Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (6 page)

A series of muffled giggles roused her from her sleep. Her cheek lay flat against Winn’s chest, her hand tucked in a fist beneath her chin, and she lifted a hand to swat at him when he plucked at her hair. It tickled, and she was not ready to wake yet. He persisted despite her attempt to smack him, and she opened her eyes to confront his intrusion of her sleep.

“Stop it!” she hissed. A pair of soft brown eyes stared back, attached to the biggest head she had ever seen on a newborn colt. He stood over her on long, but steady legs, chewing a piece of her auburn hair between his gums. A smile washed over her face as she stared at the colt in amazement. He was tall, with strong straight legs and a huge, mischievous face. She felt Winn sit up behind her with his arms tight around her waist.

“Bad horse!” she laughed. “I think I’ll call you Blaze.” It seemed appropriate, considering the swash of white streaking his face from ears to nose. She could not tell what color his coat would be for sure, but she suspected it would be chestnut considering the shade of downy fur he was born with. She scratched him under his chin and he nickered softly. More giggles erupted, and Maggie glanced up at the commotion. Standing on the middle rail in a row were three children, two girls and a boy, watching them sleep in the horse pen.  She moved to get up, but Winn held her in place.

“Stay,” he grinned. “Feed Blaze.  I will return and feed you.”

Her eyes followed him. He made a harsh barking noise at the children, who merely laughed louder, and then he chased them away from the lean-to.  He snatched a retreating boy by his breechcloth and knelt beside him, pointing to Maggie and the colt.

“Go fetch her some water, little warrior. You will make my
Tentay teh
happy.” The boy grinned, and Winn patted his shoulder, speaking into his ear. “A wise warrior makes a woman smile.”

C
hapter 7

W
inn wished to ignore
Makedewa as he made his way back to Maggie, but his brother was in a temper and refused to be put off.  He paused when the warrior uttered a respectful, but curt, greeting, knowing it would be rude to ignore his brother in front of the other men. Winn shifted his sack of food to his shoulder and spread his legs slightly apart, crossing his arms as he waited to hear what Makedewa needed to say.

“What say you, brother?”

“Brother?” Makedewa sneered. He lifted his chin in the direction of the lean-to and flung out a hand to point toward Maggie and the colt. “You fail to kill the Red Woman, then you keep her! You give her your yehakin and sleep alone in the Great Long House? What is this?”

“I found her. She is mine for what I please. It is no matter to you, I have told you this!” Winn straightened up to his full height and his eyes narrowed as his brother continued to rant.

“True, you found the Red Woman. So she is your prisoner. Why does she walk free in our village? You let Chetan give her a knife!”

Chetan moved to stand between the two warriors.

“I gave her the knife for her kindness. And for her protection,” Chetan growled. “If you try to kill her, I hope she stabs your black heart!” he snapped at Winn, then turned to Makedewa. “And yours, too!”

“You both have no voice in this. I captured her. She is nothing more than a slave. I will speak on it no more,” Winn snapped. He could not believe his brothers. He expected as much from Makedewa, and knew the hot-tempered warrior was angered the woman still lived. But Chetan? Giving the woman a knife as a weapon, a knife to stab him with? He suspected as much when his brother presented the gift, but he had been too pleased with the way
Maggie smiled at him to question it further.  Curse them, and curse the Great Creator, the woman had him scraping for her affections like a wounded puppy!

Maybe there was some truth to Makedewa’s words.

“We leave to hunt. Get your ponies, and tell your women,” Winn ordered, his voice calming to a lower octave. He put his hand on Chetan’s shoulder before his brother could follow Makedewa. “Tell Teyas to tend to …my captive. I will not see her again before we leave.”

Chetan shrugged off his hand and stalked away. As Winn heard the muttered curse his brother uttered he closed his fingers into a fist. He deserved Chetan’s curses, and they both knew it.

The hunt was a successful one, and Winn was glad to be headed back to the village after two grueling days of chasing game. What once might have been a half day hunt, or at most, a full day, had become much longer, and it took many more men now to take down enough game to feed their families. 

He wondered if it was time to scout for a new spring settlement, a place where they could find more plentiful game and spend more time on their other duties, but they had used their current land since Winn was a boy of ten summers and he was reluctant to make such a change. Furthermore, Winn was only War Chief to his tribe, nothing more, so any such move would need permission of the Council and his uncle, the Weroance Opechancanough.  He had led the remnants of the Paspahegh tribe since his uncle appointed him War Chief, but he knew Opechancanough would not approve any change until his plan to drive the whites from their land was fulfilled.  Until then, the few Paspahegh people left were trapped living on land that was nearly depleted of resources.  All were bound by the Weroance to remain friendly and accommodating to the whites to gain their trust.

He gave a curt nod to Chetan as his brother rode up beside him.  The man was shorter in stature, but still not a warrior to have as an enemy, and Winn was glad to have loyalty from such a man.  Wide and muscular, he was a fierce fighter who showed no fear of any threat. Since his wife had died last summer, Chetan spoke less and smiled even rarer, so Winn was surprised to see his brother with a secret grin as they approached the village.

“What is so amusing, brother?” Winn finally asked as the other man continued to smirk.

“Well, I look forward to return home. The men speak of what women to take to furs.”

“So what?” Winn snapped, not intending to sound so irritated.

“If you do not take your slave to furs, I will take her. I like her red hair and pretty pale skin.”

Winn felt his teeth snap together so forcefully he feared he cracked his jaw.

“I am not ready to share my slave,” he growled, incensed at the rage building in his blood. How dare his favorite brother presume to share his captive?

Chetan lifted one corner of his mouth in a wry smile.

“Then claim her yourself.”

“Why do you test me, Chetan?”

Winn gripped his reins tighter and felt his fingers dig into his palms, trying to contain the urge to reach over and grab his brother by the throat as the man continued to grin and shake his head.

“If you do not claim her, another man will challenge you. Then I must challenge him, and I do not wish to fight.  But if I must save my stupid brother from himself, I will.”

Chetan smacked Winn’s thigh with the long end of his reins, leaving a welt across his skin and a scowl on his lips. Winn looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the taunt.

“Any man who tries to take what is mine will die a quick death.”

“Then stop being a fool. Or I will take her from you and die smiling for it.”

Chetan smirked, smacked Winn again with the rawhide rein, and took off in a gallop. The village was ahead up in sight, and the warriors began to whoop and holler in greeting.  His blood began to
simmer at the thought of their usual return from the hunt. It was common for the men to seek release after the task, and there were plenty of widows and wives who welcomed the attention. Winn found there was always a woman eager to warm him, but he rarely joined in the celebration.  But now, as they approached the village and the warriors screamed their success, he felt a fire smoldering in his chest as he thought of the woman who waited in his yehakin.

She belonged to him by right, if not by prophecy, and he would be damned to let another challenge him.

C
hapter 8

T
eyas bent over a
large iron cauldron, nodding in approval at Chulensak Asuwak as she inhaled the steam from the stew. Thick with venison, it was a special mixture prepared with more meat than usual to celebrate the return of the hunting party.  Maggie felt her stomach rumble in response when the heady scent drifted to her.  Although they tended to her needs and appeared quite considerate, Maggie felt hungry often as she was not accustomed to the portions or food the Indians ate. She tried everything they offered, afraid to offend, but she still could not stomach some of the fare and had trouble eating enough to ease her hunger pangs.

Ahi Kekeleksu snuck up and snatched a piece of bread from the rations the women divided, and giggled when Maggie caught him by his elbow. She squeezed the child as he howled in mock disgust at her attention, then whispered a warning in his attentive ear.

“Don’t tell anyone I let you have that, you menace,” she laughed.

“No,
Tentay teh
, I will not!” he promised in his most fierce warrior pledge voice. She released him, and he sprinted back toward the corral. He was one of the children who watched the first feeding of the orphan colt, and in the days since the warriors had been away hunting, he became a shadow to Maggie. Teyas explained he was Chetan’s young son, and had lost his mother only a few months prior. Maggie took an immediate liking to the child, and was pleased to cultivate his interest in the colt by showing him how to feed and care for the orphan. 

Maggie watched from afar as the child leaned over the fence with the offering. The colt trotted over, taking the bread from his flattened palm with gentle bites.

“Maggie, the stew will cook longer. We can change your bandage now, sister.” Teyas handed Maggie a bundle of rolled cloths they would use to dress her wound. The scratches were healing, but the site remained sore, and so far free from signs of infection. Skilled at healing, Teyas tended the villagers with remedies made from herbs and roots, a craft she explained was handed down from elder women of the tribe. Maggie did not know what Teyas applied to her wound, but she was grateful for her care since she knew the alternative was likely death from infection.

Teyas served as her constant companion while the men hunted, leaving her no opportunity to escape the confines of the village.  Maggie searched the yehakin thoroughly the first night Winn was gone without success, and with no idea where else he may have hidden her Bloodstone, she felt even more hopeless as the days wore on. 

Maggie glanced up at Teyas and smiled. She took the proffered bundle and tucked it under her good arm. As Teyas bent to throw more wood on the fire for the stew, a group of riders entered the village.

Greased with paint but otherwise undecorated, the warriors looked surprisingly fresh after their two day hunt, especially considering the large amount of game they dragged on a sled behind one of the horses. Amid the impatient snorting and stomping, the warriors handed the animals off to younger boys to be tended while they allowed the women to fuss over them. Maggie watched the scene from across the village yard as women flocked to the warriors in welcome. She spotted Winn among them, aware that the breath left her body in a relieved sigh with the knowledge he returned safe. His eyes met hers through the crowd and she saw his lips curl up as he nodded to her in acknowledgement.

“Good, the men have returned,” Teyas said. Maggie nodded absently, and Teyas prodded her with a wooden spoon. “He will come for you, just wait,” she teased.

Maggie frowned and shook her head. “I don’t care what he does. I’m just glad he’s not dead, that’s all.” She felt hurt by the way he left so abruptly, not even wishing her goodbye, but she would not show the arrogant man how he wounded her.

Teyas giggled. Maggie kept her head down to shield her flushed cheeks, but she could still see the group of warriors surrounded by the women.  One young beauty threw her arms around Winn and proceeded to kiss him, and Maggie watched as he turned his head from the kiss but picked up the woman and swung her around, laughing at her squeal. Another warrior plucked her from Winn’s arms, but two more women blocked his exit with eager embraces. He wore a frustrated smile as he met her eyes again, but this time Maggie looked away. He could have his half-naked women, it was no matter to her. She only needed Winn to return to her own time, nothing more.

“Such a stupid man,” she mumbled, much to the amusement of Teyas.

“You should tell him that, Maggie,” she laughed.

Maggie sent a scathing glare in her direction just in time to see the glistening warrior swoop in and yank her off her feet. His skin was slick and hot as she squirmed against him, letting out a shriek of surprise at his ardent enthusiasm. Cradled in his arms like a child, her chest heaved with uneven breaths to match his own. His eyes squinted against the sun and a boyish grin graced his face.

“Tell me what,
Tentay teh
?” he demanded as he swung her in a circle.  She could not help but laugh as he twirled, then pretended to drop her only to catch her before she hit the ground, causing her stomach to do back flips as she giggled along with him.

“She says you are a stupid man, Winkeohkwet,” Teyas offered. Maggie stiffened, afraid Winn would be angry. His laughter slowed and he gripped Maggie tighter in his arms. She felt his muscles tense as she placed her palm to his chest in attempt to steady her breathing.

“Ah, well, we will see,” he replied. He raised one eyebrow at Teyas, and then turned abruptly to stalk away with Maggie still in his arms.

“Winn, that’s enough, put me down!” she said, eliciting only a chuckle from him.

“Only I give orders in this village, woman.”

“No one gives me orders!” she shot back. His grin remained.

“You want me to put you down?”

“Yes!”

He smirked and released his hold, and she closed her eyes to prepare for hitting hard ground. Instead she splashed into the shallow creek bed, going under and immediately surging to the surface, spitting up water. He stood waist deep beside her, roaring with laughter as she sputtered.

Maggie regained her footing, and as he continued to laugh, she launched herself at him, tackling him into the water. She was glad the attack caught him by surprise, giving her the upper hand for a split second before he grabbed her in a bear hug and drew them both beneath the water again, bringing them to the surface when she thought her lungs might explode.

He easily deflected her blows as he laughed, finally stopping her onslaught by wrapping her in his arms and pressing her to his chest. Soaked through and shaking, uncertain if anger or amusement drove her, she relaxed her fists, suddenly aware of his alarming proximity. She uttered a half-laugh, half-choke and clutched his shoulders to keep her footing. The creek bed sand shifted easily beneath their feet, and he repositioned to a wider stance yet continued to hold her. His laugh eased when their eyes met. His clear, sparkling blue eyes reflected humor, which she could see rapidly changing into something more. She swallowed back her own unwelcome response, confused by the way his gaze sent a tingling down her spine.

“Have I silenced you yet,
Tentay teh
?” he asked, his voice low and throaty. She meant to look away and laugh, but she only managed to shake her head. He called her
Tentay teh
often, and although she did not know the meaning, it sounded nice enough, so she did not mind.

“No. You can’t make me stop talking,” she whispered.

She regretted the words immediately, for she saw his eyes widen in surprise and a wicked grin creased his face.

“I must try harder, then,” he answered. Before she could object, his mouth closed gently over hers. She tasted sweet spiked
cider as his tongue parted her lips, each caress sending shivers down deep through her belly. His fingers entwined in her hair as his lips became more urgent, insistent with need. She had been kissed before, but never like this, and she clearly recognized his desire as it matched her own. The water did nothing to hide his arousal, his breechcloth barely a barrier between them as she stood nestled against his thigh. Her soaked doeskin dress rode up her hips, and she was aware the thin hide clung to her breasts as he looked down upon her with hunger and his hand slid down to cup her buttock.  She shuddered against his lips, ashamed of herself for melting in his arms but wishing he would never stop. His lip curled into a smile.

“See? I can make you stop talking,” he breathed against her mouth as he grinned.

Still shaking, her eyes flew open and she pulled away. The bastard! How dare he make fun of her now, reminding her yet again she was his captive? She tried to turn away to escape to the bank, but he held her tight, shaking his head. He glanced briefly over her shoulder, and then his eyes returned to capture hers.

“You’re an ass!” she whispered. The humiliation of being regarded as a piece of property swallowed any pleasure she felt in his arms. 

“Perhaps. But my men watch, and I would not have them question what is mine.” She shivered when she looked toward the bank and saw he told the truth. Several of the warriors stood nearby with the women, talking and laughing as they watched the spectacle in the creek.

“I don’t belong to you,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

He paused before he answered, his eyes glancing at the warriors and then back to her. She trembled when his palm tightened on her bottom and he pulled her closer as if he taunted her, enraged that his touch still sent lightening through her bones.

“Stop that!”

“You do not like it?”

“No! Yes – I mean no! Just stop it. This is crazy –”

His hungry mouth cut off her protest, and she flushed crimson knowing the other warriors watched his display of ownership. She raised her hand to push him off, but he grasped her wrist and placed it flat on his slippery chest. He spoke again, low and firm, his lips so close to her own shaking ones.

“Why do you defy me? Do women in your world refuse their men, or is it just you?”

The sincere question caused a surge of despair to swell, which overflowed to darken her gaze before she could stem it.  The utter reality of her situation had been easy to put off for the last two days as she spent time with Teyas, but now that Winn stood in front of her making demands, it all rushed back.  She was far from home, and had no idea how to return – or if return was even possible.

“Women of my time take care of themselves. We don’t have men telling us what to do all the time. We call men like you chauvinist pigs,” she whispered. His eyes narrowed into slits.

“My men watch,
Tentay teh.
When they watch, you must…obey.”

She clenched her teeth and opened her mouth to protest, but this time he covered it with his hand.

“When they watch, you obey,” he repeated, slower this time. She nodded, and he let his hand drop from her mouth. “It is the way of this time, and my right as your captor.”

“Am I a prisoner?” she whispered.

“I found you. It is my right to keep you as a slave if I choose. Or I may give you away to one of my men...if you do not please me.” He held her face with his hands so she could not look away. “Do you understand?”

She did not answer, but held his gaze.

“My men seek women to share their furs after the hunt. It is what we do when we return. I would keep you with me now.”

“And if I run?”

“Do not run.”

She followed his logic and could make no response. She thought her silence would pacify him, but it only seemed to agitate
him further.  He carried her from the creek then, passing the group of warriors with a nod and making his way back to his
yehakin
.

A fire in the hearth greeted them, and Maggie’s bundle of bandages lay next to the fur-sleeping mat.  She reached for the bundle, knowing her dressing needed to be changed and the wound cleaned, but afraid to make her request known to Winn.  The man was frustrating beyond measure, and she had no idea why he fascinated her so much. Why on Earth had she let him kiss her? Had time travel warped her brain?

She peered at him from the corner of her eye as she pretended to study the bandages. His confidence alone was enough to send even a modern woman into a swoon.  Tight sinews flexed in his limbs as he bent to remove his leggings, then stood and dropped his wet breechcloth to the floor. She glimpsed a dark winding tattoo from one hip to his tapered navel, and gritted her teeth as she quickly turned her back, noting that his flaming eyes met her own before she cowered.