The Legend of the Bloodstone (9 page)

He closed the distance between them in three strides, snatching a fur from the bed and wrapping it around her shoulders like a cloak. He grabbed the white dress from her. She noticed his hands clenched and he trembled, and she could see he struggled to contain his temper.

“Change now, woman,” he growled. “Or I will do it for you.”

She returned his challenge by glaring back into his seething blue depths, then snatched the dress from his hand and turned her back to him.  She heard him stalk away, but even knowing he was across the room still sent shivers down her spine as she let her wet dress fall to the floor. She managed to keep the fur wrapped around her as she stepped into the dry dress, but waited to face him again. 

She felt the flush of her skin and hated herself for her weakness.
Naked skin was nothing special to the Indians, she knew from her observations over the last two days.  Women went topless more often than not, or had a flimsy fur shawl wrapped around their shoulders to cover bare breasts. Maggie was grateful for the modest dresses Teyas gave her, but she was aware that she was much more covered than any of the other young women.  She struggled to be so confident, as Winn obviously expected, but she failed miserably. 

Maggie sat down across from Winn at the fire, keeping the thick fur around her shoulders as they ate.  He took a few bits of food from each bowl and passed it to her, keeping his eyes on hers as he slowly chewed.

“Your wound looks like it heals. You are lucky.”

She refused to meet his eyes as she ate and nodded in response.

“Thank you…for helping me. I can’t reach it very well on my own,” she murmured.

He
rested one hand on a bent knee and lay back onto an elbow, studying her as she finished her meal.  She stole a glance at him over the rim of her cup as she drank, seeing a bemused tilt of his head and a furrowed brow which seemed distinctly non-threatening.

“Women of your time, they have no need of men?” he asked. He twirled a piece of straw in his fingers as he waited for her response.

“Women take care of themselves is all I meant.  They don’t need a man to tell them what to do, or to look after them.” She took another sip from the cup and watched as he struggled to find his words.

“No husbands? The men must be weak to let women behave that way,” he declared, tossing the straw into the fire. She smiled despite herself.

“We still like men, and women do marry. But it’s not necessary to have a man, it’s just…nice. “

“And you? Did you leave a man in your time?”

“Yes,” she said, although she believed she would regret baiting him in such a way when she saw his body tense and his jaw clench. “My grandfather.  I feel like I left him. He died last month, and I’m not there now to put flowers on his grave…or to take care of the farm.  But a boyfriend? No, there is no one.”

His tense demeanor relaxed at her explanation, and he met her tentative smile with a wry smile of his own across the blazing fire.
Good thing she had not mentioned Marcus. Although the thought made her smile, the ache of missing her home felt heavy in her chest. The orange flames cracked and spit when he tossed in a loose stick, and she wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked back.  She rested her chin on her locked hands and stared into the fire, remembering the way it felt when she fell through the barn wall and the sun engulfed her being.  She wanted to ask him where the Bloodstone was, but feared to damage the uneasy peace between them.

“It is strange for me to talk so much to a woman,” he admitted. Now it was her turn to laugh, and she scoffed at his ad
mission.

“Oh, is that so? If you were in my time, I would never give you the time of day with that attitude,” she retorted.
Her confidence grew as their exchange remained playful, but she knew she tread a thin line with his ancient ego.

“
Humpf,” he snorted. “Maybe so,
Tentay teh
.  But here,” he said, pointing to the ground he sat on, “here women obey their men, and wait to be spoken to. My men see you defy my words, and they ask why I did not punish you,” he said quietly. Maggie stopped rocking, aware the conversation had taken a turn. She pushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear and noticed her hand trembled. Damn the man and his veiled threats! 

“I thought I
was
being punished. You keep me here like a prisoner,” she whispered.

“
Pishi
, I do keep you, it is my right. Not as a prisoner.  If that was so, I would have cut out your tongue days ago.”

She said nothing as he sat up, his face shrouded now in an unreadable mask as he stared at her across the fire.
A not-so veiled threat?  She liked it even less.

“
In this time my warriors follow me without question. They wait even now for my command. If I ask them to leave their women, they do so.  And their women honor them as they go.” His voice dipped as he stared into the heart of the fire. “Warriors do not answer to women. I will not answer to you out there,” he pointed toward the door where they could see members of the village taking a meal by a large central fire. “Here, in my
yehakin
, I will hear you. You can call me…
show-vist pig
…and I will hear you.”

Maggie stifled a hysterical laugh
at his attempt to placate her as she bit back her despair. Winn was clearly throwing down the gauntlet, and her life was held in the balance.  She would obey him without question, or she would be punished as women of this time were punished. He understood her own time was very different, so he was giving her a way to talk to him without damaging his authority with the tribe. She wished she could feel more grateful, but the only emotion she could summon was frustrating defeat. She was trapped, not only in his time, but also in his
yehakin,
to be punished at his discretion. He had not forced himself on her, for which she was relieved, but she feared it would not be long before he expected as much.

She would play by his rules, but only until she discovered a way back home. She refused to admit she had little choice, deciding instead to fool him into trusting her. It was the only way to get what she wanted.

“Chauvinist. You’re a chauvinist pig,” she said softly, enunciating the syllables.

“
Pishi
,” he nodded. “And you may keep your tongue.”

He rose from his spot and approached. Her eyes never wavered from his, glaring in muted defiance when he gently pulled her to her feet.  He led her to the sleeping mat, which she let him do since her limbs were numb and useless
at the thought of what would happen next. With a few careful tucks, he nested the furs around her, and she closed her eyes.

When she dared to open them again, she saw him across the fire. He lay on his side, head on his forearm, his eyes closed in sleep.

Chapter 7

A stream of morning sunlight warmed her face as she woke to find the yehakin empty.  She should be glad the heathen left her alone, but a nagging voice in her ear wondered when she would see him again, or if he would return soon to continue ordering her about like she was his personal property. Well, he could stay away all day for all she cared. She was not thrilled with the prospect of deceiving him to get the Bloodstone back, but it was the only chance she had. As much as she would like to smack the smirk off his handsome face, she felt a twinge of anticipation at the thought of letting him kiss her again, glossing over the fact that it was a means to an end and nothing more. 

Her bladder felt near bursting, so she stopped off in the bushes to relieve herself before she made her way to the lean-to.  She could take care of Blaze, and maybe come up with a few ideas of where Winn hid the Bloodstone.  He had few personal belongings, and she had already searched them thoroughly, so she was certain the stone was not in his
yehakin.

She grimaced at her toileting options, leaves or more leaves, and hurriedly completed the task
before anyone noticed she was gone.  It was bad enough walking around with no undergarments, but to have been observed during such a personal act would be humiliating.  She never thought herself a shrew in her own time, yet among the women of the village, she was most assuredly the strange one.  Maggie insisted on covering herself, unwilling to wear the skirts the others wore with only a mantle loosely covering their breasts, her modesty a well-ingrained trait she was unable to change even if it meant fitting in. Teyas understood, and Maggie felt lucky to have her as a tentative ally.  The younger woman took to wearing a full dress very similar to the ones she gave Maggie, as if she gave her silent support by emulation. Maggie was glad for any camaraderie she could get.

Chetan was preparing to mount his pony when Maggie arrived. 
Makedewa was already astride, his horse pawing impatiently at the dirt as they waited for the other warrior.  She was unsure if she should approach Chetan, but when a warm smile creased his face, she decided it was safe enough and continued.

“Red Woman,” he nodded. “Your Blaze grows
well, I think he will be a great stallion someday.”

They turned to watch the colt,
who perked up his ears and issued a shrill whinny at the site of her.  Chetan chuckled and Maggie reached in the fold of her waistband to find a sliver of apple she brought for him, reaching over the rail with the flat of her palm in offering.  The colt quickly slurped up the fruit, leaving a slimy mess on her palm, which she rubbed off on the edge of her dress. Chetan watched the exchange, but his smile faded as he took her hand in his own.

Startled by the contact, but unafraid, she watched as he slowly turned her hand over to stare at her scarred palm.  It was the hand that she held the Bloodstone in, and i
t was creased with a healing silver scar, a heart shaped knot that looked strangely organized as if it was a brand.

“Ah, you have been marked. I see now,” he said softly, as if to himself.

“What do you mean, marked?”

“The Bloodstone.  It marked you, so you must truly be from another time.
A woman who time walks,” he muttered as he shook his head, his round cheeks now more serene than smiling. “Is it a peaceful place, this time you come from?”

“It is very different,” she offered. “Peaceful enough.
” Thoughts of the life she was torn away from were like lead in her throat, and she shook her head against the tears that threatened. “I miss it very much,” she admitted.  He ducked his head, squinted his eyes, and uttered a nervous cough to clear his throat.

“Maybe you are here because you should be.  I think if you open your eyes, you will find happiness here with our people.”

She did not answer him, unwilling to argue when he was trying to be kind, so she shrugged her shoulders in response as she remained silent.

“Winn buried the Bloodstones to keep you away, but still you are here. He thought
never to disobey our Uncle. He was sure he would kill the Red Woman if ever she arrived.”

“Everyone would be happier if he just let me go home.”

Chetan smiled, shaking his bowed head.

“
No, I think not. Not my brother, and not you. I hear your words, but I see your heart. You were meant for this place, Fire Heart.”

A protest formed on her lips, but she did not voice it. There was no argument she could make against such magical things.

“Do you ride horses as well as you care for them?” he asked. She raised her eyebrows at his words.

“Well, yes, yes I do. I’m a good rider.”

“Then come with me. I go to scout our border.”

She glanced around him at Makedewa, who she could tell was listening but held his tongue. What harm would it do to take a ride? She was tired of
being treated like a prisoner, as if she had no more value than an ear of corn, so perhaps a ride would ease her anxiety for a few hours.

“All right, I would like that. But will Winn be upset if I leave?”

Chetan made a deep snorting sound. “Upset? Yes, he will be. My brother is War Chief, but I am still a man.  If you want to ride, you can come with me.”

She grinned like a
schoolgirl playing hooky when he slung a hackamore bridle on a spotted pony and gave her a leg up.  She was unaccustomed to riding bareback, a pursuit she left behind in adolescence, but she was eager to leave the village for a while and would have submitted to anything to do so. The animal was plump with a thick stout neck, making for a more comfortable ride than a more lean horse, and she settled quickly into the motion of keeping her seat with her thigh muscles as they left the village. 

They passed by the long house and entered the woods, keeping to a narrow dirt trail winding through the evergreens. There was a gentle cool breeze among the trees, and as it lifted her hair from the nape of her
neck, she raised her hands high and stretched. Although her healing shoulder ached, it still felt wonderful, and as her chest expanded, the heady scent of the forest filled her lungs.  Rocking with the motion of the horse, she let out a deep sigh and replaced her hands back down to rest on her bared thighs.  She had never ridden bareback dressed so scantily, but the exhilaration of freedom squashed any doubts she might have had.