by E.B. Brown
“I would not see them hang you. And it pleased me to take you from your English husband.” His dismissal stung, but still inflamed her.
“So you do care,” she accused. He grabbed her by both shoulders, the fur sinking to the ground in a heap. His eyes bored through her and his fingers dug painfully into her skin.
“Do I care you chose the Englishman? I did one time, but no more. You went to his bed. I would not lie between your legs now where he left his seed.”
She slapped him. He turned his cheek but remained otherwise still, although his grip on her arm tightened. Stunned at his lack of emotion, she moved to strike him again, but this time he grabbed her wrist and twisted it, then dropped it as if it burned him.
He turned and left her alone, staring at the stone.
Stunned, she could find no words. She stared at the Bloodstone. It was her Bloodstone, the one she arrived with, the one he hid from her all along. She turned it over in her hand, felt the warmth that spread up her arm. Yes, Winn had kept the stone from her. But would a man who worked so hard to keep her trapped in his time suddenly have a change of heart? For weeks now she had thought him dead. Had he stopped loving her in that time as well? How could he abandon her when she needed him the most? He owed her an explanation.
Maggie clutched the fur around her shoulders and followed him. The bottoms of her feet felt numb as she stumbled down the rocky incline path to the waterfall. She slipped inside the crevice that led to the falls, determined to make him listen. By the time she found him, he was immersed in the warm shallow spring beneath the falls, the sound of the rushing water disguising her arrival. She could taste the humid misty air on her lips. The water tinted pink around him from his war paint and it dissipated into the depths as he moved, washing the stain from his naked skin. He stood waist deep with his back to her, his shoulders flaring as he shook water from his dark hair.
She swallowed hard as she spied on him. The horses stood nibbling grass beside the overhang of the waterfall, eyeing her as she approached but doing nothing to betray her intrusion. Maggie let the fur drop and slid into the water, his back still to her.
His mouth gaped in surprise when the water rippled and he spotted her. She stood before him in the water, shaking with her resolve to tame him, yet hungry to be back in his arms. He started to speak, but she placed her fingers against his lips, shaking her head.
“You are a stubborn fool, Winkeohkwet. When did you turn into such a—such a half man?” she taunted him. “I thought you were brave—you said you would always come for me! Yet you left me there. Was that a lie, Winn? A lie from a sorry excuse for a man?”
His hands bunched into fists and he stepped back from her, his eyes flashing like black jade. She could see every muscle of his chest tense, the sinews in his thick arms straining as he listened to her taunts.
“You listen to me, Winn. I would not let you have me. You are not man enough for me,” she baited him. “I took care of myself when I thought you were dead. And I’m still standing.” Her voice cracked with the last, and she was not sure if he would even respond by the way he looked at her. Was that passion in his eyes, or hate?
She glared at him, her breath coming in short gasps. His lips curled back, his eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened, and in the next moment he had her pinned against the slate shelf, his body tight against her own.
“What game is this, woman?” he demanded.
“No game. Take your hands off me, half man!” she shot back, and knew she had gone too far. He jerked her roughly around, clenching his hands against her breasts and slamming his weight into her back as he pushed her against the rocks. She could feel his breath, hot and moist against her ear, his arousal hard against her thigh as she tried to block out the urge to melt into him. She was not finished with him yet. She would make him admit there was still something between them, or else all they had suffered, all they had done, all of it would have been for nothing.
Squirming in his arms, she bucked against him, causing him to grasp her face with one hand and her hip with the other. His lips traced a path down the back of her neck, sending rivulets of electricity down her spine.
“Why do you taunt me, Maggie? Would you have me ravish your body? Is that what you play at?” He twisted her head to the side and his mouth closed over hers, no restraint, crushing her lips until she tasted blood between them. His fingers caressed her, sliding against her as she bucked back against him and battled his embrace. As much as she fought him, she wanted every ounce of his anger, each breath of his desire, all that he had to give her she would gladly consume.
“Then release me, if you hate me so much!” she cried.
His eyes were glazed over as if he could see through her, and she could feel the torture of longing running through her starving blood as it screamed to join his. She did not recognize the man behind the embers of his eyes, his soul consumed by the raging fire, his fingers searing into her skin now like burning coals.
“No,” he groaned. “No!”
His breathing came coarse but rapid, his pulse pounding against her hand when she tried to touch his neck, but he jerked away from her touch and covered her mouth with his own. The taste of salt and blood surged between her lips, and she could feel his sweat lap at her skin as he raised her hips against the sloped shelf. She cried out when he caught her wrists in one hand and thrust them above her head. His eyes seared through her, and she knew there was no way back.
“Did your husband touch you like this? Do you forget him when I touch you?” he growled, squeezing her wrists. Her hips bucked yet he held her tight. “Would you have me take you now, like this?”
“Yes,” she moaned. His tongue silenced her cries, her resistance drifting downward, swirling in an endless rhythm.
“Open your eyes and see me. You will see my face, not his. You will remember me. Only me.”
Maggie responded to his command, but her eyes widened when she realized what he was saying. Winn thought she wanted Benjamin. He believed she loved Benjamin.
She had to tell him the truth. She could not let him believe such a lie.
“Halloo! Winkeohkwet!”
The familiar call of his brother echoed through the cavern. Time screeched to a stop. He held her tightly and rested his cheek against her heaving belly as he struggled to control his own ragged breaths. The rush of water from the falls sounded so loud, nearly as loud as Winn’s stilted breathing, filling the air between them. He let her arms loose and she slowly lowered them around his neck. His eyes, once crazed with anger and lust, now echoed with regret.
She sat up as he moved away, struggling to control her trembling. He left the shallow pool and she watched him walk to the mouth of the crevice and shout a greeting in reply. He stood for a moment with his back to her, his shoulders betraying emotion left unspoken as they heaved and lowered. He finally turned back to her, his fists clenched at his sides.
“Go back to the cave. Wait there until I return.”
She had no choice but to obey. It was far from her nature to give in when he gave such commands, but she knew she had no option. She did not look at him as she rose and walked to the mouth of the crevice where the fur lay discarded, but she saw the way his eyes followed her and she took full advantage of it.
Winn could pretend she was nothing to him and claim he no longer loved her, but she doubted he meant for her body to be displayed to others. She doused her despair with the surge of anger rising in her blood, and lifted her chin as she straightened her naked body to full height. Chetan’s eyes bulged when she walked past the fur without picking it up, and she knew it was the first time she ever saw Makedewa grin in her presence. She stalked past them and continued on to the cave where the fire still burned, her hips swinging and her auburn hair whipping in her wake.
She watched silently as they prepared to leave.
CHAPTER 37
Winn sat ready on his horse. He was prepared, dressed in his war feathers and str
eaked with dark greasy paint. His mount stomped impatiently beneath his body, as if sensing what his master would do. One of the other men gave word to depart, but Winn knew he could not yet go. Chetan gave him a hard look, shaking his head with a sign when Winn raised his hand to stop them. His glare was full of knowing, as if his brother could read the thoughts that haunted him. The other men did not appear surprised to see Winn dismount and stalk back toward the cave. Someone chuckled, obviously amused at the warrior. Their grumbles meant nothing to him, as they were nothing to him.
He had no plan and knew nothing of what he would do when he saw her. He simmered with rage at her, the anger he carried in check for himself.
Ntehem, his heart, his love.
To have her back in his arms after all this time, to touch her soft creamy skin, was torture. He was a liar, and a bad one at that, for he was certain she could see straight through to his soul. It wounded him to know she let the English man take her body and plant his seed, but he was a liar when he said he would not do the same. If she could truly be his, he would take her again and again, every day until they died.
Yet he could not keep her when she loved another. He knew the last gift he could give her was the safety of her own time in the future. Suddenly the only thing he knew was that he needed to make her understand.
Words failed him as he approached her. He meant to tell her he loved her and that no matter what, he always would. There were sweet words he knew would soothe her fire so she could listen, but none of the words emerged. He wanted her safe, but he wanted to ravage her. He wanted to leave her, but the thought of life without her shattered his heart. None of it made sense, the conflict driving his blood frantic through his veins, pounding in his chest.
Her skin still glistened with moisture, and her half-dried hair fell in amber ringlets around her shoulders. Lips swollen and pink, nipples erect and pointing beneath her flimsy torn shift, she glared at him in challenge, and he was lost. In seconds he crossed the space and was on her, eliciting a startled cry before he crushed his mouth to hers.
She pushed at his chest as if to stop him, but it was too late. He lifted her by the waist and parted her thighs with his knee as he pressed her harder against the stone wall, oblivious or uncaring of her protest he did not know. The feel of her in his arms, her skin sliding against his, sent his senses to that place between darkness and light where he could hold her forever and never account for his sins. There he could possess her soul, hold it captive, pretend she felt love for no other, let her soothe the aching emptiness she left in the hollow of his chest.
“I will have you!” he whispered in a guttural groan as he lifted her hips and plunged. He lost his breath as her slippery tightness surrounded him, and she drove her teeth to his shoulder as she cried out.
A primal moan escaped him and he succumbed to the need, gripping her hips in his hands again as he started to move. He could not bear the sweetness of her embrace, the way her mouth parted slightly open, her soft white throat thrown back so he could see her pulse throbbing at her jaw. He could need no other, love no other, and for each day he lived without her, he would picture her like that, in the final moment he gave her glorious release.
He clutched her so tightly he could feel her heart pounding against his chest, his forehead bent against her shoulder as his shallow breathing came under control. She looked up when he raised his head, meeting his gaze with the beginning of a shy smile.
Her smile tore a hole through his heart.
She looked radiant. Happy. Like a woman in love.
But he knew better, and he hated himself for needing more from her, for needing her whole heart instead of fragments of what they once had.
“Did he ever take you like that, Fire Heart?” he asked, the words seeming to come from some foreign place he no longer recognized. He knew he was a swine. Her rosy cheeks suddenly lost color and tears rimmed her eyes at his words. He deflected her blow but held her wrist tight, slipping away from her. He stepped back and let his breechcloth fall and she slid slightly downward on the wall as if her legs lacked strength.
He turned and left.
It was finished. He would send her back with the Bloodstone to the life she missed, the only gift he could give her, sending her away with the last vestiges of his blackened heart in her keeping.
It had only taken minutes for Winn to rejoin the others, but he could see from their stares they suspected what had happened. He ignored Chetan’s questioning glance as he stalked to his mount and threw himself astride.
*****
They searched the site of the ambush, but the English were long gone. One wagon remained, the horse lathered and heaving as it lay in the creek, the cold water rushing over its broken leg. Makedewa put an arrow through its skull to give it peace, and the animal ceased its struggle.
“Two whites were left. I saw them ride back to Wolstenholme Towne. They had Benjamin Dixon bound and took him as well,” Makedewa said, swinging his bow over his back. “I followed them for some time. They say they will see him hang.”
“Let him hang,” Winn muttered, turning his shoulder to his brother. Their plan was to find The Pale Witch and bring her to safety, and he would not be swayed. He knew his actions only drove the wedge deeper between him and his uncle, but Winn would not allow Maggie or his grandmother to die in the Great Assault.
Maggie was safe. Soon Finola would be as well. If the Creator meant for him to kill more Englishmen, then he would gladly do it. Perhaps the blood would silence the shouts in his head, quell the anger he felt. It might ease the burden of knowing he had lost everything.
He walked off a few paces and pulled his breechcloth aside to relieve himself before they mounted the horses again. Damn Benjamin, let him hang for what he had done, Winn thought bitterly as the stream came forth onto the soil. What kind of man could let his wife hang? As much as Maggie had ever enraged him, and no matter what had been left unsaid between them, he would still die himself before he watched her swing from a noose. It hardened his heart to know a man he called brother held so little care for the woman he took such trouble to steal away from him. If Winn and his brothers had arrived moments later, they would have missed the Englishmen taking Maggie away in the wagon. She would be dead, because of Benjamin.
The stream ended, and Winn replaced his breechcloth, dropping it back in place and then tightening the cord at his waist. An image of Maggie entered his vision, lying back on the rock, her soft full breasts spilling across her chest and her sweet rounded belly trembling under his hand, and he shook off the memory before the urge to turn his horse around took over.
“What is it, brother?”
Winn did not turn to Makedewa, struggling to keep his voice even.
“Tell me again what you know. How far gone is Maggie with the child?”
“I know not. Benjamin Dixon said she breeds, but not how long.”
A burning bile rose in his throat as he realized the truth. Her protests, her anger when he taunted her about Benjamin. Her swollen belly, her heavy breasts. He had seen many women with child, and suddenly it hit him that Maggie was not newly pregnant, she looked a few months gone. She was carrying his child, and he had ravished her like a rutting stag against a stone wall. He thought he would vomit.
“Dixon is mine to kill when we arrive.” Winn walked away from him, but Makedewa followed at his flank, his face wide in astonishment.
“What mean you? I thought –”
“That one…he deserves death for his deceit.” He let his words fall off, unwilling to meet his brother’s eye at his rash change in plan. “You say they took Benjamin back to town?”
“Yes, he was bound and gagged. I think they beat him as well, his face looked like deer meat,” Makedewa grinned, but then became thoughtful. “You know, brother, she will hate you if you kill the father of her child.”
“The child she carries is my blood.”
Winn scowled and Makedewa raised an eyebrow but
refrained from asking any more questions.
CHAPTER 38
Maggie left her horse ground tied in the woods, and made the rest of the way on foot. She was close to the wall surrounding the town, and although she knew a way to steal inside near Finola’s cabin, she thought the horse was better off hidden in the brush.
One loose log was where she remembered, and she uttered a sigh of relief when it pivoted upward with minimal persuasion like a seesaw, leaving a gap near the ground that she could crawl through. She knew if she was spotted there would be no way out this time, and she would be immediately recognized in the outfit she wore. She had no choice but to throw bits and pieces together over her torn shift, swathing a piece of fur around her shoulders and wrapping her legs in makeshift leggings with the rest of the fur she shredded. Although she tried to hide her flaming hair by dividing it into two thick braids and circling her head with a thick rawhide band, she would not go unnoticed by any stretch of imagination.
She came up behind Finola’s cabin and peeked around a corner toward the church, knowing most of the activity took place down that end of town and people tended to gather nearby. The sun had barely risen for the day so she did not expect much activity, and she was lucky to find no prying eyes as she darted through the front door of the cabin. She slammed it closed behind her and immediately checked the lone window. Satisfied no one approached, she turned to Finola.
“Maggie?” the older woman cried, swiftly crossing the room and throwing her arms around her. Maggie clutched her in return as they cried, while Finola patted her face and kissed her cheeks in joy.
“How did ye escape them? Was it Benjamin? He promised me he would free ye! Why did you come back, girl, ye must go! Ye cannot stay here!”
“Finola, he saved me. He killed two men. We have to help him.”
“Ye make no sense! Ye must leave this place! Go to Chetan, he may know where Winn hid your Bloodstone, and ‘tis the only way for ye to return to your time. Please, Maggie,” Finola pleaded, grasping her hands tightly in her own. “Winn would have wanted ye safe. It is the only way.”