“No – I mean, yes, but that’s not it.”
“No or yes?” he smirked.
She buried her face into his chest, feeling the blood rise to her cheeks at the turn of the conversation, at utter loss to explain the questions she wanted to ask.
“Where is Blaze?”
“You think of a horse now? Perhaps I should distract you better,” he murmured, tugging playfully on her ear with his teeth. “He’s in the meadow with the other young horses, if you must know.”
“Okay. What does ntehem mean?” she asked. He smiled.
“My heart,” he said softly. “More questions, ntehem?”
“You’ve done this before,” she blurted out, her cheek still lying hidden against him. “I, well, I haven’t. I was just wondering what … wondering if … oh, Christ! I want to know if this was good for you. I mean, if I was good,” she stammered, the last of her words trailing off as a mumble. She regretted the question immediately, sure she would be unable to answer him coherently if he chose to entertain her ridiculous conversation.
She squeezed her eyes shut when he slipped his fingers under her chin and raised it up.
“Look at me,” he demanded, his tone teasing yet insistent. She complied, grudgingly, and met his steady gaze with her own.
“I just…I just want to know. Was this…special to you?” she said softly.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out, then he clamped it shut. She saw him swallow and he shook his head a bit as if clearing it from a fog, then pushed himself up to sit. She moved with him and settled in his lap, her belly flipping in cartwheels when he settled his arms around her waist.
“Look up, ntehem,” he said finally, glancing upward with her at the rising sun through the smoke hole, its shimmer too powerful on their eyes to view for more than a moment.
They bowed their heads together and he paused, taking her hand in his and turning it gently over. He considered the scar in her palm, gently tracing his thumb over the silver knot that seared her skin like a brand. He brought it to his lips and kissed it, then laid it against his chest over the steady beat of his heart. She felt the heat, the pounding, the joining of the connection as warmth spread through her body to the deepest recess of her soul.
“A man is only a mountain in the darkness, waiting for the day when the sun will smile on him,” he whispered. “But no man can look on the sun without burning. You burn me, but I will not let you go. I have waited too long to feel you smile on me.”
He kissed her tears gently away as they slid down her cheeks, kissing her mouth with the tangy taste of salt between them.
“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.”
She settled back down deep into his embrace, her questions answered.
CHAPTER 17
Maggie and Teyas rode alongside each other as the men rode ahead. When the women were invited to travel to Martin’s Hundred for supplies, they both gladly accepted. Maggie was anxious to see the English town, curious to connect it to the little she knew about the history of the settlement. Over the last few weeks as they explored their newfound intimacy, she noticed Winn seemed reluctant to take her to town, so it was a surprise when he made the offer. She had many questions about the English, and she hoped her curiosity would be satiated by the visit.
Her fat pony plodded along, swinging her back and forth in a lazy rhythm. The glutton resorted to grabbing at every piece of tall grass they passed, so Maggie was forced to tap him frequently with her heels to remind him his job was to walk, not eat. Teyas had no such problem with her mount, but she was kind enough to lag behind with Maggie anyway.
“C’mon, you lazy hog!” Maggie groaned, kicking her pony for what seemed the hundredth time. Teyas giggled and helped her along by swatting Maggie’s horse with her rein, which did absolutely nothing.
“He only does that with you,” Teyas smirked.
“Well, maybe I need an upgraded model,” Maggie huffed.
“Upgrade?” Teyas asked, raising her eyebrows.
“A better horse. A faster one,” she explained. Teyas shrugged and tossed a round orange fruit at Maggie, which she caught in her lap. It was a maypop, and it seemed ages since she’d tasted anything she recognized.
“Try it. The elders say this fruit holds magic.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow but took a bite of the overripe fruit anyway, laughing when a bit of the sweet juice dribbled down her chin.
“Thanks. It’s good,” she agreed. “A little soft, but good.”
They followed the men along the coastline for what Maggie estimated was several miles. Once the beach began to narrow they came to an inlet, suddenly in sight was the outline of some sort of civilization shimmering as a mirage against the sand. Maggie pushed herself up as high as she could manage on the short pony and craned her neck to see.
“There it is!” she said. “Is that Martin’s Hundred?”
Winn must have heard her exclamation. He circled his horse around and rode back, trotting up to ride beside her. Sandwiched between Winn and Teyas, Maggie let out a frustrated groan. She wanted to gallop in for a closer look.
“It is part of Martin’s Hundred they call Wolstenholme Town. We will get there soon enough, no need to hurry,” Winn teased her.
“Are you sure they’re friendly? It doesn’t seem safe to me,” she asked. He made a half grunt, half snort sound and frowned, shaking his head.
“As safe as it always is. I’ve had no trouble, but I will have you stay with me. No wandering off. Hear me, Teyas?” Winn called over his shoulder. Teyas tossed her long braid over her shoulder with a shrug and retorted with the same grunted admonishment the men frequently used, and Maggie giggled at their exchange.
A shrill whinny pierced the air. Chetan’s stallion reared and began to prance as the palisade gates opened, and Winn rode ahead to help steady Chetan’s wayward animal. Their party entered amidst shouted greetings and waves of welcome, and as she looked around at the bevy of faces in the crowd, Maggie suddenly felt her body sway as if she were on a boat.
Blurred faces swirled around her, cleared, and then clouded. The strange sensation hit again, and with the threat of losing her breakfast, she leaned forward against the coarse mane of her pony and promptly evacuated the contents of her stomach down the side of the horse. When she let out a groan, Teyas swung back around, and she reached over and grabbed Maggie’s reins.
“What ails you, Maggie?” Teyas asked. Maggie shook her head as another wave of nausea came, milder than the last. She was able to straighten up somewhat by the time Winn reached them.
“It must have been the maypop, I thought it tasted off. I’m fine now,” she muttered. Whatever it was seemed to be passing, for which she was grateful. She wished she had passed on eating the fruit, since it seemed too soft to her, but the deed was done and now she could only face the consequence.
“You look like an eel, all green and wet,” Winn laughed. He held out his arm, and she gladly slid over onto his lap, rather than risk falling off her own mount. She supposed it was all right to behave like a damsel in distress once in a while.
*****
A damp cloth covered her eyes as she rested. She suspected it was meant to lie on her forehead, but as such things happen, it drifted downward like a mask, and when she pulled it off her face and looked around, she figured she was lucky it had not fallen over her mouth and stopped her breathing since no one would have noticed.
She sat up on a padded bench. She had not noticed much when Winn carried her inside, but now that she had recovered from her bout of sickness, she was eager to look about. Gathered around a long wood slat table were the Indians she had arrived with and several strangers. She seemed to be in the parlor of some sort of store, a saltbox style building as far as she could tell, with whitewashed walls and glass windows. Outside the large picture window toward the open door sun streame
d into the room, and she could see what looked like a packed clay road, with the semblance of further similar buildings across the way.
Other less interested people filled the space, some looking at shelves lining one wall. An assortment of glass jars littered the shelves, filled with varying colors of remedies. A second shelf housed multiple sizes of blown glass bowls. A large round basket filled with squares of clean linen sat pushed against the wall beneath the shelves, and several fine trunks were stacked nearby.
In the middle of the room a table was currently occupied by a boy of about five-years-old lying flat on his back, flailing his legs as a curly haired teenage girl held his shoulders in place. The boy knocked her white cap off her head in the struggle, and when she reached to grab it, he jumped off the table and ran for the door. An older woman stood behind the table, a rustic set of hot pliers waving in her hand as she laughed.
“I think the mite wants to keep that rotten tooth, Mistress Ellen,” the healer laughed. The sprite made it through the door before anyone could snag him, and the younger girl shook her head with a groan.
“Did someone lose this?”
Maggie looked up at Winn’s voice. Winn came through the door, the boy hoisted over his shoulder like a sack of grain, kicking and squealing at his captor.
“Winkeohkwet, bring the lad here!” the older woman called. He crossed the room and deposited the child back on the table, then held the child while the woman quickly plucked the tooth from his gaping mouth. The child howled and burst into tears.
“There, there, hush, child! ‘Tis the indignity of it all that pains him, not the tooth,” she assured to the curly-haired girl who soothed the child. “That tooth was plenty numb from the spirits I gave ‘em.”
“Feel better, ntehem?” Winn asked, kneeling down at her side. He placed his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Yes. Did I make a mess?” she asked, her pride more damaged than anything.
He chuckled. “You did it quite properly, your horse did not mind. Did you eat enough today?”
“I think so. I’m fine now, really. Just a little dizzy.”
One eyebrow dipped down and he made a dismissive hissing noise through his teeth.
“Right, then. Fine? I think not. Stay here, I will be back,” he replied. He took Teyas by the elbow and spoke quietly to her. She produced a pouch of dried meat from the satchel tied to her waist, which she proceeded to give to Maggie.
“I’m not really hungry,” she said, scrunching her nose at the strong smoked smell of the meat and waving her hand at them to fend off the do-gooders.
“Eat,” Winn demanded.
“Can you ever just ask me to do something, instead of ordering me around?” she asked.
He frowned. “Eat…please.”
“No. I’m not hungry.” She tossed her braid back and turned her shoulder to him, hiding the smile on her lips. He put the meat to her mouth and reached for her head with his other hand as if he meant to shove it down her throat, and she smacked him playfully away. “Ok, ok! I’ll eat, give it to me!” she giggled.
“Keptchat!” he hissed. He grunted, but she saw him hide his smile as he gave her the dried meat. He watched her chew for a moment and then reached into the small pouch he carried. He fished out her raven and handed it to her.
“My raven! Where did you get it?”
“You dropped it when you were sick, Makedewa found it. Did it come with you when you traveled?”
She darted a glance around to see if anyone listened to their conversation, then ducked her head close to his when she spoke.
“Yes, Marcus gave it to me when I was a little girl. It scares away the bad dreams,” she whispered. A secret smile formed on his lips, and she narrowed her brows, wondering what he was up to.
“Do you know what meaning my name has, in your English words?” he asked, his eyes alight, teasing as he gazed down at her.
She shook her head.
“No, why?”
“When I was a young boy, I had dreams that caused me to scream in my sleep. One night my mother took me outside, and she pointed to a great black bird that sat in a tree next to our yehakin. She said the bird would cure my madness and protect me from evil. Since that day, I have been known as Winkeohkwet, The Raven.”
Her mouth dropped open at his story as he smiled.
“Fear not, little one. This Raven will always protect you. He has loved you forever.”
Her heart pounded wildly as he stood up, the voice of Marcus filling her ears.
“It’s a raven, a great brave bird. The raven keeps safe those he loves.”
“Well,” she sniffed, “how do I know he loves me? He just met me!”
Marcus chuckled.
“He’s always known ye, lamb. He’s loved ye forever.”
She shuddered despite the warmth but managed to smile weakly back at him all the same as he dared a quick kiss to the tip of her nose.
Winn left her side to clasp arms with a man near the doorway as a melee ensued, with the two men standing nearly head to head amidst the crowded room. Winn wore a brown tunic over leggings, with tall moccasin boots covering his limbs up to the knees, a living enticement to illicit thoughts as he stood there oblivious of his charm. His hair flowed loose down his back, unencumbered by the usual braid, and she could see the side of his head above his ear was still shaved close. Maggie held a secret smile thinking of how she helped him with it.
The stranger grinned broadly in greeting, and Maggie could see the gray woolen breeches he wore against a royal blue waistcoat when she caught a glimpse through the crowd. Tall knee-high boots covered his feet, different from the other men who wore flat shoes with square metal buckles. His thick curling dark hair was pulled back with a blue ribbon at his nape. Taller than the others, but standing straight and proud, he was thick through his shoulders and unintentionally demanded a presence from those around him.
The men were too far away for her to hear any of their words, embroiled in such a conversation that Winn took to using his hands to illustrate his speech, and the stranger responded with his own gestures. Hands planted on hips, body arched, the stranger threw his head back and laughed, then thumped Winn boldly over his shoulders while Winn held a boyish grin on his own face.
Maggie rose up off the bench, pleased to find her legs were steady again and her vision seemed clear instead of like a swirling typhoon. Winn met her gaze from where he stood talking to the stranger, cocking his head inquisitively at her, then smiling back when she nodded reassurance to him.
The healer motioned Maggie closer with a tilt of her head and a smile, and Maggie tore her gaze away from Winn and approached her rather than interrupt the men. The curly-haired girl brushed by Maggie on her way out, the child sobbing with his little legs wrapped around her middle and his pudgy hands twisted in the girl’s apron.
“Hello,” Maggie smiled. The healer nodded. She clenched the front of her white apron and wiped her hands clean, her linen stained with the bloody remnants of previous tasks from the day. Her hair was a bright shade of gold that laid in a thick braid down her back, a few loose strands of gray at her temples the only testament to her age.
“You must be this Fire Heart I hear of. Welcome, dear. I am pleased to finally meet you. You’ve caused quite a stir in the village, yes?”
The woman held a twinkle in her eye as she gazed at Maggie, the corners of her thin lips turned up in a smile. She had an odd lilt to her voice, not quite the same formal English accent as Maggie had heard the other townsfolk speak with, but something different altogether. Her words, although innocent in appearance, sounded laced with knowing, as if she held some secret knowledge she wished to share.
“Why, yes, I guess I have,” Maggie replied evenly. Finola winked and tittered with laughter as she turned and dumped the tongs into a copper pot beneath the table.
“Does my grandson treat you well?”
“Your grandson? I don’t know what you me
an.”
“Oh? Winkeohkwet is so full of himself now, he does not speak of his grandmother? They call me the Pale Witch in his village. Here, I am Mistress Finola, a healer,” she said, casting a wink at Maggie. “Witch is a word we do not speak loudly in this time, dearest.” Finola turned away to tend to a potential customer and smiled an apology to Maggie.
Maggie felt the color drain from her face at her words. Finola was the Pale Witch? Finola knew about the Bloodstones! She wished she could speak privately with her, if only for a few minutes, but she knew the conversation would be too risky around the English ears.
She felt the gentle pressure of a hand on the small of her back. Glad Winn returned to her side before she made a fool of herself by getting sick again, she gave him a terse smile. The man he had spoken to earlier accompanied him. The stranger extended his gloved hand to her with a genuine broad grin streaking across his square jaw. She placed her fingertips in his hand, and when she looked up at him to smile in greeting, she noticed his kind blue eyes darted downward and a flush crept up his neck.
“Benjamin, this is Maggie,” Winn said.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mistress,” he murmured. “Benjamin Dixon, your servant.” He bent at the waist, a considerable task for the tall man, and pressed her fingers quickly to his lips before he released them. She saw his throat tighten and he swallowed before he raised his head with a stunning grin.
“How long have you lived with the Paspahegh, miss? I can yet recall seeing ye on my last visit to the village,” Benjamin commented.
Her tongue stuck to the dry lining of her mouth, and her back stiffened at the thought of disclosing anything to him. No matter how friendly he seemed to be with Winn, she was fully aware of the history of violence between the English and Indians, and she was still perplexed trying to make sense of their relationship. She suspected time traveling and Bloodstones would stick her right into the category of witch, so she clamped her mouth shut and shrugged demurely in return.
“She is under my protection,” Winn said. He still smiled, but Maggie could see his eyes darken with caution and his jaw twitch as he gritted his teeth.