
we arrived, don’t you think?” Maggie hissed.  Winn moved a bit closer, his breath warming her ear when he spoke.

“So there is something you don’t know from your school? I thought you learned all about my people?” he teased. She nudged him with her shoulder in his chest, a little more forcefully than she intended, but she smiled nevertheless when he let out a grunt.

“I don’t know enough, Winn. Not nearly enough,” she sighed.

They settled down for the night on Benjamin Dixon’s property, which Winn knew was the safest place to rest. Winn watched Maggie from where he sat across the fire, her smile lighting up the night as much as the flickering flames between them.  It was a cool night, one of those unsettled days between fall and winter before the cold overtook the warmth entirely, and Maggie sat huddled next to Teyas with a fur draped over her shoulders. He could tell she was chilled by the way she bit her lower lip, her small white teeth closing down as if to ward off trembling. At some time since they arrived, she had loosened her hair, and now her hand darted up several times to push the wayward waves behind her ears. Her red hair shimmered in the flicker of the fire, amber gold against the curve of her jaw, and he had to adjust his seat to a tolerable position as depraved thoughts of her escalated in his mind. As soon as Benjamin left and there were no eyes upon them, he would warm her well.

He glanced over at Benjamin, who sat next to Chetan, the two men sharing sips of rum from a shiny metal flask.  Winn noticed Benjamin watching Maggie, as if he had never seen a white woman captive before. It was not common for the Paspahegh to have slaves, but it was not unheard of either, so Winn was unsure of why Benjamin was so curious about it.  It was quite common for other Powhatan tribes to have white slaves, so it should truly be of no consequence.

Benjamin had always been the voice of conscience, the one to point out the good in every situation, even when the outlook was bleak. Winn spent two summers in the care of the Dixon family as a youth, and he and Benjamin became fast friends, despite their obvious differences.

Benjamin continued to watch Maggie across the fire.

“Benjamin,” Winn called.  Benjamin broke the stare and looked over at Winn, one eyebrow raised in question. “Sit with me, brother.”

“Ye mean share my rum, more likely,” Benjamin grinned as he sat down beside Winn. Winn took a swig from the proffered flask, smiling as the burning warmth heated his belly and traveled down to his toes.

“Good drink.”

“Came in on the last ship from England.”

“Ah, well, English are good for something, then.”

“Come now, we’re not all such rakes,” Benjamin grinned, taking a sip. “Speaking of…tell me of the woman. Where did ye steal her from? I cannot help ye if I know nothing of it, and ye know they will want her returned, whoever her kin are.”

“No kin will look for her, I promise you that,” Winn answered truthfully. “She is mine, that is all you must know.”

Benjamin looked back in Maggie’s direction where she sat laughing with Teyas. Winn felt a twinge of unease at the way his friend stared at her.  Was it curiosity, or something more in his eyes?

“You’ve never claimed a woman, brother.”

They watched her stand, make a shrugging gesture at Teyas, and then rub her belly before she set off toward the woods. Winn stood up.

“I must make sure she’s safe,” Winn muttered, leaving Benjamin with the others. He followed her into the trees, reluctant to let her out of his sight although it was obvious she needed a moment alone.

She had learned to be fast with such things, and Winn caught her as she was righting her dress.  She let out a squeak when he snuck up behind her and grabbed her around the waist, but her alarm dissipated as soon as she realized it was him.  How he loved to hear her laugh!

“Winn!” she laughed. He kissed the back of her neck, pulling her hips firmly into his, feeling the surge of arousal at the touch of her soft welcoming backside nestled against him.  She leaned into him in a teasing manner and giggled, and it was all the permission he needed.

There would be no more waiting, he would have her now, returning to the camp be damned.

“I like your hair down,” he murmured against her ear. He felt her shiver as he ran one hand up her thigh, bringing her dress up around her hips. She squirmed and tried to turn around, but he held her tight.

“Not here, Winn! They might hear us!”

“Yes, here. Be silent,” he soothed her. He pulled her down onto the soft moss, at loss to find a better method among the scattered brush of the forest, knowing only he needed to possess her and that he would wait no longer. He pushed her hands down to the ground and took hold of her hips as she tried to scramble away.

“Winn!”

“Quiet!”

“Oh!”

Her words turned to moans and he thought his heart would pound out of his chest with the force of their joining.  Frantic and needful, he buried his fear and longing within her, a lustful sinner comforted by the warmth of salvation as she cried out beneath him, begging him not to stop. She reared back against him as she reached her peak, and he sunk his fingers into her soft white hips at his own release. He smiled at the soft cry she made as he pulled her up into his arms, and they sat there on their knees, clutched together as they tried to steady their breathing.

As she pressed her face to his chest, he kissed her hair, loving the way she trembled like a butterfly in his arms. He heard the snap of a branch, and then another, and was stunned when he found the source of the noise as he looked over her shoulder.

Winn saw Benjamin’s face as a pale outline against the evergreens, his mouth parted open, his eyes wide. Winn felt his throat tighten as he met the Englishman’s gaze. Benjamin quickly turned and left.

Maggie was glad Benjamin left before they returned to camp, certain their activities in the forest would be evident on their faces when they returned. Winn showed little surprise his friend retired without seeing them settled, so Maggie brushed off her insecurity and felt no qualm over lying down beside him to sleep. She was restless, however, and thought Winn was in a pleasant enough mood to field her questions, so she turned her curiosity onto him.

“How do you know Benjamin?” she asked. He let out a long sigh and pulled her closer before he answered.

“My uncle sent me to live with the English for a time. I spent two summers with the Dixon family, and Benjamin became my friend.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Benjamin? As much as I trust any white man,” he said. “My uncle wanted me to learn the English ways, so I could help in his plan to drive them away. He was not pleased we became friends.” Winn nuzzled her neck and nipped her with his teeth. “Just as he will not be pleased to know I keep a Time Walker here, safe in my arms.”

He looked a little sad at this confession, his eyes darkening, and his hands tightening around her.

“Why does your uncle hate the Time Walkers so much?” she whispered as they snuggled beneath the furs.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious, that’s all.”

“It is a story much older than my years.  Time Walkers lived peacefully among the Paspahegh until Opechancanough had his vision. He saw a Time Walker end his life, and after that, they were all in danger. My grandmother was spared death and instead banished by my uncle, but this happened before I was born.  I have only known her as the Pale Witch, living here with the English, and I visit her as much as I can.”

“So it is true, then, that your father was English?”

Winn shook his head. “My father was white, but not English.  He traveled here with Bloodstone magic when he was a boy. Finola told me the tale.  They came from a place where they had great long boats to travel far, and his people read from books and wrote in them.
Grandmother speaks little of him; I think it pains her to know he is gone.”

“Why did he leave without his wife?”

“I know not, and mother does not speak of it.  He used his Bloodstone soon after he wed my mother.  After he left, she became second wife to Pepamhu of the Nansemond, and bore my brothers and sister.”

He lifted the necklace from his neck and separated the black feathers that shielded the pendant.  In his palm, enclosed in tarnished melted copper, was a tiny Bloodstone charm.  She felt his eyes upon her as she slowly reached out to touch it and then jerked back away before she could make contact.  She had no idea how it worked and was not willing to test it any further.

“When a Bloodstone is used to travel, it bonds its mark to the bearer,” he said softly. He took her branded hand and turned it over to reveal the healed scar, tracing the delicate knot in an unending twist upon her palm. “You can never use another stone to travel, only the one that marked you. I keep this Bloodstone to remind me.”

“To remind you of what, Winn?”

“That my blood is not true Paspahegh. My father was a Norse-Man, and he chose to leave before my birth.  I need reminder of how worthless all whites are, so I will never waver when it comes time to end them,” he said carefully. “He knows not what he left behind, and I hate him for that. As a boy, I felt anger for the difference in my skin and that of my brothers, and some English called me Half-Man.  Children are most cruel to those who are different.”

“A Norseman? You mean a Viking?” she interrupted.

He rubbed her lower back with one warm hand and nodded.

“Some called them
shaman,
or
Gothi.
They were said to control powerful magic.”

“I’d say. Those Bloodstones pack some punch,” she snorted. She chose to avoid the subject of his father, even as her curiosity rose, knowing Winn had conflicted feelings about the man. “So you went to live with your uncle?”

“I was sent to live with Opechancanough and spent many years there as his favorite nephew.  It gave me great status, and when I returned to the Paspahegh, I was welcomed. My return to my own people was to serve as War Chief and lead the few left, serving Opechancanough in his plans. I have watched over them since I was a young man, and always have given my loyalty to my
Mamanatowick
.”

“I thought he was Weroance?” she asked.

“
Mamanatowick
means Great Weroance, Great Chief of all Powhatan, of all Tsenacommacah lands. He has many names, and that is one.”

“Oh. Sounds like a busy man.”

She ran her finger lightly over the winding tattoo on his torso, an intricate swirl across his ribs that ended below his navel. Although they shared a growing intimacy, she remained in awe of his powerful body, each muscle and sinew honed by hunting and fighting, strong yet yielding beneath her touch. 

“Does this have meaning?” she asked, placing her palm flat against his navel.

“Some objected to my presence when I went to live with Opechancanough, since I was son of a Time Walker. He marked me to silence them.”

“I don’t understand.”

He sighed.

“Those born to the Weroance bloodlines, like Opechancanough and my mother, may never have such a mark placed on their bodies. Only common men decorate their bodies. I could never be Weroance because of the Time Walker’s blood in my veins. He marked me to show the people I am one of them. War Chief is the most honor a common man could hope for in his life.”

He placed his hand over hers, and traced over a part of the tattoo near his hip.

“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.”

“Does it bother you? Being marked that way, I mean?”

She felt his shoulders shrug, and he made a dismissive sound.

“Once it did, but no longer. It is part of me now.”

He grinned, and pulled her snugly against him.  She buried her clenched hands next to his skin, giggling when he jumped at her cold touch.

“Here, let me warm you,” he murmured. He clasped his larger hands over hers, and gently blew into them to drench her chilled fingers.  Dipping his head down, he kissed her knuckles with a smile.

“What does your history say of the Norse-men?” he asked, very softly. She saw his throat tighten and his eyes widen a bit, his brows raised. Her heart lurched at his change, the way his face filled like an expectant boy, almost childish as he asked an innocent question. She paused before she spoke, hoping to say the right words to ease his mind and help heal his ache.

“They were fierce warriors. Stories were written about their journeys, legends, really, that children still read in my time, about all their brave adventures.” She pressed her lips to his skin and threaded a lock of his dark hair in her fingers. “Tall, strong, like you. You must get your blue eyes from your father.”