by E.B. Brown
“We should return to the village today. Ready the horses and pack our supplies.” Winn stared hard at Makedewa. “My uncle will hear of this, and he will not be pleased. I hope Nemattanew has not brought his wrath upon us.”
Makedewa grunted, and set off to dismantle the campsite. Winn looked toward the cabin where Benjamin lived. He wondered if he should wake the man to bid him goodbye. Glancing down at Maggie, sleeping peacefully beneath his furs, he decided against it. The image of the Englishman spying on them in the woods made his chest tighten, sparking his ire.
No, it was better this way. Let things cool between them before they met again. There had never been anything they could not find agreement on, and although Benjamin mediated between the English and Paspahegh, he was still a loyal friend. Winn wondered if things now had changed. He was willing to wager they did, after seeing how Benjamin stared at his woman.
His woman.
Winn tickled her neck until her sleepy jade eyes opened and she smiled up at him, despite him rousing her from her dreams. He kissed her gently along her ear and buried his face in the sweet meadow scent of her hair for a moment.
“Time to wake, ntehem. We leave soon.”
He resisted the urge to melt back down into the furs with her, instead taking her hand to help her to her feet.
CHAPTER 21
She was happy to be back in the village. It was almost funny that she now viewed it as the height of civilization, especially since she never thought she would survive a week within the culture. Yet after she had been exposed to the way the English lived, she was quite content to remain among the Paspahegh. In fact, she would be happy to stay anywhere, as long as Winn were there.
As she sat with Teyas near the Great Fire awaiting the start of the evening feast, Maggie noticed the sounds of whispered uproar throughout the village. She looked up to see what they were fussing about. Across the thruway near the horse corral, a group of men entered the clearing.
White men.
She sat up straighter and stuck her fisted hands in her lap, her eyes searching the warriors who gathered for any sign of hostility. Were the men friends, or enemies?
Their group consisted of a half-dozen Englishmen, all dressed in similar knee-high breeches and linen shirts, wielding rifles which they kept slung over their backs in what Maggie perceived must be a less threatening gesture than if they carried them outright. On entering the village, one bold man led the others, flanked by the reluctant entourage who followed with caution. It was Benjamin Dixon.
Shouts rose from the men, and for a moment Maggie was terrified there would be a violent response. Her fear dissipated quickly when she saw a warrior break from the crowd of men to approach the visitors. Benjamin clasped arms with the warrior and Maggie saw a broad smile crease his face.
The warrior who welcomed him was none other than Winn.
“Who are those men?” Maggie nudged Teyas, who was watching the exchange as well.
“You know Benjamin Dixon. He is a friend to us. He brings many of the English with him today,” Teyas answered with a frown. “Thomas Martin is with him as well, he is the fat one next to Benjamin. I hope they do not need more corn, we have little to share,” she sighed.
“Do they always need supplies?”
“Most times. They are lazy people, they grow little food on their own.”
“They look like trouble,” Maggie said, her voice escalating a pitch. It made her nervous to see the English visit the village, no matter what pretense they offered, since she knew full well how they abused the kindness of the Indians.
Teyas shrugged and shushed her. Winn approached, Benjamin walking in stride beside him. Winn led the white men by the fire next to where the warriors gathered, escorting them to a place of honor apart from the others. Not quite as welcoming as Winn but not hostile, either, the warriors made space for the guests and settled back into the spirit of the feast. The hollow thud of a drum resounded, and the interruption seemed forgotten.
Winn looked in her direction from across the fire where he stood with Benjamin. Their eyes met for a moment, and Maggie glimpsed an edge of something unsettling in his gaze. There was no acknowledgement in his wooden stare, but she could see the muscles in his crossed arms tighten and the way his back stiffened at her inquisitive perusal of the strangers. He quickly broke contact and turned back to the visitor.
“Will Winn eat with us?” Maggie asked. Teyas shook her head.
“No, he will eat with the men.”
“Is there some rule that says I can’t talk to him now?”
“Shush, Maggie! No, no rule. But we wait to be spoken to at this feast,” the girl hissed back, jabbing her in the rib with her elbow. “He will take you to his yehakin soon, be patient!”
Maggie scowled as her cheeks flushed at the implication. She ignored the jibe and continued questioning the girl, curious to glean information about the visitors.
“I just want to talk to him,” she said.
“You must wait to be spoken to! He will be angry if you go to him now!”
“Well, he can be angry at me later. I just want a second to talk to him.”
Maggie stood up, but Teyas was fast on her heels and grabbed her by the back of her dress before she could go very far.
“Teyas, let go!” she demanded as she tried to shake the other woman off.
“Sit down!” Teyas pleaded. Panic laced her words. Maggie suddenly felt bad for causing a scene, and let Teyas pull her back down to sit on the grass. A few of the other woman shot them hard looks and shook their heads.
“Ah, kemata tepahta! Now Winn sees us!” Teyas groaned.
Winn was staring at them from across the fire, as was the visitor at his side. Benjamin tapped Winn’s arm and pointed at the quarreling women in question. Maggie watched as Winn said something tense to the man and waved his question off, shaking his head, while pushing a bowl of food into the man’s hands as if to distract him. Winn clapped Benjamin on the back in a friendly manner and then spoke again. Maggie wished she could hear what they were saying, but the distance was too great and it was enough just to decipher the expressions on their faces. Winn left the visitor and turned to one of the warriors that flanked his sides, his attention shifting for the moment. He uttered some direction to the warrior before he left his position, his destination clear to both Maggie and Teyas.
Maggie prepared to face his onslaught, unaware of what to expect since she knew little of what stoked the obvious temper he was in. She glanced back across the fire and noticed Benjamin was staring straight at her, confusion etched on his face as he squinted to see her in the glare of the setting sun. When their eyes met his mouth fell open, and she quickly ducked her head. No good could come of making contact with the visitors in front of the villagers.
Maggie felt Teyas nudge her in warning before Winn grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet.
“Ouch! What the hell-“
“Be silent. You will go back to my yehakin. Now!” he demanded, his words uttered quietly and hoarse next to her ear. She allowed him to hold her upper arm, but turned to meet his steel gaze.
“Why? What is going on?”
“Go, ntehem. I will meet you soon.”
An unsettling surge of fear wracked her body and challenged her resolve, and she could see Winn was worried as well. It was not like him to show such emotion in front of others, and with a deepening sense of unease Maggie knew he was afraid. Of what, she had no notion.
“Teyas, come! You will eat with Maggie and tend her wound,” he growled. His sister immediately obeyed, taking Maggie’s hand and urging her back toward the yehakin. Maggie let out a sigh and succumbed to being led away. Winn stood rooted in place, watching them go. Maggie saw Nemattanew approach and was glad to leave.
“Wait!”
Maggie swung around at the clear English plea. Her eyes shifted to Benjamin standing next to Winn, both of the men looking at the women expectantly.
“
Please, Mistress, if I could have a word with you? Surely you do not mind, Winn?” Benjamin asked. Behind the Englishman stood two other older men, dressed in similar attire but both equally as interested by the astonished looks on their faces.
“The woman was wounded by a bear. She needs her wound tended,” Winn replied tersely.
“Well, yes, of course! But it will only take a moment, my friend,” Benjamin insisted. Before Winn could offer any more objections, the man Teyas had called Thomas Martin stepped forward and threw his arm out in a gesture toward Maggie.
“Where did you come by my niece, Indian?” Thomas Martin asked. Towheaded and stocky, but not in a pleasing manner, the gentleman pushed through Benjamin and Winn to approach her. Maggie held her ground as he scrutinized her with tiny piercing black eyes, making her feel like a piece of prime meat on display. The urge to inform him he was sadly mistaken crossed her mind, but she opted to keep her mouth shut for the moment. She looked helplessly to Winn, fully aware she could not tell the Englishman where she truly came from. In light of the manner which Winn barely contained his anger, she stepped a pace away from the man instead.
“She is not your niece,” Winn said. “This woman is my guest.”
“What is your family name, Miss?” Benjamin asked. Maggie thought it was a simple enough answer that would settle the argument and show the man he had only mistaken her for his niece, so she eagerly responded.
“McMillan. I’m Maggie McMillan.”
Winn froze at her words and Benjamin’s mouth fell open.
Thomas cocked his hands on his hips and spit on the ground at her feet with a nod. Maggie noticed his gun shift slightly forward on his shoulder in a way it would be easier to grasp.
“See? This girl is my kin, I think I would know my own dead brother’s sweet child! I heard word she was lost in the river on the way to Jamestown. My thanks for returning her to me safely,” the man said, pausing before he added, with a side glance at Benjamin, “my friend.”
“No, I’m not your kin–” Maggie stammered, completely confused as to what they wanted with her. Nemattanew stepped forward and placed a hand on the Englishman’s shoulder.
“You will take the woman away?” Nemattanew interrupted, suddenly interested in the discussion.
“Well, yes, I paid a great deal of money to bring her here, and I can’t rightly leave her with you sav—with your people. You don’t expect me to buy her back, do you?” Thomas snorted, the thought evidently causing him much distress.
“Then take her.” Nemattanew made the offering, his eyes fixed on Winn.
Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for Winn’s response.
“You forget she is not yours to give, Nemattanew,” Winn said.
“Then I will ride to speak with Opechancanough, I am sure he will wish to return the woman to her kin,” Nemattanew replied. “Our Weroance wishes nothing but peace between our people, Thomas Martin.”
Veins stood out like cords on his arms, and Maggie saw the way his eyes narrowed as Winn stared at Nemattanew. His hand flexed open then closed into a fist at his side.
“Then ride, Nemattanew,” Winn answered. “But until then, she stays here.”
She felt Teyas squeeze her hand, and saw the look she exchanged with Winn. She did not protest when Teyas nodded to the men and then proceeded to drag her back to the yehakin.
Once they were safely inside, Teyas began to pace back and forth, stopping every so often to peer out through the hide-covered doorway. When Maggie tried to ask a question, Teyas raised a hand in dismissal and urged her silence. Suddenly, Teyas stopped pacing and joined Maggie where she stood at the back of the room.
Winn parted the bear hide and ducked into the room. He gave Teyas a short command in his own language and his sister quickly left the yehakin. Alone with Winn and his flaring temper, Maggie braced herself for the fight and let him approach.
“That man is Thomas Martin. He claims you as his kin. He wants you returned to him.”
She felt faint as his words struck her.
“But you know I’m not his niece.”
“I know.”
“But Winn—”
“Listen!” he hissed, “There is no time to argue! Nemattanew has left the village to seek permission from my uncle to give you to the English. If he returns with orders from the Weroance, the Council will support him, and they will release you from me.”
“Release me?”
“You became my prisoner when I found you,” he said quietly, his eyes dipping down away from her stare. “It is my right to keep you or cast you off. Only the Great Weroance can order me to release you.”
“Your prisoner?” Her back stiffened. “Is that what I am to you?” she replied, the words slipping from her tongue laced with anger and betrayal. It shattered her to know he would rid himself so easily of her after what they had shared.
“You know you are more to me than that,” he growled.
“Am I?” she whispered, afraid to hear his answer even as she demanded it. She saw his fists clench at his sides.
“You are. Have I not showed you what you are to me?”
She remained silent. What could she say to him? As much as she wanted to hear him declare his love for her, there were much more pressing matters to deal with.
“Would your uncle send me away, against your wishes?” she asked, dipping her head down to avoid his stare.
“My uncle does not know you are here, and when Nemattanew tells him the English claim you, he will order me to give you to them. My uncle seeks to keep friendship with the English above all else, he will not risk angering them. If the English wanted Teyas, or Chetan, or even Ahi Kekeleksu, he would give them away. It only matters to him to keep peace right now.”
She glanced up at him, seeing his skin flushed red from his neck to his ears, his jaw clamped and his veins standing out like bowstrings.
“I thought your uncle hated them.”
“He does. I do. But for now we give them friendship. It is part of his plan. I cannot tell you more than that.” He shook as he glared at her, every muscle across his chest quivering as his hands tightened, his knuckles white from the pressure. He raised his arms as if to draw her close, then thought better of it and thrust them back to his sides, turning his back to her. “I have no choice but to obey my uncle, or bring his anger on my village.”
She made the rash decision and crossed the space between them, determined to draw something other than anger from him. Placing her hands against his back, she slowly slipped them around his waist and rested her cheek against his shoulder. His taut muscles relaxed at her touch, and she felt him take her fist and hold it tight to his chest.
“I know what happens to the English, Winn,” she whispered. “I know he plans to attack them, and that he will succeed. Will you be a part of that? Will you just send me to them, and slaughter me with the rest of the English when the time comes?”
He turned rapidly around at her words, his hands closing around her face to capture her gaze. Blazing blue eyes narrowed and brows squared as she met his stare.
“How do you know this?” he asked, his voice strained and hushed, as if he were afraid of ears that listened.
“In my time children learn history- I was taught about the Indian Massacre in school, Winn.”
“Indian Massacre? Is that what your people call it?” he hissed.
“It was – it will be a massacre!” she shot back, unafraid of his rising fury. “You’re going to kill hundreds of people, women and children! God, how can I love you when you would do such a thing?”
“Love? You would not love a man who protects his people? You would not love a warrior who protects you?” he shouted. She tried to twist away, but his hands kept firm around her face as his slanted blue eyes bore into hers, his features clenched and his veins standing out like rawhide against his arms. She choked back tears, unsure of why such words spilled from her mouth but unable to stop them.
&nb
sp; “If your idea of loving me is sending me to the English, then no. At least give me the Bloodstone and send me home before you massacre them all!”
“No!” he roared. His lips silenced her next protest. It was no seductive kiss like his prior attentions, nor a gentle invitation. It closed her down, consumed her denial, and then he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, the sound of their shallow panting filling the void their passion had left. She lifted her lips to him again to keep his refusal at bay, but after dropping a series of kisses along her eyes and cheeks and chin, he grasped her face once again and forced her to listen.
“You belong to me. I will not let you go,” he whispered. “You will stay here while I go to speak to my uncle. I will not let Nemattanew be the only voice my uncle hears.”
“Don’t leave.”
“Stay here until I return.” His tone was hoarse but firm, no answer to her question yet issuing another demand. She shook her head furiously at his words, refusing to submit. He pressed his lips to her hair, murmuring words that danced to her ears like the glimmer of a firefly.
“I will always come for you, ntehem. Do you not know that by now?” His voice thick, he drew her close, pressing his face to her neck. She felt the smoldering anger flicker out as he held her in his arms. “As long as I breathe, I will hold you here,” he said, taking her hand to press it against his heart. “I lie to my men, I disobey my Weroance, and curse you, woman, I will do it again!”
His mouth crushed hers, desperate and searching, his fingers sliding up to tangle in her hair as he staked his claim upon her. Frustration and longing buried in his touch, his lips sending a message of possession through her blood, all evidence of doubt extinguished with his declaration. With his touch, she knew in her heart what her mind refused to acknowledge, too hurt to see past the heated words he spoke, that his love belonged to her. Relief washed through her veins and carried her back to that blissful place, the place where she belonged to him, where nothing of the chaotic life around them could pull them apart.
She buried her head against his chest in that shallow valley beneath his throat, where his bronzed skin felt softer than the tautness of his muscled chest. He murmured words of love in soft Paspahegh, and although she did not know the meaning of them she loved the intent, and she nestled tighter against him. She was unwilling to break their impasse, but she knew in order go forward, she needed to know the whole of it.