by E. B. Brown
If her mind had not been so cluttered with grief, she would have questioned his intention. As much as she enjoyed his attention, she hardly felt up to bathing with him. After all, she had insisted on taking care of the child, and spending time with him as if he might live just seemed a cruel reminder of the inevitable.
The babe let out a muffled squeak as they slipped down into the shallow pool. Winn placed the baby in her arms, and then settled behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her snug against his slick chest as the hot steam moistened their skin. She could feel his lips near her ear and the way his muscles yielded to surround her, shielding her within his embrace. The water was a warm clasp, sheltering them, pulling them down to the damp depths where she could feel a trickle of hope. The remnant seemed so close, but her painfully full breasts sat unyielding to her demand.
“I promised Rebecca I would take care of him,” she whispered. The babe stared quietly up at them, his almond-shaped eyes so unnaturally dark for an infant. His gaze was steady, almost knowing, as if he could see through to her heart and know her true intent.
“You will keep that promise,” Winn said softly. From his place behind her, Winn’s legs wrapped around hers and one of his hands slid up. “Close your eyes,” he murmured.
She leaned back against him with a sigh as his fingers caressed her torso. Across her belly, up over her ribs, then beneath the crease where her breasts lay heavy on her chest. At first she was confused, thinking his touch meant something different, but as he continued to stroke her skin lightly with his fingertips, she realized his pure intent.
“Think of Kwetii, the first time you held her to your breast,” he whispered. His fingers pressed gently, soothing then light, like a tickle over her flesh. “And of Dagr. You said once he was greedy, like a little piglet, taking more than he needed.”
“Winn, I can’t –”
“Yes,” he insisted. “You can. You will.”
He lifted one breast, and when his thumb brushed over the tight nipple she let out an involuntary sigh. She felt the rush, the downward pull, the warmth as the milk swelled forth. He raised the babe to her breast, and she closed her eyes as the seeking mouth latched on. Winn’s legs entwined through hers as he continued to caress her, his fingers slippery as he moved in an easy rhythm from her ribs to her breasts, urging the flow to continue. Her limbs felt boneless, relaxed beneath his gentle touch.
She pictured Kwetii as a newborn, and that precious time where her only tie to survival was what could be found in Maggie’s arms. Then it was Dagr, a robust babe who took greedy satisfaction and never went hungry. Finally, it was Malcolm she saw, the tiny son she feared might not live. The one at her breast was like her youngest son, she thought. So tiny, so needful. His fist clenched and unclenched as he sucked, and as the warmth of the letdown filled her, she could hear his satisfied suckle.
Winn’s cheek lay pressed to hers, his chin on her shoulder as he watched. His breath was shallow, his embrace controlled. There was little she had master of in her life, but this, this giving, it was something she could wield. As the babe sucked harder, the pain faded to a dull numbness, and her body relaxed back against Winn’s.
“See?” Winn whispered. “You will feed him, and he will grow strong. Only you can give him this gift, the gift of living. The Gods smile on you now, ntehem,” he said.
Soon the babe stirred, arching his back and pulling away from her. His mouth dropped off from his feeding, staying draped open with a trickle of milk on his chin as he succumbed to slumber. As Winn washed the babe’s face, she realized it was the first time she had heard the child snore.
*****
The babe slept well that night, tucked in next to her between the furs. Maggie woke to Winn’s arms surrounding them both, his large hand keeping them secure in his embrace. She uttered a groan of dismay when Winn stirred and left the warmth of their bed, but smiled at his promise to see her later in the day at the Northern Hall. As he woke Dagr to take with him on a hunt she dozed, and they stumbled about the Longhouse in a sleepy haze as they tried to ready themselves without waking the women. Winn kissed her on the cheek before he left, his fingers brushing gently over Daniel’s head in acknowledgement.
The matter of a Paspahegh name for the boy was something they would need to discuss soon. With Makedewa gone the entire subject seemed in limbo, with neither she nor Winn wanting to take that task from the child’s father. Yet the longer Makedewa stayed away, the less hopeful she felt he would ever return, and the simple fact was that they needed to carry on.
After rising for the day, Maggie took Kyra and the boys to the Northern Hall to join the other women for the morning meal. Malcolm followed his sister, seeming happy to go wherever she might lead him. Gwen was eager to get her hands on the newborn so Maggie handed him over after teasing her aunt a bit. With the hearth fire warming the Longhouse and the women bustling about preparing food, it was a morning like any other.
“Mama, I’ll eat later. I’m gonna go hunt rabbits like Da showed me,” Kyra said. Busy peeling carrots, Maggie glanced at her oldest child. The eleven-year old had been subdued since her adventure into town. Shortly after her dramatic return to the village Rebecca had died, and Maggie felt like Kyra had retreated inside herself somewhat. Normally outspoken and bold, the girl hung back in the shadows more often than not. She stopped playing with the older boys as her father had demanded, but she did not try to socialize with the girls, either. Instead, Kyra stayed close to home and her brothers and moped about as much as a girl her age could muster. The only thing that had caused her to perk up in the last few weeks was Winn talking about taking the boys on a hunting day, but of course, Kyra was crushed when Winn left her behind.
“Why not help me with the cooking, Kwetii?” Maggie called. She wiped her hand on her apron and watched her daughter shrug. Her tangled mane of dark hair fell like a cloak around her face, hiding her eyes, but Maggie could still see her heart shaped lips pursed into a frown.
“Nay. I can hunt as good as Dagr can. He’s only eight,” Kyra muttered.
“Of course you can. I’m sure your Da will take you next time. I’m sure he just thought you might want to spend some time with us women,” Maggie offered.
“Why? So I can act like a lady? I’ll never be a lady, Mama. Never.”
Maggie bit back her smile.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a lady, sweetheart. And it’s something you can’t help, if you’re asking. You’ll grow up whether you want to or not.”
Maggie instantly regretted her carefree response when Kyra’s fists clenched into knots at her sides and her round blue eyes filled with tears. Placing her working knife aside, Maggie wiped her hands and took Kyra into her arms.
“Sweetie, what on earth is going on?” she murmured, kissing her daughter’s forehead. A muffled cry escaped Kyra, and Maggie felt her body shudder.
“I don’t ever wanna grow up. I never want babies, I never want a husband. Not even Morgan!” Krya sobbed. Maggie sighed and held her tighter, rocking her gently as she had when she was a babe.
Gwen and Ellie looked up at them over the steam of the house kettle but did not approach.
“Shh, shh,” Maggie whispered. “Someday you might change your mind on that, but for now you needn’t worry on it.”
“Rebecca died, Mama! She’s dead, all because of–because of that baby!” Kyra insisted.
“It’s not his fault. It’s not anyone’s fault,” Maggie replied, at loss to console her daughter. She wanted to tell her that these things rarely happened. She wanted to tell her it was not normal to die in childbirth. Yet the stark reality of it was that her explanation would be a lie.
Perhaps in the future, women did not routinely die in childbirth. In the seventeenth century, however, it was more likely to happen than not.
“Then why did Uncle Makedewa leave? Why won’t he come home?” Kyra demanded.
“I don’t know, sweetie. I don’t know,” Maggie replied.
She wished she knew the answer to that question as well.
“Promise me you’ll never make me get married, Mama. Please.” Kyra fussed like a hummingbird in her arms, her dirt-stained fingers clutching Maggie’s shift.
“Kyra…someday you might feel different.”
The child twisted suddenly away.
“I won’t, Mama. And if ye make me do it, I’ll hate ye. I will. And Da, too!” Kyra shouted. Maggie closed her eye with a sigh as Kyra darted out of the Longhouse, her ermine cape flapping behind her.
When Maggie looked back at the women, Gwen made a shooing motion as she rocked the baby.
“Go on, I’ll see to this wee one,” Gwen said. Elli shook her head and resumed her chores as Maggie left to catch Kyra.
She scooped Malcolm up into her arms and kicked at the dirt with a swipe and a sigh as she walked. It was a juvenile gesture, one more in line with what Kyra would do, but heck if she had any experience with angry adolescent girls. Bereft of a mother and raised by two men, she did not have much insight into how a mother would console a child. She could only do what felt right, try to answer Kyra’s questions, and let the girl know how much she loved her. It seemed the only thing left to do.
As she searched the courtyard for Kyra, her eyes fell on a figure by the corral. Tall and dark haired, his broad shoulders sheltered by a thick wool cape, Maggie did not recognize him right off. She knew the men were hunting, she was sure none had stayed behind except maybe crooked Old Olaf, and he spent most days rocking in a chair next to Finola. Since the tall man tied his mount to a post by the corral with the other horses she did not feel alarmed, but when she saw Kyra approach him, her panic sensors sparked into overdrive. She plunked Malcolm down firmly on the ground next to the well.
“Don’t you move until I come back,” she said, giving him her stern look. Mal grinned in return and she set off to see what business the stranger had in her village.
His back was to her as she approached. Still too far away, she watched him bend down to speak with Kyra. To her dismay, a tentative smile creased Kyra’s face.
When the stranger lifted Kyra onto his horse, Maggie pulled her knife from her pocket and broke into a run.
CHAPTER 8
Benjamin
“There should be no trouble, my lord,” Reinn assured Agnarr.
Benjamin continued working his ledger book, keeping his eyes cast downward as he listened to the conversation. Neither Agnarr nor Reinn made any care to conceal their discussion, yet another plan to drive the Indian tribes further west. Every parcel of land that Agnarr helped clear was another workable piece of property – one that tobacco would grow on, and another means to line his pockets. There was a reason Agnarr was one of the wealthiest citizens in the colony. His willingness to eradicate the natives was matched by none.
“Good. Ye say it is a small village? Send only a few men, then, and leave the rest.” Agnarr leaned back in his thick tufted chair as he answered, taking a long drag from a carved ivory pipe. It was one of the many unique trinkets he confiscated from new arrivals to his port, including his last search of a ship carrying trade goods from the Far East.
“Aye, a small one, but the leader is a fearsome sort. Our Indian tracker says they call him Winkeohkwet – The Raven.”
Benjamin’s hand tightened into a fist beneath the table. He had watched the English destroy village after village, forcing the Indians to move or be moved. Although he knew someday Winn’s village would be in danger, the reality of it hit him like a blow in the gut.
It was time. His debt must be paid, his duty satisfied.
He would not allow Agnarr to harm his kin.
“Oh, fearsome, ye say? Well, shall we make a day of it? I will accompany ye, and we will take a few soldiers as well. What harm can a few arrows be when we have so many muskets to make our persuasion?” Agnarr answered.
“As you wish, my lord,” Reinn agreed. “I will prepare the men.”
Benjamin did not look up as Reinn left the room. Even when Agnarr cleared his throat in that definitive manner that meant he was preparing to speak, Benjamin continued to focus on the ledger numbers on the desk. Never one to be ignored, however, Agnarr was quick to engage Benjamin in a dialogue.
“So it seems I shall be engaged for most of the day. I expect you will keep matters in order here?” Agnarr commented casually, as if his words were mere requests instead of commands. Benjamin nodded, scribbling figures into the ledger book.
“As always,” he answered. He felt his skin prickle at the nape of his neck and the telltale dampness of sweat on his brow. He had to do something, warn the villagers – but how, without arousing Agnarr’s suspicions? Hurriedly he added, “I must retrieve the ledgers from the tavern, but that shall not keep me away for long. Profits were good this quarter, ye shall be pleased with the return.”
“Fair enough,” said Agnarr, standing up from his chair. He glanced at himself in a wall mirror as he turned toward the door, unable to resist smoothing back his elegantly coiffed hair. With a wry grin at his own reflection, he uttered a low chuckle. “And Jora will join us for the evening meal? I do so miss her. It seems you hide her away from me.”
Agnarr’s declaration was grumbled as he admired his own countenance.
“Of course not. I am sure she will be pleased to join us tonight.”
“Good. See that she does.” Agnarr finally abandoned admiring himself and pushed open the door. “Oh, and Benjamin?”
A bead of sweat slid down his face, tickling his ear as it went on its path. He swallowed slowly, trying to ignore the nagging sensation.
“Yes, my lord?” he answered evenly.
“Has my ward been absent for some reason? Perhaps her condition warrants rest?”
Struggling to contain his composure, Benjamin met Agnarr’s gaze across the room.
“My wife was feeling poorly, but she is recovered. It was no matter to worry over, and it is passed now. Ease your mind. Ye need not dwell on it,” he replied. He chose his words with care, giving Agnarr enough information to provide the older man assurance without leading to more questions. Every moment they spent making small talk was keeping him away from helping his brother; Winn needed to be warned of Agnarr’s arrival – and Benjamin was the only one who could do it.
Agnarr nodded, his hint of a grin leveling out into a thin line.
“Until tonight then, my friend.”
When the door closed behind his partner, Benjamin let out a deep breath. He wiped the sweat from his brow and rested his chin on his clasped fists for a moment, knowing he had precious little time to dwell on his worries. He must act and he must do it immediately, lest the life of those he was swore to protect would be in danger.
He shoved away the part of him that said to wait, to gauge his options, to come up with a sensible plan. Instead, he embraced the loyalty that still bound him, the loyalty that would not leave him no matter how many times he stood by and watched Agnarr’s devious deeds.
Jora was dressing when he entered their room and he quickly stepped up behind her to help tighten the stays she struggled with. Her long dark hair brushed his wrists as he tied her, her breath expelling in a squeak when he pulled too harshly.
“I thank ye,” she said, her words strained. He noticed when she placed her hand on her waist, closing his eyes for a moment when her palm slipped down briefly over her lower belly.
“How do ye feel this morn?” he asked.
“I shall abide,” she sniped. He sighed. She did not move away when he placed his hands on her shoulders, and for a moment he thought he felt her lean back into his arms. Yet Jora was stronger than that, and as quick as he had felt her soften to him, she moved away even faster. “’Tis better now that the courses have stopped,” she said softly.
He gripped her shoulders at her words, swallowing back his own grief. It had been more than a week since the loss of the babe. Despite the imminent danger of what the child could mean to Agnarr, Jora had been happy when she told Benja
min the news. She said she saw their future, and despite Benjamin’s fears she knew that someday a dark-eyed little boy would be at Benjamin’s side. Her sight had always led to the truth in the past, something they could rely on to point the way when the path was unclear. This time, however, he wondered if her heart had not led her gift astray.
“I am glad to see ye well,” he replied. At loss to form words that might ease her pain, he stumbled over how to console her. The valley between them was wider than the strain of their recent loss. It was a marriage mottled with mistrust and fear, neither of which he had any notion of how to dispel.
And when Benjamin told her he must leave, he knew it might be the last nail in the coffin of what tenuous bond they still shared.
“Stay here for the day, away from the men. I must leave ye now, but I shall return soon.”
Her shoulders stiffened beneath his fingers as she turned to face him. She did not pull away from his touch, but her chin dipped down and she shook her head a bit, as if to herself.
“How can ye leave now? I know I mean verra little to ye, but ye would let me face him myself –”
Not entirely meaning to, he shook her as he bent to meet her lowered gaze, producing a swell of tears let loose from her round eyes.
“Ye are my wife. I willna let Agnarr harm ye, that is why I ask ye to stay here. He is off with Reinn today on business, but even so, I will rest easy knowing ye are safe in our room.”
“As long as ye rest easy, then I shall do as ye say,” she said. He words were compliant, but her tone was anything but submissive.
“I would not leave ye now if there were another way,” he replied.
“Then I wish ye a speedy return, husband,” she whispered.