Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2) (46 page)

“Take it off,” he ordered.

“Winn,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“If you want to wear it again, take it off. Now.” He struggled to keep his words low, feeling his own control slipping away at the sight of her sun-kissed skin. She was thinner than normal, but her hips were round and full, fitting perfectly in his grasp. He caught his breath when she lifted the dress slowly over her head, the doeskin catching on her nipples for a moment before she shed it.

“Come here,” he said. She offered no resistance when he pulled her to her knees in front of him, only a little gasp when his mouth fell upon her skin. When a strangled moan left her lips his control vanished, and he pushed her down to the bedding platform.
Slick flesh collided, heated skin upon skin.  So many others suddenly laid claim to his woman, and he did not care for it one bit. Did he only want her, or did he need her, or was it the power of possession like a spoiled youth that drove him? He did not know.

He could only keep her close and hope it would be enough.

Makedewa

Makedewa sheathed the new sword on his back, sliding it into the harness Erich had given him. He enjoyed the company of the Norse more than he would admit to his brother, knowing it was a heated topic to broach with Winn.  Winn’s kinfolk knew how to make strong weapons, and although they did not possess the firepower that the English had, the strength of their fighting power seemed formidable.  He wondered if his brother would wish to settle in the village, as his headstrong wife obviously desired. Only the Creator knew how that decision would play out between his brother and his wife.

The other men had gathered in the training field, and although he was eager to join them, he decided to check on Rebecca first.  She still owed him a reading lesson, and as he thought of collecting on the bargain a smile formed on his lips.  Perhaps he might thaw her tender heart a bit with a stolen moment alone.  It had been days since he held her in his arms, more than a week, in fact, and the thought of continuing where they left off roared like a slow fire within. Since the day he rescued her from the massacre he had waited patiently to gain her trust. Now that he had tasted what it was like to have a piece of her heart, the only thing he could think of was to have it again.

She was alone when he found her in Winn’s Long House, dousing the remnants of the fire.  He reveled in watching the sweet curve of her backside as she bent to work, her hair strewn over her shoulders in a cascade of coils. Eager to have her in his arms, he closed the door softly and threw the latch with a click, the sound
causing her to swing around with a panicked look on her face. Her anxiety eased when she realized it was him, and it sent a surge of heat through his blood to see her smile. He unsheathed his sword and left it propped against the wall.

“Ye startled me!” she laughed as he crossed the space. He gathered her into his arms, covering her soft mouth with his and stifling the remnants of her exclamation.

“It’s only me,” he murmured. He glanced toward the door. “You owe me a reading lesson.  I’ve come to collect.”

She let out a nervous laugh and backed away, and he let her go. He sat down on the edge of the bedding platform for want of anywhere else to sit, acutely aware of his growing need for her and of that of his desire to put her at ease.

“I have no books to teach ye here. Perhaps we should just…talk?” she suggested shyly, her skin flushing pink. He grinned, watching her slow her breaths, knowing that she was just as affected by him as he was her. He took her hands and pulled her close. He kissed each of her clenched fists and looked up into her eyes.

“Talk? I would hear your answer. I want you as my wife, but you have yet to tell me yes.” His chest clenched when he saw her round eyes fill with tears, and he pulled her onto his lap in a reflexive motion. He wanted to soothe her, to chase away her doubt, yet he was at loss how to show her his intention, especially when the very feel of her skin against his drove him to the point of madness. He had not lain with a woman since he became a man, which had not bothered him so much until he found Rebecca. The last two years spent watching her, cultivating her trust, and dreaming of her when he lay alone at night had felt like a slow torture, yet it was now a torrid burn that distracted his every thought.

“Oh, Makedewa,” she said softly. He inched back onto the furs, his hands trembling as he pulled her with him. She lay lightly across his chest, looking down, her curls spilling over her shoulders onto his chest. He scarce drew breath as he watched her, thrilled at the weight of her body lying over his, yet afraid she would flee. With a slow measured touch he slipped his hand into her hair and drew her mouth to his, filling his blood with fire when she moaned and settled against him.

What would please her? What would make her say yes? He moved his lips down her throat, his fingers working the tie of her shift, groaning when she arched up against his hand. Damn her English garments that he had no idea how to remove.  Aching to feel her flesh, he ran his hands beneath her skirts up along her soft thighs to settle on her hips, pushing the heap of fabric upward until his breechcloth was the only barrier between them. He let out a strangled moan when she kissed him, and be it the failure of restraint as a man or the pain of wanting her so long, he flipped her deftly onto her back.

He expected some tension because of her past, but when she wrapped her arms around his neck he was sure it would be fleeting. Her bared breasts pressed against his chest, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He murmured sweet words of love as his lips caressed her skin and his knee parted her thighs.

“
Nouwami
,” he whispered. He raised his head to kiss her again, and then the breath left his chest in a painful blow. Her eyes were clenched closed, her throat constricted so much he could see her pulse throbbing beneath her chin. A tear slid down her cheek.

He rolled onto his side and pulled her into his arms, pressing his face into her soft hair as she trembled against his chest.

“I cannot be a good wife to ye,” she whispered, her eyes buried away from him. He shifted and grasped her chin, gently turning it upward. Her eyes were puffy, but her tears had stopped.

“Yes, you will. We can wait for this. I will wait for you,” he insisted. He wanted to tell her that he had waited so long already without assurance she would want him, but now that he knew she cared he at least had that to hold. If only she would accept his pledge, he would give her as long as she needed.

“I wish ye to hold me like this, so much so it aches,” she said. “But I fear I cannot be a wife to a man.”

“If only I may hold you, that is enough for now,” he replied, his voice strained. He had a sickly feeling of what she meant, and he did not want to hear the words.

“But if that is all I can give ye? Nay.  I fear to see anger in your eyes when you look at me.”

She sat up and gathered her shift to a semblance of decency. He could see her fingers tremble and his frustration rose. Did she think so little of him? Did she truly believe he only wished to share her bed, and that was all being a wife meant to him?

“You think I am angered now?” he asked. With her back to him he saw her shoulders sag, and she wrapped her arms around herself in a protective manner.

“I fear to look at ye,” she admitted. “I can tell when ye are fierce. I see yer jaw is hard, and yer eyes are black as coals. I know the look of a man angered.” Despite his agitation, he moved beside her, taking care not to touch her as they sat on the edge of the bedding platform.

“I am angered at the man who hurt you. I have no anger at you,” he replied. “I would kill any man who harmed you,” he added darkly. He reached for her hand, and sighed when she jerked it away.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, her lip trembling. “Perhaps we should just…just try again. I will not stop ye.”

Her suggestion tore through him like a blade, and he jumped to his feet.

“No. Why do you ask such a thing?” he said, his voice rising despite his effort to contain it.  He ran his hands through his hair, then dropped to his knees before her. He laid his head down on her knees, wishing she would put hands on him to give him some semblance of hope, yet her fists remained closed at her sides. “I would never—I could not hurt you that way. When we lay together, it will be because you wish it, not to chase a ghost away.”

“I fear the ghost of that savage will always haunt me.”

He clenched her skirts as her fingers slid over his head, holding him to her lap. Her scent was too close, too inviting, her skin too soft, her breasts too round as he held her. Her tears no longer fell,
her face now more a mask of certainty in her own failure than one hopeful of trudging through it. He needed to think, to figure out a way to mend things, but he could not do that when his base response was to toss her back down in the furs to calm her fears. Especially when she looked at him with those haunted blue eyes, begging him to just take her no matter what the consequence.

“I am nothing like that man. He was of my people, but he was no warrior. Is it him you see, when you look at me?” he asked, raising his eyes to meet hers. Her throat tightened and she said nothing, looking down to avoid his stare. Her silence was far worse than what her words might have been.

He stood up away from her.  He grabbed his new sword and sheathed it over his shoulder, then addressed her as calmly as he could muster with his back to her.

“Take your rest,
chulentet
. I must join the men, we can speak on this later,” he muttered.

He felt like a swine for leaving her. Yet it was how he had dealt with painful emotion his entire life, and he knew no other way to journey.

Rebecca

“Oh, I thought Kwetii was with you.”

Rebecca looked up at the sound of Maggie’s voice. She wiped the back of her hand over her nose and then over her flyaway hair, acutely aware that she looked like a windblown mess.  Except her appearance was not due to the wind, unless one counted the man who had just fled her side with the speed of a beach-swept breeze. She swallowed back a sob at the thought of his back to her and his cold words before he left her. Yes, she had angered him, even if he would not admit it so, and she feared there would never be a way to give him what he wanted.

“Nay, Teyas took her to play with other children. They have many little ones here,” Rebecca answered.  Maggie tilted her head a bit to the side, her mane of red hair falling across her face.  With her lips pursed tight and her eyebrows raised, Rebecca knew that look.  As much as she loved Maggie, the woman was tenacious when it came to knowing secrets, and if she suspected one held anything back she would be at it like a horsefly on sweating skin.

“What troubles you? Your eyes are red,” Maggie asked. Rebecca shook her head in denial, knowing full well it would not be enough to placate Maggie.

“It is nothing to worry ye. Go on, be about yer tasks,” she said. Instead of listening, Maggie plunked down on the bedding platform next to her.  It was the space Makedewa had occupied only a few short moments ago, she thought with a pang in her belly. What if Maggie had found them, doing what they were doing? Her friend would surely think her nothing more than a harlot, as her poor dead mother would have.

“Come with me then.  I’m going to watch the men train with Erich. I’d like you with me,” Maggie offered. “Unless you’d rather tell me what makes you cry.”

Rebecca sighed. It was no use keeping anything from her.

“Makedewa asked me to be his wife,” she murmured, her voice cracking somewhat.  She jumped when Maggie let out a squeal and threw her arms around her, hugging her and jumping up and down.

“That’s wonderful! Oh, that’s perfect! We’ll have a beautiful wedding here—I’m sure Marcus will help, and—”

“There will be no wedding,” Rebecca interrupted, putting an abrupt stop to Maggie’s excited tirade.

“Why? What happened?”

“I willna be a good wife for any man, Maggie. Especially one such as he.”

Maggie drew back, her brows squinted down over her bright jade eyes as she shook her head in a motherly manner. 

“You’d be a fine wife to him, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m sure he’d treat you kindly.  He loves you so, it’s plain to see.”

Rebecca felt the tears escape at Maggie’s declaration, and she let the other woman hold her then.  Yes, she loved him as well, if she was bent on making confessions. It only made it that much more difficult to hear that Makedewa loved her the same way.

“Does it always feel so…so frightful…when a man lays with a woman?” she asked shyly, her voice barely audible.  She knew her cheeks flamed when she spoke, but Maggie was the only one she trusted enough who could give her any hope.

Maggie rocked her gently as she would have done with Kwetii.

“No, lamb, it’s not. It’s a beautiful thing. I’m sure you would find it was very special with Makedewa. He would never hurt you,” Maggie replied, her voice comforting, even as Rebecca heard the
nervous falter in her tone. She swallowed back her pride, determined to ask the questions on her mind.

“But I’ve heard ye sometimes at night. It sounds like Winn’s killing ye.”

It was Maggie’s turn to blush, and her skin flushed from her ears to her chest.  Her breathing came a bit faster as she struggled to answer, and Rebecca waited patiently. If anyone would tell her the truth, it would be Maggie.

“No, no. I know it must sound—it sounds strange. It’s only because we both enjoy it. It’s normal to—to make sounds,” Maggie stammered. “Because it feels…nice.”

Rebecca buried her face in her hands. She understood what Maggie was getting at, and she certainly knew the pleasure of his touch on her body. It was what came after she was afraid she could never do. Worse yet, she feared disappointing him.  She was no idiot; she witnessed the raw passion between Maggie and Winn on a daily basis. Winn was just as volatile as Makedewa, if not more, and there had been many times she’d heard Maggie and Winn rutting and feared he was killing her friend. Yet Maggie never seemed angered or upset after their episodes, in fact, she seemed placated. He made her happy, no matter what he was doing to her under their furs. She identified with the happy aspect, as she had been the happiest of her life since the day Makedewa confessed his feelings for her.  Yet along with the pleasure of exploring touches and stolen kisses, fear of the culmination began to smother her thoughts. Until that very afternoon, she thought she could push it aside.

“Will ye send me back to the English if I do not marry him?” she whispered. Maggie pulled her into a hug.

“Of course not. You’re family, no matter what. You will always have a place with us,” Maggie insisted.

They clung together for a long time in silence, with Maggie rocking her as if they were born blood sisters.