Roam: Time Walkers World Special Edition

by E. B. Brown

  He could search the two intact houses for women’s trinkets, but he did not want to give her the tidings of the dead. The English said their God lived forever, so taking a few ribbons from God should not trouble the living.

  “Makedewa! Momma, this is my husband,” Rebecca exclaimed. He grimaced at the use of his true name in the presence of the strangers, but nodded politely to the women all the same. He had never explained what names meant to the Paspahegh, so he could not fault Rebecca for that. There was so much for them to speak of, so much about each other they had yet to discover, yet suddenly seeing her with her mother and knowing Kaleb had a loaded musket in arms reach sent a surge of unease through his bones. He hoped what was meant to be a short visit would not sprawl into something more.

  Elizabeth Tucker stared boldly at him, giving him no indication that she saw him as anything other than a savage. Yes, he had seen that look before. Rebecca was too deliriously happy to see it and Elizabeth shielded it well, but it was there.

  “Thank ye, kind sir, for keeping my daughter safe. I fear we are indebted to ye. Please,” Elizabeth murmured, patting a bench beside them. “Please sit with us. I cannot say I am not troubled that my daughter has married outside the church, ye surely understand that.”

  Makedewa tightened his hand over the butt of his knife and remained standing. Rebecca looked at him curiously but did not question him, instead rising up to stand beside him. He let out a breath when she looped her arm through his and he felt the heat of her body close to his.

  “So this village ye live in. Ye willna tell me where it is? And I cannot visit ye?” Elizabeth commented, her eyes fastened on Makedewa rather than her daughter.

  “Strangers are not welcome there. No, you may not visit,” Makedewa answered. He heard Kaleb close the door behind him, and the sound of the man’s boots as he crossed the floor. Elizabeth kept Makedewa’s gaze for along moment, then obediently rose from her place to fetch a drink for her husband. Rebecca left his side to help her mother, and it was from his wife’s hand that he took the offered ale.

  “Are there other English women you keep there? Other captives?” Elizabeth continued. Rebecca made a sharp gasping sound and made to move, but Makedewa placed his hand on her wrist. It was only a gentle reminder, but enough to keep her steady.

  “My wife was never a captive. The choice is hers,” he answered. He studied the woman over the brim of the pewter cup. At first he had thought Rebecca looked like her mother, yet as they spent more time together he decided that was not the case. Rebecca was everything light and honest; this Englishwoman might share his wife’s riotous blond hair and creamy pale skin, but that was where the resemblance ended. At the revelation of clear disgust in Elizabeth’s gaze, he suddenly felt less threatened by Kaleb with his musket propped against the doorjamb.

  “Wife!” Kaleb snapped. His voice was sharp and Elizabeth immediately ducked her eyes. Well, there was some fire in the woman. For now it was kept in check by her English husband.

  Makedewa broke the silence. The tension was thick and he had no urge to drive it further. He had meant only to see Rebecca safely for a visit and then return to show Winn the way to the river plantation. Rebecca knew the plan when they set out that day, so he was assured she would not argue.

  “Kaleb, I think my wife needs to spend some time with her mother. I have duties to tend to and will return. I would be grateful for you to keep Rebecca until I return. Can I trouble you for some water for my horse?”

  “Of course, friend. I shall show ye the way,” Kaleb agreed.

  “Ye do not have to leave,” Rebecca murmured. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright, her lower lip stained pink from bite of her teeth into her flesh. He brushed his fingers along her jaw. Although he longed to pull her into his arms, he was not a man to display his need so boldly, so a gentle touch between them would have to be enough to convey his heart’s desire.

  “Do not fear. I will return for you,” he said softly. She smiled and nodded. He left her with her mother and joined Kaleb outside.

  Makedewa occupied himself with tying Rebecca’s horse to the corral and watering the animals. He left his traveling bag and belongings in Rebecca’s care, knowing he would not be gone long. The shadow of unease nipped at his skin, liked pin pricks from an unseen spirit, and he could not shake the sense of worry that plagued him. Perhaps it was the intended raid on the river plantation where Benjamin was held; or more likely it was the knowledge he was leaving his wife in the care of Englishmen. It had not been his doing. Rebecca had insisted she would visit with her mother and then when Makedewa returned for her they would leave together. Makedewa sought to give her voice in matters between them, yet he could only hope that this venture had not been a mistake.

  He saw her wave from the doorway as he rode away and he lifted his chin in return. As he galloped toward the river he brushed away the twinges of doubt.

  After all, it was only a few hours apart.

  *****

  He did not see Winn and the others until he rode up into their midst. Although he sensed they were nearby, the Norse were a canny bunch and were skilled at lying in wait. Makedewa jumped down off his horse and scowled when an arrow pierced the air and burrowed into the ground only a few inches away.

  It was Chetan’s arrow, and he knew his brother meant to miss.

  “Waste no more on me, kemata tehpahta!” Makedewa sniped. He kneeled down beside the others, giving Chetan a shove in the process.

  “You are as loud as a bear! Does marriage make you clumsy?” Chetan taunted him. Winn made a hissing sound at them.

  “Enough! Look, they have dozens of men. Even English soldiers, like you said. I think we have plan,” Winn answered. The teasing guffaws stopped and all ears turned to the Chief. At Winn’s side, Erich pointed through the tall grass toward the plantation. The Norse were well hidden in the brush along the river tree line, with an unobstructed view of the barn and the main house. It did not look any different than when Makedewa had followed the Time Walkers there, but it certainly had many more people milling about.

  Makedewa glanced around at the gathered Norse. They did not have enough men for a full on assault, and he could see Winn meet his gaze.

  “No,” Winn said. “We will bring them out, we will confuse them. Cormaic and Hamish will set the barn on fire. When the English scatter, we will go in. Then we will find Benjamin.”

  Makedewa felt his skin tingle and fear gripped his chest. They had not planned such a rouse; Rebecca was still in town, and such a commotion would make it much more dangerous for him to retrieve her.

  “I need you to show me where to find him,” Winn continued. Makedewa glared at his brother.

  “This is not what we planned!” he replied.

  Winn nodded in agreement but his gaze was fierce. There would be no argument.

  “I know. But it must be this way. I will not risk our men for this when we know not what we face. The men have already left to start the fire, they should return here soon.”

  Makedewa noted Erich looking frantically in the direction of the barn, and he saw the older man’s shoulders relax when the shrouded forms of two hulking men ran through the low brush toward them. Their errand had been successful, the large barn erupting into a fiery blaze within moments of their return. Three groups of men set off in different directions, Makedewa assumed to start a series of smaller fires to divide the English resources. The plan was a brilliant one, save the unnerving fact that it would keep Makedewa there much longer than he anticipated. All he could hope for was to find Benjamin quickly, or risk being caught when he returned to retrieve Rebecca.

  “Benjamin was held in the far room, the one closest to the smokehouse. That is the only place to look if he does not leave the house,” Makedewa offered.

  Perhaps it was the catch in his voice, or the plea of one man’s heart, but it was then that Winn turned to him with a frown. Something unspoken occurred between Winn and Chetan, a swift nod, an acknowledgement o
f sorts, and suddenly Makedewa knew his brothers felt his pain.

  “Go fetch your woman,” Winn commanded. “Meet us at the river. Ride fast, brother.”

  Makedewa closed his eyes and bowed his head. He felt Chetan put a hand on his shoulder, and Winn touched his fisted knuckles to his chest.

  Moments later he rode low against the neck of his horse, galloping down the riverbank back toward town.

  *****

  It was by habit that he crept quietly up upon the house. He had given them no cause for alarm, yet even he knew his kind were always viewed with suspicion. With the knowledge of the fire roaring downstream at the plantation he knew it was only a matter of time before the townsfolk were roused, and he planned to have his wife far away from the melee when it ensued.

  He made to go to the door when suddenly it opened. A glimmer of light spilled out from the portal and he could hear the sounds of laughter inside. He felt an insatiable pull to take his wife far from the English town, one that would not be stemmed until he held her safely in his arms again. When he saw a hooded figure with a flash of blond curls poking from beneath her cloak he nearly met her halfway, but when he saw the bundle in her arms he stopped cold.

  She looked toward the glass window for a moment, as if indecisive. It was only a brief pause before she placed the bundle of items on the ground beside the door. He waited until she went back inside before he approached, his chest clenching tight into a relentless spasm when he realized what she left.

  On the ground lay his spare moccasins.

  His carrying sack.

  His tunic and vest.

  The groan from deep in his belly was involuntary, a roar of denial that shook him to the bones. He grabbed the door handle to rush after her, yet then dropped it and jumped back as if burned. Thrusting his hands through his hair, he stalked through the courtyard away from the house, back to where his horse stood patiently ground-tied. The horse made a soft snorting sound at his approach, pacing in place at the presence of his master.

  “Not yet, friend,” he muttered to the animal.

  How had this happened? He left his wife in the care of her kin for a few hours, and he returned to be cast out?

  She knew what it meant. She did it with her own hands, of her own…choice.

  Perhaps she could not face him with the truth?

  He took his hand axe from where it lay sheathed on the neck of his horse and stalked back to the house.

  He watched them through the thick glass window as they took their evening meal. It had been a long time since he had dined in the house of an Englishman, yet he could still recall with the ache of youthful innocence how devious such people could be.

  Untrustworthy.

  Liars.

  Murderers.

  They stood for everything he hated. And they stood between him and his wife. Laughing, passing bread, drinking sweet port as if they had no care in the world other than to enjoy the decadence littered in front of them.

  He flexed his fingers against the handle of his axe. He would slaughter them all. Every. Single. Englishman.

  No man would keep him from his wife.

  Laughter bubbled through the glass panes, catching his attention before he stepped away from the window. He should not let their rituals sway him, nor let their amusement stem his hatred. Yet he recognized the voice, and when he peered into the room he could see her.

  Rebecca stood laughing with her toddler step-brother perched in her arms. The child grabbed for one of her golden curls, setting her off into a fit of giggles as she swung around to avoid him. Rebecca’s mother watched them, her weathered face betraying her joy. Makedewa saw the older woman glance up at Kaleb Tucker, and he patted her shoulder as if to ease her worry.

  Rebecca looked radiant.

  He sank down against the slat house to rest on his heels, his heart racing in preparation for what he must do.

  Break in. Kill anyone who challenged him. Retrieve his woman.

  It seemed so simple as he stole into town, yet now, staring at her through the window, suddenly he was not so sure. She was his wife, his heart. She belonged with him, she had pledged her soul to his. It was not a vow one broke, not in his world or any other.

  A memory of their wedding night haunted him, and he could not deny it tore through his resolve.

  “Look here, into my eyes. See how much I love you. I will always honor you,” he murmured. “And I will always serve you.”

  Yes, he had made her promises. Promises he meant to keep.

  The axe slid from his grip to rest against his thigh. His heart pounded near breaking with the knowledge of what he meant to do. Before that moment he thought he knew what it was to love a woman. He felt secure in his vow, sure of where it would lead them. Yet it took sitting on his heels in the dirt for the blow to stun him, so much so that he rocked back with a low coarse groan. If he ever knew what love was, then his illusion of it fell shattered like shards at his feet at the sight of her happy face.

  She was happy with her family. She was happy with the English. And she had put out his belongings. She had made her choice. 49

  He had told her once she always had a choice. It had been an easy vow to give when he was sure he knew what her answer would be. Now, as he stood up, sheathing his axe at his waist, the true meaning of those words burned through him. He could not take her from her happiness, no matter what the cost. It was her choice.

  The ache in his chest was foreign, nothing that he had ever encountered. Even in the darkest hours of his life, even in the dank place where Nathanial Webb imprisoned him, he had never felt such a tearing. It was as if his soul pulled away from his body, seeking another place to shelter it. He suspected the beaten thing meant to stay with Rebecca, when he honored her wish to stay with her family and left her forever.

  After all, he had pledged to serve her. To his benefit or not, he knew he must do so. If he was not man enough to keep that promise, then all he had asked of her and all they had meant to each other was lost.

  His limbs were numb as he mounted up, but his horse knew the way.

  CHAPTER 15

  Benjamin

  SMOKE.

  Funny, he did not recall leaving a fire burning in the hearth. In fact, his last thought before drifting off to sleep was that he would need to share the quilt with the tiny lass nestled in his arms.

  Most definitely smoke.

  The window was cracked open, and when Benjamin sat up he could see the thick haze misting in through the window. Something burned outside in the yard, and by the scent of burnt tobacco he could only guess it was the storage barn.

  He nudged Jora, who did not stir with the gentle gesture. With a sigh he pulled on his braies, running his hands through his hair. He had no idea how to proceed with the situation he found himself in, and he suspected Jora was just as befuddled as he was.

  A fine pair they would make, he thought, shaking his head.

  As he shoved on his boots and fastened his belt the door opened wide.

  “Ah, well. I suppose a wedding is in order then, aye?” Agnarr smirked. He entered the room without pause, his eyes roving first over the half-covered Jora lying on the bed, then flickering back to Benjamin with a salacious grin.

  “I’ll have ye close that door, with ye on the other side of it,” Benjamin said. He tried to temper his tone, but the menace came through as if he shouted a threat. No, he was not yet ready to challenge Agnarr, but neither would he let the man shame Jora any further.

  For a tense moment Agnarr stood very still. Benjamin slid his knife into his belt as they surveyed each other. He tried to betray no relief when Agnarr’s face broke into a wide grin and he muttered a few obscenities under his breath before he turned on his heel. It was a small battle, but one that had suddenly become important to him: Jora was under his protection now, and Benjamin would not let Agnarr use her for whatever malicious purpose he concocted.

  “So your spine shows itself,” Agnarr taunted him. Before Benjamin could re
ply Agnarr waved him off. “A discussion for another time, friend. I fear we have bigger problems to address, what with my barn on fire.”

  Benjamin followed him outside. The barn was ablaze, the roof engulfed in flames. Reinn shouted orders to men, who were heaving a line of water filled buckets from the well in a most inefficient manner. The splashes they sent onto the fire would not quell a spark, let alone a full blaze, and the situation was rapidly swinging out of control.

  Agnarr joined Reinn and made quick orders to abandon the barn. Reinn was only too happy to oblige, taking a half-dozen men to see to one of the smaller storehouse fires. The reasoning was sound. The main storage barn was beyond salvage, yet they might make headway with one of the smaller fires.

  Benjamin noted a small band of English soldiers ride into the yard who took orders from Agnarr and then split up to spread their efforts. Benjamin joined another group of men to fight one of the smaller fires, leaving Agnarr standing in the middle of the courtyard. For a man losing a large amount of money he seemed quite calm, surveying the damage with his hand knotted under his chin, elbow resting on a crossed forearm.

  When they arrived at the small outpost on the dock it was only the roof gone smoldering, so he was sure they could stem the damage done. If there was too much lost, Agnarr might have need to keep him and Jora at the plantation, and that was one scenario Benjamin did not want to consider. The more he learned about Agnarr, either from the man’s own mouth or slips of tongue from the others, he knew enough to want to put distance between them.

  Yes, it would be wise to let the man believe they were allies, even business partners. It was the only way to discover what danger he posed to his kin, and now, it meant keeping Jora safe as well.

  As men worked on opening the doors to the outpost, Benjamin ducked away toward the river to douse his clothes in water before he entered the flaming building. Smoke choked his lungs, the thick scent of the burnt tobacco leaves clinging to his skin and hair despite the dunking. As he shook the water out from his hair he heard the sound of footsteps behind him.