The Legend of the Bloodstone

  “Do you still think all whites are worth nothing?” she asked, fearing his answer but driven to ask nonetheless. He cupped her face in his hand and ran his thumb over her pink bottom lip, parted it with the pressure, and then gently kissed it.

  “You are worth everything to me,” he murmured. “I have nothing to give you, no fine clothes such as you once wore, no land to call my own but where we might rest our heads at night. Can you love a man such as this?”

  She placed her hand over his heart, and he covered it with his own.

  “I love this man beside me, and that is all that matters,” she whispered.

  He turned his head to her palm and kissed her cupped hand, pulling her close to fit against his broad chest. There would be no other for her, she realized with a heat coursing through her body that warmed even her deepest fears, smothering any lingering doubt between them.

  “For my people, when words of love are spoken between a man and woman, they are married in the eyes of the village,” he said softly. “You are my wife, in here, in my heart…if you will have me.”

  She nodded, choking back a sob as her tears flowed.

  “Say the words to me, and I will have you.”

  He brought her hands to his lips and gently kissed them, his eyes never wavering from hers.

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

  Now you will feel no cold, for I will warm you.

  Now you will never be lonely, for we will be together.

  There is only one life before us.

  Now we walk as one.”

  Time stood silent as he kissed her, the passage of seconds akin to the swinging of an eternal pendulum, easy in motion yet moving time forward barely a moment. At standstill, but not stagnant, she welcomed the lapse and begged more of it, wishing her heart to settle safely among the scattered petals of their souls. His lips tasted of sweet brandy when he kissed her, the kiss of a man she now called husband.

  They both heard Makedewa call for Winn at the same time and saw his shadow across the doorway. Maggie broke away, her hand still grasped in his.

  “No!” Winn groaned, snatching her back toward him. She saw the darkness in his hooded eyes as his lips came down, seeking the last vestige of her to take to arms, ready to plunder into oblivion anything that would stand between them. Their frantic hands sought each other, clothes quickly parted, skin seeking skin, and she thought her heart would explode through her chest with wanting of him when he pushed her back against the furs.

  “I cannot let you go!” he whispered hoarsely in her ear as he clutched her hip with one shaking hand and pushed her dress up with the other.

  “Never,” she breathed. She wrapped her legs around his hips and bit into his shoulder to stem her moans as he thrust, the frenzied joining the only way to meld their lifeblood back into a synchronous melody once again.

  “Winkeohkwet!” Makedewa shouted.

  She broke away from his lips but he did not stop, and she damned him as he took them to sweet completion, yet urged him on all the same.

  “Not yet!” he growled.

  “Winn!” she cried.

  “Yes, now! Now, ntehem, now!”

  He buried her moans with his mouth, their gasps for breath hammering through her ears as if no other sound existed. Sucked into the succulent embrace of him, she clutched him back as he started to pull away.

  With glazed eyes, he kissed her neck and then her breast, his hands pushing her dress back down into place. He gently released her, his lips brushing over her knuckles as her fingertips finally left his grip. She heard his whispered pledge as she braced against the furs and tried to slow her gasping breaths, the promise an echo through her soul before he left.

  “Nexasi, ntehem. Lapich knewel.”

  “Tell me what that means,” she whispered. His lips formed a smile that failed to reach his eyes as he answered her request.

  “Be safe, my heart. I will see you again.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Winn sat perched on his pony, ready to follow the English back to their town. He glared at the man who claimed to be her uncle, and wondered what game he played as he snapped the reins and sent the horse forward. Winn knew little of the man called Thomas Martin, and was certain Benjamin had no idea the man was lying about Maggie being his niece. Perhaps the man truly believed Maggie was his lost niece, but Winn suspected there was something afoul in the Englishman’s claim and Benjamin was caught in the middle of it. Benjamin had proven his friendship to the Paspahegh and visited Winn often, so he felt some trust Benjamin, but he had none of that confidence for the rest of the English.

  Damn that interfering Nemattanew, that sneaky spy his uncle trusted so much. Forced to make a decision in front of his people and the English, none of the choices were acceptable to him. Give her to the English who claim her as kin, or refuse to relinquish his right to her as his captive. Either choice would lead to a similar outcome: Nemattanew would inform Opechancanough of the Time Walker in their midst, and his uncle would send her away or demand her blood.

  Honor his uncle, and slay the Red Woman. Use the Bloodstone to return her to her own time. Release her to the English. He would choose none of those options.

  Finally, when his head cleared, he made his decision. It was a decision that would gain him no support from the English or his kin, but the only one he could bear to live with, the one that kept her safe in his arms and protected from the rising storm he knew would come.

  He would see the English safely back to town and then ride to speak to his uncle. If his uncle refused his request to keep her, he would return to the village and take Maggie far away. He had no plan beyond that, not yet willing to face the consequence of betraying his Weroance, but knowing his path was set nonetheless. It was the only way. Winn hoped his uncle would forget about the woman, and leave off with the notion she needed to die like the rest of the Time Walkers. Surely it was not a woman Time Walker that would someday take his life. After all, his uncle had once spared the Pale Witch.

  “My thanks to you for your escort, Winn,” Benjamin offered as he rode up beside him. His larger, leaner mount fell in step with the sturdy war pony Winn rode. Winn nodded in response without turning his head to the other man, his gaze still focused on Thomas Martin’s straight back.

  “She is not the niece of Thomas Martin, my friend.”

  Benjamin frowned.

  “Of course she is. Who else would she be? Surely Martin knows his own kin.”

  “I know not his purpose, but I know the truth. You have my word on this,” Winn replied, trying to use an assurance that Benjamin would identify with.

  “You know I trust ye above all others, Winn, but on this I think ye are mistaken. The man recognized his niece, and it all makes sense. He says her mother’s name was McMillan. Who else would she be? It is not as if she dropped from the sky!”

  Winn snorted. “No. Of course not,” he grumbled.

  “Surely ye do not object to returning her to us? You know what that would mean.”

  He ground his teeth in the back of his jaw at the implied consequence and nodded to the man. He could not antagonize the English at this point or risk his uncle’s wrath, and until Maggie was safely hidden away, he was bound to pacify them. Of all the whites to challenge him, how could his friend Benjamin be the one? They had played together as children and he hoped to save him somehow from what was to come, but if his friend posed an obstacle to Maggie, he would kill him without hesitation.

  “I wish no war with your people, friend. But I will not release her,” he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “She must stay until Opechancanough gives his decision.” He omitted the fact that no matter what decision his uncle rendered, he planned to take Maggie far away. Even if by some miracle the Weroance refused to return her to the English, Winn knew it was impossible his uncle would not demand her sacrifice. The old man believed too strongly in his visions to consider any alternative when it came
to a Time Walker.

  “Well then,” Benjamin said quickly. “Jack-of-a-Feather is a swift rider, I’m sure he will return soon with permission to return her to us. Will ye give her up then?”

  “No.”

  “You’re acting a fool. Ye cannot keep a good Englishwoman as a slave! I thought ye were better than that!” Benjamin snapped. “She will be returned to us, or her own people. Tell me where ye stole her from and end this.”

  “It is as I said. She has no people,” Winn growled, his ire beginning to rise. Benjamin pushed him too far. “I found her, that is all you must know. She has no kin to speak of.”

  “If you found her as ye say, then why are ye so sure she is not Martin’s niece? The woman fell overboard during a storm on the way to Jamestown, who can say for sure who she is?” Benjamin cast him a pained glare. “If ye went raiding and stole the girl, I will not judge ye. I just did not think ye did such things.”

  “I did not steal her.”

  “I can help ye no more if you doona tell me the truth. So she must be the woman from the ship. The Virginia Company sent them here to find husbands among our men.”

  “A stupid English plan,” Winn muttered, ignored by Benjamin as he rattled. Winn rarely saw the other man nervous, so his interest was piqued to hear what he was trying to say.

  “Why will ye not tell me the truth? I thought more of our friendship than that.”

  Winn noticed the way Benjamin squinted as he waited for the answer, and his hands clenched at the implication of his words. He could say he was angry Benjamin questioned his honor, but he knew the English thought his people little more than animals.

  “She is here under my protection.”

  Benjamin let out a sigh.

  “I have no doubt ye protected her,” Benjamin muttered. “I’ve never seen ye so taken by a woman.”

  Winn quickly turned his head to the other man.

  “Yes. I know what you see. Is that what English men do, spy on each other like snakes?” he asked, his words slow to form as he suppressed the sickness rising in his gut.

  “I am sorry. I should not have followed ye. But I thought I knew ye better than that. Better than a randy whoreson who would ravage a helpless woman like – like an animal! What were ye thinking? Ye know ye’ve ruined her, no decent Englishman will take her to wife after ye tire of her.” Benjamin said.

  Winn ducked his head and his lips formed a scowl in response as he glared at the Englishman. Unwilling to pacify Benjamin any further, he decided his journey with his old friend was over.

  “You know nothing of me, Englishman,” he growled. “We gave you food and supplies. Take your beggars and go back to your village. Think what you will. As for the woman, I keep her. Try to take her, and I will kill you the same as any other.” Winn swung his horse around in a circle, and let out a fierce howl that pierced the silent night sky. He glared at the man he once called brother.

  No Englishman will ever take her from me, he promised, and with that thought, he knew he would risk anything to keep her. He pictured his knife slicing through the belly of his friend Benjamin and then the acrid stench of his innards as they slid through his hands. A painful wave of anger surged through his chest and squeezed the air from his lungs.

  Benjamin had been his friend since they were too young to notice the difference in their skins, loyal and true in brotherhood nearly as much as his own blood brothers. Of all men to stand between him and Maggie, would it be Benjamin? He was the only white man he wished to save from what was to come. Until now.

  He was glad Maggie was safe back in the village, away from the English, waiting for him to return to her.

  His heart thudded a steady beat, and he could feel the sweat break across his skin and moisten his clenched palms against the leather reins. Numbness settled through him like the unwavering truth, a truth that would change his life forever, and that of all those that loved him. He would bide his time and steal his woman away. The course he chose would settle his own fate and he would not be able to turn back, but he realized his path had been sealed the moment he looked into her shining jade eyes and fought the brown bear.

  He galloped away from the English and turned his horse toward the river. He would take the fastest route, and get to his uncle before Nemattanew could poison his mind further.

  His woman. Maggie was his wife. And he would keep her.

  CHAPTER 23

  She sank back and pulled a thick fur around her shoulders as she sat listening to the beat of drums in the village. The rhythmic thud kept time with the chants of the warriors, their cries of thanks echoing through the bright autumn night and leaving a hollow emptiness within her. She thought of the tender words he murmured against her hair when they slept, and the way his breath felt against her skin. The memory only served to sever her lifeline further and brought the sting of tears to her eyes.

  She thought she might suffer remorse for abandoning her own time, and although there was a hint of sadness at never returning, the thought of living her life with Winn ran sweeter through her soul. Relief washed over her like a waterfall, the decision made, carrying her doubts and fears away as she looked forward to their future. Perhaps in some cosmic plane there was a reason for her journey to the past, one they would never discover, and if it was nothing more than the purpose of bringing two hearts together, she could live with that.

  She swiped the back of her hand over her eyes. Winn would return for her, she was certain. Hell, she made her own rules and ran her own life in her time, and as such, she should be well equipped to survive on her own in the past for a few days without him. She needed to learn the Paspahegh ways, and learn to be strong when he was away.

  Cold, hungry, and more than the least bit agitated by Winn leaving, she decided to solve all the problems that she could and worry over the things she could not change later. She could fix cold and hungry, but there was little else for her to do but keep occupied until her husband returned.

  Her husband, she thought, and smiled.

  She crawled over to her basket of clothes and pulled out her soft faded blue jeans. Torn at the knee, but still serviceable, she pulled them on beneath her doeskin dress. Next were her suede work boots, which she covered with her fur leggings and tied tight with rawhide cords. Satisfied with her work thus far, she examined her parka. Streaked with blood and slashed from shoulder to waist, it would offer little protection so she left it beside the fire. She could not fathom any useful task for her wristwatch, but she slid it over her wrist anyway.

  The night the Bloodstone took her she had been unusually bereft of any technology in her pockets such as a cell phone, not that it would have done her much good in her current predicament. She tightened the laces of her boots and double knotted them, then grabbed a traveling satchel made of beaver bladder with a long strap. She crossed the strap over her shoulder and settled the bag at her waist, then scourged for the few remaining bits of food left in the yehakin. There was not much to choose from since they expected to eat at the feast, but Winn usually kept at least some dried meat and corn cakes to munch on and she added what she found to her sack.

  She peeked out the yehakin and saw the villagers engrossed in the dance, and the sounds of the beating drums muffled her footsteps as she left. She crossed behind the yehakin without looking back, thrusting a fist across her cheek when a tear spilled as she made her way toward the corral. Spending time with the horses would soothe her, as it always did, and bundled up snugly as she was she could spend the night with them instead of alone in the yehakin.

  “Damn it,” she muttered. She shook her head when tender thoughts collided, ones of a soft gentle mouth caressing her skin, a firm hand that held her against his heart, the way he whispered endearments against her ear and sent shivers down deep in her belly.

  She cursed as she tripped over a fallen branch, and stopped to regain her sense of direction. She could still hear the hollow thud of the drums and the cries of songs from t
he village, and she could see the glimmer of the bonfire across the way when she looked back. Had she been so distracted by daydreams that she passed by the lean-to?

  With her ears filled by the fading pounding of the drums, she did not notice a snapping of forest debris on the path behind her until the footsteps were upon her. The hair pricked up on the back of her neck and she smelled his dank scent before she swung around to confront her stalker.

  Nemattanew stood crouched behind her, slowly rising to his full height as she glared at him. He was planted between her and the village, her only escape being the woods. She moved her hand to the knife at her waist for reassurance and glared at the man as she waited for his next move. Obviously, he had lied about his intent to leave the village.

  He took a step toward her, and she backed away an equal amount of paces.

  “So the Red Woman stays here.”

  “Just go away, leave me alone,” she said, her voice tapering off as it wavered. “Winn will be back soon,” she lied. She darted a glance to her rear to see where to escape, dismayed to see only dense brush and no discernible trail.

  They both knew it to be a lie, and a grin stretched over his lips.

  “I saw him leave the village. He goes to ask for your life, but we both know he will not get it. What then, Red Woman?”

  “You should worry what he will do when he finds you bothering me!”

  “No,” he growled. “You should worry if I will kill you now, or let you suffer. Perhaps I will keep you until he returns, and let him watch you bleed from my knife.” He reached out and snatched her wrist painfully, turning it over. He made a deep growling sound as he glared at the scar on her palm

  “Stay away from me!” She shouted, wrenching away from him.