The Legend of the Bloodstone (4 page)

“What meaning
is Ma-gee? A strange name,” he asked. She still trembled, and her voice reflected as much.

“Maggie. It doesn’t mean anything, I think.”

“You belong here now,” he said. His hands left her face, but traced a path down her back with a startling familiarity. Confusion and loss filled the space between them as he drew away. “My brothers are near. They will ride with us back to the village.” He gathered the reins together and the horse snorted, hooves prancing in response.

“
Ntënuyëm
!”

Winn uttered the greeting
as a shriek and the two newcomers answered immediately in kind. The horse began to stomp, lifting its hooves in place in anticipation as the two riders approached.

They
dressed similar to him, in buckskins and beaded adornments, bare chested as well. If he had not told her they were his kin, she would not have guessed as much. One man, shorter than Winn but with slightly more breadth to his shoulders and waist, stood silent behind a round creased face. His brown eyes held a careful tolerance as he deferred to his companion. The second man compared to Winn in stature, but when his hostile black eyes fell sharp on Maggie, the fear that Winn had chased away returned. His dark copper skin gleamed with sweat, its shade quite different from Winn’s lighter bronze. The two men wasted little time in survey of her before they spoke to Winn.

They s
poke in short, tight responses, the cadence of their exchange abrupt. She had no idea what they were saying or what language they spoke, but she was pretty sure the two newcomers were angry. The shorter man said little since the other seemed to dominate the conversation.  The second man shot a glare at Maggie, then at Winn, and erupted into a furious stream of shouting.  Winn listened without interruption, but then something the other man uttered caused him to snatch Maggie’s bloody hand and hold it up for them to see.

“
Sawwehone Shacquohocan!”

Although his body was tense behind her, the words he spoke were calm. Not knowing what they were saying infuriated her, especially since she seemed the target of the other man’s anger.  At the sight of
her hand, the two men fell silent. The silence stretched as they stared.

“What is going on?” she asked, half turned around in Winn’s lap. She snatched her wrist away, a motion that brought laughter from the shorter man.  The other remained silent, his lips pursed in a thin line.

“Your woman has a loud mouth,
nimahtes
. Maybe you should tame her first, then come back home,” the short man laughed. His dark eyes brightened, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he chuckled.  The second brother did not smile.

The horse beneath them stomped the ground and tossed its head.

“She has a wound that must be cleaned. I will tame her after it is healed.”

They spoke in English this time, but Maggie did not like the conversation any better in her own language. What happened to the man w
ho comforted her so sweetly, as if he wanted to chase her fear away? Why was he laughing with his brothers about
taming
her? Scarlet warmth rose from her neck to her cheeks at the implication.

She decided enough was enough.
Winn’s hold lessened a fraction as he spoke with the men. Maggie took advantage of the distraction and jumped down off the horse, taking off in a sprint out of the clearing back into the woods.  The wound on her shoulder screamed in protest at the effort, and a fresh surge of blood saturated her torn parka. How could she be so stupid, trusting a stranger! Maybe she was trapped in another time, but she did not have to act like an imbecile, and she was certainly not going to be
tamed
by any man!

It took him mere seconds to catch her.

His fist caught her around the waist, knocking her off balance and sending them both sprawling into a heap on the forest ground.  Maggie kicked and tried to scratch him, but his hands were quick and he proceeded to shove her fists above her head into the dirt. She cried out at the searing pain in her shoulder and tried to catch a breath through aching ribs. His strapping legs entrapped her kicking limbs, and his hips pinned her pelvis to the ground. He panted shallow with the effort of containing her struggle, and seeing his frustration felt like a measure of triumph. He glared at her, wordless, as she tried to scramble away, and she felt the cold earth against her bare back as her thin tee shirt rode up under her open parka. The shirt bunched up around her breasts, exposing her pink lace bra against his chest. She twisted her hips in an attempt to squirm away, but his free hand pushed her back down. His gaze flickered as he glanced downward and his eyes widened when they surveyed her breasts caught against his skin. The hand holding her hip traveled slowly upward and his fingers brushed the side of her lacy bra.

“Oh, no you don’t!” she exploded. She slammed her head up against his, and h
is blue eyes flared as a scowl creased his face with a low uttered curse.

“Enough!” he shouted.

Blood dripped from his mouth as he thrust his hand into her hair and slammed it back to the ground. She cried out in pain and surprise at the reaction and frustrated tears formed across her lashes. She understood immediately that her plan to get away was a foolish one. The man who chased her tears away was gone, replaced by an enraged warrior bent on submission.

“Do not run from me again!
” he said.

“I won’t stay here. I don’t belong here!”

“You
do
belong here.” His cold glare betrayed no emotion other than anger and she knew she treaded a dangerous path with her resistance. She expected his fury, but was shocked when he produced a long cord of rawhide and began to wrap it snug around her wrists.

“No!
Goddamnit, let me go!” she screamed. He ducked to evade her head butt and continued to tie her hands, otherwise ignoring her outburst as blood from his split lower lip dripped down his set jaw. She cursed through gritted teeth. “You bastard! No! Let me go!”

He
dragged her to her feet, and when she kicked out at him he snatched her chin painfully in his fingers. He spoke the warning low, a hiss that only the two of them could hear.

“I will bind your legs if you kick me. I will bind your
foul mouth if you speak. Do you understand?”

She
glared at the face now shrouded in an unreadable mask. Her wrists ached against the binding, and her shoulder throbbed where the bear claw marked her.  There were few options available to her. She closed her eyes and nodded one time in reluctant submission.

He grunted
a word she did not understand, and then hoisted her into his arms with disturbing ease. The obedient horse waited a few paces away.  He placed her back on the beast and swung up behind her before the other two men joined them. 

There was no more talking.

Chapter 4

Winn did not look at his two brothers as he rode with the woman. She remained silent now, her fire subdued for the moment.  He regretted the need to threaten her, but he was stunned by the way she fought him.  Memory of the manner in which she defied him in front of his brothers caused a scowl to darken his face again. He knew she was from another time by her odd clothes and strange way of speaking, but even so, he could not fathom why she dared challenge him. Did woman in her time disobey their men and just do as they pleased? He could not let her defiance go without reprimand, especially when his brothers stood by as witnesses.

He gripped the reins tighter and sighed. Maybe the
Great Creator made a mistake. He looked down at her head lying against his chest, amber locks sprawled across his skin. By the Gods, she was beautiful, but so willful! He remembered the way it felt when she fought beneath him, the way she ignited when he touched her. Even then, with anger clouding his thoughts, he wanted to possess her. When she made him bleed, it took every measure of strength he had not to tear her strange clothes from her body and ravage her in the dirt. Only the knowledge of his brothers approaching dampened his lust.

T
he Great Creator must have made a mistake. She could not be the one he was meant to kill.

His brother Chetan laughed no longer, although he seemed to enjoy questioning Winn’s manhood when the woman first tried to get away. 
Makedewa, however, kept a tense silence. Other than his original outburst of disbelief that Winn did not slaughter the woman on site, Makedewa kept his thoughts to himself and rode ahead, alone. Winn suspected it was not the last he would hear from his temperamental younger brother on the matter, but at least he had sense enough to let it be until they returned to the village.

It was good the men remained silent, since he was in no mood to answer to any more of their jibes.  Her soft, round bottom jammed up against his hips drove him so senseless he could barely concentrate on guiding the horse, let alone argue with his brothers. With each
stride she rocked back against him in a maddening rhythm and her soft auburn hair brushed his chin. Closing his eyes gave no relief, damn her. Even her scent maddened him, a sweet honeysuckle aroma that drifted to his senses with each pace of the horse.

Winn shook his head, confused at the pull this woman held over him
. He grew up listening to tales about the Bloodstones, how someday a Time Walker would arrive who would end the life of the Great Weroance. All young braves longed for the chance to kill a Time Walker, and bring honor on the tribe for the sacrifice. Everyone knew the prophecy, his brothers included, and they all had reasons to anticipate the coming of the next Time Walker.  Many wished for another sacrifice to gain favor with the Weroance, with the belief it would bring prosperity to their decimated Paspahegh tribe. Opechancanough bestowed the greatest rewards on those warriors who served him the head of a Time Walker. But those gifts had been the heads of men, never a woman. 

Winn let his chin rest against her soft
auburn hair for the briefest of moments. He did not want to wake her, giving her less opportunity to cause trouble in front of his brothers. As much as her presence was a shock to him, it was even more so to his brothers. 

Winn
knew not why he failed to kill her on sight. Perhaps because she was a woman. Once his Uncle learned of her arrival he would be bound to act, her gender of no consequence.

The bundle of sleeping fire in his arms stirred, her rose stained lips falling open as she sighed.
He needed badly to shift his weight, but he did not want to wake her. Her battered body needed rest, and he needed to regain some semblance of control.             

Her
hand slipped down across his waist as they rode. She was a curious thing. She was not tall, about the same height as the women of his village, perhaps shorter. Her skin was creamy ivory like the bone-handled knife in his belt, her hair scented with meadow flowers.  Dirt smudged her face and neck and leaves tangled in the bright auburn hair that flowed nearly to her waist. He wished to take her to the river and bathe her himself, but he knew his sister and mother would not allow that once they laid eyes on her.

Despite the surge of possession that railed through his bones when he looked at her, a current
of anger remained.  How could the slip of a woman defy and belittle him in front of his brothers? If he had any sense he would end her life now and leave her body to the wolves. 

How could he follow through with what he was
bound by honor to do?

He uttered a half-snort, half-growl at his own thoughts, eliciting a curious glance from Chetan.  Winn ignored the wordless inquiry from his brother and continued the ride in silence.
If the woman was powerful enough to cause him both barely constrained anger and uncontrolled lust in the span of one evening, he feared what any more time in her presence would wreak on his self-control.

He wondered again if the petulant gods made a terrible mistake a
s he glanced down at her. He could see the curve of her breast pressed against his chest, covered by the remarkable thin pink fabric binding she wore beneath her torn clothes. Winn grinned as he recalled how she exploded when he examined the strange fabric, her eyes alight with fury as she fought him like an animal. Of course, she must have feared the worst by his actions, and for that he was sorry, since he meant no harm. Ah, she probably thought he was a dog, pawing at her like that!

He
let out a groan as he adjusted her sleeping body in his lap.

P
erhaps the Great Creator enjoyed watching him suffer.

***

“Shh, shh, Maggie-mae, it’s only a dream.” Marcus wrapped her in his burly arms, smoothing the hair back off her tear-stained face as she cried.  She trembled with the force of the nightmare.  Although she knew Marcus would never let anyone hurt her, she still feared the darkness.  Once the lights dimmed again and he left her alone, the shadows would dance across the walls and her toys would begin to talk. The mischievous teddy bear on her dresser would grin, and the string puppet hanging from a hook would taunt her, until she was again screaming.

“Please don’t go! They’ll come back!” she sobbed.