Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (22 page)

C
hapter 28

M
aggie walked dutifully
beside Benjamin, wishing she could pull her hand away from where he had it tucked firmly in his elbow.  As the stale days passed and left her aching with loneliness, she found it best to make plans on her own and decided it was time to speak with the Pale Witch.  No one could help her but Finola.

She knew the time of the massacre was approaching, but her memories of history were fuzzy at best. Yes, she knew it happened in early spring, but she could not recall the exact date. For that matter, the English kept dates differently than she was accustomed to in the future so she was not quite sure how the numbers would correlate anyway.  The only truth she knew for certain was if she wanted to avoid the upcoming massacre, she needed to get out of Martin’s Hundred as soon as she possibly could.

Benjamin continued to press his attentions, but she was relieved he seemed somewhat shy and reserved in his courting and remained patient to gain her favor.  She felt sorry for deceiving him, letting him believe she was a happy recipient of his affection, but she had no other option save telling him the truth. 

Well Benjamin, soon the Indians are going to kill pretty much everyone in Martin’s Hundred. How do I know that? Oh, I’m from the future. From 2012. Care for some tea with your dinner?

She was sure that conversation would not go over well.

They took a different path to town than she was accustomed, and as they passed down a lane through a narrow stretch of dense woods she wondered if he chose the seclusion on purpose.  His intentions became clear when he stopped walking and took her hand more intimately in his own.

“Benjamin, we should hurry on,” she began, stunned when he raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles.

“I beg yer leave, Maggie, but I must speak to ye.”

He caught her by the fingertips and held them tight so she could not flee.

“I do not wish to cause ye distress,” he began. “But I fear we must act quickly,” he pleaded. She shook her head, afraid of his meaning, uncertain how to placate him and extricate herself from the awkward mess.

“I don’t know what you mean–”

“I ask ye to marry me. Please be my wife,” he said softly. She stepped back.

“Benjamin–”

“If we do not marry soon, people will soon notice yer condition, and there will be talk.”

She shook her head and turned her eyes downward, unable to meet his soft searching gaze.

“I cannot marry you, Benjamin,” she murmured.

“Maggie,” he sighed. “Yer uncle will disown ye, and possibly send ye back to England. I can do nothing to change that…unless ye marry me now.”

“Why? Why would you ask this, when you know I carry his child?” she asked, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes as she lost patience with him.

“It matters not to me,” he said softly.  Shocked by his admission, and not expecting such a declaration from a man of his time, she let him hold her closer and raised her swollen eyes to his.

“Why would I hold ye at fault for such a thing? Ye were lost and injured, ye are lucky to live. It is not your doing what happened,” he replied, his eyes damping with sadness. “Ye came here under contract on yer uncle’s bidding. And whatever happened between ye and Winn…he was my friend, even so. At least I can offer ye protection now.”

Taken aback by his sincerity and struck by the guilt in his words, she leveled her response with the kindest tone she could muster.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“He asked it of me, before he died. He asked me to protect ye. It is the last thing I can do for him...to see ye cared for.”

She bit her lower lip. No. Winn would not have asked this of her…would he? Winn, her warrior, the man who had killed a brave for placing an ownership mark on her head? Would Winn truly have wanted this? She did not believe he would send her willingly to another man, unless…unless he knew he could no longer be there to protect her from what was to come.

“What did he say to you?” she whispered. She stepped away from him, but he did not let her leave him entirely. His eyes dipped down and he clutched her hands harder.

“With his last words, he spoke of ye. He knew the shot was fatal…he asked me to keep ye safe.”

She bowed her head into her hands and her body began to tremble. Memory of his promises stung her as the tears flowed.

Now you will feel no rain, for I will shelter you.

Was this his way of keeping his promise, even in death?

“All right,” she whispered, the words like ice upon her tongue. He ran one hand through his unruly hair and his cheeks burned with a hint of crimson at her declaration.  He raised the hand he held to his lips and kissed it gently.

“Yes, then. Good, it is settled.  Come now, Mistress Finola awaits us.”

Finola did not take the news well.  She had closed her shop to visitors, yet when Maggie and Benjamin arrived that morning, she allowed them entrance.  She stepped back from the door and waved them inside, clutching a wool cloak around her as the snow whipped in behind them. She looked older than when Maggie had last visited, her face drawn, her skin an unhealthy pallor.  The older woman sat down on a stool next to the fire and placed her hands close to the flames, rubbing her palms to warm them.  Maggie recalled her own desire to let the flames consume her and her heart ached fresh at the thought of their shared loss.

Benjamin took her cloak from her shoulders and Maggie sank down on her knees in front of Finola.  Their hands met and entwined together, and they both kept their gaze on the snapping flames of the fire. Maggie could cry no tears for Winn with Benjamin at her side, but the older woman seemed to know her heart and she patted her hand in a soothing manner.

“He was the best of them, you know. The Paspahegh, that is,” Finola said quietly. She kept her eyes on the fire as she spoke, and Maggie felt each of her words like a dagger scraping slowly across her skin. 

“He was,” Maggie answered, the words hollow on her dry lips. 

“Will Thomas Martin be punished for his crime?”

Finola turned then to look at Benjamin, and he paled considerably.

“You know there was no crime, Mistress,” he said, his voice breaking with the last bit of words.  He shoved his hat back over his unruly curls.

“Yes, I know.  No crime but the murder of my grandson.”

“Take care for your words, lest someone else hear them. I will see to my business and return for ye soon, Maggie. Mistress.” He nodded to them both in a stilted manner and quickly made his exit.

Maggie felt a surge of relief when Benjamin left the cabin, leaving her and Finola to speak openly. Finola must have sensed her urgency, because after Benjamin left she quickly closed the door and latched it securely.

“Come,” she said simply, and waved her toward a separate room in the back.

Maggie followed her into the second half of the house, a common sitting room with her sleeping space in one corner. The older woman reached under her stuffed straw mattress, and after fiddling through the linens for a few moments, she withdrew a bundle wrapped in silk.

“What do you have there, Finola?” Maggie asked.

“Sit down, dear,” she ordered as she unwrapped the bundle. When it was unbound, Maggie did as she was directed and sat down on a chair, nearly missing the seat but finding it with two outstretched hands.

From
Finola’s thin white fingers hung a pendant on a thick gold chain, the center of the setting a fat, shining, Bloodstone.

“Before ye ask, child, this is my Bloodstone. I cannot give it to ye, nor may another use it. It marks ye, you see. I have the same mark as ye,” she explained, holding out her palm for inspection. It was true. They shared the same brand.

“But how does it work? Why am I here?” she asked, her questions running together in an incoherent jumble of nonsense. “Tell me!”

“Aye, of course, I will tell ye! I do not know where yer stone is hidden. My grandson kept his secrets well,” she said softly. Maggie felt a surge of despair at the revelation, but she knew the outcome had bound her to the time more powerfully than any shackle could. “The stone needs your blood to work the magic, that is how it bonds to the bearer. My mother taught me how to use it long ago.”

“Oh,” Maggie said. “Blood…I cut my hand before I picked it up.”

Finola nodded. “So it knows you now, and you cannot walk again without it.”

“There has to be another way – have you tried to use another stone?” Maggie asked.

“But child, if I had your stone here to give ye now, would
ye truly want to use it? I think your heart lies here, and this is the time ye now call home,” she said. “The babe in your belly belongs to this time, does it not?”

“But,” she began, but then her lips fell silent. She wrapped her arms around her body, trying to wash away the doubt the woman brought forth. Would she leave, if she could? Could she walk away from this time? She shook her head. The thought of leaving Winn’s memory in the past hurt more than the notion of what she left in the future, the door to the fable of her old life clicking shut with a gentle tap. By staying in the past, would her son know his father? Or would they both be better off in the time she was born to?

“Nay, no need to answer me, dear. It is as it should be,” she sighed.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the Bloodstones are curious things. They have been used by my people for centuries, and have been known as powerful talismans. Only the most skilled
Gothi
can truly harness their power, and once used, the Bloodstone marks its bearer, ye see,” she said. 

“Wait, wait a second!
Gothi
? What does that mean?” Maggie interrupted.

“It is what my people call a sorcerer. A priest. Here in James City, a witch,” she answered.

“So the Weroance was right. You are a witch.”

Finola shrugged.

“Opechancanough is an old fool, he knows nothing.”

“What lies between you? He told me he spared my life, as he once spared yours,” Maggie said. “What was he talking about?”

“A tale best left buried, is all.  It is true, he let me leave. He fears too much what he canna understand. Enough of him,” she muttered, shaking her head. “He is too stubborn to see the truth.”

Maggie swallowed despite the dryness in her throat. “Were you born here, in James City?”

“Och, no! My Bloodstone sent me here many years ago, with my son, Dagr. It is a long story for another time, but it is how we arrived. I was born in the year eleven forty-two in a place called Eystribyggo, in the country of Greenland. My mother and father were powerful
Gothi
, and they passed their gift to me,” she said softly, her eyes staring off, seeming lost in her memory for a moment. Her clear blue eyes glistened, but she shook her head a bit and continued. “Mayhap you have some
Gothi
blood in yer veins, child. Who are your kin?”

“No, I don’t come from—from anyone special. I don’t even know my parents, my grandfather raised me in after my mother abandoned me. I never had anyone else.”

“But now ye know where ye belong.  I saw it in a dream, Winkeohkwet with his Red Woman.”

“Did you see his death, as well?” she asked, her voiced edged in more bitterness than she intended.