by E. B. Brown
He closed the book and placed it on the table, then approached her. Her back straightened, and his heavy footsteps seemed louder than the crackle of the fire. He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders and slowly increased the pressure, pulling her back against his chest. She felt rigid in is hands until he bent his head to her ear, and it was then that he felt her tremble.
“He asks a steep price for yer hand. I am a man of limited means,” he murmured.
She let out a sharp sigh.
“Am I not worth a few acres of land?” she whispered.
“Oh, aye, lass. I think ye are. I do want ye,” he said softly, brushing her hair with his lips as he spoke. She let out a slow breath.
“I don’t know why ye lie. But God help me, if I must marry, then I would have ye. I have no other choice that’s decent,” she whispered.
So she had thought things over, and decided he was still her best option. Clever. Crafty. Well, it would makes things better for both of them if she was more willing. He certainly had not relished the thought of seducing her, after their disastrous last encounter, so he was relieved she changed her tactic. He turned her around to face him.
“Is that so?” he asked. Her skin was flushed scarlet as if the heat of the flame had scorched her cheeks, and her tawny eyes were round and wide. She nodded as she bit down on her lower lip.
“Yes. I will have ye,” she whispered.
His chest tightened at her words, and his breath caught fast. Suddenly his plan was forgotten and all he could see was her white teeth biting down on her pink lip. Losing his thought, he slipped his fingers up into her hair and tilted her head back as he covered her mouth with his. He was stunned when she responded eagerly, meeting his kiss and matching his increasing desire.
He should discover what her game she played, or demand to know why she seemed to want him. He should hold her away and insist on an answer. He should stop kissing her.
But he did not want to.
She clutched his shirt with a closed fist and drew him down with the other, bringing him to her level where she could reach him. He groaned when she twisted her fingers in his hair and her plump breasts brushed against his chest.
“Here,” he said. He bent and swept her into his arms, kissing her as he brought her into his room. He let her slide to the ground as he kicked the door closed, and closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself when she unfastened his shirt.
Her motions seemed practiced, but her fingers shook. He released her gown and pulled it down over her shoulders until it fell into a heap at her feet. She pulled away from his kiss then and paused, her chest heaving as she stood in his arms in only her thin shift.
He wondered if she had changed her mind. And then he wondered if he was enough of a cad to seduce her if she was unwilling. Part of him knew it was to gain Agnarr’s trust. Yet that part was buried. He wanted her beneath him, he wanted to bury himself inside her, even if she did not care for him. She could be a means to his end, and he could at least find some solace in what he meant to do.
“Are ye all right?” he asked. She nodded, wordless, and kissed him hard on the mouth. Her hands now steady, she pulled him toward the bed. He suddenly did not care how many men she had bedded, or what she had done for Agnarr. After all, isn’t that what most men were like? Didn’t they take what they wanted from women like her, without thought or consequence? Something about her called to him, sang to him like a siren’s song, and he was no longer strong enough to resist the pull.
When he laid her down, she felt tiny beneath him, but she writhed and clung to him with a strength that startled him. Her motions urged him on. They tore at each other’s clothes until they were naked, and as he ran his mouth over her breasts he thought he would explode.
He told himself she was willing, and he was no gentleman. When she arched up against him he drove into her with no restraint, burying himself full into her softness. He thought he heard her cry out, but his vision was too clouded and his need roared through his ears as he thrust, until finally amidst the thickened haze he shattered in her arms. As he laid his head on her shoulder and struggled to recover his breath, he took his weight onto his forearms and looked down at her.
Her eyes were tightly closed, and she was shuddering so hard he wondered if he had done it wrong.
“Jora?” he said, touching her cheek. When she bit down over her lip and said nothing, he rolled to his side and pulled her against his chest. She curled her back against him and nestled her backside into his hips, but when she continued to shake he knew something affected her. “I didna hurt ye, did I? I’m sorry…it’s been a long time—”
“I expected it to hurt. I’m fine,” she said quietly.
As his pounding heart slowed, his blood seemed to drain along with it. What was she saying?
“Jora…do men usually hurt ye, when ye lay with them?” he stammered. He asked the senseless question, even as the sickness in his belly burned stronger and he knew she meant something else entirely.
“I would not know,” she whispered. “Ye are the first.”
Benjamin did not know whether to leap out of the bed and holler at her, or dissolve into his own bout of self humiliation. How could he have not known? Granted, he had no experience with women other than his wife, and she had not come to his bed a maid. As much as he might have wished it otherwise, the scarcity of women in the colony leant men few options.
In the end, he clutched her tighter, holding her firm against his chest. She melded into him like a bow, accepting his clumsy gesture without fight. He pressed his lips into her hair as he felt her let out a shallow sob.
Oh, Jesus. He was a senseless piece of rubbish.
“I’m sorry. If—if ye’d told me, I—I would have…oh, don’t cry! Please don’t cry,” he bade her. At loss to console her, he kissed her gently close to her ear. “I’m so sorry. I’m an arse.”
“Ye couldn’t tell?” she asked, still turned away from him. Her fingers clutched his arms, still tight around her. “I thought a man could tell.”
He was glad she could not see him at that point, his face filling with heat as he tried to give her an honest answer. It was difficult to admit his most personal thoughts to her, but he had ravaged her maidenhead like a rutting fool and he at least owed her an explanation.
“I’ve not had much experience, myself, truth be told. Only with my wife, and she did not come to me untouched,” he admitted.
“Oh. Oh, I see,” she replied.
“Ye hid yer secret well,” he said, at loss to convey his intention without insulting her. It was clear he had completely misjudged her, and he felt like a cad. “I thought—well, I thought ye wanted this as much as I.”
“I did,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I told ye if I must marry, I would choose ye. Now it’s done, and they canna make me marry another. You won’t go back on your word, will ye?”
He sighed.
“No, lass, I willna. I will keep ye,” he said. She seemed satisfied with that, and he felt her body relax against him. Had she used him, or had he used her? The question rattled him, and he had no answer for it. All he knew was that he wanted to hold the woman in his arms. He wanted to take back the clumsy way he had treated her and give her something better.
For the first time in nearly a year, he wanted to see the next sunrise. He wanted the chance to try again.
“Next time will be different,” he whispered. He felt her nod.
“I trust ye. In that, at least,” she murmured.
He waited until her breathing slowed and her shaking subsided, and then he closed his eyes. In the morning he would regain control of the situation. For now, he would hold the confusing lass in his arms.
Chapter 13
Rebecca
“Alone I see? About time you came up for air!”
Rebecca looked up as Maggie let herself into the Long House, smiling at her friend despite the flush of warmth settling over her cheeks. Leave it to Maggie to be crass about the
marriage bed.
“Do all women from the future speak so—so brazen?” Rebecca chastised her, smiling despite her embarrassment. “I wouldn’t fault yer husband for taking a switch to ye, not fer one second!”
Maggie burst into a fit of giggles as she bounced onto Rebecca’s bedding platform. Her red hair was spread like a fan across her shoulders, and Rebecca noted she wore a new dress lined with embroidered edging. It was in a high-waist style and flattered her petite figure in a pleasing manner.
“It’s just an observation, no harm,” Maggie retorted. “And if Winn ever laid a hand to me, I’d break his good right arm.”
“Maggie!”
“What? Come on now!” Maggie snorted. “You know me better than that. From the future or not, I won’t stand for that sort of thing and you know it.”
“Might do ye some good,” Rebecca muttered with a smile. Maggie kicked her legs out and leaned back on the platform on her elbows, eyeing Rebecca in a most severe manner.
“So. Where did your new husband run off to? Is he with mine? I can’t seem to find Winn anywhere. I worry when he goes off without telling me.”
Rebecca regained her composure and resorted to folding her linens in a more methodical manner. Maggie needed no encouragement when she was up to something, and it was quite clear the Chief’s wife was plotting some scheme. With the intent of trying to decipher her friend’s game, Rebecca averted her eyes and tried to flesh out the truth.
“I’m sure they’re just busy,” Rebecca answered. Maggie scowled.
“Right. So fess up. You know what they’re up to, don’t you?”
“No! I mean…well…Makedewa did mention something about going into town. But they would have told us. They wouldna just leave without a word,” Rebecca admitted. She was not entirely comfortable disclosing any tidbit of information to Maggie, lest the woman run off half-cocked and tumble into trouble.
“I knew it!” Maggie muttered. She jumped off the bed and went for the door, and Rebecca grabbed her by the wrist before she could leave.
“Come back here!” Rebecca admonished her. She pulled her friend over to the platform and resorted to yanking on her arm to get her to sit. Maggie acquiesced without too much fight, much to Rebecca’s relief.
“I just have a bad feeling. Something’s not right, I don’t want them to go into town. There’s some reason Benjamin didn’t come back and they’re keeping it from us,” Maggie admitted.
“Hush. Ye spend so much time worrying on things ye have no say in. Ye know Winn only means to keep ye happy. If there was something amiss, he would tell ye.”
Maggie sighed. Rebecca wound her fingers through Maggie’s and clasped her hand tightly. Maggie squeezed her gently back in return.
“I suppose you’re right,” Maggie replied.
“Maybe he’s just staying away. Maybe he still mourns Marcus. Or…” Rebecca drifted off without finishing the thought, her mind wandering back to them time Benjamin had lived among them. She was aware of the history between Maggie and Benjamin, and because of it Rebecca was not surprised Benjamin stayed away. Although no one blamed Benjamin outright for the death of Marcus, she knew some made whisper of the accusation when the Chief was out of earshot. Maggie and Winn seemed to have moved beyond the ghosts of the past when it came to Benjamin, and they expected all others to do the same. Yet nevertheless Benjamin had left the village, and he stayed away even as Makedewa returned.
Rebecca would not admit it, but Maggie was right. There was some reason Benjamin stayed away. Until he chose to return, they had no way of knowing what that reason was.
“All right then. Fine. I’ll leave it be. I suppose he has his reasons for staying away,” Maggie sighed. “I can see Winn is troubled over it. I just wish I could help somehow.”
“Ye can help by leaving it to the men. Tend yer husband and do his bidding. Like ye usually do,” Rebecca laughed, adding the last tidbit with a sly smile. Maggie elbowed her in the ribs and they both laughed, but Rebecca could see the remnants of unease eating at Maggie. “Was it so different? I mean, where ye came from? I love ye senseless, Maggie, but sometimes ye have the strangest ideas. I canna imagine what sort of life ye lived before ye came here,” Rebecca added.
Maggie stilled at the question, her laughter tapering off into a stilted chuckle. Rebecca squeezed her hand and Maggie returned the gesture, but the mood between them suddenly changed.
“Some things were different,” Maggie said softly. She let loose a short sigh and her green eyes seemed to glisten. Maggie’s lips thinned into a tight line, and her teeth bit down over her lower lip before she spoke. “I had other things to worry over then. Paying the bills, keeping the farm running. Caring for my grandfather. But I took care of it all somehow. I could fix anything, or at least it seemed that way. And if I couldn’t fix it myself, then Marcus was there to help.”
“I know ye miss him. We all do,” Rebecca said.
Maggie nodded, smiling. “Oh, I do miss him. It seems like a dream now, when I think on it. Marcus…Grandfather. As if it’s some story I made up in my head, something I never truly lived. But I did live it, it was my life. I was in college, I had a few friends…I thought someday I would get married, have kids and a dog, like everyone else.”
“Would ye go back to it, if ye could?” Rebecca asked. She feared speaking the question aloud but could not stem it. It was a question she often asked of herself. It hung there in the silence between them as Maggie took a long moment to respond.
“Go back? No,” she whispered. “This is the place I was meant for. Even if I’m just a spectator most of them time, I know it’s where I should be. Sometimes I dream I’m back in the farmhouse in my old room, and I wake up on soft cotton sheets with my head on a fluffy feather pillow. And then, as the dream drifts away and I wake up, I feel Winn’s arm around me. Even if he’s not there, I still…feel him. He ties me to him, like we’re twisted together somewhere deep down. I can’t say it any other way. I don’t know how we’re bound, but we are, and it’s something I cannot run from.”
Maggie squeezed Rebecca’s fingers. “You’ll know how that is, right?”
Rebecca nodded, swallowing down the tightness in her throat. Yes, she understood a bit of that twisting. It was that twining between two people, the tendrils that linked them together. It might start out small, a tiny knot, but over time it grew larger, tighter. Stronger. And even if you panicked and tried to unravel it, the fight only gave it strength. It could not be broken.
“Oh, I think I know,” Rebecca answered. They sat shoulder to shoulder, the conversation left hanging in the silence of the Long House.
Kyra burst into the Long House as a wee whirlwind.Her cheeks were round red cherries standing out against her dirt-stained skin, her chest rising and falling in rapid excited breaths.
“Mama, come quick. Morgan’s here!” the girl shouted. Kyra scarce took a breath before she raced off again, leaving them in the wake of her declaration.
“Morgan? Kwetii, wait!” Maggie replied. “Come on—sounds like we have visitors. I can’t feed them all by myself.”
Rebecca followed Maggie from the Long House. She smiled at the sight of her friend picking up the skirts of her new dress and taking off into a run after her daughter through the yard.
***
John Jackson perched in the middle of a group of enamored young Norsemen. The Norse traveled only infrequently into the English towns, so the advent of a friendly visitor brought their work for the afternoon to a sudden halt. With one raised leg resting on the edge of the well, the visitor accepted the offer of mead from Cormaic and settled down to give them gossip from town.
Rebecca had only met him once or twice, but he was an affable fellow and seemed to mean no harm to them. Although John was an Englishman, his mother had been French, and despite his oath laden speech he was a well-educated man. Rebecca was aware Young Morgan White was John’s ward, and they all owed thanks to John and Morgan for helping Chief Winn when he was captured.
If not for John sending Morgan to alert them, Winn would have been hung by the English.
She noticed Kyra flanking the older boys. Ahi Kekeleksu and Morgan sat by the woods in a semi circle, drawing figures in the sandy soil. Iain, an older half-Norse, half-Indian youth, stood watching them. Occasionally one of the boys would toss a pebble or stick at Kyra to chase her off, but the girl would not be swayed. Kyra followed Morgan as if she were a lost puppy, watching his every move and thrilled with even a smile from him.
“She is fixed on Young Morgan,” Rebecca commented to Maggie. As Maggie filled a pitcher with fresh mead, she glanced over at the children with a smile.
“Uhm, yeah, she sure is,” Maggie replied. “Keke teases her about it. She punched her cousin in the gut over it, and Winn had to scold her.”
“I am not surprised by that,” Rebecca laughed. She hoisted a basket of bread up near her shoulder and brought it to the table, and as she bent to place it she noticed her husband join the men. From his place beside Chief Winn, Makedewa met her gaze across the yard. He made no outward smile, always the stalwart one, but she could see his eyes brighten and his brows raise when he saw her. Arms crossed over his chest, he stood with legs braced slightly apart. When he raised his chin in her direction she saw Chetan roll his eyes, and Makedwa shot him a seething glare. The exchange made her giggle, and drew Maggie’s attention.
“Oh, good. They’re back,” Maggie commented. When Maggie set off to see Winn, Rebecca wiped her damp hands off on her apron and followed her, lugging a pitcher of mead along to distribute. For once she was glad Maggie was impetuous and bold; surely there was no harm in following the Chief’s wife, and if it meant seeing Makedewa sooner rather than later, then it was well worth it.
The men were deep in conversation when the two women came into earshot. John Jackson spoke in a cluttered mixture of English and French, with the frequent obscenities flagrant enough to make her blush. It seemed not to bother then men, but she regretted intruding on them. Unlike Maggie, Rebecca was content with the knowledge that there were some things the men needed to deal with alone.