by E. B. Brown
“You say you were friend to my father,” Benjamin said.
“Our families have been…friends…for centuries. Longer than ye or I can imagine. Before our names were Sturlusson and Neilsson, they were other names, and even then our families were bound. And I know ye know what bound them, right, lad?”
“The blooded MacMhaolian,” Benjamin said simply. It was no use denying he knew it, and he suspected he could glean more information from Agnarr if he played along. The man seemed to enjoy his storytelling.
“Well, we want the same thing, then. To protect them. To see them safe. After all, it is a powerful magic, one that no man alone should control. Do you not agree?”
Benjamin crossed his arms over his chest. He glanced over at the men laboring, and then at the soldiers who looked to be enjoying a meal. He noticed Jora standing at the door of the house, watching them, her fine satin skirt drifting with the breeze and echoing the sway of her loose hair on her neck. He wondered what part she truly played in this plan.
“Ye know I am bound to protect them,” Benjamin said, forcing his voice to steady instead of growl.
“As am I. Are we not both the sons of Gothi Chiefs? Do we not pledge the same vow?” Agnarr questioned.
“Then why set yer men on me? Why this game, if we are the same?”
Agnarr flicked his wrist up and rolled his eyes skyward, a rather dainty gesture for such a large man, and one that caused Benjamin to scowl.
“I havna seen another Time Walker in more than twenty years. That’s why I set Jora on ye. I needed to know what you were about, and if ye had a blooded MacMhaolian with ye.”
“And if I had?”
“Then I would have taken her. To protect her, of course,” Agnarr answered. The amusement left his gaze at this announcement, and his eyes narrowed. “But as it seems we are the same, with the same vows, then I give ye a proposition.”
“And that is?” Benjamin asked.
“You can see I am a wealthy man. I am the tobacco inspector for Elizabeth City, the only one sanctioned by the crown. You might say I am a man of…influence.”
Benjamin wanted to know exactly by what means Agnarr had amassed that wealth and influence, but the man seemed bent on another round of storytelling and would not be interrupted.
“…so I could use a man like ye. A man like myself.”
Agnarr glanced over at Jora, raising an eyebrow. The man gave a quick motion of his hand to wave her over and she complied. Benjamin noticed the girl went to Agnarr’s side, but she kept a careful distance between them, just out of reach of Agnarr’s grasp. Her action was not lost on him.
“For what might I be of use to ye?” Benjamin asked, dreading the answer at the same time he needed to hear it.
“Ye own a head-right property in Martin’s Hundred. I’ve been eyeing that spot for some time now, it’s quite canny ye…ah, uhm…fell into my presence.”
“So ye mean to rent it?” Benjamin asked, startled by Agnarr’s depth of knowledge. The man had surely done his research. Benjamin had given little thought to the head-right property he owned before the Massacre. Although he had worked hard to procure it as a young man, he had given nearly all his disposable wealth to Thomas Martin to secure Maggie’s hand in marriage. The land had sat vacant since then, left to the scavengers. He was not sure there was anything left worth taking.
“Aye. A business venture. One that would profit us both.”
Benjamin cast a glance at Jora.
“And her? What part does she play in yer…business?” he asked. He was not sure why he voiced the question, or why on earth he even cared, but he knew something was not right between them and he thought it best to discover what it was.
“My Jora will marry Reinn in a few weeks, and they will leave to live in town where they can tend my tavern. I’ll need a man I can trust here to watch over my holdings while I conduct my business at the docks. I’ll send some of my laborers to tend your land. A simple prospect, one that would serve ye well. Unless ye have other employment in mind?”
Benjamin did not fail to notice the way Jora straightened her back and clenched her fingers into her skirts, nor the way Agnarr shot a sly look at her from the corner of his eye. The girl spoke nothing in her defense, however, and Benjamin could only assume she was resigned to the arrangement. When he slowly extended his hand to Agnarr, he saw Jora bite her lower lip.
“That arrangement suits me. I shall accept yer offer.”
Agnarr grinned and clapped Benjamin on the shoulder. When the older man leaned in close, Benjamin could smell the scent of whiskey on his breath as he spoke low.
“Then welcome to Wakehill, Time Walker,” he said. “And I am verra sorry to hear of yer wife’s passing. I would have liked to meet her.”
Benjamin grimaced and nodded. He followed Agnarr on a tour of the plantation, relieved his captivity had ended.
He was no longer a prisoner. God help him, he was a partner with the devil himself.
***
By the end of the afternoon, Agnarr had introduced him to his men as a new partner, and none saw fit to question their master’s declaration. Although only a prisoner a few hours prior, Benjamin’s treatment by the others immediately changed to one of grudging respect. It seemed that Agnarr made known Benjamin was of a different kind, like their leader, and it gleaned an altogether quiet sort of admiration that Benjamin had only seen a few times in his life. Once, when men bowed down to his father; and then, when they kneeled to his brother, Winn. It was something Benjamin had only experienced from the outskirts, never the true recipient, so it was a new thing for him to be regarded as something more than a simple man. In the Norse village he had been the second son of the Chief, always in the shadow of his father and brother. Here, he was suddenly thrust into the right hand of the leader and given the regard of one with ancient blood. It was enough to unsettle him when he needed his wits about him the most.
When one of the soldiers approached and took Agnarr aside, the older man made his regrets to Benjamin.
“I need to attend to a few matters. I’ll leave you to see the rest of the land with Jora,” Agnarr declared before Benjamin could object. Jora, who had followed quietly behind as they made conversation, uttered a spurt of objection. With a single square glance from Agnarr, however, she shook off her previous dismay and stalked off ahead, muttering under her breath.
“I won’t be long,” Agnarr laughed. He held his hand out in guidance to Benjamin with a smirk, then left them. Benjamin had no choice but to follow the fleeing girl out past the barn.
She had a head start, and he could see that she held her skirts above her ankles in a very un-ladylike manner. He wondered where she had been raised, behaving as she did, knowing she was surely not the product of a strict English upbringing. With her obstinate speech, impudent objections, and all around annoying behaviors, she reminded him of one red-haired lass from a future time. As he widened his gait to catch up to Jora, he let his mind rest on what he had lost for a moment.
The memories were few, but they burned him. The scent of her soap, the softness of her amber hair under his fingers. The warmth of her flesh next to his. He still longed for it. Missed it. And though he knew it never truly belonged to him from the start, he still ached for it. Yet she was his brother’s wife, and the very thought should shame him.
It did, and he let it fade.
“Well? Have ye stumps fer legs, or are ye just a clod?”
He looked up at her taunt. Jora stood a few feet away, her hands perched on her hips, her chest rising and falling in quick bursts as she surveyed him.
“What?”
“You’re slow. I havna got all day. Come see the river, and we’ll be through,” she snapped.
He shook his head a bit, more to himself than at her, then climbed the sloping hill to join her. At the top he could easily see what she spoke of. The busy river churned below, and on the far side of the swirling current they could make out the Elizabeth City port. It was the m
ain inlet of commerce for tobacco in the city, and he guessed it was the port that Agnarr was in charge of. The man was not boasting when he said he had wealth and power; being the only one with authority to approve the sale of tobacco in the city, he probably had his pockets lined by every plantation owner for miles around and then some.
“The warehouse belongs to Agnarr, as does the port. It’s the only one approved by the crown in Elizabeth City,” Jora said. There was a flat rock jutting up from the ground that she climbed onto, standing up tall to get a better view. She held her flattened hand to her head, blocking the sun from her eyes as she looked across the river.
“I see it. Now come down. Best I not have Agnarr’s Seer fall in the river first time we’re out of his sight,” Benjamin muttered. She turned to face him, her head only slightly taller than his from her perch on the rock. The height put them more on level than they could otherwise be, considering the girl’s head barely reached his shoulder when she stood beside him. He was accustomed to looking down on others, but he could see it irritated her. From the smug look on her face he suspected she had climbed up on the rock just for the purpose of baiting him.
“Well. Now you’re Agnarr’s man, are ye? And ye think he trusts ye?” she said.
“I have no illusion of that, miss,” he answered.
“Good. It’s best ye trust no one here.”
He was rapidly losing patience with her veiled taunts, and he was certain she had a game to play as well as Agnarr. Making a rash decision, he grabbed her hand and jerked her down off the ledge, eliciting an indignant screech from her and earning himself a slap across the face. Stunned, he stepped back as he rubbed his chin, but kept his hand firmly on hers despite her effort to yank it away.
“What did ye do that for?” he hollered.
“I didna ask ye to touch me, did I? And my betrothed wouldna like it, not one bit!” she replied. “And I’ll tell him, I will, and he’ll—”
“He’ll what, lass? Thrash me? I think you know he willna,” Benjamin said softly. The wild glare in her eye faded as she looked up at him, but he could see the undercurrent of something else brewing in her. Her eyes darted to her wrist, still held captive in his hand, then back to his face.
“Let me go,” she demanded.
“Not until I know ye willna slap me again. I’ve never hit a woman, but I aim to start if ye go on like this,” he replied. He was lying, but she couldn’t know that. As far as she knew, he was a heartless bastard that had just joined ranks with a man she seemed to despise. “So tell me, why will ye marry Reinn? Do ye do everything Agnarr bids ye?”
Although he continued to hold her, she twisted her wrist, and he noticed she grimaced with the discomfort but did not back down. She glared at him, her eyes shining with defiance, and then to his surprise, brimming with moisture.
Oh, good God, woman. Don’t start crying, he thought. All he needed was to bring Jora back hysterical and disheveled to give his new associate a good impression of him.
“Here, I’m sorry, It’s surely none of my concern—” he explained. He took his free hand and patted the one he held, hoping to soothe her before she burst. If there was nothing that made him more uncomfortable, it was the sight of a crying woman and knowing he had caused it.
“But it is. It is your concern,” she said softly. “Because I have a proposition fer ye as well.”
He felt he should drop her hand at that point, yet he could not. She had twisted her fingers into his, therefore preventing his retreat. Suddenly the tables were turned, and he did not like it in the least.
“Oh, do ye?” he replied. She nodded.
“Ye’ll fare better in yer standing with Agnarr if—if ye ask for my hand. If we wed, you willna be here under his watch, and—and ye can tend the tavern with me in town,” she blurted out in a rapid rush. She looked as stunned as he did at her offer, her face turning a rather deep shade of scarlet against her pale cheeks.
“And why on God’s earth would I want to do that?” he shouted. When he tried to drop her hand, she held it tighter.
“Because you have no one here ye can trust. And I know things about ye!” she replied.
“Resorting to threats now? Is Reinn such a terrible prospect ye’d throw yerself at me? Ye’ve known me all of—of one day!”
Finally she dropped his hand. She lowered her head and turned her back to him, and he could see her shoulders shake as she spoke.
“Aye. I’ve known ye one day, and I can see yer a better man than Reinn. Any clout-heid could see that.”
He raked his hands through his hair and let out a frustrated groan. This was a complication he did not need, one he had not anticipated in his quest to discover what sort of threat Agnarr posed. Now, in front of him, asking for his help, was a young woman he could not figure out. Was she devious in her plea, or just desperate? She was a Seer, after all, and skilled in the art of emotional manipulation. Perhaps she had some greater reason for begging his assistance. Or was it part of Agnarr’s plan?
“Did Agnarr put ye to this?” he demanded. He grabbed her by her shoulders and swung her around, nearly lifting her off her feet. Her mouth draped open when he shook her.
“No! Ye may be a mean spirited whoreson, but yer no bastard like Reinn is. I’ve had no other option until today, and I mean to take it,” she insisted. “Here. I will show ye,” she said, taking his hand again. She sat down on the rock and pulled him beside her, leaning over his lap so that she could place her palms on his face. He drew away at first, but then relented, curious as to what power the tiny Seer could have to convince him.
Her hands felt cool at first, then warmed to his flesh as she held them in place. A rolling tremor surfaced in his belly and a wave of nausea assaulted him causing him to draw back, but she went with him and said something softly he could not hear. The curious sensation passed, replaced by a numbness in his skull, and suddenly it was as if a swell of water broke forth from a dam. Something flowed through him, with him, visions in his head that he could not decipher in a swirl, until the pressure of her hands increased and the images slowed their frantic dance.
Now he could see them clearly. Jora, as a child, alone, then taken by Agnarr. Growing older, he could see her fear and loneliness as she lived in his household, treated no better than a servant. And then, although he could not picture it, rather he felt it, he knew Agnarr discovered her powers, and suddenly Jora had much more worth to him. He had witnessed in person the way Reinn treated her, so Benjamin was not surprised to see more of the same in Jora’s visions.
Overcome by her grief, he put his hand on her wrists. When their flesh collided, another image surfaced like a bolt through his skull. It was Jora, and he was staring down at her. She was lying beneath him, naked, with two perfect round breasts staring up at him as she smiled.
He opened his eyes, aware that his breath came suddenly stilted and that he was now staring down the front of her shift. Did she really look like that under her dress? He had no time to consider it before her palm cracked across his face. Again.
“Odin’s tooth, woman, I swear I—I should—oh, damn ye,” he muttered as he closed his mouth over hers. He had no notion why he did it. Perhaps it was the strength of the vision, or the way his cock throbbed between his legs for the first time in ages, but suddenly all he wanted was to taste her. She seemed in agreement at first, her body softening in his hands, until in a quick turn she pulled away from him. This time he caught her wrist before she could slap him, and as she sat there glaring at him with her lips deliciously swollen he wondered just what kind of man he truly was.
“Ye’ll not strike me again, unless ye wish it returned,” he warned. She was shaking, but her eyes remained defiant.
“I’ll not bed ye without a promise of marriage, Benjamin Dixon. And ye can keep yer paws to yerself until I get it!”
With that threat she leapt to her feet, hiked up her skirts, and took off back toward the farm. He watched her round bottom swing with her agitated gait as sh
e did her best to flee his presence.
Had she sent him the vision on purpose?
As he went after her, he let out a frustrated groan at the prospect. Not only was he knee-deep in partnership with a sworn enemy, he was being swindled by a she-devil Seer bent on marriage.
He was not sure things could get much worse.
Chapter 11
Jora
The visions did not always obey her command. She had intended only to give Benjamin a glimpse of her past to show her sincerity, but when the bastard grabbed her hands it set her off like a flame. Yes, she had seen it as well, and her heart still hammered in her chest at the way he had kissed her.
She took a gulp of cider, noticing how badly her hands shook as she paced the room. Both Benjamin and Agnarr would be back soon, as would Reinn. In all truth, she did not expect to be turned down in such a heinous manner by Benjamin. After all, she was a decent looking young woman, and marriage to her would elevate his standing with Agnarr. If Benjamin was so intent on forming an alliance, then surely he would see the sense in the match?
She sat down on her bed when she heard the front door open, uncertain if it were Benjamin or Agnarr. It was too soon for her to face Benjamin after he had rejected her, and she had no further plan in place to avoid the marriage to Reinn. Agnarr would expect her compliance, and her time was running out.
“Jora?”
Agnarr knocked and pushed open the door as he called to her. She sighed. It was his home. Everything belonged to him, and he never let anyone forget that he was the one with all the power.
“Come in,” she mumbled.
“Did ye show our new friend about the property?” he asked as he loosened the collar of his linen shirt. He stretched his neck upward, running his fingers around the cloth to widen the gap, then pulled the ribbon from his blond hair. He raised an eyebrow in question as he made himself more comfortable. It made her increasingly uncomfortable the way he took liberties in her presence, especially in the one room she felt safe. Yet it was his home, not hers, a reminder she always kept fresh at hand.