Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (24 page)

It was not that he was unkind, or even that he was not pleasant to be around. In fact, as much as she would admit to herself, he was good company, and he certainly was a handsome young man.  There were several women still unattached who had arrived on the same ship Maggie supposedly sailed on, maidens and young widows alike, and Maggie noticed the stares Benjamin garnered anytime he happened into town. He commanded a presence, from his broad shoulders and thick strapping arms to his twinkling blue eyes and boyish grin. Still showing remnants of an unsure youth in his chiseled face, but with the swagger of growing self-assurance, he would be irresistible to any lucky young woman.  Had they met in another lifetime, Maggie had no doubt he would have turned her head, but fate being what it was, there was nothing of her heart left for anyone but her child.

Benjamin took care in leading her back to the Towne square, where the wives served a hearty mid-day meal to the men.  She did not want to join them, but being they were in town for the day they could not refuse the offer Alice made.

She stumbled and Benjamin caught her, a grin on his lips at her scowl. She resisted the urge to simply lift her skirts above her heels instead of kicking through the heavy skirt, but she tried not to embarrass Benjamin in front of the other townsfolk.

A group of braves was tying their horses outside the Ordinary and she spotted Chetan among them, flanked by Makedewa.  She had no objection to seeing Chetan and would like to ask how his son fared, but knowing she would see Makedewa as well put a damper on things.  She had not seen either of them since the night Nemattanew abducted her, the memories of that time in the village beginning to feel like the whispers of a dream she meant to return to.

“Oh, so good to see ye back! We are nearly ready to eat, find ye a seat,” she ordered, shooing them toward the long wooden table in the courtyard. Feeling a distinct rumble of acquiescence from her belly, Maggie was happy to comply and took a seat beside Benjamin on a bench. Aunt Alice joined them at the far end of the table and led them in a short rendition of grace before they all dived in.

“Would you rather rest, my dear? I will take ye in the house if you need so,” Benjamin offered, passing her a basket of soft fresh corn bread. She took a helping and passed it to her left as she shook her head at Benjamin.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said.  The last place she wanted to rest was anywhere near Thomas, and in fact, sitting at the same table sharing a meal with him as he glared at her with his beady black eyes was more than enough torture for one day.

“Thank ye, Mistress,” a voice murmured. She tried not to twist around in her seat, but instead settled for shooting Jonathon Pace a look from the corner of one squinted eye.

“You’re welcome,” she said, as demurely as possible under the circumstances. The man gave her the creeps, and she had nothing nice to say to him. She scooted over a few inches closer to Benjamin.

“Jonathon!” Benjamin bellowed, thrusting his arm across her face to clasp warmly with Jonathon. She leaned back away from the two men, her eyebrows raised, and shoved a piece of corn bread in her mouth.  She reached over them to grab her mug of cider and hastily downed it, looking longingly across the table at Benjamin’s tall cup of ale.

“Ah, uhm, I will pour ye some ale, dearest, but go easy,” Benjamin said, grinning as he removed his own mug from her hands and filled her cider cup with a splash of ale.  She looked down at it and hastily handed it back to him. As much as she would like to, she knew it was bad for the baby no matter what century she was in. 

“So Opechancanough passed through Jamestown? Must be a special occasion for him to travel so far from his home,” Benjamin commented.  Maggie felt her cider and bread coming back up at the name of the Weroance. Jonathon nodded, taking a bite of bread as he reached for a platter of salmon passed his way. 

He offered it politely to Maggie but she waved it off, content with her ration of boiled ham and pickled beets. Along with the fresh bread, the meal would be quite filling, and she knew with more mouths to feed it would be best to pass the meats to the men.

“Yes, he stayed only one day, but he was quite cordial to the new Governor,” Jonathon agreed. 

“Was there trouble?”

Maggie swallowed back an over large amount of cider and felt a distinct warmth run from her throat to toes.  She hoped she could keep her stomach in check, afraid she would lose her composure in front of all the men. As bad as that would be, it would still be a welcome respite to hearing the two men squawk like a pair of roosters over a pebble of feed at their feet.

“Nay.  He brought plenty of warriors with him, no one would dare speak against him. The savage surely is a smart fellow,” Jonathon answered. “But those ones, the ones at the Ordinary now, they were with him.”

Maggie realized he meant Chetan and Makedewa, and her interest was suddenly held.  Did they plan to attack soon? She slipped a hand defensively down over her belly. Benjamin noticed the gesture and patted her knee under the table.

“Yes, he is a smart one,” Benjamin agreed. “Perhaps I should speak with the natives about it. Would ye excuse me for a short time, dear? I will return soon.”

She nodded wordlessly.  She was surprised he would go talk with the brothers, considering the role he played in Winn’s death.  She was doubly shocked to see the braves in town so soon after the disaster, but sure as well it was part of their plan to extinguish the English.  A flutter in her belly spoke volumes as she watched Benjamin walk toward the Indians, who were preparing to mount their ponies. Would her son ever know his people, or would they be his enemies, as most of the English looked upon them?

Relieved to see Benjamin clasp arms with both men, she tried not to appear too interested, but she abruptly realized it was all in her hands. Chetan and Makedewa were kin to her child, and she would be damned if she would be the one to break that bond.  Perhaps Makedewa would not care to see her, but she was sure Chetan would, and she knew he would pass a message to Teyas who she missed terribly.

She dropped her mug to the table and went to meet them, ignoring the squawk Aunt Alice uttered and the furious glare Thomas sent her way. She cared no more what either of them thought, and she would not be kept silent any longer.

She silently practiced the Paspahegh words she knew in greeting, and finally decided that a simple
How are you
would do just fine.

“Kulamalsi hach?”
she said as she approached.  She noticed Benjamin appeared distressed, and for that she was sorry, but she hoped he would understand why she needed to speak to the brothers.

“Fire Heart,” Chetan greeted her, bending his head toward her in respect. Makedewa grunted and crossed his arms, but it was an acknowledgement and for that she was grateful.  She wondered briefly why Chetan used the name Winn had often called her, the sound of the English version quite different than she was accustomed, but still the words stung her.

“Maggie, I was about to return to ye, there was no need for ye to fetch me,” Benjamin laughed, placing his hand on the small of her back.  She noticed his voice tremor and ignored it, too eager to speak to the warriors, but he took her hand firmly and turned her back the way they came.

“But Benjamin, I only want to talk to them.”

“Good day, brothers,” Benjamin said curtly, forcibly guiding her away. She shook her head and shoved him, unable to tolerate his behavior when she only wanted to say a few words to them. Was this how it would be, whenever she wished to see them?

“No! I need to talk to them!”

“We wish happiness for you in your new marriage, Red Woman.”

Maggie balked at the sound of Makedewa’s cold voice.  She turned back and saw Chetan glare at him and make a low barking
sound as she had often heard an irritated warrior make, but Makedewa had her attention now and a sneering grin stretched across his face.

“And we will have a feast in honor of your child. May the Great Creator bless you and your husband.”

“What?” she whispered as the ground seemed to drop beneath her feet. She struggled to remain standing at the hate in his voice and the menace written on his face. He clearly despised her, more than he ever had, and by his words she suspected he thought Benjamin was the father of her babe.

What did it matter? Winn was gone
. She could never go back to the Paspahegh village. Her child would never know a father other than Benjamin.

“Let us go,” Benjamin insisted.  This time she let him lead her.

Benjamin seemed distracted the rest of the afternoon.  The conversations between them were a mere barrage of polite responses, and when it was time to retire she was happy to put the day behind them.  If he were sore at her for speaking to the warriors, she would gladly leave him to his sulking. She readied herself for bed and sank down into the deep feather mattress, her mind just as weary of the day as her growing body.

Maggie placed her hand on her taut rounded belly.  Just a bulge, easily hidden under her skirts, but soon it would be more apparent and she dreaded anyone else knowing her condition.

Benjamin cracked the door and entered the room. He stared wordlessly at her now, and she could see his round blue eyes stained bloodshot, his shirt unbuttoned and skewed about his neck. He watched her as he undressed, shedding his waistcoat and shirt and stepping out of his tall boots. 

“Benjamin, I am sorry if my speaking to the braves upset you,” she began, but he cut her off by raising one hand and a firm shake of his head.

“No, wife. I am not upset with ye.”

She inhaled as he approached the bed, working the clasp of his buckle to shed his breeches. A wisp of strong brandy, and the telltale remnants of sweet pipe smoke clung to his clothes, and she realized he must have taken his enjoyment before he came to bed.  His hair was wild, frazzled in a mop that looked as if he had been running his fingers over his scalp, in his eyes a strange hollow look that reflected some sadness yet undisclosed. Perhaps he would only talk and fall asleep, as he usually did when he drank.

He slid under the quilts and pulled her gently to him, and she let out the breath of air she had been holding.

“Ye are my wife, by law,” he said softly, his breath hot against her neck.

She made no answer, frozen into helplessness as she lay in his arms. He seemed to need no response, as soon his breath grew shallow and the gentle snores of his inebriated sleep filled the room, and she was content to see his attentions distracted for the evening.

C
hapter 30

S
now was still falling
when Winn awoke.  Although he could see the dark clouds overhead through the smoke hole from remnants of the last storm, he was warmed from the layers of furs that covered him.  The fever had passed days ago, but his muscles still ached as if they had no strength and it was the most he could do to roll onto his side.  He could only roll onto the right, lest he risk tearing open the healing wound to his left chest.

Chulensak Asuwak and Teyas tended him faithfully, taking turns cleaning the bullet wound, but despite their attentive efforts it festered anyway.  When the fever took him they moved him to the sweat lodge for five days expecting either his death or recovery, he was not sure which. Whatever the intent had been at the time, he was grateful they cared enough to nurse him, since he would need to recover every ounce of his strength before he went to find his wife.

Winn expected the villagers to denounce him when he announced his bond to Maggie, but he was stunned to see that he retained their loyalty.  He would never have asked it of them, knowing he risked his own life by defying Opechancanough, and he did not expect any other to stand by his side in defense of a Time Walker. Yet their love humbled him, and he gladly accepted it. 

“Brother,” Chetan spoke as he entered the yehakin.

Winn opened his eyes and watched the warrior kneel beside him.  His eyes were downcast, and by the lines creasing his face Winn could see he was troubled.  Makedewa entered a moment later, yet he hung back, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Did you get word to her? Is she well? What say you?” he demanded, his hoarse voice rising as he surveyed his brothers.  Winn had only been awake less than a day since the fever broke, but his first thought had been to retrieve Maggie.  He knew she watched him fall from the rifle shot, and he feared she would think the worst when he did not return for her.  Somehow he staggered out of the furs and
made it to the door, but his brothers stopped him and insisted they would carry a message to her.

Now as he looked at the expressions of the two anxious men, he feared to hear their tale.

“She is well, brother.  Benjamin Dixon tends to her,” Chetan said carefully. Winn noticed that Chetan glanced at Makedewa, who appeared ready to boil over as he waited to speak.  Winn nodded with relief to Chetan and looked to his second brother.

“What, Makedewa? Does Chetan not speak truth?”

“He speaks true, brother.  Yet he does not tell all.  The Red Woman married Benjamin Dixon.  She breeds his babe even now.”

Winn felt the grip of icy fingers around his neck as his blood rushed cold.

“You must be mistaken,” he growled.

“No, it is true.  Benjamin told us both by his own tongue. I wanted to kill him and bring her back to you, but Chetan refused me.  Give me your word, and I will go back to finish it,” Makedewa ground out.

Winn struggled to sit up and was glad the braves did not move to help him.  He felt his wound tear, only a minimal disruption, but the healing flesh parted and a fresh gush of blood began to spread over the dressing on his chest.

“No. I do not believe it.” Winn grimaced and tried to stand, but at this both warriors moved forward to stop him.

“It is truth.  I am sorry.  I ask Makedewa to wait to hear your word before we act,” Chetan said.

Winn swallowed hard. Benjamin? The man he called brother left him for dead slung over the back of his horse, and then stole his woman? And what of Maggie – his wife, his heart? She would marry another and take his seed, as if her body were nothing more than a bottle of rum to be passed around? He remembered the words she once spoke during an argument.

Whore,
she had said, as if the world was most distasteful.
A woman who sleeps with any man.

No.  He would not believe that of her.  He would believe the vows they spoke.  He would believe the fire in her gaze and the softness of her yielding to him as he loved upon her. He could believe nothing else, or risk slipping back down deep into that dank place the fever took him to, that soulless void bereft of light.

“Leave me, brothers,” he said. “I will think on these things.”