Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (28 page)

C
hapter 34

W
inn sat ready
on his horse.  He was prepared, dressed in his war feathers and streaked with dark greasy paint.  His mount stomped impatiently beneath his body, as if sensing what his master would do. One of the other men gave word to depart, but Winn knew he could not yet go.  Chetan gave him a hard look, shaking his head with a sign when Winn raised his hand to stop them. His glare was full of knowing, as if his brother could read the thoughts that haunted him. The other men did not appear surprised to see Winn dismount and stalk back toward the cave. Someone chuckled, obviously amused at the warrior. Their grumbles meant nothing to him, as they were nothing to him.

He had no plan and knew nothing of what he would do when he saw her.  He trembled with rage at her, the anger he carried in check for himself.

Ntehem
, his heart, his love. 

To have her back in his arms after all this time, to touch her soft creamy skin, was torture.  He was a liar, and a bad one at that, for he was certain she could see straight through to his soul. It wounded him to know she let the English man take her body and plant his seed, but he was a liar when he said he would not do the same. If she could truly be his, he would take her again and again, every day until they died.

Yet he could not keep her when she loved another. He knew the last gift he could give her was the safety of her own time in the future.  Suddenly the only thing he knew was that he needed to make her understand.

Words failed him as he approached her.  He meant to tell her he loved her and that no matter what, he always would. There were sweet words he knew would soothe her fire so she could listen, but none of the words emerged.  He wanted her safe, but he wanted to ravage her. He wanted to leave her, but the thought of life without
her shattered his heart. None of it made sense, the conflict driving his blood frantic through his veins, pounding in his chest.

Her skin still glistened with moisture, and her half-dried hair fell in amber ringlets around her shoulders.  Lips swollen and pink, nipples erect and pointing beneath her flimsy torn shift, she glared at him in challenge, and he was lost. In seconds he crossed the space and was on her, eliciting a startled cry before he crushed his mouth to hers.

She pushed at his chest as if to stop him, but it was too late. He lifted her by the waist and parted her thighs with his knee as he pressed her harder against the stone wall, oblivious or uncaring of her protest he did not know. The feel of her in his arms, her skin sliding against his, sent his senses to that place between darkness and light where he could hold her forever and never account for his sins.  There he could possess her soul, hold it captive, pretend she felt love for no other, let her soothe the aching emptiness she left in the hollow of his chest.

“I will have you!” he whispered in a guttural groan as he lifted her hips and plunged. He lost his breath as her slippery tightness surrounded him, and she drove her teeth to his shoulder as she cried out.

A primal moan escaped him and he succumbed to the need, gripping her hips in his hands again as he started to move. He could not bear the sweetness of her embrace, the way her mouth parted slightly open, her soft white throat thrown back so he could see her pulse throbbing at her jaw. He could need no other, love no other, and for each day he lived without her, he would picture her like that, in the final moment he gave her glorious release.

He clutched her so tightly he could feel her heart pounding against his chest, his forehead bent against her shoulder as his shallow breathing came under control. She looked up when he raised his head, meeting his gaze with the beginning of a shy smile.

Her smile tore a hole through his heart.

She looked radiant, happy.  Like a woman in love.

But he knew better, and he hated himself for needing more from her, for needing her whole heart instead of fragments of what they once had.

“Did he ever take you like that, Fire Heart?” he asked, the words seeming to come from some foreign place he no longer recognized. He knew he was a swine. Her rosy cheeks suddenly lost color and tears rimmed her eyes at his words. He deflected her blow but held her wrist tight, slipping away from her. He stepped back and let his breechcloth fall and she slid slightly downward on the wall as if her legs lacked strength.

He turned and left.

It was finished. He would send her back with the Bloodstone to the life she missed, the only gift he could give her, sending her away with the last vestiges of his blackened heart in her keeping.

It had only taken minutes for Winn to rejoin the others, but he could see from their stares they suspected what had happened.  He ignored Chetan’s questioning glance as he stalked to his mount and threw himself astride.  

They searched the site of the ambush, but the English were long gone. One wagon remained, the horse lathered and heaving as it lay in the creek, the cold water rushing over its broken leg. Makedewa put an arrow through its skull to give it peace, and the animal ceased its struggle.

“Two whites were left. I saw them ride back to Wolstenholme Towne. They had Benjamin Dixon bound and took him as well,” Makedewa said, swinging his bow over his back. “I followed them for some time. They say they will see him hang.”

“Let him hang,” Winn muttered, turning his shoulder to his brother. Their plan was to find The Pale Witch and bring her to safety, and he would not be swayed. He knew his actions only drove the wedge deeper between him and his uncle, but Winn would not allow Maggie or his grandmother to die in the Great Assault.

Maggie was safe. Soon Finola would be as well. If the Creator meant for him to kill more Englishmen, then he would gladly do it. Perhaps the blood would silence the shouts in his head, quell the anger he felt. It might ease the burden of knowing he had lost everything.

He walked off a few paces and pulled his breechcloth aside to relieve himself before they mounted the horses again. Damn Benjamin, let him hang for what he had done, Winn thought bitterly as the stream came forth onto the soil. What kind of man could let his wife hang? As much as Maggie had ever enraged him, and no matter what had been left unsaid between them, he would still die himself before he watched her swing from a noose.  It hardened his heart to know a man he called brother held so little care for the woman he took such trouble to steal away from him.
If Winn and his brothers had arrived moments later, they would have missed the Englishmen taking Maggie away in the wagon. She would be dead, because of Benjamin.

The stream ended, and Winn replaced his breechcloth, dropping it back in place and then tightening the cord at his waist. An image of Maggie entered his vision, lying back on the rock, her soft full breasts spilling across her chest and her sweet rounded belly trembling under his hand, and he shook off the memory before the urge to turn his horse around took over.

“What is it, brother?”

Winn did not turn to Makedewa, struggling to keep his voice even.

“Tell me again what you know. How far gone is Maggie with the child?”

“I know not. Benjamin Dixon said she breeds, but not how long.”

A burning bile rose in his throat as he realized the truth. Her protests, her anger when he taunted her about Benjamin. Her swollen belly, her heavy breasts. He had seen many women with child, and suddenly it hit him that Maggie was not newly pregnant, she looked a few months gone. She was carrying his child, and he had ravished her like a rutting stag against a stone wall. He thought he would vomit.

“Dixon is mine to kill when we arrive.” Winn walked away from him, but Makedewa followed at his flank, his face wide in astonishment.

“What mean you? I thought –”

“That one…he deserves death for his deceit.” He let his words fall off, unwilling to meet his brother’s eye at his rash change in plan. “You say they took Benjamin back to town?”

“Yes, he was bound and gagged. I think they beat him as well, his face looked like deer meat,” Makedewa grinned, but then became thoughtful. “You know, brother, she will hate you if you kill the father of her child.”

“The child she carries is my blood.”

Winn scowled and Makedewa raised an eyebrow but refrained from asking any more questions.

C
hapter 35

M
aggie left her horse
ground tied in the woods, and made the rest of the way on foot. She was close to the wall surrounding the town, and although she knew a way to steal inside near Finola’s cabin, she thought the horse was better off hidden in the brush.

One loose log was where she remembered, and she uttered a sigh of relief when it pivoted upward with minimal persuasion like a seesaw, leaving a gap near the ground that she could crawl through.  She knew if she was spotted there would be no way out this time, and she would be immediately recognized in the outfit she wore.  She had no choice but to throw bits and pieces together over her torn shift, swathing a piece of fur around her shoulders and wrapping her legs in makeshift leggings with the rest of the fur she shredded. Although she tried to hide her flaming hair by dividing it into two thick braids and circling her head with a thick rawhide band, she would not go unnoticed by any stretch of imagination.

She came up behind Finola’s cabin and peeked around a corner toward the church, knowing most of the activity took place down that end of town and people tended to gather nearby. The sun had barely risen for the day so she did not expect much activity, and she was lucky to find no prying eyes as she darted through the front door of the cabin. She slammed it closed behind her and immediately checked the lone window. Satisfied no one approached, she turned to Finola.

“Maggie?” the older woman cried, swiftly crossing the room and throwing her arms around her.  Maggie clutched her in return as they cried, while Finola patted her face and kissed her cheeks in joy.

“How did ye escape them? Was it Benjamin? He promised me he would free ye! Why did you come back, girl, ye must go! Ye cannot stay here!”

“Finola, he saved me. He killed two men. We have to help him.”

“Ye make no sense! Ye must leave this place! Go to Chetan, he may know where Winn hid your Bloodstone, and ‘tis the only way for ye to return to your time. Please, Maggie,” Finola pleaded, grasping her hands tightly in her own. “Winn would have wanted ye safe. It is the only way.”

Maggie felt her throat tense as she gripped
Finola’s hands tighter so she could find the words.

“Winn is not dead, Finola. He lives still.” Her explanation came forth in a rush, jumbled and scattered, but the truth none the same. Finola froze at her tale, nary taking a breath, until tears began to stream down her beautiful weathered face.

“My grandson lives,” Finola whispered. Maggie held her again as they both cried.

“Yes. I’ll take you to him. But we need to help Benjamin right now. He—he’s a Time Walker, like me,” Maggie said. “We’ll help Benjamin, and then join the others. Winn left me in a cave, I’m sure I can find the way back to it.”

Maggie shrugged off the anger she held for Winn, overcome by relief and love for the stubborn savage man.  He had left her so quickly after their frantic joining, his words cutting through her soul, but she had little time to consider it in face of the need to help Benjamin. Winn would be furious she left the cave, but she would be damned if she let the brooding warrior make demands after he let her believe he was dead for so long. She could stomp off in a temper just as well as he could, and if he was hell bent on pushing her away, then she would make him pay for it.

Finola considered her words for a tenuous moment, then patted her hand.

“I will bring Benjamin his Bloodstone. It is the only way to free him now.”

Maggie sat down hard on a bench as Finola recounted her tale.  Finola was there the day Benjamin was found by the English, a skinny, mute, starving boy dressed in strange blue trousers and half
mad with hunger. Adopted by Agatha Dixon, Finola helped nurse the ten-year old back to health, and he eventually found his tongue.

She kept the secrets he shared with her about the strange place he came from, a place where children drove things called bicycles and adults put their offspring in daycare all week. He spoke of a father he rarely saw, but cried when he could no longer remember his face. She kept his darkest secret safely in her cabin, swathed in silk and tucked underneath her mattress. A near black Bloodstone creased with a single vein of crimson, hanging neatly from a thick rawhide cord.

“Benjamin was a Time Walker,” she whispered, already knowing the answer. “He was marked like me.” She saw the brand that seared him, the mark that mirrored the one on her own hand. She held her scarred palm out to Finola, who nodded sadly.

“I know not from what time he comes.”

“We need to get it to him. He can go back to his own time and be safe again.”

The woman frowned as she considered it. “It is too dangerous, child. What if they see you?”

“We have to try.  I can’t just let him die. He saved my life, even if he took his sweet time about it. If we can send him back, we have to risk it.”

“Well,” Finola said, looking her up and down with a frown. “Ye best change into something suitable, and take ye my cloak. Get ye dressed, and hurry about it.”

Maggie nodded, wordless. Finola placed a cap over her bright blond locks and put a cape over her shoulders, and Maggie changed quickly into one of her dresses. She tucked her hair under a white bonnet and donned a hooded cloak, which shielded her face when she kept it lowered.

She hoped they would never suspect she might return to town. Hell, she knew it was not one of her best schemes, but she found her actions fueled by pure adrenaline after the way Winn left her.

Finola’s dress was quite serviceable yet much less appropriate for scrambling through the underbrush. It would have to do.  Dressed like an Englishwoman, Maggie hoped she would blend in without much notice as they walked through town to the church.

“Let’s go, before I change my mind,” Finola murmured, and Maggie complied. They left the store, arm in arm, walking briskly down the street toward the church where they held Benjamin.

Maggie peered out from under her hood at the lone man guarding the church and let out a sigh.  She had never seen the man before, so hopefully he would not recognize her. Even with such luck, she clung to Finola’s arm and let the healer do the talking.

“I would see Benjamin Dixon to pray with him. Ye would not deny the man such comfort in his last hours?”

“Nay, Mistress. But be quick about it. The Gov’ner will have my neck if ye dally.”

“Thank
ye, sir. We shall not tarry.”

They entered the church and closed the heavy door behind them.  Maggie flung the hood off her head when she saw it was empty save for Benjamin, tied neatly to a pew.

They ran down the aisle to him, with Finola fumbling for the Bloodstone as she dropped down beside him.

“Benjamin!” she hissed. “Wake up!”

When he did not stir, Maggie shook his shoulders as hard as she could, unwilling to slap him when his face was so bruised and beaten.  The wood pew shuddered beneath them when he jerked upright with a groan.

“Maggie? What?” he said, seeming confused at first. He glanced around with his demeanor changed, and he glared at her as if she were the devil.

“Why are ye here?” he demanded. “Have ye not a lick of sense in yer brain? Did I set ye free for naught?”

“Benjamin –” she said, trying to get his attention.

“And you, Finola! Of all of them, ye would help her? Ah, get ye gone, the both of ye! Let me die without the lot of ye wailing about it.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Benjamin! Shut up for one minute!” she snapped, thrusting the Bloodstone into his hand. “You can go home now, and leave this all behind. I won’t let you die for this, you idiot!”

He jumped back away from the Bloodstone as if burned, his skin draining of color into a sickly grey pallor.

“Get that away from me!”

“Take it, you stubborn ox!”

“Nay, I will take none of ye cursed magic!”

“You’d rather die here, at the end of a rope?” Maggie asked.

“Do ye seek to punish me for my sins, witch? Yes, I knew Winn lived, and now I will hang for what I’ve done. Let me hang in peace, and take that cursed stone away!”

“You – you
bastard!
” she screamed. “You knew all along? You let me think he was dead! How could you?”

Maggie leapt at him then, screeching out her anger at his deceit. He gave no resistance, letting her strike him even as welts formed across his face from her blows. Finola pulled her off him as best she could.

“Enough, child, enough!” Finola cried.

“How could you do it? You knew the whole time? You let me think he was dead?” Maggie whispered. She knew he heard it, she could see by the way his shoulders slumped in defeat.  Eyes rimmed red, he looked up at her as she strained against Finola with intent to attack him again.

“I sent him back to the village on his horse, he was near death. I was sure he died,” he admitted.

“But you knew he survived. It was that day in town, when you spoke to Makedewa and Chetan, wasn’t it?” she said softly, knowing what his answer would be before he nodded.

“Yes. They told me he lived,” he said. “I knew you would want to go to him. I thought I could keep you – I thought you might love me too, someday, when your memory of him faded.”

Maggie felt her knees give way and she sank down beside him on the bench. 

“You did a good job hiding your scar all this time,” she whispered. Would it have mattered if she knew he was a Time Walker? She did not know, but she felt like there was much more to his story than either Finola or Benjamin had revealed.

“She told me to keep it secret, as if my life depended on it,” he looked at Finola. “It was easy enough to hide.”

Maggie nodded. She knew how one might hide a small scar on the palm. After all, it was a chore she had grown quite adept at as well.

Finola reached into her pocket as Benjamin shrunk away from them.  He could hardly move due to the binding, but he made quite an effort, so much that Maggie thought he would cut off circulation to his wrists.

If only it were his blasted lying neck, they would be through with him. Perhaps she should let him hang after all.

“Here. You will need this to return to your time,” Finola said, holding the object out to him.

Maggie felt the breath leave her body as she looked at the object in Finola’s hand.  Sitting there, pitted and scarred, just about the size of her palm, was a stone eagle.

The mate of her raven. She had last seen it in the hand of her childhood playmate, what seemed a hundred years ago.

Marcus’s son.

She was frozen in place, watching as if she had left her body, staring at the scene in front of her yet not truly living it.

Finola took a small blade from her pocket, and Benjamin held out his hand. He nodded, resigned, tears streaming down his face.

“Tell me, Finola, that I shall not go to hell by this magic,” he begged. His outstretched hand wavered until she took it into her own. Finola cut the rope from his bound wrists.

“Nay, dearest. Ye only go back where ye belong.”

With a flick of her wrist, the Pale Witch sliced his hand and placed the Bloodstone in his palm. As she closed his fingers over the stone, Maggie took the raven from her pocket.

“Oh, Benjamin. I didn’t know,” she whispered.