The older woman pulled a soft woolen blanket over her shoulders and tucked it under her chin, patting her back softly in comfort. Maggie closed her eyes to the gesture and let the exhaustion of sleep carry off her weary mind.
She heard the lock click securely into place when the woman left.
CHAPTER 25
Winn ignored the stares and whispers as he rode into the Powhatan village. On his last visit, he was received as the favorite nephew of the Weroance. As War Chief of the small Paspahegh tribe he was given some respect, but many remembered that half his blood ran white and treated him accordingly. For some, it would never be enough that his mother was sister to Opechancanough, or even that Winn had proved himself as a warrior among his people. Within any community there were those with long memories tainted by fear, and the Powhatan people were no exception. To many, he would never be anything more than the son of a white man.
He stopped directly outside the Great Yehakin and dismounted, thanking the wiry boy who ran up to take his tired pony. Winn had ridden hard and the beast panted with the need for water. Although his own throat was stretched dry, he would not see to his own needs until his journey’s purpose was fulfilled. It was the only thing within his power to do at a time when he felt control of his life slipping away.
He knew the warriors guarding the Great Yehakin. The older of the two, a man called Assapanick, was one of the most decorated warriors in the village. Winn dipped his head in respect to the man, earning a tap on his shoulder in return. As one of the few who were permitted to enter the Great Yehakin unannounced, Winn was allowed passage.
Once Winn lived among them as an unsure youth, and he recalled the kindness Assapanick had always bestowed upon him. Like Winn, Assapanick had white blood in his veins. It was Assapanick’s father that was half-Spaniard and his mother a Pamukey, but others still remembered. There was a time that it garnered him some sort of kinship with Assapanick, yet Winn was acutely aware that his role as one of the Powhatan was coming to an end.
If Opechancanough called for Maggie’s death, there was only one choice Winn could make. The acknowledgment of his decision felt like a stake driven through his belly, hard and unyielding as it tore his flesh. The pain of leaving everything he had ever known was harsh, but it was nothing compared to the thought of losing Maggie. He recalled the words spoken the first time they shared furs. In her shyness at their intimacy she had blushed asking him questions, but he quickly deduced the reason for her distress. When she asked if she was special to him, his heart clenched into a fist. He needed to make her truly understand what she meant to him.
“Special? If you need a word, then take this,” he whispered. “You are mine, and I am yours. I know no other word for that.”
He meant every word he spoke, as he meant it when he kneeled before his uncle. The Great Yehakin was filled with people, including several of the Weroance’s wives. It was all he could do to hold onto his temper when Opechancanough tapped his mallet on a stump and bid him to rise.
“I see you kneel before me, nephew, but I wonder what path you will choose,” Opechancanough announced as Winn stood up. Winn straightened his back and faced his uncle.
“So Nemattanew had your ear before I arrived. Then you know what I ask of you,” Winn replied.
The Weroance grunted with a tight grin stretched across his weathered face. Winn noted that his uncle seemed more tired than usual, his eyelids heavy among his creased skin.
“Eat first, and then we will speak on your matter. It has been a long time since you sat beside me, nephew.”
Opechancanough waved his hand and three women immediately responded. They presented him with a bountiful supply of food, placing the best of the nightly meal before him. Winn joined in despite his frustration, knowing he could not refuse his uncle without insulting him. For some reason his uncle was delaying their conversation, and there was little for Winn to do but play along.
The Weroance was in no hurry to finish his meal. Winn refused the offer of English rum, which earned a raised eyebrow from his uncle but no other comment. As the night wore on, Winn felt his ire rise. Opechancanough seemed in no hurry to speak with Winn, despite the fact he had long since finished his meal and he was completely enamored by one of his wives who sat in his lap.
Just as Winn decided to pursue his request, the Weroance turned his attention to him.
“I think you should rest, nephew. We can speak on your matter in the morning, so I have time to think on it,” Opechancanough called out. He clapped his hands together, bringing forward several women who were eager to please. Before Winn could object they led him from the Great Yehakin and escorted him to a smaller yehakin nearby. It was a place he knew was reserved for guests of the Weroance, and with a twinge of unease he let them lead him inside. Was he only a guest to his uncle now? On other visits Winn had slept in the company of the Weroance’s family members—sisters, wives, or children. To be relegated to the position of guest unsettled him.
He faced the empty yehakin, noting a fire burned brightly and warmed the space well. As he absently shed his tunic, two small hands embraced him and slithered up his chest from behind. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to keep his voice calm. It would do him no good to insult the woman, as insulting his uncle’s “gift” would be the same as a challenge.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, swinging around to face her. He peeled her hands away. “But I am tired now, and I must rest alone.”
She had the look of youth about her, but her eyes spoke of experience when she laughed and continued to pursue him.
“Surely you are not so tired for me?” she asked, placing her hands on his shoulders. He backed away, stumbled over the bedding, and was incensed to feel a second woman wrap her arms around his waist. This one was not so subtle, slipping her hand down over his breechcloth and letting out a playful squeal.
“He lies, he is ready for us,” the second woman pronounced. Both women laughed as he gritted his teeth and pushed away the groping hands.
“Enough!” he growled. His tone caused the laughter to subside, but only increased the efforts to ease his distress. One woman dropped to her knees in front of him as the other worked to free his garments. When a pair of wet lips sucked on his navel, he let out a groan and shoved her – hard.
The motion sent her sprawling onto her backside, and suddenly both women were speaking rapidly and crying. With the sounds of their crying and the roar of his pulse throbbing in his ears, he did not understand much of what they said.
“Get out,” he said hoarsely. “I have no need for you.”
His breathing was shallow as he watched them gather their belongings, which they had left conveniently beside the sleeping furs. One woman left without another word, her loose hair covering her lowered head, but the other paused at the door.
“If you tell him we did not please you, we will be shamed,” she said. He closed his eyes for a moment, running his hands over his head. He suspected the women were a gift from his uncle, and her words were only confirmation of the Weroance’s game.
“What did he ask of you?” Winn asked.
Her eyes dipped down and she hesitated to answer. Winn was surprised to see her skin flush, as if speaking to him was much more difficult than bedding him.
“He said we must make you forget the Red Woman. If we fail…” her words trailed off, the unspoken threat left hanging.
It was bad enough his uncle sent two half-naked women to his bed. Worse than that, their fate was now on his shoulders. He knew he could not send them away. He sighed.
“Tell the other woman to come back. Sleep here tonight on my furs. I will tell him you pleased me well,” he muttered.
Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Winn watched her go after her friend, and then he left the yehakin on his own mission. He was through with the games his uncle played, and after having two women beg to share his furs he was exceedingly ready to
return to his wife. Damn the tribal rules and damn his uncle, he would wait no longer.
He pushed past the warrior guards at the door, knowing that by his actions his time as Opechancanough’s favorite was at an end.
“So this is the path you choose, nephew?” Opechancanough asked, gently disentangling himself from his naked wife as Winn stalked toward him.
“I have no time to wait, uncle. I must return to my woman. I only ask that you grant her your protection,” Winn said, dropping down on one knee in deference.
“It is said she is a Time Walker. Is it not a Time Walker that will end my life? Did I not see it with my eyes? Why, then, nephew, would I give her my protection?” Opechancanough asked. He rose from the furs and picked up his ceremonial mallet, which he held as he made way to a bloodied stump centered in front of his royal platform. Once there, he tapped the mallet on the stump, his eyes fixed on Winn.
“Because I have asked nothing of you, in all the years I have served you,” Winn said quietly. “I know that you are a great leader, uncle, and my request is easy for you to give.”
“I once decreed I will have the head of all Time Walkers.”
“Yet the Pale Witch lives,” Winn shot back, eliciting an annoyed grunt from the Weroance.
“She is not the one who brings me to death.”
“Nor is my wife.”
Opechancanough’s eyes widened and after a pause, his lips curled downward in a scowl.
“Your wife?” he asked.
“Yes. My wife,” Winn replied evenly.
Opechancanough shifted his gaze, his attention turned to the stump once more. Suddenly he raised the mallet, sending it down to smash upon the bloody wood.
“It was here that I placed her head, and with this hand I moved to end her life,” The Weroance said softly. His voice was whimsical, as if he meant to tell a story. The darkness reached for Winn, grasping his gut, twisting it so that he could not ignore the rising terror.
He was speaking of Maggie. His uncle had placed her head on that bloodied stump. He would not—could not—believe that the gore on the stump belonged to his wife.
“Where is she?” he demanded. Had he not left her safe in his yehakin? He needed answers.
The guards moved inside the Great Yehakin at the sound of Winn’s raised voice, taking position on each side of the leader. His uncle smiled. His mouth had very few teeth, his grin appearing more menacing than well humored.
“So you have made your choice,” the Weroance said quietly, nodding his head. “I sent her to the Englishman who claims her. She rides there with Nemattanew. Go to her, if you must.”
Winn swallowed hard. He tilted his head in acknowledgement and left without further words spoken. The warriors who guarded his uncle shook their heads sadly at him as he left.
Winn knew there was no return from the journey he embarked on. His future was unwritten, tangled within the destiny of one red-haired woman.
CHAPTER 26
Maggie kicked at the ankle length skirt restricting her pace as she tried to keep in step with Alice, but her gait was clumsy enough to cause the other woman to pause in wait. Alice pursed her lips but said nothing while she waited for Maggie to regain her bearings.
“I hate this dress!” Maggie muttered. If she had even a notion of where she was at in relation to the Paspahegh village, she would have made a run for it as soon as they stepped out of the house, but being that Thomas already had an idea she might be a flight risk her opportunities to flee were kept to a minimum. Not that she would have made it very far. She suspected that in the clothes she currently wore, she was more likely to fall on her face than escape.
She could feel the sweat dripping down her back and her scent was no better, reminding her of the way sweatpants smelled after a good workout. The stench did not seem to bother Alice as much, and she knew the other woman thought her daft for insisting on a bath that morning. Maggie had a two-fold reason for her cleanly ways, the most of which was the desire to keep her nearly healed shoulder wound from festering in the moist warmth. The other was her fear of becoming too much like the women around her.
“Hush, girl! What else would ye wear?” Alice chastised her.
“I have a few ideas,” Maggie mumbled. They resumed walking toward the church. Nervous about her ability to sit through a long Christian church service, Maggie was eager to have it over with. She tried to plead sickness, but Alice would not be swayed, insistent she must do her duty and attend her first church service at Martin’s Hundred after her “terrible ordeal with the savages.” The constant proximity of either Alice or Thomas kept her imprisoned, and she was acutely aware she had not any private moments other than using a chamber pot. They used an outside closet, but they insisted she not “tax” herself. Maggie was convinced it was just another method to keep her from fleeing.
“Young Benjamin is coming toward us, Margaret. Be kind!” Alice warned.
Maggie had also noticed the tall man striding toward them through the crowd. Instead of going toward the church as the groups dispersed through the town center were, he cut through others with a well-placed smile and nod of apology as he made way to them. His earnest grin was too infectious to miss, and she found she could not be too unkind to him. After all, he was Winn’s friend. Perhaps he would help her.
“Good morning ladies! I pray ye will allow me to escort ye to church?”
Maggie was not too affected by him to decline, but Alice squashed her refusal before it left her lips.
“Why, of course, dear Benjamin! My niece takes kindly on your offer, but I will walk with my husband. I see he joins us,” Alice answered. Thomas Martin approached as well, and although the crowd parted for him, he did not garner the same glance of appreciation that Benjamin did.
“Thank you, Mistress Alice. I will take good care of Mistress Margaret at your leave,” Benjamin promised. He waited a long moment with his elbow outstretched before Maggie would take it, and she was certain he would give up if she simply ignored him, but she was surprised to see he continued waiting through the awkward moment until she finally slipped her hand onto his arm. Her brows creased at the warmth of his grin and the way he placed his other hand over her fingers, as if to keep them from slipping away.
“So, how do ye fare since yer return?” he asked when Alice and Thomas were out of earshot.
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” She bristled at his words, certain it was another display of distaste for her spending time with the Indians. She had heard enough of it from the whispers between Thomas and Alice.
His skin flushed at her words, and his half-smile seemed strained at her response.
“I just thought yer ordeal may have been quite distressing, with the accident. That is all I meant, Mistress.”
“I was not on that boat!” she hissed. “You need to help me get away from these idiots!”
“Ah, uh … quiet down,” he whispered, his eyes briefly darting around at passersby. “It’s not so simple! Thomas Martin swears you are his niece!”
“I’m not!”
“Then who exactly are ye?” he asked. His fingers tightened over hers as she moved to pull away, so she could not disengage herself without making a considerable scene.
“I’m just… not his niece, that’s all,” she mumbled. There was nothing she could say to prove her identity. No driver’s license, no credit card, nothing of value to illustrate exactly whom she belonged to. As far the colonists were concerned, the word of a man was law, and she was most painfully aware that her word held as little meaning as that of the Indians.
“Ye needn’t be afraid of Winn anymore, miss. Ye can tell me the truth of where ye come from. Ye need not return to the Indians.”
She squinted up at him. She heard a tremor in his voice, only slight, but enough to cause an undercurrent of unease to wash over her, pinpricks of goose bumps rising up on her arms in response.
“I thought you were his friend,” she said softly. His head dipp
ed down toward her ear, and he slowed their pace by pulling back on her arm.
“He is my friend! ‘Tis the only reason I did not put a bullet through his foolish whoreson head for this!” He raked a hand through his tousled hair, disrupting the binding enough so that scattered curls sprung free. She moved to step back, but he held her arm firm. “I thought more of him than this – that he would steal a good English woman and – and act on his base instincts! He asks too much for me to stand by with no action!”
“He has done nothing wrong!”
“Nothing wrong? Has he blinded yer eyes so much, then?”
“No. It is nothing like that!” she snapped. “And if you are truly his friend, then you will help me go back to him.”
“If you want my help, ye will tell me the truth of it. Tell me who are yer kin, and I will return you to them!”
She snatched her arm away with a seething grunt.
“I have no kin.”
“Then ye’ll have to bear my questions until you recall them.”
Alice and Thomas approached. Thomas cocked his head and his brows narrowed as he neared, his cheeks squashed like two purple plums over a pointed scowl. Benjamin notably changed his demeanor, switching gears seamlessly to more gentle conversation. Although his skin remained flushed from ears to throat, his voice was tempered with calmness when he spoke again.
“Winn spoke of a wound ye suffered. I trust it heals well?”
“Yes, it’s fine,” she sniped.
He squinted a bit at her retort and resumed a pleasant smile. “Yer manner of speech is…different. I admit it intrigues me.”
“I’m sure you’ve never heard my accent before,” she shot back.
His skin flushed a bit more and his head ducked down as he smiled. He cleared his throat and patted her hand as if in distraction.
“Ah, yes, then. I would like to ask ye a favor, Mistress.”
“Maggie. I think you know my name by now.”
“Maggie, then…would you like to ride with me after the service? I would take ye to visit some friends, I’m sure yer uncle would approve.”