Roam: Time Walkers World Special Edition

by E. B. Brown

  Rebecca was gone. Why should he hide their secrets any longer?

  It was a tale that would take some time to tell, but his uncle was a patient man. Makedewa started the only way he knew how.

  “She says that Tsenacommacah will be no more…”

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER 14

  Norse Village 1638

  Maggie

  THE DAY WINN made his decision was fresh in her thoughts. Four years prior, her husband sealed a pact with John Basse. Since that time, those in the Norse village blended with the Christian people at Basse’s Choice, visiting freely and sharing resources as they gradually found trust in each other. She understood why Winn wished to form an alliance, especially knowing what she did of the future. Yet using their daughter to seal that alliance by marriage was not something she agreed with at all.

  “Ouch, Mama!” Kyra cried as Maggie tried to mend her torn sleeve and pricked her with a needle. Kyra seemed a bundle of nerves, either unwilling or unable to stay still for the few moments it would take to fix her dress.

  “Be still,” Maggie replied. “It’s not easy to do.”

  “I can mend it myself,” Kyra said.

  Maggie sighed. “No, I’m almost done. See? All fixed.”

  She watched her daughter glance down at the sleeve and raise an eyebrow, but the girl shrugged and made no comment. Maggie knew it was not the most impressive line of stitches.

  “Perhaps we should find you something more fitting for hunting,” she commented. Maggie knew Kyra hunted most days, despite Winn forbidding her from doing so alone. Maggie recognized the flame of independence in her child, one she readily identified with, her heart sinking at the knowledge of what was to come. How would her brave daughter react to the news of her betrothal?

  Kyra stared warily back at her.

  “What I have will suffice,” Kyra said quietly.

  “I suppose it will,” Maggie said. “Do you at least take one of the boys with you? It’s the being alone that worries your father, especially when you’re too far from the village.”

  “I do not go alone.”

  Kyra focused her attention on her loose shirt, fiddling with the tie as Maggie watched.

  “Good,” Maggie said. “You know there will be many people here during the gathering, and we’ll all be very busy. I want you to stay in the village – no hunting.”

  “Will Morgan White join us? Da said there shall be Englishmen ‘ere, and Nansemonds, too. Surely Da willna mind it?”

  Maggie smiled. Kyra kept her feelings about Morgan to herself, but Maggie had seen her watching the boy often enough to know her daughter’s heart. It only made things more difficult, however, since it was Maggie’s job to tell Kyra of her betrothal. Although Winn offered, Maggie felt it should be a conversation between mother and daughter.

  “Yes, I’m sure all our friends will be here. John Basse will visit with his brother. Do you remember him?” Maggie prodded, trying to feel the situation out. She was not comforted to see Kyra’s face scrunch up in a most displeasing manner.

  “Of course. Ye always make me sit beside him. I shall not this time, Mama. I’m no longer a child, ye canna make me sit with an old man,” she said. Kyra pushed her dark hair away from her face, tucking a wayward strand behind her ear. Her blue eyes, so much like her father’s, darkened with her display of disobedience.

  “Kyra, you will have to –”

  “Good day, Mistress!” John Bass interrupted, leaning his head inside the door. “How fare thee?”

  When Kyra uttered a heavy sigh Maggie shot her a glare, which immediately served to stifle her daughter’s behavior. After speaking initial pleasantries with John, Kyra sat down on a bench and folded her arms while Maggie served their guest a spot of drink.

  She supposed he was not an unattractive man for his time, with a swatch of muddy brown hair that seemed to be forever in disarray. He always wore a wide brimmed hat that hid his dark eyes, with a light homespun shirt buttoned neatly at his neck. Maggie glanced at Kyra, then back to John.

  It could be a good match. Winn was right; they needed the alliance, and marriage was part of the bargain. Fathers had every right to arrange marriages for their daughters. It was the way of the time.

  Once Kyra warmed up to John, they engaged in a lively discussion. Despite her opposition to sharing a meal with the older man, Kyra had been privy to many conversations involving religion. John was a devout Christian who spent much of his time spreading the Good Word, which he explained was his duty as a servant of the Lord. Part of his arrangement with Winn was that those in the village would consider converting to Christianity. Unlike many of the English, John did not demand immediate conversion. He believed that by continued interaction and tolerance between men, those in the Norse village would eventually accept Christ.

  As John preached to Kyra, Maggie questioned if Winn meant to consider Christianity. If ever there was a man who respected all beliefs, it was her husband. The product of a Paspahegh upbringing and adult blood ties to Old Norse religion, Winn somehow navigated the delicate task of leading a widely diverse group of people. He fought to maintain good relations with his Powhatan family, just as he did with the Norse. Now, as the Christian Englishman sat in front of them, Maggie wondered how it would all fit together.

  “Did ye know, Mama, that they eat the body of the White Christ? So that He may live in ye forever?” Kyra asked.

  “’Tis not his actual body, my dear,” John chastised her, bringing a wry grin to Kyra’s face.

  “Of course not!” she laughed.

  “I am glad to hear it,” Maggie added with a smile.

  Perhaps the path would make more sense as time wore on. As she watched her daughter debate religion with her future husband, she decided to let her news abide. She could discuss Kyra’s betrothal another day, leaving the two of them to learn a little more about each other in the meantime.

  CHAPTER 15

  Kyra

  Kyra watched from behind the brush, laying on her belly on the flat rock. It jutted out over a waterfall, the perfect spot to jump from to make a splash in the pool below. There was a rope hanging from a tree limb just in reach swinging idly in the humid breeze, and she considered grabbing it. Instead, she dismissed the childish desire as a different sort of playful longing washed through her. Morgan stood waist deep in the water below, his back turned away from her. He shook the dampness from his blond hair and sank down to his shoulders so that only his head remained above.

  She rose slowly to her feet, shedding her gunna dress but leaving on her thin cotton shift. Instead of using the rope, she drew back a few feet and then took a running leap from the ledge as she uttered a gleeful scream. She crashed into the water with a squeal next to Morgan, who jumped away in a fright in the wake of her splash. As she came to the surface, she felt two strong hands close over her shoulders and she was unceremoniously hauled upward.

  “Jesus, Kyra! Yer too old to play these games!” he snapped. He pulled her onto a shallow shelf where they could both gain their footing, and although he looked fighting mad, she suspected it was more bluster than ire.

  “We used to jump all the time, did ye forget that?” she shot back with a mischievous grin. He shook her gently as if to chastise her, and suddenly she was aware of the heat of his damp skin against hers. Her shift clung to her body, transparent where it stuck to her skin, her cheeks flushed when she followed his gaze. His soft brown eyes were focused between them where her breasts were pressed up against his chest.

  “We’re not children anymore,” he said quietly.

  “We’re still friends,” she whispered. His eyes met hers, and she had never seen him so affected. This thing between them caused an ache in her belly, her pulse throbbing madly as suddenly the distance of their years felt like nothingness. His eyes no longer held the curiosity of a boy, but the shadow of a twenty-year-old man, and she hoped with all her being that he no longer viewed her as a simple child.

  “It’s not
a proper game for a lady to play, Kyra,” he murmured.

  “I’m no lady,” she shot back.

  “Oh, are ye not, now?” he said. She could feel her heart thudding through the wet cloth of her shift, her skin slick against his where his thighs pressed into hers.

  “No! Well, yes, I suppose I am, but – oh!” One of his hands twisted up into her hair, and he tilted her head back as he gazed into her eyes. Her lips parted with a tiny gasp as his mouth covered hers, seeking an answer she knew not how to give. Slow and sweet at first, then with budding urgency, she arched up closer to him and felt him shudder.

  So kissing was a pleasant thing, she thought.

  One of his hands slid downward and settled on her buttock, pulling her closer. She abruptly realized things were different from when they were children. This was no nervous boy who held her, nor was his body that of a youth. He was firm and broad, his muscles tensed, his fingers pressing firmly into her skin. A surge of ache assaulted her deep in her belly with his touch, her heart leaping at the thought that he finally saw her as a woman.

  From a few sweet kisses their embrace turned heated, his mouth crashing down on hers with urgency. She sighed when he suddenly pulled back, his eyes glazed and his lips parted slightly open. It was as if he saw her for the first time, and then he clutched her close and buried his face into her hair.

  “Morgan?” she whispered, confused at his abrupt change. He was shaking as he held her, but he would not let her draw away to see his face. His voice finally emerged, grated and hoarse against her ear.

  “Go home, Kyra. Go now, before I canna let you leave,” he said.

  “I’m no child to be ordered about,” she replied. Her body ached to finish what they had started.

  He took her face into his hands, swallowing hard before he spoke.

  “Aye, yer no child. And if ye dinna leave now, I’ll forget we’re supposed to be friends. Get ye gone, go home.”

  “Is that what I am to you? Only a friend?” she asked, feeling her heart shatter into pieces. All the years she had spent trying to grow up as fast as she could for him, so that they could be together again without judgment, and he looked upon her as only his…friend. She felt her cheeks redden and she squinted hard to block the rush of tears.

  “It’s not that–”

  “Fine. Just forget this ever happened!” she shot back. She twisted away from him and climbed out of the pool as gracefully as she could muster. Her clothes were up above on the hillside, and it would be a climb to recover them.

  “What are you doing here, cousin?”

  When she raised her eyes it was to meet the dark stare of Ahi Kekeleksu, and by his stance she could see he was uncertain of what to do with her. She sloshed from the water and crossed her arms over her bodice, trying to avoid her older cousin’s inquisitive gaze. Even worse, behind him were Iain and Tyr, both with an equally perplexed look upon their faces. The young men were bare-chested in their braies, only seconds away from shedding the last of their clothes before they spotted her.

  “I was swimming. Now I’m leaving,” she snapped, brushing past Keke. She felt some remorse over treating him so brusquely, but her cheeks were burning like cinders at the way Morgan refused her and it was all she could think of to get as far away from him as possible. All the years she had loved him, all the years he had waited. Finally, when she was old enough to matter to him, he cast her away without so much as an explanation.

  Keke grabbed her upper arm. He was gentle, but his gaze darted from her to Morgan, who was still waist-deep in the water.

  “Why are you upset?” Keke asked. He spoke close to her ear, low enough so that the conversation was between only the two of them. “Did Morgan ah, um, trouble you?”

  “No. I am fine, and I thank ye for taking yer hand off me!” she hissed. “He’d rather swim alone, I’m just doing ye all a favor. Be off with ye, do what it is ye men do.”

  He dropped his hand away and his gaze shifted back to Morgan.

  “Very well,” he agreed. “Go home then, cousin.” Keke tapped her on the chin with his fist, and with a grin and a shrug he left her side to leap into the creek.

  As she left the sandy bank, the sounds of laughter and splashing chased her back to her senses.

  It had been a mistake to show Morgan how she felt. An enormous, devastating mistake.

  CHAPTER 16

  Winn

  “HOW DO WE FARE?” Winn asked.

  Erich glanced at the women before he answered, watching for a moment as they tended to their preparations for the gathering. The village was full with guests from multiple places, English and Nansemond alike. Winn intended to throw a productive celebration that would strengthen ties between them all. The future of his family depended on the alliances made, and he would not fail in his task.

  “Good, my lord,” Erich replied. “Enough to feed our guests and enough to keep our bellies full as well. Have ye heard if Pepamhu’s tribe will stay?”

  “Yes,” Winn said. “There are not many, but they will join us.”

  Maggie smiled as they approached. She continued stirring the food she prepared, which was likely some sort of venison stew from the delicious scent filling the air. Gwen added a bowl of sliced carrots, which slid into the pot with a splash.

  “Will ye send Kyra to Basse’s Choice, or will ye wait until they wed?”

  Winn shook his head. “She will stay here. John Basse will have a church wedding, so he says it must be. We will take Kyra there when they wed.”

  “Chetan says the Christians will Baptize ye in yer sleep if ye doona say ye love their White Christ – should I lay with my sword, then, just to be ready?” Erich demanded.

  “Ah, Chetan tells tales. John Basse may push you in the river to make you Christian, but he willna bother your sleep,” Winn laughed.

  Maggie dropped her ladle. Instead of picking it up, she wiped a hand over her flushed face and left the Northern Hall. Gwen raised her brows but said nothing, and Erich shook his head with a sigh. Winn knew Maggie was opposed to Kyra’s marriage, but the time had come to face it.

  Kyra would marry John Basse and join their families. They would all leave the village and join with the Christians at Basse’s Choice. Winn had arranged the match when Kyra was twelve, and now that she was nearly seventeen, he intended to honor it.

  Winn found Maggie alone by the edge of the meadow sitting cross-legged on the ground. By the stiff outline of her back and the method with which she yanked random fistfuls of grass from the earth her mood was evident. As he stood behind her he let out a shallow sigh, giving her a moment to collect her thoughts before he pressed his intent. For all her strengths and faults there was one constant in his wife, and that certainty was that she hated being forced into anything. Most times they could come to an agreement, negotiate a truce. This time, however, was different.

  There would be no other option. Kyra would do her duty. Maggie would abide. He could give his wife no choice this time.

  “You didn’t have to run after me,” she said quietly without looking up. She resumed tearing at the grass, tossing each handful away as she liberated it from the ground.

  “I walked. There was no running,” he replied. He slowly sank down beside her. When she uttered a doubtful snort but gave no further resistance, he took that as a sign she would listen. “Does it make you feel better, doing that?” he asked.

  “No,” she murmured. He covered her hand with his when she reached for the grass again and she stilled, keeping her chin tucked down. Placing her hand carefully between his palms, he rubbed the dirt from her skin. She did not move away so he continued to hold her, pulling her gently toward him. When their shoulders touched, she let out a sigh and he felt her body relax against his. He smiled.

  “Tell me a story about the future. There must be some things that stay the same,” he said.

  “Nothing is the same. It’s completely different,” she muttered. He grunted his disbelief, which brought a smile to her lips, so
he took the opportunity to put his arm around her shoulder. Her head dipped down and she immediately snuggled into his chest.

  “Ah, I do not believe that. What about the sky? Does the moon still shine at night, or does the future only have sunshine? Go on, tell me,” he urged.

  To his relief, he felt her shudder with a muffled giggle. He closed his fingers on her chin and tilted her head up as she laughed.

  “What is so funny?” he demanded with a smirk. He loved to hear her laugh. There had been few reasons to smile of late and he would do anything to see the glow of her happiness once again.

  “Oh, it’s just an old saying. I couldn’t possibly tell you there’s no moon in the future. It’s like blowing sunshine up your – up your ass!” she laughed. She shook so hard that tears spilled from her eyes and he could not help but laugh along with her once he gleaned her meaning.

  “Blow sunshine up my ass? Is that the way women speak to their men in the future?”

  She hiccupped as she struggled to control her giggles.

  “It’s just a funny saying, that’s all.” Her fingers twisted into his tunic and she sank back down into his arms. Her laughter faded. “Of course there’s a moon at night. The sky is pretty much the same, I suppose.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead, kissing her gently as her voice grew wistful. It would make her feel better to speak of the life she once lived, and he enjoyed hearing her tales of the future.

  “The moon seems brighter in the sky here, I think because there’s no light from the city. It’s easy to see the constellations.”

  “What meaning is that?” he murmured.

  “Constellations? It’s the word for the stars. Well, it’s more than that. The stars are in groups, and the groups are the constellations. See?” she replied, pointing out over the treetops. “That one that looks like a cup? Like it has a long handle? That’s the Big Dipper. One of the constellations.”