The Legend of the Bloodstone (38 page)

“I know not except that if I deny him, he will consider it a great insult.  He asks me to sit by his side at this meal.”

The thought of
insulting the Weroance left a sour taste in her throat, especially considering the last encounter she had with the man.  She did not fully trust the Weroance, but she could not let Winn pass over the chance to mend the strain between him and his Uncle. They not only had themselves to think about, but their family as well.

“But if you insult him, he may come for us,” she said softly.

“I would go, but he asks for more than I can give. He wants the Red Woman there as well. I will not take you, and I cannot leave you here unprotected. There is no other choice.”

“I will go with you.”

Maggie said the words and knew he would refuse, but she had to convince him it was the only way.  If there was a chance to make peace with the Weroance, they would all sleep better for it, and perhaps they would not have to live always waiting for an enemy to strike.

“Please, Winn. 
If it will calm your Uncle’s hatred, I will go with you.  It will make life much safer for us all,” she pleaded.  She tried to keep calm as he looked hard at her, and then the child.  He glanced back at the cave, where Ahi Kekeleksu stood watching with Teyas. Finally, he issued a quick response to the visitors, and although they nodded in respect as they left, she could see their faces streaked with anger.

She followed Winn back to the cave, wondering what the refusal would cost them
.

Chapter
25

  Kwetii squealed as Maggie placed her on the soft swaddling blanket, tiny feet kicking at the empty air as her round red faced puckered to make her happy noise. Maggie reached down to the child and tickled her tummy as she patted her dry, eager to dress her before she sat up in the dirt, which was her most favorite thing to do. Winn thought her strange for covering the child, but Maggie held fast to her ingrained notions of propriety and insisted on dressing the child instead of allowing her to roll around naked. 

“Ah, more silly clothes my daughter will ruin?”

Maggie rolled her eyes at Winn as he approached.  They watched Kwetii scramble onto her belly and sit up on the blanket, her round blue eyes searching for something to hold her attention, looking up at the ancient willow tree that shaded their serene resting place. She spotted Winn standing behind Maggie and let out a screech with her two chubby arms upraised toward her father.  When he scooped her up, Maggie noticed the rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Hunting?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes, we will return before dark. How goes the packing?”

“Most of it is ready. We can leave on your word,” she replied, scrunching her shoulder to her ear as he kiss
ed her neck , his touch sending shivers down her back. He held Kwetii at his hip with one arm and wrapped his other around her waist, lifting her up and spinning them both around as they screeched with laughter.

“Stop, stop, enough!” she laughed. Kwetii emitted a brisk hiccup through her wide toothless grin. The child clutched one long piece of hair in her hand, but Winn did not seem to mind.

Her chest heaved with the effort of catching her breath and trying not to laugh, and as she looked down at his chest where her hand rested, she could see Winn was breathing heavy as well. Warmed from the mid day sun, his skin felt hot beneath her fingers, and she could feel the stagger of his heart beat under his breast.

“
You have to leave?” she asked breathlessly.

He shifted very slightly, but enough for her to feel he could be convinced to stay if she gave him a good reason. She lifted her chin and placed a fleeting kiss on his neck, beneath his chin, where she knew he was sensitive, and she smiled when he groaned and his fingers tightened on her waist. With all the preparations of leaving, they had whittled the
yehakins down and all slept now in the cave, and under the watchful eye of five other people and one cranky baby, they had done little more than sleep at night.

Outside on such a beautiful day, with nature smiling around them, she realized how long it had been and her body thrummed like a plucked string in anticipation of his touch. She stretched up on her toes and nipped at his earlobe, pleased when he shivered
and his head ducked toward hers. His raven hair brushed her shoulder as his hungry mouth sought hers, his free arm drawing her closer so that she felt just how much he wanted her as well.

“Come inside,” he murmured between kisses.

“We’ll have to hurry, the others will be back soon.”

He grinned. “It will be faster if I take you here,
ntehem
.”

She gasped when his hand slid under her dress and covered one buttock, grasping her firmly to him.

“See? I will not need long,” he whispered. He lowered the baby to the blanket and quickly returned to attack her, pushing her dress up and sliding his hand between her thighs to test her readiness.

“Here?” she squeaked. He nodded, one hand bu
sy with the laces at her neck, grunting when the doeskin fell open and he had access to her breasts.

“Yes
, here.”

She straddled his hips
as he lifted her up, wincing as the bark scratched against her back when he pushed her against the tree trunk, the pain only a minor discomfort compared to the feel of his lips on her skin. 

The butt of the gun smacked against her
knuckles and she moaned.

“Rifle,” she said. He lifted the strap off with one quick swipe and
leaned the gun next to her on the tree. His breechclout was pushed aside and she cried out with his thrust, the delicious joining serving her to a place where time slowed to nothingness and her blood knew naught but his.

“Ah, yes!” he groaned, bearing them back harder against the tree, the force of the movement sending a tremor down deep through her core. She tasted blood on her tongue from where she bit her own lip, felt the abrasion of her skin upon the rough bark, but she heard nothing in her ears except the whisper of need between them, roaring with a violence as if a current through her veins.
Hard and soft, wicked and weak, they moved together in frantic rhythm, taking enough for the moment but wanting it all.

“
Ntehem
,” he said when he leaned spent against her, his forehead pressed to hers. “I told you it would be quick.”

She giggled and kissed his trembling lips as her legs slid down to support her own weight. The baby let out a wail, piercing
the peaceful glow between them, and they reluctantly separated. Maggie pulled the wailing child into her arms and sighed when Kwetii latched frantically onto a sore nipple, wincing as the babe clutched at her breast but relieved to give her comfort all the same.

Winn picked up the rifle and slung it over his shoulder by the carrying strap, then kissed her flushed cheek. His mouth twisted up into a grin, his blue eyes squinted
half-closed as he looked down on the nursing babe.

“If only I could spend my day like that,” he murmured.

“Like a baby?” she asked.  He nodded.

“Suckling your breast? Yes, that would be a good life,” he grinned.

Maggie rolled her eyes and pursed her lips together, but was unable to stifle a laugh when he enclosed them both in a fierce hug. His lips sent a shiver through her when he kissed her ear and whispered sweet Paspahegh endearments, his breath thick and warm on her neck.

“Hurry back,” she said.

“
You will see me at nightfall. Be good,
ntehem
.”

She watched him walk to the path at the edge of the woods, and when she could no longer see the outline of his bronzed shoulders, she took the baby back to the cave.

***

She rolled the letter tight and bound it with a thin piece of rawhide. Winn’s pewter flask, a gift from Benjamin, sat waiting to receive the missive.  It would have to do.  She could think of no other way to let Marcus know she lived, and that although she would be long dead before such word reached him, he would know she lived a happy life in the past.

On the outside of the rolled parchment, written with a dove quill dipped in some ink Chetan brought back from town, she left directions.  It was to be given to Marcus Neilson on Saturday, October sixth, two thousand twelve, the day after the Bloodstone took her. She knew it was possible the letter would never reach him, but she had to try. It was the only way she could put the ghosts of her future to rest.

May 1623

Dear Marcus,

I can only pray that this letter somehow reaches you, and that you can forgive me for not returning home. Believe
me, I tried to return, many times, but the longer I stayed, the more I came to see my life was meant to be lived in the past.

I’m
not crazy. I do not write this under duress. Nothing bad happened to me when I disappeared. I think I heard you calling me as I left that day in the barn, so you probably saw me disappear.  Please know there was nothing you could have done to prevent it. Some things are just meant to be, and I truly believe my leaving was one of them.

It was a strange black stone that
did it, a shiny warm stone with a streak of red running through the center like a bloody vein.  It is called a Bloodstone, and it is very powerful. My husband buried them many years ago, a small pile of them inside an old trunk, right where our barn was built.  They must have been dug up and just thrown into the foundation when they built the place. If you find any more of them in the barn, please bury them deep in the earth so no one can ever find them. Although the Bloodstone brought me here, I cannot say for sure how the magic works, so I view them with more fear than curiosity.

Please know I am safe and happy here with my husband, Winkeohkwet. We have a beautiful daughter, and I am sure the future
will be filled with happiness.

I must tell you something, and though I hesitate to cause you grief, I know you would want to hear it. Your son, Benjamin, was here in the past. My friend Finola tells me he traveled here as a young boy, and then lived among the English settlers at Martin’s Hundred, outside of Jamestown. We helped him use the Bloodstone to return to your time. I hope that Benjamin reached you and that he is safe. It would comfort me to know you see him again, that your son
is returned to you. He will have much to tell you about this time, but I will leave that to him, as it is his story to tell.

May your future be
happy. I love you very much, and think of you often. Please take care, and rest easy, knowing I am happy as well.

Love always,

Maggie-mae

The Bloodstones sat piled inside the Viking chest, a square metal lined thing that Winn buried them
in.  Someday, somehow, those stones ended up in the foundation of her barn, so Maggie hoped that by leaving the flask with the stones, the letter might find its way to Marcus.

She placed the flask inside and closed the trunk.
Kwetii let out a squeal from where she lay on her belly watching as Maggie shoved dirt back over the chest.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Everything is okay now.”

***

Kwetii was crying, her sobs echoing against the walls of the cavern.

Maggie reached out to the babe, but found an empty space beside her where the babe should be.

The cries became weaker, and Maggie screamed for Winn.

“Winn?” she whispered, sitting up groggily on her pallet, the furs tumbling down in a pile around her.  The events of the nightmare came back in one disjointed flash, and she reached for her daughter amidst her panic.  “Oh, sweetheart!” she sighed.  She brushed back a tear from her eye and placed the sleeping baby against her chest. 

She looked up at the sky as she left the cave.  It was just past dusk, the sky slathered with streaks of purple and orange as the sun dipped low over the horizon.  She must have dozed off after feeding the baby, as they often did, which was good since that meant Winn would be back soon.  Maggie did not like to be alone at the settlement, but with the others tied up with preparing to leave, she found herself there with just the baby for company quite often. 

Maggie placed the baby on the ground, still swaddled in a soft doeskin blanket, and walked a few paces away into the underbrush to relieve her bladder.  She hastily patted dry and rose to her feet.

They had not made a sound.  Standing over Kwetii were two familiar warrior
s. Maggie recognized the scalplock hair immediately, and as bile rose up from the pit of her stomach, she knew they were the men sent by Opechancanough. 

“Kwishali!”
She said forcefully, tilting her head up to address them in the few words of their language she knew.  She hoped if she told them they frightened her, they would back away from the baby, but her hopes dimmed when she saw they did not budge.  Their faces displayed nothing, two granite slabs staring at her and the baby as if they had stumbled onto something that perplexed them. One man glanced at the other and muttered a string of curt words she did not understand, and the other nodded and made a quick retort. When one man bent to pick up the child, she darted toward him and grabbed for her daughter.