by E. B. Brown
He nodded. He knew other names for the spirits in the sky, but he wanted to hear what she called them.
“And the bright one, you see the one all alone? Across the Big Dipper? That’s the Northern Star. It points the way.”
“To where?”
“Home. Marcus said he could always find his way home by it. His father taught him to navigate when they sailed. I didn’t know it back then, but he must have been talking about traveling on the long boats. It sounded amazing.”
An ache surfaced in his chest at mention of his father. There was so much about Marcus that Winn would never know. He held no jealousy that Maggie had grown up in the care of his father, nor that he had lived his entire life bereft of the man. At least with Maggie’s memories, Winn could know Marcus better in some small way, and it was that thought that gave him comfort.
“Those are things a man shares with his son. He gave you his trust.”
“He was different then. I guess he was always a little old-fashioned, and he had weird ideas about everything. But he let me make decisions. He listened to me–and so did Grandpa. Whenever something important came up, we sat down and discussed it. As a family,” she said.
“See? We talk, just the same as you did with Marcus,” Winn offered.
He felt her stiffen in his arms then and her breathing slowed.
“Marcus changed when he came here. He turned into a stubborn bully, and suddenly everyone is running around doing his bidding!” she replied. “Jarl this, Jarl that! It was like some stranger standing in his boots.”
“He returned here as a Chief. It would change any man,” Winn said quietly. “He sacrificed everything to see you safe in the future. He was what you needed, when you needed him.”
She twisted around to face him. Her slim throat tightened and contracted and he could feel her fingers grip his tunic.
“And you? Has it changed you, being Chief? Do you expect me to obey your every command, to never question you?”
His hand slipped up and he cupped her face in his palm, rubbing his thumb lightly over her cheek. Her green eyes blazed on the flicker of moonlight between them, her soft lips parted slightly open as she waited for his answer.
“I will always hear you, ntehem,” he whispered. “I made you that promise. I will keep it.”
“But Kyra–”
“I hear you. I know this is not how you were raised. When you want to rage at me for making this choice, I only ask you think of who I am. How I have lived, here in this time.” She tried to dip her head down, but he held her face firmly in his hands. “John Basse is a good man. He will be a good husband to our daughter. And by making this match, our people–our family–will be safe. It is my duty to see it done. I cannot yield on this.”
She leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes, and her body tensed in his embrace.
“So I have no say in this?” she replied.
“You have my ear. But the decision must be mine.”
“I want our daughter to have a choice.”
“She will do as I bid her.”
Maggie jerked away from him, but he caught her shoulders before she could flee. The stubborn anger flared like beacons within her, the last remnants of her resolve fighting to be heard.
“As I will? So I must shut up and bear it?” she seethed.
“Yes! As I will bear it! See me, Maggie,” he growled, his voice trailing off as he gripped her arms. “See me. I do what I must. There is no one for me to argue with, no man to tell me yea or nay. It is on my head that this rests, this decision. Perhaps I am failing my daughter–and my wife. Perhaps this will lead our people into danger.”
She shook her head, but her eyes were riveted on his.
“Yet I think this is right. I believe this is the best path. I do not know what your future was like, that place you came from, but I know what our future will be. It will be here, with these people. I must do what is right for us all. We must join with the English if we wish to survive.”
He would not be swayed. His kissed her softly on her forehead and stood up, intending to return to his duties.
“Winn?” she said quietly. He turned back to her. Arms wrapped around her knees, she looked up at him with her soft green eyes.
“Yes?”
“I told her. She said she will do her duty.”
He nodded. He wanted to say he expected nothing less from his daughter, but he did not think his wife needed that truth to be said. He left to join his men, giving his wife time to accept what she must.
*****
There had never been such a large gathering since Winn lived in the village, and he found it fitting that they would leave their home after the pleasure of a grand celebration. It was a diverse assortment of people, with Norse, the English, and the Nansemond sharing the space. Winn knew his efforts to live apart from the war cost him the loyalty of many of the Powhatan, but he was strong in his convictions. Change would come and his family would endure.
A few of the Nansemond already lived at Basse’s Choice, more open to accepting the Christian ways than the Norse. John Basse was a devout man yet a patient one, and he believed that he was honoring his God by bringing more people into his fold. The Norse, however, were still suspicious, and it was not until after Kyra’s marriage that they would be willing to go. 61 Winn knew he asked a great deal of his people by joining with the Christians. If they needed the promise of his daughter’s marriage to seal a commitment, then he was willing to give it to them.
Winn stood up from his chair, raising up his carved drinking horn. It had once belonged to his father, and his father before him, and each time Winn held it he was reminded of those who came before him.
“Hear me!” he shouted. The cries of celebration ebbed away with his declaration and head turned in attention.
“Ja, Ja!” was returned in agreement by the Norsemen, rising above the expectant murmurs of the crowd.
“Tonight we shall drink to the blessings bestowed upon us. This man, John Basse,” Winn announced, pointing to the Englishman in the crowd, “will wed my only daughter, the lovely Kyra Alfrun Neilsson!”
His last words were muffled by the roar of the crowd, the sounds of Norsemen thumping the tables and smashing their tankards drowning him out. Winn did not mind. He grinned and finished his ale with one long swallow, sending the people into another chorus of joyous shouts.
Winn knew he made the right choice when he saw Maggie lead Kyra to John’s side. There his wife placed Kyra’s hand into John’s, and Winn felt a surge of pride. He knew what it cost Maggie to concede her beliefs.
“Winkeohkwet.”
Winn glanced to his side at the sound of his name. Leaning heavily on his walking stick, Pepamhu joined him. Winn offered him his seat, which Pepamhu gratefully settled into, and Winn crouched down at his side as they watched the celebration.
“Did you enjoy the Norse meal, father?” Winn asked. Pepamhu smiled at the endearment and nodded.
“I did. Your Norse women may cook for me again.”
Winn chuckled.
“Though I fear this will be the last time our families share food,” Pepamhu said.
“Why is that?” Winn asked, taken aback. It had already been decided that Pepamhu’s people would join the other Nansemond at Basse’s Choice. Winn was eager for the day his family would all be safe in one place.
“Some Nansemond will stay here. But I will go north. We have friends with the Lenape who will welcome us.”
“I thought you meant to stay,” Winn said, trying to keep his voice level. It was Pepamhu’s choice to make, but his decision still fell heavy on Winn’s ears.
“At one time, I did. Now…now I see this is no longer our home. I wish you peace on your journey as it parts from mine, son.”
Winn swallowed. His dry throat tightened.
“I wish you peace, as well, father,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Pepamhu placed a hand on his shoulder. They watched their people dance and eat,
enjoying what was left of their time together.
CHAPTER 17
Maggie
The edges of the shells felt like smooth rocks beneath her probing toes. She thrust her feet beneath the sand, delving deep into the shallow seawater pool. It was a spot she often found a nest of clams, and the thought of having a basket full of fresh seafood made her mouth moisten in anticipation. She dug one out with her big toe until it released from the sand with a faint sucking sound, popping up where she could snatch it with her fingers. She swished it around until the grey shell was clean, then tossed it in her basket which sat a few feet away on a flat rock. They would eat well tonight.
The gathering took a toll on her. Winn stayed up with the men until the sun graced the sky, and she spent a sleepless night in their bed alone. With her worry over Kyra’s arranged marriage, it was probably best she had some time alone with her thoughts.
She pushed her skirts up between her knees with one hand, holding the layers in one fist as she bent to snatch another clam from the pool. Too engrossed in digging out her dinner, she did not hear Winn until he was well up upon her. She let out a squeal as he swept her up off her feet and deposited her firmly on her backside on the rock beside her basket.
“You scoundrel!” she laughed, shoving him back with one hand as he tried to plant a kiss along her low-cut neckline. She had shed her dress on the beach and wore only her old threadbare shift, unwilling to risk salt-stains on any of her better dresses. She had not expected any company when she set out to gather clams.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he chastised her. She leaned back as he bent over her, his eyes darting playfully from her face to her bosom. When he hooked a finger in her loose bodice and plucked it downward, she swatted his hand and squirmed back away from him.
“What has got into you?” she asked, unable to resist his attentions when his warm mouth descended over hers.
“I missed my wife. Is that not enough?” he murmured. She relented a bit, relaxing as he gently lowered her flat against the rock. She closed her eyes and moaned when his lips settled on one nipple, teasing it to a tight peak through the thin cotton fabric of her shift. Her head fell limp to the side, and she felt him gathering her skirts.
“Here, hold this, so I can bury my face in your–”
Her eyes fluttered open, and she let out an indignant squeal.
“Winn! The boys are with you!” she hissed. Dagr and Malcolm were indeed running down the beach toward them, with a full view of their mother sprawled like a harlot beneath their unrepentant father. Winn let out a low snort and shook his head, distracted for only a moment before he bent his head back down.
“They will see we are busy and go away,” he reasoned, his voice edged with boyish petulance as he stared down hungrily at her. “Now, put your heels on my shoulders, woman, and let me service you,” he grinned. She bit back her own laughter as she squeezed her knees together, eliciting a frustrated groan from him. He rested his head against her belly for a moment, then uttered a sigh.
“Boys!” he shouted. His words were somewhat muffled, being his mouth was still half-buried in her skirts, but they heard him and came to attention at the sound of their father’s voice. Twelve-year-old Dagr was the image of Winn, his expression shielded with both respect and curiosity as he faced his father. Malcolm stared openly at them, his blue eyes wide across his round little face.
“Yes, Da?” both boys echoed in unison. Winn sat up slightly and cast a stern glare at them.
“I have an important duty for you,” Winn said. The boys nodded eagerly, their attention seeming entirely on their father rather than the spectacle of their disheveled mother, for which she was grateful. “In the woods where the trail splits there is a nest. I think I saw a few goose eggs. Gather them for our dinner,” he ordered.
“Yes, Da!” the boys answered, taking off in a sprint back toward the wood line. As Maggie watched them race away, Winn resumed his attempt to emancipate her from her dress. She swallowed hard as his hand ran up her bare thigh, squeezing and molding until his fingers splayed beneath her buttocks. Clearly pleased with himself for the clever distraction, he grinned up at her.
“I think I lost my way,” he murmured. His lips found the correct spot, however, and he sucked gently in an experimental manner as she let loose a moan.
“You’ve found it,” she answered. She felt his lips turn into a smile against her flesh as he attended to his task, and soon she was sent into a shuddering oblivion under his touch. Weak and wordless, he took everything from her, every bit of pride and shame that threatened to darken the bond between them. In the end she felt nothing but need, but wanting, the grasp of fulfillment as it swallowed them whole.
Afterward he shed his braies and carried her into the water, beyond the shallow pool to a deeper spot next to the tall rocks. There he made no apology when he held her and joined their bodies, seeking his own primal release as he buried his longing in her flesh. When he had need for her, he made it known, and she felt the meaning in his touch that he would not convey in words. She often felt lost in his world, but this joining, this bridging, this was the thing she could give him. She could help him breech that pass, reach that moment, where only their flesh needed to speak as they sought completion in each other.
Remnants of afternoon skittered away, leaving a glimmer of amber-kissed echoes across the water. She pressed her lips to his chest, over the shallow scar that marked him, and he clutched her so close it took effort to draw in a breath. One of his hands held her bottom, her legs still wrapped around his hips beneath the water, and he whispered sweet words in his native tongue against her ear.
“Da! We found the eggs! Shall we cook ‘em?”
She nestled her head into his shoulder as Winn muttered an oath. Dagr and Malcolm stood a few feet away on the beach, their arms filled with large pale eggs.
“Put them in the basket, we will tend to them. Go find wood for the fire,” Winn answered. She felt him sigh.
“They did what you told them,” she smiled.
“Yes, they did,” he replied. He slowly parted their bodies, and her shift swirled like white ink in the water around them. “But I saw no eggs, I know not where they found them.”
Maggie giggled, smacking him lightly on the arm as they left the water.
“So you sent our sons on a wild goose chase?” she asked. He shrugged.
“I thought it would occupy them longer.” He caught her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it solidly. “I would do much more than lie to have you to myself, ntehem,” he whispered. His eyes still shimmered with boyish charm, but she glimpsed a shadow of darkness in his gaze before he dropped her hand and pulled his damp braies back on. He left her to chase the boys down the beach, making terrible whooping sounds to urge them on.
She twisted as much water as she could from her sodden shift, and then pulled her brown gunna dress over it. She was not a fan of such brazen displays in front of her children, despite Winn insisting that children saw no shame in nakedness. Living with the Norse, however, lent to a blending of cultures, so it was only in the privacy of their own home that the topic arose. Despite her attempts to meld into her life, she had an inkling that some issues would always be a struggle.
Malcolm made it back to the fire before the others. He plopped down into her lap without invitation, his narrow little chest rising and falling as rapid as a bird as he recovered from the run. He was a wiry sandpiper in her arms, covered in grit and damp with seawater. Even his hair was saturated, and when she kissed the top of his head she could taste the salt in his locks.
“You need a bath when we return,” she murmured. She stoked the fire with a long stick and gripped him with the other hand as he squirmed.
“Aww, no Mama, not today!” he whined.
“Yes, today, if your mother says so,” Winn interrupted. He deflected a blow from Dagr and grabbed his elder son around the waist, throwing him up over one shoulder as the boy screeched. “And you, too, mud-f
ace. You stink like sons of a bull, not the sons of a Chief.”
Malcolm scrambled from Maggie’s lap and joined his brother. The boys took turns poking the eggs with a stick as they cooked over the fire next to the clams. Dagr crouched down, his long black hair falling tangled around his face, his lean arms extended out as he wrangled the crackling fire. Malcolm stood next to him, watching, always the shadow to his older brother’s sun. Both boys resembled Winn, and in Dagr the resemblance was most stunning, but Malcolm held a bit of what Maggie recalled of her grandfather. Even with his sun-kissed skin tone and dark hair, young Malcolm had the squared jaw and straight nose that marked him as Norse, different from that of his father and brother. His hair tended to curly rather than straight, and when damp it wrapped around his ears in ringlets. Despite their looks, in essence the boys belonged solely to Winn; whether from sheer admiration of their father or the image of their shared mannerisms, they clearly came from his blood. Norse or Indian, it did not matter, only that it was the same blood he passed from his ancestors onto them.
Winn settled down next to Maggie, sprawling out beside her on the sand as he perched on one elbow. She felt the warmth of his skin as his hand slid over her thigh, resting there as if she needed any other reminder that he was with her. Her lips formed a smile as she felt him gently squeeze her leg.
They took the meal amidst gleeful conversation, the boys filled with stories from the gathering of the night prior. Dagr was most impressed with the weapons the English men had, the strength of their firepower seeming to have left a lasting impact on the boy. He chattered on about it, his admiration flowing over in an excitable jumble. Malcolm, however, was not so impressed, pointing out that Winn’s bryntroll could fell a man as easily as a musket, and with no need for the fire-powder that the English required to make the guns work. As their bellies filled, the boys soon fell silent, resting on their backs as they stared up at the stars.