The Legend of the Bloodstone (26 page)

Alice unlatched the bedroom door, and as Maggie peeked out from behind her, she saw Benjamin jump to his feet, his wide brimmed hat clenched in one fist and his shoulders sprinkled with fresh snow. His high cheekbones were flushed with cherry red dimples as his eyes met hers across the room.

Maggie was relieved to see Thomas was not present, so she felt somewhat safer as she let Alice lead her into the parlor.

“Mistress Martin,” Benjamin said with a curt nod of his head.  His eyes remained fixed on Maggie as he spoke, pained and searching, and she dropped her gaze to break the contact. She did not wish to hurt him, but she could hardly find strength enough not to run screaming from the house, let alone continue to pretend to be a happy, compliant Englishwoman. Her head still spinning with the news of her discovery, she tried to cling to some vestige of sanity, but knowing Winn would never come rescue her from the façade left little motivation for her to continue the ploy.

“Good morning, Young Benjamin,” Alice replied.  “Margaret is fee
ling much better today. Will ye please sit with her while I fetch more kindling?”

“Of course.” He dipped his head to Alice as she passed, leaving them alone in the parlor, the crack and spit of the fire the only sound between them.

“Are ye well, Maggie? Ye look quite pale.”

She
wanted to tell him he would look just the same, having been beaten within an inch of his life, but she bit back the retort for lack of caring or strength to argue. She shrugged.

“I’m fine. You can go away now.”

She stood up and turned her back to him, her eyes focused instead on the fire. Anything was better than looking into his tragic face, full of guilt, longing, and other unmentionables.

“
I’m sorry for what happened. He was my friend as well as yours. I can see it pains you, and I wish I could-”

“You could what, Benjamin?
Bring him back? Give my child a father? Get out,” she screamed, the fury spilling forth like the swell of a hurricane. “Get out! Get out!”

She shrieked and slapped him when he put his hands on her, determined
to never allow another to assault her.  He did not block her blows, merely stood there, his hands on her shoulders, until finally he pulled her against him to cease the attack. She hated every ounce of his touch, every gentle pat, every calming word he spoke, and finally when her screaming quieted she simply sobbed against him, thumping his hated chest with her fist.

“Ye
carry his child?” he asked quietly. She did not raise her head, but nodded.

“Yes.”

His arms tightened around her and she grimaced against the pain.

“Then grieve for him tonight,” he murmu
red. “And tomorrow I will see ye to church.”

He placed a gentle kiss on her brow, placed his hat on his head, and left.

Chapter 18

Maggie walked dutifully beside Benjamin, wishing she could pull her hand away from where he had it tucked firmly in his elbow.  As the stale days passed and left her aching with loneliness, she found it best to make plans on her own and decided it was time to speak with the Pale Witch.  No one could help save her child but Finola.

She knew the time of the massacre was approaching, but her memories of history were fuzzy at best. Yes, she knew it happened in early spring, but she could not recall the exact date, and for that
matter, the English kept dates differently than she was accustomed to in the future so she was not quite sure how the numbers would correlate anyway.  The only truth she knew for certain was if she wanted to avoid the upcoming massacre, she needed to get out of Martin’s Hundred as soon as she possibly could.

Benjamin continued to press his attentions, but she was relieved he seemed somewhat shy and reserved in his courting and remained patient to gain her favor.  She felt sorry for deceiving him, letting him believe she
was a happy recipient of his affection, but she had no other option save telling him the truth. 

They took a different path to town than she was accustomed, and as they passed down a lane through a narrow stretch of dense woods, she wondered if he chose the seclusion on purpose.  His intentions became clear when he stopped walking and took her hand more intimately in his own.

“Benjamin, we should hurry on,” she began, stunned when he raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles.

“I beg your leave, Maggie, but I
must speak to ye.”

He caught her by the fingertips and held them tight so she could not flee.

“I do not wish to cause ye distress,” he began. “But I fear we must act quickly,” he pleaded. She shook her head, afraid of his meaning, uncertain how to placate him and extricate herself from the awkward mess.

“
I don’t know what you mean-”

“I ask
ye to marry me. Please be my wife,” he said softly. She stepped back.

“Benjamin – “

“If we do not marry soon, people will soon notice yer condition, and there will be talk.”

She shook her head and turned her eyes downward, unable to meet his soft searching
gaze.

“I
cannot marry you, Benjamin,” she murmured.

“Maggie,” he sighed. “
Your Uncle will disown you, and possibly send ye back to England. I can do nothing to change that…unless you marry me now.”

“Why? Why would you ask this
, when you know I carry his child?” she cried, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes as she lost patience with him.

“It matters not to me,” he said softly.  Shocked by his admission, and not expecting such a declaration from a man of his time, she let him
hold her closer and raised her swollen eyes to his.

“Why would I hold ye at fault for such a thing? Ye were lost and injured, ye are lucky to live. It is not your doing what happened,” he replied, his eyes damping with sadness. “Ye came here under contract on your Uncle’s bidding. And whatever happened between ye and Winn…he was my friend, even so. At least I can offer ye protection now.”

Taken aback by his sincerity and struck by the guilt in his words, she leveled her response with the kindest tone she could muster.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“
He asked it of me, before he died. He asked me to protect you. It is the last thing I can do for him...to see you cared for.”

She bit her lower lip.
No. Winn would not have asked this of her…would he? Winn, her warrior, the man who had killed a brave for placing an ownership mark on her head? Would Winn truly have wanted this? She did not believe he would send her willingly to another man, unless…unless he knew he could no longer be there to protect her from what was to come.

“What did he say to you?” she whispered. She stepped away from him, but he did not let her leave him entirely. His eyes dipped down and he clutched her hands harder.

“With his last words, he spoke of you. He knew the shot was fatal…he asked me to keep you safe.”

She bowed her head into her hands and her body began to tremble. Memory of his promises stung her as the tears flowed.

Now you will feel no rain, for I will shelter you.

Was this his way of keeping his promise, even in death?

“All right,” she whispered, the words like ice upon her tongue. He ran one hand through his unruly hair, and his cheeks burned with a hint of crimson at her declaration.  He raised the hand he held to his lips and kissed it gently.

“
Yes, then. Good, it is settled. Come now, Mistress Finola awaits us.”

***

Finola did not take the news well.  She had closed her shop to visitors, yet when Maggie and Benjamin arrived that morning, she allowed them entrance.  She stepped back from the door and waved them inside, clutching a wool cloak around her as the snow whipped in behind them. She looked older than when Maggie had last visited, her face drawn, her skin an unhealthy pallor.  The older woman sat down on a stool next to the fire and placed her hands close to the flames, rubbing her palms to warm them.  Maggie recalled her own desire to let the flames consume her, and her heart ached fresh at the thought of their shared loss.

Benjamin took her cloak from her shoulders, and Maggie sank down on her knees in front of Finola.  Their hands met and entwined together, and they both kept their gaze on the snapping flames of the fire. Maggie could cry no tears for Winn with Benjamin at her side, but the older woman seemed to know her heart and she patted her hand in a soothing manner.

“He was the best of them, you know. The Paspahegh, that is,” Finola said quietly. She kept her eyes on the fire as she spoke, and Maggie felt each of her words like a dagger scraping slowly across her skin. 

“He was,”
Maggie answered, the words hollow on her dry lips. 

“Will Thomas Martin be punished for his crime?”

Finola turned then to look at Benjamin, and he paled considerably.

“You know there was no crime, Mistress,” he said, his voice breaking with the last bit of words.  He shoved his hat back over his unruly curls.

“Yes, I know.  No crime but the murder of my grandson.”

“
Take care for your words, lest someone else hear them. I will see to my business and return for ye soon, Maggie. Mistress.” He nodded to them both in a stilted manner and quickly made his exit.

Maggie felt a surge of relief when Benjamin left the cabin, leaving her and Finola to visit. Finola must have sensed her urgency, because after Benjamin left
she quickly closed the door and latched it securely.

“Come,” she said simply, and waved her toward a separate room in the back.

Maggie followed her into the second half of the house, a common sitting room with her sleeping space in one corner. The older woman reached under her mattress, and after fiddling through the linens for a few moments, she withdrew a bundle wrapped in silk.

“What do you have there, Finola?” Maggie asked.

“Sit down, dear,” she ordered as she unwrapped the bundle. When it was unbound, Maggie did as she was directed and sat down on a chair, nearly missing the seat but finding it with two outstretched hands.

From her thin white fingers hung a pendant on a thick gold chain, the center of the setting a fat, shining, Bloodstone.

“Before ye ask, child, this is my Bloodstone. I cannot give it to ye, nor may another use it. It marks ye, you see. I have the same mark as ye,” she explained, holding out her palm for inspection. It was true. They shared the same brand.

“But how does it work? Why am I here?” she asked, her questions running together in an incoherent jumble of nonsense. “Tell me!”

“Aye, of course, I will tell ye! I do not know where yer stone is hidden. My grandson kept his secrets well,” she said softly. Maggie felt a surge of despair at the revelation, but she knew the outcome had bound her to the time more powerfully than any shackle could. “The stone needs your blood to work the magic, that is how it bonds to the bearer. My mother taught me how to use it long ago.”

“Oh,” Maggie said. “Blood…I cut my hand before I picked it up.”

Finola nodded. “So it knows you now, and you cannot walk again without it.”

“There has to be another way – have you tried to use another stone?” Maggie asked.

“But child, if I had your stone here to give ye now, would ye truly want to use it? I think your heart lies here, and this is the time ye now call home,” she said. “The babe in your belly belongs to this time, does it not?”

“But,” she began, but then her lips fell silent. She wrapped her arms around her body to stem her trembling, trying to wash away the doubt the woman brought forth. Would she leave, if she could? Could she walk away from
this time? She shook her head. The thought of leaving Winn’s memory in the past hurt more than the notion of what she left in the future, the door to the fable of her old life clicking shut with a gentle tap. By staying in the past, would her son know his father? Or would they both be better off in the time she was born to?

“Nay, no need to answer me, dear. It is as it should be,
” she sighed.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the Bloodstones are curious things. They have been used by my people for centuries, and have been known as powerful talismans. Only the most skilled
Gyoja
can truly harness their power, and once used, the Bloodstone marks its bearer, ye see,” she said. 

“Wait, wait a second!
Gyoja
? What does that mean?” Maggie interrupted.

“It is what my people call a sorcerer. A priest. Here in James City, a witch,” she answered.

“So the Weroance was right. You are a witch.”

Finola shrugged.

“Opechancanough is an old fool, he knows nothing.”

“What lies between you? He told me he spared my life, as he once spared yours,” Maggie said. “What was he talking about?”

“A tale best left buried, is all.  It is true, he let me leave. He fears too much what he canna understand. Enough of him,” she muttered, shaking her head. “He is too stubborn to see such truth.”