Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (7 page)

Damn him and his freaking God-like body.

She sat down with her back to him and began to unroll the bandages, the motion echoing the unraveling of her senses. What did he plan to do with her? When he spoke of the men looking for women to share their beds, did he mean he would share hers as well?

She stiffened and closed her eyes when he placed a hand on her shoulder from behind, the scent of evergreen and sweat that was distinctly him invading her senses. True, no other man had ever made her feel so desired, but it was not enough to cause her to surrender what remained of her innocence. She was trapped in the past, but she still knew who she was, and she was not a woman to fall into bed with some handsome stranger on a whim.

His fingers kneaded her shoulders, and she bit back a moan as his fingertips brushed over her skin. When he untied the laces of her dress from her nape, she hardened her resolve before she lost herself completely. She held the dress up with her fists pressed into her breasts before it fell away. She would not let him continue without resistance.

“I will fight you,” she whispered. His fingers paused the gentle massage for a moment at her words, then resumed a lazy rhythm. She remained there unmoving, knowing she could not outrun him, but sure that she could at least hurt him in some way.

“Be still.” She felt his breath hot against her neck and the command chilled her, but she obeyed it as she awaited his next move. He tugged at the binding of her wound dressing and she wondered briefly why he needed it off if he meant to rape her.

“I can’t,” she replied as tremors shook her body.

He removed the remnants of the dressing and a moment later a warm gush of water flowed over her wound. Winn repeated the process several more times before he was satisfied, and then gently patted the wound with a clean cloth. Maggie held her breath as he reached around her for the bowl of healing salve and then smeared it over the wound. What game was the bastard playing? She felt like a toy, twirling aimlessly at his mercy.  Motionless and silent, she waited as he replaced the bandage with a fresh one and secured it around the sensitive skin of her shoulder.

Maggie did not expect the pile of clothes that landed in her lap, and she startled at the quick motion.  A soft, dry white doeskin dress lay in her lap along with a pair of small white moccasins, decorated with a delicate pattern of red and black beads.   She slowly turned to look at him and was surprised to find him standing near the fire, a frown on his lips and his blazing blue eyes fastened on her.

“Change your wet clothes. Then we will eat.”

She held her wet dress up with one hand and clutched the new one with the other.

“I—I’ll change when you leave.”

He closed the distance between them in three strides, snatching a fur from the bed and wrapping it around her shoulders like a cloak. He grabbed the white dress from her. She noticed his hands clenched and he trembled, and she could see he struggled to contain his temper.

“Change now, woman,” he growled. “Or I will do it for you.”

She returned his challenge by glaring back into his seething blue eyes, then snatched the dress from his hand and turned her back to him.  She heard him stalk away, but even knowing he was across the room still sent shivers down her spine as she let her wet dress fall to the floor. She managed to keep the fur wrapped around her as she stepped into the dry dress, but waited to face him again. 

She felt the flush of her skin and hated herself for her weakness. Naked skin was nothing special to the Indians, she knew from her observations over the last two days.  Women went topless more often than not, or had a flimsy fur shawl wrapped around their shoulders to cover bare breasts. Maggie was grateful for the modest dresses Teyas gave her, but she was aware that she was much more covered than any of the other young women.  She struggled to be so confident, as Winn obviously expected, but she failed miserably. 

Maggie sat down across from Winn at the fire, keeping the thick fur around her shoulders as they ate.  He took a few bits of food from each bowl and passed it to her, keeping his eyes on hers as he slowly chewed.

“Your wound looks like it heals. You are lucky.”

She refused to meet his eyes as she ate and nodded in response.

“Thank you…for helping me. I can’t reach it very well on my own,” she murmured.

He rested one hand on a bent knee and lay back onto an elbow, studying her as she finished her meal.  She stole a glance at him over the rim of her cup as she drank, seeing a bemused tilt of his head and a furrowed brow which seemed distinctly non-threatening.

“Women of your time, they have no need of men?” he asked. He twirled a piece of straw in his fingers as he waited for her response.

“Women take care of themselves is all I meant.  They don’t need a man to tell them what to do, or to look after them.” She took another sip from the cup and watched as he struggled to find his words.

“No husbands? The men must be weak to let women behave that way,” he declared, tossing the straw into the fire. She smiled despite herself.

“We still like men, and women do marry. But it’s not necessary to have a man, it’s just…nice. “

“And you? Did you leave a man in your time?”

“Yes,” she said, although she believed she would regret baiting him in such a way when she saw his body tense and his jaw clench. “My grandfather.  I feel like I left him. He died last month, and I’m not there now to put flowers on his grave…or to take care of the farm.  But a boyfriend? No, there is no one.”

His tense demeanor relaxed at her explanation, and he met her tentative smile with a wry smile of his own across the blazing fire. Good thing she had not mentioned Marcus. Although the thought made her smile, the ache of missing her home felt heavy in her chest. The orange flames cracked and spit when he tossed in a loose stick, and she wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked back.  She rested her chin on her locked hands and stared into the fire, remembering the way it felt when she fell through the barn wall and the sun engulfed her being.  She wanted to ask him where the Bloodstone was, but feared to damage the uneasy peace between them.

“It is strange for me to talk so much to a woman,” he admitted. Now it was her turn to laugh, and she scoffed at his admission.

“Oh, is that so? If you were in my time, I would never give you the time of day with that attitude,” she retorted. Her confidence grew as their exchange remained playful, but she knew she tread a thin line with his ancient ego.

“
Humpf,” he snorted. “Maybe so,
Tentay teh
.  But here,” he said, pointing to the ground he sat on, “here women obey their men, and wait to be spoken to. My men see you defy my words, and they ask why I did not punish you,” he said quietly. Maggie stopped rocking, aware the conversation had taken a turn. She pushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear and noticed her hand trembled. Damn the man and his veiled threats! 

“I thought I
was
being punished. You keep me here like a prisoner,” she whispered.

“
Pishi
, I do keep you, it is my right. Not as a prisoner.  If that was so, I would have cut out your tongue days ago.”

She said nothing as he sat up, his face shrouded now in an unreadable mask as he stared at her across the fire. A not-so veiled threat?  She liked it even less.

“In this time my warriors follow me without question. They wait even now for my command. If I ask them to leave their women, they do so.  And their women honor them as they go.” His voice dipped as he stared into the heart of the fire. “Warriors do not answer to women. I will not answer to you out there,” he pointed toward the door where they could see members of the village taking a meal by a large central fire. “Here, in my
yehakin
, I will hear you. You can call me…
show-vist pig
…and I will hear you.”

Maggie stifled a hysterical laugh at his attempt to placate her as she bit back her despair. Winn was clearly throwing down the gauntlet, and her life was held in the balance.  She would obey him without question, or she would be punished as women of this time were punished. He understood her own time was very different, so he was giving her a way to talk to him without damaging his authority with the tribe. She wished she could feel more grateful, but the only emotion she could summon was frustrating defeat. She was trapped, not only in his time, but also in his
yehakin,
to be punished at his discretion. He had not forced himself on her, for which she was relieved, but she feared it would not be long before he expected as much.

She would play by his rules, but only until she discovered a way back home. She refused to admit she had little choice, deciding instead to fool him into trusting her. It was the only way to get what she wanted.

“Chauvinist. You’re a chauvinist pig,” she said softly, enunciating the syllables.

“
Pishi
,” he nodded. “And you may keep your tongue.”

He rose from his spot and approached. Her eyes never wavered from his, glaring in muted defiance when he gently pulled her to her feet.  He led her to the sleeping mat, which she let him do since her limbs were numb and useless at the thought of what would happen next. With a few careful tucks, he nested the furs around her, and she closed her eyes.

When she dared to open them again, she saw him across the fire. He lay on his side, head on his forearm, his eyes closed in sleep.

C
hapter 9

A
stream of morning sunlight
warmed her face as she woke to find the yehakin empty.  She should be glad the heathen left her alone, but a nagging voice in her ear wondered when she would see him again, or if he would return soon to continue ordering her about like she was his personal property.  Well, he could stay away all day for all she cared. She was not thrilled with the prospect of deceiving him to get the Bloodstone back, but it was the only chance she had. As much as she would like to smack the smirk off his handsome face, she felt a twinge of anticipation at the thought of letting him kiss her again, glossing over the fact that it was a means to an end and nothing more. 

Her bladder felt near bursting, so she stopped off in the bushes to relieve herself before she made her way to the lean-to.  She could take care of Blaze, and maybe come up with a few ideas of where Winn hid the Bloodstone.  He had few personal belongings, and she had already searched them thoroughly, so she was certain the stone was not in his yehakin.

She grimaced at her toileting options, leaves or more leaves, and hurriedly completed the task before anyone noticed she was gone.  It was bad enough walking around with no undergarments, but to have been observed during such a personal act would be humiliating.  She never thought herself a shrew in her own time, yet among the women of the village, she was most assuredly the strange one.  Maggie insisted on covering herself, unwilling to wear the skirts the others wore with only a mantle loosely covering their breasts, her modesty a well-ingrained trait she was unable to change even if it meant fitting in. Teyas understood, and Maggie felt lucky to have her as a tentative ally.  The younger woman took to wearing a full dress very similar to the ones she gave Maggie, as if she gave her silent support by emulation. Maggie was glad for any camaraderie she could get.

Chetan was preparing to mount his pony when Maggie arrived.  Makedewa was already astride, his horse pawing impatiently at the dirt as they waited for the other warrior.  She was unsure if she should approach Chetan, but when a warm smile creased his face, she decided it was safe enough and continued.

“Red Woman,” he nodded. “Your Blaze grows well, I think he will be a great stallion someday.”

They turned to watch the colt, who perked up his ears and issued a shrill whinny at the sight of her.  Chetan chuckled and Maggie reached in the fold of her waistband to find a sliver of apple she brought for him, reaching over the rail with the flat of her palm in offering.  The colt quickly slurped up the fruit, leaving a slimy mess on her palm, which she rubbed off on the edge of her dress. Chetan watched the exchange, but his smile faded as he took her hand in his own.

Startled by the contact, but unafraid, she watched as he slowly turned her hand over to stare at her scarred palm.  It was the hand that she held the Bloodstone in, and it was creased with a healing silver scar, a heart shaped knot that looked strangely organized as if it was a brand.

“Ah, you have been marked. I see now,” he said softly, as if to himself.

“What do you mean, marked?”

“The Bloodstone.  It marked you, so you must truly be from another time. A woman Time Walker,” he muttered as he shook his head, his round cheeks now more serene than smiling. “Is it a peaceful place, this time you come from?”

“It is very different,” she offered. “Peaceful enough.” Thoughts of the life she was torn away from were like lead in her throat, and she shook her head against the tears that threatened. “I miss it very much,” she admitted.  He ducked his head, squinted his eyes, and uttered a nervous cough to clear his throat.

“Maybe you are here because you should be.  I think if you open your eyes, you will find happiness here with our people.”

She did not answer him, unwilling to argue when he was trying to be kind, so she shrugged her shoulders in response as she remained silent.

“Winn buried the Bloodstone to keep you away, but still you are here. He thought never to disobey our uncle. He was sure he would kill the Red Woman if ever she arrived.”

“Everyone would be happier if he just let me go home.”

Chetan smiled, shaking his bowed head.

“No, I think not. Not my brother, and not you. I hear your words, but I see your heart. You were meant for this place, Fire Heart.”

A protest formed on her lips, but she did not voice it. There was no argument she could make against such magical things.

“Do you ride horses as well as you care for them?” he asked. She raised her eyebrows at his words.

“Well, yes, yes I do. I’m a good rider.”

“Then come with me. I go to scout our border.”

She glanced around him at Makedewa, who she could tell was listening but held his tongue. What harm would it do to take a ride? She was tired of being treated like a prisoner, as if she had no more value than an ear of corn, so perhaps a ride would ease her anxiety for a few hours.

“All right, I would like that. But will Winn be upset if I leave?”

Chetan made a deep snorting sound. “Upset? Yes, he will be. My brother is War Chief, but I am still a man.  If you want to ride, you can come with me.”

She grinned like a schoolgirl playing hooky when he slung a hackamore bridle on a spotted pony and gave her a leg up.  She was unaccustomed to riding bareback, a pursuit she left behind in adolescence, but she was eager to leave the village for a while and would have submitted to anything to do so. The animal was plump with a thick stout neck, making for a more comfortable ride than a more lean horse, and she settled quickly into the motion of keeping her seat with her thigh muscles as they left the village. 

They passed by the Long House and entered the woods, keeping to a narrow dirt trail winding through the evergreens. There was a gentle cool breeze among the trees, and as it lifted her hair from the nape of her neck, she raised her hands high and stretched. Although her healing shoulder ached, it still felt wonderful, and as her chest expanded, the heady scent of the forest filled her lungs.  Rocking with the motion of the horse, she let out a deep sigh and replaced her hands back down to rest on her bared thighs.  She had never ridden bareback dressed so scantily, but the exhilaration of freedom squashed any doubts she might have had.

Chetan glanced at her and smiled as she stretched, and she heard an annoyed grunt from Makedewa, which she ignored. They clicked their tongues and urged their mounts into a faster pace, and she squeezed her knees to press her fat pony into an easy lope to keep up. She wondered why they suddenly changed speed, and was dismayed to hear another rider approaching.  The men seemed unconcerned so she knew they were safe, but she hoped it was not someone who would object to her riding out.

“Did you hear me call, Chetan?” Winn growled as his pony caught up to them.  The horses all slowed to a brisk walk, and Winn continued to rail at Chetan as he shrugged his shoulders in amused indifference.

“No, brother, I heard you not.  I was enjoying the ride.”

Maggie turned backward on her pony to look at the men following behind.  Although Makedewa rode ahead, she was clear on what Chetan implicated and she twisted back around before she was tempted to yell at him. 

She ignored the two men as they argued, and continued on to follow Makedewa, who had pulled ahead quite a bit.  Her pony navigated a narrow sandy trail that opened up from the woods onto a wide beach, stretching as far as she could see in both directions. When Makedewa took off, she felt a surge of excitement seeing him gallop away, and before she could contain the urge she tapped her heels against her pony and they took off after him. She wound her fingers through her pony’s mane and ducked her head against his neck, feeling sand spike up to dart her face like tiny needles as the sound of the surf muffled her peals of laughter.  Saltwater splashed out like a wake around them, and seagulls screamed their displeasure at the intrusion as they conquered the beach.  Her pony was not as fast, but he had plenty of heart, and it was not long before he was beside Makedewa’s mount, their hooves pounding in near synch across the sand. Makedewa’s eyes opened wide when he saw her, and although he did not smile, he did not scowl either, so she figured he was not too annoyed that she had followed him. 

His pony slid to a stop, and hers responded the same, circling Makedewa a few times before the little beast was ready to cease pursuit.  Nostrils flaring, his lips lathered, the pony snorted and stomped, and she patted him firmly on the neck to calm him. She could see Chetan and Winn riding toward them, and when she glanced back at Makedewa, she thought she glimpsed a smidgeon of a grin.

“You ride well, woman,” he said gruffly without making eye contact.

“You ride okay yourself,” she replied.  His brows furrowed and his jaw tightened as he shook his head, turning his horse around in a tight circle.

“I think you are much trouble for my brother, Red Woman.”

“I don’t want to be trouble for anyone.  I just want to go home.”

He made one of those half-laugh, half-snort sounds the Indian men were known to utter when they had nothing nice to say, then reached out and slapped her pony on the rump. The horse jumped, but did not take off, instead succumbing to being rounded up and sent back in the direction of Chetan and Winn. Makedewa dismounted. He pulled a spear off his back as the other men caught up with them.

“Good ride, Maggie,” Chetan grinned. She smiled back, despite the look of gloom on Winn’s face.

“Thanks. It’s beautiful here,” she breathed, looking out toward the ocean. Low waves rolled in, crashing against the reefs to break their splendor before they rushed back toward the shore, creating a haphazard foam barrier along the sand.  The water was a deep blue, brighter and clearer than any shore she had ever seen, and she recalled with sadness how sickly beaches of the future looked in comparison. 

“Yes…beautiful,” Chetan laughed. Maggie saw him shoot Winn a sly look, and then Chetan dismounted to follow Makedewa.  She watched them stalk a shallow tide pool, thrusting their spears in to snare the fish trapped in the barrier.  Winn’s pony bumped into her own.

“Come on.  We will ride some more,” he offered, his voice controlled with the invitation.  His blue eyes seemed cautious, betraying a glimpse of uncertainty, or perhaps bashfulness, both of which perplexed her when she was accustomed to a much different temperament. 

“All right,” she agreed.  Their ponies walked off together so closely that her bare knee bumped against his with each stride, a constant tap to remind her he was still there. Although his shoulders pointed straight ahead, his dark head tilted toward her a bit and his braid fell across his arm, as if their words were some sort of secret between them. 

“Chetan takes notice of you.”

“Oh?”

“As do many of my people.  Teyas sees you as a sister.” His startling blue eyes met hers and held, and she could feel a stirring in her belly as he kept her gaze.  He turned away abruptly and looked down at his hands for a moment before he adjusted his rein, then turned his head back ahead. “You look happy here today. Is your world so different than mine,
Tentay teh?”

Maggie considered the question for a moment before she responded.  Yes, her world was much different in many ways, but how could she make him understand? Loyalty, dedication, a home – they were all things that drove her to find a way back, yet with each passing day in the past, another sliver of her resolve flaked off and dissolved. Looking at his profile, seeing his jaw set against his teeth and his almond shaped blue eyes squinting against the sun, she
wished they could just keep riding and somehow their peace could continue.

“Some things are very different. We don’t ride horses anymore, that is, most people don’t.”

“So they travel by water instead?”

“Well, we have these…wagons. Wagons that drive without a horse. There’s an engine to make it move.”

She could see his face relax and his smile turned genuine as she described cars to him. He snorted when she told him they ran on gasoline, a fossil fuel, and he laughed when she explained how people bought expensive cars to impress each other.  Her tales of the future clearly intrigued him, however, and she prattled on with descriptions of indoor plumbing and spring-coiled mattresses.

“Is it from the English that all these things come?” he asked.

“Uhm, I guess.  Mostly.  But there will be many different kinds of people to come live here in the future, not just the English.”