by E. B. Brown
He raised his chin as if the villagers sullied the very earth he walked on, glancing down his chiseled nose at something on his jacket. With a flick of his gloved hand he brushed at the shimmering brocade, then swiftly mounted the horse one of the other men held for him.
Maggie leaned forward in Benjamin’s embrace. Bored, disgruntled, Agnarr’s countenance bespoke a smoldering anger undisclosed. Once securely astride, Agnarr’s horse turned in a tight circle and the man looked into the woods. Maggie stiffened when Agnarr seemed to stare straight at them, but it was only a momentary glance before he turned and galloped off.
“I will never forget his face,” she whispered as the men rode away. “How does he know me, Benjamin? Tell me.”
“’Tis not my tale to tell. Do not ask it,” he said quietly.
“I deserve an explanation,” she replied.
His throat contracted when he swallowed and his hands tightened on her arms.
“Then ask yer husband and yer uncle. I’m sure they know more about this feud than I do. Tell Winn I will be at the tavern in town if he should care to speak.”
He knew his brother and Erich enough to know that they would not let Gwen’s beating go unpunished. For whatever reason Agnarr had ordered it, the consequence would be more bloodshed. Benjamin feared this was just the beginning.
Ellie untied Gwen and the older woman fell to her knees. Maggie opened her mouth as if to question him again, but closed it and instead.
“Wait here until I see it’s safe. Stay down,” Benjamin replied. More women assembled in the courtyard to help Gwen, but Benjamin would not be satisfied until he was certain the English were gone.
Maggie made to move away, but Benjamin held her for a long spell, feeling as if he were lost somewhere that he could not return from. He stood up and pulled her to her feet with him, forgetting for a moment where he was as he spoke softly to her.
“Do ye see the ridge, over on the far side of the meadow?” he asked. She nodded. “Look there. When I see they’re gone, I’ll wave to ye. Stay here until ye see my hand.”
“I – I want to see Gwen – but the children –” she stammered.
“I’m sure they’re safe. I will see them returned to ye,” he said softly. She nodded.
He released her. Maggie’s cheeks were streaked with tears, but her demeanor was controlled as she gathered her composure. His mouth twisted with the hint of a grin as he thought he would rather fight the English than stand between Maggie and her family – the family he had once meant to call his own.
He stole one last glance at her before he turned away.
God strike me down, he thought if I should still love her. For how can I feel anything else, when I would give my life for hers?
Marcus had given up everything for the sake of his vow. His father had protected the blooded MacMhaolian with his last breath, using his final moments to elicit a pledge from his sons for her safety. In the time Benjamin knew him, Marcus had never spoken of loving a woman, not even Benjamin’s own mother.
Was that the future for one who protected the blooded MacMhaolian? To love her from afar and pledge his life to her protection? It had been easy at that moment, when his father asked it of him.
To realize that he could let her return to Winn without an ounce of regret was another matter entirely. That ache was gone, that tiny part of himself that demanded he keep her was buried, not even an ember of it burning as he walked away. It was a different sort of love, one he could use when needed and look on with fondness. One he could live with without regret or shame.
Relief settled heavy in his chest. His brother would return soon, and Winn’s family was safe for now. He heard the whisper of her voice as he left her, carried to him over the gentle roar of his heart.
“Thank you,” she said.
He nodded and kept walking.
CHAPTER 9
Winn
The men returned from hunting not long after the sun dipped behind the mountains, but the moment they reached the village Winn knew something was amiss. Be it the stillness in the air or the lack of welcoming cries from their women, it was a silence that sent his heart to racing.
His motions were blunted in a blurred haze as he left his horse ground tied and gave his son an order to stay in the courtyard. Chetan and Erich called out to him, but he could not decipher the words if he had wanted to. All he could manage to focus on was the path to his longhouse, and until he held the sight of his family safe before his eyes, he would not rest.
It was Chetan who reached him as Winn opened the door to his empty dwelling. If not for his brother’s hand on his arm, he might have exploded at the sight of the cold hearth. Where were his wife and children?
“They are with Gwen,” Chetan said, the question clear on Winn’s face. “Men were here.”
“Powhatan?” Perhaps Winn had brought retaliation down on his people by refusing to help Opechcanough.
“English.”
Torn by his anger and overwhelmed with relief, he followed his brother to Gwen and Erich’s longhouse. There he found Maggie sitting beside Gwen, silently watching her aunt sleep. Kyra and Malcolm curled up beside each other in a pile of furs next to the fire, and Makedewa’s son slept peacefully in a cradle beside the fire. All those Winn loved were safe, the guilt of relief washing over him as he looked down upon them.
“Will she wake?” Erich asked, placing his hand on Gwen’s shoulder. Her body tensed but she did not stir, and Maggie shook her head.
“I gave her a drink for the pain. The poppy made her sleep,” Maggie said softly.
Winn heard his wife gasp when Erich parted Gwen’s dressing. Erich looked down on Gwen’s flayed skin, his body unnaturally rigid as everyone fell silent. When Erich gently replaced the bandages and turned away from the bed, Winn thought his wife’s uncle was in control. Yet striking quick as a serpent, Erich whirled away from the bed and buried his fist into a thick wooden beam, leaving his hand bloodied and ragged as he turned to the fire. The older man was surprisingly quick in his temper, uttering a hoarse oath as blood dripped from his torn skin. He ignored the wound and placed both hands on the mantle, leaning over the fire as he struggled to speak. His ragged voice emerged, low but steady as he stared into the flames.
“I willna let this go. Give me two men, Winn, that is all I ask of ye,” Erich growled.
Winn paused before he answered, knowing his words would only serve to incite Erich further. Winn feared Erich’s willingness to retaliate against the English could not be stayed, but he had to try somehow to make his friend hear sense.
“Stay with your wife until dawn,” Winn answered, placing his hand on Erich’s shoulder. Erich grimaced, his fists clenched tight upon the mantle. “Then I will go with you.”
Erich remained still for a moment, and then his shoulders and head dipped down. He nodded, his gaze still focused on the fire, and Winn knew the man was at his breaking point. Winn could not fault Erich for the desire for vengeance; it was a desire that Winn was most familiar with. Yet it was the strength of a Chief that Erich needed then, and giving in to primitive desire without a plan would serve no one.
Winn turned to the bed and gathered up his sleeping children. Kyra stirred in her sleep with a tiny sob, her cheeks stained with the remnants of dusty tears as she burrowed into his chest. Malcolm, thankfully, stayed asleep, merely tucking his face into his father’s neck. Maggie followed mutely behind him with the babe in her arms. Winn called to Dagr to join them, and soon his children were all accounted for.
His two sons slept in the back of the longhouse, and Maggie tucked Kyra into her bed in the loft above. Though the infant was not his son, he was still of Winn’s blood, and he counted as one of those Winn meant to keep safe. Five beating hearts entrusted to his care, five people he would give his own life to see protected.
Yet it was greater than that, a greater duty than even the ties of love he felt for his family. He had promised to lead the villagers, the blending of Norsemen and
Indians that looked to him for guidance. Winn had taken his father’s place, pledged to honor his ancestors by seeing their bloodlines go on.
It was with a coldness stealing over his skin that he knew they could not go back. If being Chief meant he would hide his people and allow the English to abuse them without retaliation, then Winn was no Chief.
He would find them, and make them suffer. The man who harmed Gwen would die, and all those who aided him would bleed. It did not matter that it was the way of the Paspahegh, or the way of the Norse. In the end, it would be a husband’s vengeance, and Winn would stand beside Erich when he struck that final blow.
As he lay next to his wife he stared into the darkness, letting the echoes of old battles with the English clutter his thoughts. Although Maggie curled up against him with her hand resting lightly on his chest, the images haunted him. The screams of men, the feel of bloodied flesh beneath his hands, it stayed with him even when he meant to forget.
Perhaps the taking of life would always plague him. After all, could any man truly hold the soul of another in his grasp? To send another to the afterlife left some trace. It was a stain that could never be washed away.
“What will you do?” Maggie whispered. He knew she did not sleep, and he was not surprised at her question. It was the same question he asked himself.
“What I must,” he replied quietly.
Her fingers tightened into a fist on his skin. When he placed his hand over hers, she relaxed her hand flat against his chest.
“Winn?” she asked, a tentative question in her voice.
“Hmm?”
“Teach me to how to use the musket. It was sitting here, I could have used it –”
“No,” he replied. He repeated his command, so there would be no question that she would obey. “No. You did your duty today, and that is all you must do.”
“I ran away like a coward, and Gwen suffered for it,” she said, her voice unsteady.
“Would it console you if you killed one Englishman? The musket cannot kill them all. Gwen would still be beaten. And you would be dead as well.”
From where her cheek rested against his skin, a trickle of tears dampened his skin. She did not raise her head, hiding the frustration he knew simmered in her heart.
“You will not worry on the matters of men,” he said. “Give me your word, ntehem.”
She did not answer him for a long time. Finally, her head moved where she lay against his chest. It was a slight nod, but it was enough. He had her promise, and that was all that mattered to him in that moment.
It was not long before her breathing slowed, and he listened to her rhythmic slumber long into the night. His sons uttered muffled snores, and he could hear the rustle of the bedding as his daughter shifted in her sleep.
Although his family was safe, the truth of it was enough to strike fear into his bones. Tomorrow they would set out on a new path, and the life they led would exist no more.
“I will do what I must,” he said, his voice only a whisper in the darkness.
Those he loved slept on.
*****
Winn joined Erich before the light of dawn graced the sky. He was relieved to find his wife’s uncle at Gwen’s bedside, and although it appeared Erich had not slept, at least he had not left the village on a one-man vengeance spree. It was all Winn could ask for.
“She woke fer a time. She said his hair was black and his speech was queer, like he’d a mouth full of honey. The others called him Hayes,” Erich said quietly before Winn even announced himself.
“An Englishman?” Winn asked. Erich nodded. The older man rubbed a thick hand across his eyes, rubbing away the remnants of sleep not taken. He bowed his head to his wife, his thatch of reddish gold hair nearly touching hers as she slept.
“I dinna understand most of what she said before the poppy silenced her, but aye, it was an Englishman who did it.”
Winn took a cup from the hearth and poured some warm ale, handing it to Erich, then took a cup for himself. Erich shrugged with a long sigh yet downed it in a single swallow as he eyed Winn over the rim.
“Go ahead. I see yer mind twistin’. Say yer piece. I’ll hear it now,” Erich muttered.
“You will hear it, yet will you listen?” Winn replied, more to himself than to Erich. His uncle-by-marriage stood up away from the bed.
“If ye mean to tell me we willna avenge this deed –”
“We will find the one who did this,” Winn cut him off. “And the ones who helped him. My horse stands ready; I wait only for your word.”
“No.”
Gwen’s cracked voice emerged from the bed. The men turned to see her sitting upright against a bundle of furs, her eyes glazed from the strong herbs but her face set with a stubborn edge. Her hair stuck to the wounds on her back, thick pieces entwined in the poultice and blood. Winn noted her grimace as she took a deep breath.
“Ye canna go after them. Agnarr didn’t know me, but if ye go thrashing his men, he’ll surely think to come back here. What then, ye brazen louts?” she berated them.
Erich’s face turned a peculiar shade of crimson as Gwen railed at them. She continued citing numerous reasons why they were idiots peppered with a slew of colorful insults until Erich exploded.
“Ye’ll not tell me how to take care of ye, ye bletherin’ harpy!” he shouted. “If I wish to dispatch an Englishman it’s my right as yer husband, and ye’ll stay here and wait fer me!”
“Oh, will I? Aye, I’ll stay ‘ere! And I’ll shove a stick up yer –”
“Enough!” Winn hollered, slamming his empty cup down on the table. “Agnarr was here? And he did not know you?”
Gwen scowled. “No. I feared he might remember me, but he dinna seem to. Even when I spit in the lout’s face.”
“Ah, bruor, why did ye do it?” Erich said quietly. His voice shook with the uttered endearment, and clearly, the ferocious spat was over. The older man sat down next to his wife on the bedding platform and took her hands in his. “Ye risk too much.”
“I know. I regret my temper, but the things he said!” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve held my tongue. The risk to our niece and the weans –”
“He might have killed ye,” Erich interrupted. “And then where would I be, my love, without ye to rile me?”
Gwen placed her hand on Erich’s cheek, tears welling up in her round eyes. Winn stepped outside, closing the plank door quietly behind him.
Seeing the way Erich looked at his wife made Winn’s duty seem all the more just. Vengeance still called, but it would wait for a touch of affection to bless them. Erich and Gwen needed a moment, and Winn needed to decide what to do about Agnarr Sturlsson.
*****
With a touch of restlessness, Winn dismounted from his horse. Elizabethtown was much busier than he recalled from his last visit, a veritable mess of commerce and excess crowding the marketplace. Chetan stayed behind to oversee the village, and although Winn had ordered it, he was uneasy with his brother’s absence from his side. Cormaic was more than capable of meeting any threat to their party and the Norseman seemed to enjoy giving orders to young Iain and Tyr. Chetan’s son, Keke, however, stayed close to Winn’s side, soundless as he listened to the prattle of English clamor around them.
Paspahegh to the bones, Keke remained silent as the others made noise, and he studied the townsfolk as his companions gathered their wits. Onamen.
Watch. See your enemy before you strike. Every warrior knew that simple truth.
The young men were excited to ride into town despite the risk and Winn could not fault them for their enthusiasm, but his reason for bringing them was more of a selfish one. Erich was not himself, and Winn hoped the presence of the impressionable youths would keep the older man in check.
Winn knotted the end of his rawhide rein around a post, adjacent to the rest of his men’s mounts outside the tavern. Since they had arrived in town he felt increasingly unsettled, knowing the risk they were taking by searching fo
r the men who came to the village.
“I trust thy desire is to settle this matter peaceably.”
Winn looked over at John Basse, a stout young Englishman with a round face. His cheeks were sunburned in spite of his wide-brimmed hat, a trickle of sweat running down his neck. A devout Christian landowner and one who was adamant about his desire to spread his views to the Indians, Basse was a man Winn held some trust for that he believed would be useful. 56 Satisfying Erich’s vengeance would serve no one if they all ended up dead, so Winn decided the best way to deflect attention from their activity would be to engage the Christians. When Winn asked for his assistance, the Englishman was more than happy to comply.
“That is my desire,” Winn agreed. He heard Erich make a gruff snorting sound behind him.
“Verily, thy friends should feel the same?” John asked, casting a nervous glance at Keke, who was wiping his knife on his tan leggings.
“They do,” Winn replied. His answer seemed to satisfy John.
One might think he would be accustomed to the stench of the English by now, but the rancid odor of too many people in a small space hung heavy in the air, broken by the occasional waft of roasted meat from inside the tavern. He did not wish to follow the scent, but it came from where he meant to go and there was no other way. Winn motioned to John Basse to follow, and nodded to Erich and Cormaic to remain outside.
They had discussed the plan on the ride into town, which involved Winn taking John Basse to speak with Benjamin and Erich and the others standing watch. John Basse was a convenient diplomat in a time of need, but he was no soldier, and as such, the man was little assistance in locating the Englishmen they searched for.
Benjamin was a different matter entirely. Winn was certain his brother would know exactly what men they were looking for and where to find them. The only question remaining was if Benjamin would help them or not.
“Is that thy friend, perchance?” John asked as they moved through the tavern. Benjamin stood behind the bar, but his eyes narrowed on Winn as soon as he entered the room.
“It is,” Winn agreed.