by E. B. Brown
Always up for a story, Agnarr noted his interest and continued on to explain.
“Ye see, when a MacMhaolian child is born, or even the child of a Chief Protector’s line, there is a ceremony to… let’s say, test the blood. It takes only a drop from a true blooded MacMhaolian to give life to the dead. Are ye sure ye know nothing of this tale, lad?”
Benjamin shook his head. In his time in the village, he had heard not a whisper of such a thing. For once he was glad he had not learned enough from his father; if he knew any more, it would be too easy to see it in his face, and knowledge of any such powerful magic was exactly what Agnarr sought.
“I see not why this should concern me tonight,” Benjamin muttered, refusing to meet Agnarr’s gaze. He heard the man utter a soft laugh.
“Not tonight, lad. It shallna concern ye tonight. Enjoy yer bride. I wish ye happy tidings in yer new marriage…and many children.”
Benjamin entered the room without another glance at Agnarr, still clutching the crystal glass in his hand. He slammed it down onto the mantel along with his fist. Whatever evil Agnarr plotted, Benjamin would find it. Agnarr’s newest story was just one more reason to strengthen his resolve.
“Benjamin?”
Her voice was tentative, soft. Like her skin when he turned and took her in his arms. Jora did not merely yield to his touch, she welcomed it, seeking to shed him of his clothes as fast as he meant to rid her of her gown.
If he was meant to be a wicked man without honor, then so be it. As he sank down into the bed with his wife he thought, wickedness and betrayal could be no sweeter.
Time Walkers
Book 4
A Tale of Oak and Mistletoe
PART ONE
Prologue
James County, Virginia
October, 2012
Winn
He ran his hand over his head, his fingers brushing down through the prickly short hairs on his fresh shorn scalp. It felt strange without the weight of his braid down his back, and he could feel the autumn breeze at his nape as he crouched down. The journey through time had been very much as Maggie described; pulling his body down, the unseen force urging him to submit, until finally, when he pressed his face to the earth the sky exploded into darkness.
He woke lying flat on his back, staring up at grey storm clouds overhead. Scattered raindrops dotted his skin as he sat up. As he looked around to gain some sense of reality, he saw an English-style house with the soft glow of lights inside through the glass windows. To his other side was a large red barn with the door slightly ajar. The future had some fragrance of the past, but most of the scents assaulting his senses were dank. As he crept up to the house and kneeled down next to the window, he could hear the sound of a man speaking. Without being able to see who was in the house, he could only assume the man was daft by the way he carried on a conversation alone. He peered through the window and saw one of the things Maggie had described to him. It was a picture box, one where people acted out stories on a flat screen. Although his wife had told him it was called a television, his heart still raced at the sight of it and he recalled a fight they once had.
“You have no idea what my life was like!” she shouted.
Yes, she was right.
No matter how much she described the future, he still had no idea. The truth of her words felt heavy in his belly as he sat there in her future time, so far away from all those he loved. What if he was unable to return to them?
Winn swallowed hard and took a deep breath. There was no time for hesitation. He needed to find Marcus and get what he came for. As he stood up, suddenly the door flew open and slammed against the shingles of the house and a woman stalked outside past him. She clutched a red coat around herself, muttering under her breath as she bent her head against the wind.
His heart hammered in his chest as she turned his way. Her auburn hair whipped over her shoulder and her soft green eyes lay beneath red-rimmed eyelids. Her face was round and she carried more weight on her frame as she had on the day they met, and as he took in the rest of her attire he could hear his own pulse throbbing in his head.
Maggie stood in front of him.
The denim trousers, the heavy buckskin colored boots. The strap of a pink undergarment peeking out at one shoulder where her thin cotton shirt exposed her skin. She shoved her hands in the front pockets of her trousers and raised her eyebrows at him. Defiant and unamused, the woman who would someday be his wife stared at him with restrained indifference.
“Well?” Maggie said, as if he had failed to answer a question. His words caught between his dry lips as he stumbled over what to say to her. She made no effort to hide her eyes as she surveyed him head to foot, her brows squinting down and her lips pursed. If he had ever thought her behavior bold before, the way she confronted him now leant some indication of how she was accustomed to speaking to men.
“Wh – what?” he stammered.
“Were you gonna knock, or just stand there? If you’re looking for Marcus, he’s in the kitchen,” she replied, as if impatient with him. Winn knew his face must have looked addled, so he made an attempt to slow down his breathing and make his words more confident. It confused him that she would not ask who he was or what he wanted, but instead she merely offered him entrance to her home.
“Yes. Yes, I am here to see Marcus,” he said slowly.
“Whatever. Later,” she said as she shrugged. She turned away to leave, but before he could stop himself he reached out and snatched her hand. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to feel her heart pound against his. But this was not his wife yet, he was no more than a stranger to her, and he could not endanger the success of his journey by falling prey to his aching soul.
“Wait,” he whispered hoarsely. “I think you dropped this.”
Winn pulled her watch from the pocket of his tunic and placed it in her hand. She stared down at it but did not pull away. Her fingers felt warm against his despite the brisk air, and she slowly looked up at him.
“Thank you. I’ve been looking for that,” she said softly. Her green eyes softened as they met his, creases forming as her lips twitched and dropped slightly open. “Who did you say you are?”
He continued to hold her hand, fighting the urge to draw her close.
“An old friend,” he replied.
“Oh, okay. Well, thanks. See you later,” she said, and this time her words were stammered out as her cheeks filled with color. She uttered a nervous laugh and pulled her hand back before she walked away. As he watched her go into the barn, he had no doubt about what day he had arrived in the future. Any moment she would be taken to his time by her Bloodstone, and he could recall every detail of their meeting as if it had happened only yesterday.
PART ONE
CHAPTER 1
Norse Village, 1634
Maggie
Curled on her side, her limbs still felt heavy from the dreams of a rested sleep when she felt the touch on her ribs. Inquisitive, testing, his fingers traced up across her belly, then paused before his warm palm nested in the juncture of flesh beneath her breasts. His hand squeezed lightly, a question more than anything, and she answered him with a slight, but definite nudge of her buttocks back against him.
“I’m awake,” Maggie said. A smile crossed her lips as she felt him slide one leg over hers. Winn was a furnace, his skin aflame against her even when she needed layers of furs to keep warm. She snuggled deeper into him.
“I’m sorry. I did not mean to wake you,” he whispered. His breath was hot on her neck as he spoke, and by the sound of his voice she knew he was anything but sorry. It seemed he certainly had no intention of sleeping.
“Sure you didn’t,” she replied. “I thought you’d be with the men longer.”
“I should be,” he admitted, his fingers sliding up to cup her heavy breasts. She closed her eyes with a little moan at the contact. “But I’ve heard nothing of what they speak of for the last two hours. All I could see was you, across the hall, wit
h my son at your breast…”
He squeezed her gently to demonstrate, and she let out a tiny shriek.
“Winn!” she laughed.
“…then you left, and I’ve been standing at attention ever since,” he whispered. She could feel him stirring against her.
“Well, that doesn’t sound very comfortable,” she admitted. She inched backward, inviting, eager to relieve his burden, but he shifted so than he could look down on her. Leaning on one elbow, his eyes glazed wide with desire, he bent to trace his lips over her skin. Down her neck, then to her full breasts.
“No, it was not,” he agreed. “Then I realized there is a solution to my, uhm, problem.”
“Oh?”
“Well, I am Chief. If I wish to ravish my wife, I will do so,” he muttered with a grin. He settled his body over hers and parted her legs with his knee, and in that single motion slowly joined their bodies. “Ah, that is better now.”
“So it’s good to be the Chief,” she murmured. A brief echo of her past surfaced at her clumsy attempt at humor, but when he stared down at her she was glad he did not understand it. Silent now, his gaze slicing through her soul, he remained motionless inside her, his breath coming slow and controlled.
“I am only your husband now,” he said softly. “And this is where my duty lies.” He retreated, then bore her back down with his next thrust. She let him clutch her head in his hands as he moved, knowing that he needed that connection for a fleeting moment. Winn spoke with his touch rather than his words, the shadow of flesh upon flesh drawing him deeper than anything spoken. His gleaming eyes never left hers.
“Then do your duty, husband,” she whispered, and he did.
*****
Winn left early the next morning as was his usual routine, taking eight year-old Dagr with him to meet with the men. She wondered what her son might learn with his father today. Would it be to hunt? To learn the ways of being a Chief, as his father was? Or might it be a lesson in killing?
The possibilities unnerved her at times. Despite her best efforts, Maggie still had difficulty going along with life in the seventeenth century. Sometimes she thought of how her life might be if Winn had journeyed to the future, instead of the magic of the Bloodstone sending her to the past. She had no doubt and no regret that her life was joined with his, but she could not help but wonder how things might have been different.
As she made her way to the Northern Hall, what the Norse speaking members of the village called the Noroanveror Skali, she spotted Winn grappling with Dagr in the courtyard. She adjusted two-year old Malcolm on her hip to watch them as her daughter Kyra ran ahead.
No, she thought with a secret grin as her husband taught her son a lesson. Winn was meant for the time he was born to, and she was meant to find him.
Winn’s arms stood out in welcome beneath his simple fur-lined vest as he taunted his son, and Maggie let out a groan when Dagr rushed his father haphazardly. The boy was promptly upended onto his backside, eliciting an uncharacteristic swear word in Norse from the youngster. Maggie tried not to smirk when Winn reached down and ruffled Dagr’s mane of thick black hair, which did nothing to stem the tide of obscenities coming from his mouth.
“That cannot possibly be my son talking like that,” she commented as she joined them. A crooked grin graced Winn’s face. With one hand holding the squirming Dagr flat on the ground, he glanced down briefly at his son before he greeted her.
“Do not blame me. He’s your son,” Winn chuckled. When Malcolm reached out two hands toward his father, Winn released Dagr and took his younger son from Maggie.
“Da! Down! Nior!” Malcolm cried, his demand relayed in both Norse and English.
“It is not time for you to fight yet, Mal. Soon, I promise,” Winn said to the child. Malcolm pouted but stilled in Winn’s arms, sticking a thumb in his mouth as his dark eyes turned to his father.
Maggie caught her fingers in the edge of Dagr’s braies before he ran off.
“You!” she admonished him. Dagr had the good sense to know when he was in trouble. He stood bravely beside her, his narrow chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to contain his ire. “I’ll wash your mouth out with sand, don’t think I won’t!”
Dagr scowled when she kissed his cheek.
“Aww, Ma!” the boy hissed. He twisted away from her kiss and raced off to join the older boys who were gathered by the well. Dagr was built like his father – lean but solid, thick through his shoulders, with a strength from his core that gave him an undeniable aura. With his dark skin and long hair, he could easily blend in with any of the Indian tribes just as his father had. Yet in the village, he was the young son of the Chief, unique in his own special way among the Norse.
Ahi Kekeleksu grabbed Dagr around the neck as the boy ran straight into a mob of young men. Keke, son of Winn’s brother Chetan, had turned into quite a stout young man over the winter. Gone was the boyish shyness and the uncertainty when speaking with others. Keke seemed the leader of the pack of youths in the village, those who were new to manhood and testing the limits. Iain was his closest friend, the half-Indian son of Roanoke survivor Ellie, and Tyr was a Norse youth that kept company with them.
When Keke let young Dagr pummel him before he shoved him toward the meal table she smiled. Although quite a bit younger than his cousin, Dagr still assumed a spot of honor amongst the boys. After all, Dagr was Chief Winn’s eldest son.
Across the expanse of the Northern Hall, Maggie spotted Rebecca. With her long blond curls hanging loose over her shoulders and her skin flushed with radiance only happiness could give, she sat quietly beside her husband Makedewa as he spoke with the men. Although she was close to term with her pregnancy, she carried small, her bump only scarcely visible under her long gown. Rebecca gave a quick wave to Maggie when they spotted each other across the room, but the younger woman quickly returned her attention to her Indian husband.
Maggie smiled. Perhaps she could corner her friend later to ask how she was feeling, without Makedewa near. Rebecca would never admit any discomfort with her husband within earshot.
As Maggie and Winn joined the group, Winn swung Malcolm onto his shoulders, a place of prominence that the child loved. Winn held the youngster’s kicking feet in place with his hands and Malcolm pointed and laughed at his kin.
“Winn is here now, let him decide,” Cormaic called out. Maggie’s cousin was a bear of a man, standing taller than her husband with a set of arms to rival any body builder from her future time. His physique was earned from a lifetime of labor, hewn from endless hours spent hunting and fighting. Maggie was surprised to see him agitated, being that gentle Cormaic usually kept his stronger emotions under wraps. Standing next to the Indian Makedewa, however, Cormaic appeared anything but happy. Cormaic handed Winn a tankard of mead.
“On what shall I decide?” Winn answered.
“There’s more woodland being burned, and now it’s close to the Nansemond village. We should send some of our men to protect them,” Cormaic replied.
Winn took the proffered mug and drank half of it before answering, his eyes scanning the men before him. He kept one hand on his son’s heels, and Malcolm rested his hand on Winn’s head.
“So they want more fields for their tobacco,” Winn said. Cormaic nodded, casting a look at Makedewa.
“The English are never happy. They keep taking the land, destroying it with their crops. They burn too much and leave nothing for the tribes,” Winn’s Indian brother replied.
“Has Pepamhu sent for help?” Winn asked. Maggie was not aware of any emissaries from the Nansemond village, nor of a visit from Makedewa’s father. It was a sore subject for both Winn and Makedewa, since the Nansemond sheltered the last of the Paspahegh people. Among them was Winn and Makedewa’s mother, now first wife to Pepamhu, the Nansemond leader of that particular tribe.
“No,” Makedewa answered.
Winn handed Malcolm back to her when the boy grabbed for his mead cup. Maggie took the child wi
thout a word, intent on listening to what the men discussed.
“Send a rider to the village. I need word from Pepamhu before we act,” Winn said.
“I will go.”
Winn nodded to Makedewa at his offer. Maggie knew it made sense for the younger man to carry out the duty, yet she wondered how Rebecca would feel over her husband’s departure.
Hoisting the toddler higher up on her hip, she made her way over to Rebecca as the men continued to discuss their plans. Things had been quiet in the village for some time, with no interference from the English or threats from any native tribes. They kept close ties with the Nansemond, a tie that gave them some standing with the Indian community and kept them relatively safe. With the English, however, relations were strained, and it seemed only a matter of time before the English curiosity grew into something more. Over the last few months, Winn had restricted the men from journeying into town for trade; they went only in groups of heavily armed men, and they only ventured out when there was the utmost need.
Despite all their efforts, it seemed they would soon be right in the path of the English expansion. If they were burning fields near the Nansemond, it would not be long before they reached the Norse village as well. 50
“How are you?” Maggie asked as she reached her friend. Rebecca brushed the back of her palm over her brow, wiping away the bead of fine sweat at her hairline. Her blond curls lay matted at her nape, her cheeks plump and flushed. If anything bothered her she hid it well, striking a wide smile as Maggie joined her.
“Fine,” Rebecca answered. “But I will admit I am ready to meet this wee one. I canna hardly see my toes this morning, and I feel so clumsy.”
“Soon, I think. Gwen seems to think so as well,” Maggie replied. Malcolm squirmed away and hid his head in her shoulder when Rebecca tried to give him a kiss.