by E. B. Brown
He shook off the memory. It was not one he would think on.
Not ever again.
For all intent and purpose, he was a man without kin, a man with no blood ties. The closest tie to the past he now had was the man standing beside him, a filthy rich blond-haired devil with a spawn of loyal Englishmen in his employ. Somehow there was a connection between them, and someday Benjamin knew he would find it. It would take patience, he must be canny; he could make no mistake in his quest to reveal what need Agnarr had for the blooded MacMhaolian.
The memory of his father demanded it. The memory of his lost brother required it. As for love lost, well, perhaps some semblance of care might be gained through the alliance with Jora.
She was a pleasing lass, quite bonny to look on, and for that alone he knew he was a fortunate man to have her as his wife. Women were still quite scarce in the colony, and to have a beautiful young lady at his side leant him an air of admiration among the men. This time he had given all he had for a woman he did not trust; perhaps as time wore on something more might come of their union.
Benjamin and Jora would leave the plantation to live at the tavern in Elizabeth City in the morning, but their wedding night would be spent at Wakehill. He was eager to have it finished and be gone from Agnarr’s watchful eye. Both he and Jora would rest easier without the constant supervision.
As Benjamin prepared to enter his room, Agnarr stopped him with an offer of brandy. It was an expensive batch, newly acquired off a ship from England. Agnarr consumed only the best, and Benjamin supposed he should feign a gracious attitude that his benefactor shared it.
“Thank ye,” he murmured, sipping the brandy as quickly as he could without causing offense. Agnarr noticed, of course, in that introspective manner he had of seeing through the façade of any man. This time, however, he played it off to Benjamin’s eagerness to bed his bride, and a wide grin graced his face as he sipped.
“Such a hurry? Well, I shall not keep ye from yer task,” Agnarr chuckled. Benjamin gripped his crystal glass, wanting nothing more than to smash it into Agnarr’s smirking face. Instead, he smiled and tipped the glass gracefully to his benefactor.
“Did ye learn much from yer Time Walker kin, lad?”
Benjamin froze with his hand on the door latch. Why would Agnarr bring such a thing up now?
“Nay. I knew nothing. I told ye, I was a boy when I traveled,” he replied. He did not turn back to Agnarr, hoping it would be the last of his inquiry.
“Well. Then I suppose ye do not know if ye were bled when ye were a bairn, now would ye?”
At this Benjamin stirred, his curiosity peaked. Bled?
Always up for a story, Agnarr noted his interest and continued on to explain.
“Ye see, when a MacMhaolian child is born, or even the child of a Gothi Chieftain’s line, there is a ceremony to… let’s say, test the blood. It takes only a drop from a true blooded MacMhaolian to give life to the dead. Are ye sure ye know nothing of this tale, lad?”
Benjamin shook his head. In his time in the village, he had heard not a whisper of such a thing. For once he was glad he had not learned enough from his father; if he knew any more, it would be too easy to see it in his face, and knowledge of any such powerful magic was exactly what Agnarr sought.
“I see not why this should concern me tonight,” Benjamin muttered, refusing to meet Agnarr’s gaze. He heard the man utter a soft laugh.
“Not tonight, lad. It shallna concern ye tonight. Enjoy yer bride. I wish ye happy tidings in yer new marriage.”
Benjamin entered the room without another glance at Agnarr, still clutching the crystal glass in his hand. He slammed it down onto the mantel along with his fist. Whatever evil Agnarr plotted, Benjamin would find it. Agnarr’s newest story was just one more reason to strengthen his resolve.
“Benjamin?”
Her voice was tentative, soft. Like her skin when he turned and took her in his arms. She did not merely yield to his touch, she welcomed it, seeking to shed him of his clothes as fast as he meant to rid her of her gown.
If he was meant to be a wicked man without honor, then so be it. As he sank down into the bed with his wife he thought, wickedness and betrayal could be no sweeter.
THE END
Read on for a preview of A Tale of Oak and Mistletoe, the final volume in the Time Walkers series expected in Fall 2013.
A Tale of Oak and Mistletoe
Prologue
James County, Virginia
October, 2012
Winn
He ran his hand over his head, his fingers brushing down through the prickly short hairs on his fresh shorn neck. It felt strange without the weight of his braid down his back, and he could feel the autumn breeze at his nape as he crouched down. The journey through time had been very much as Maggie described: pulling his body down, the unseen force urging him to submit, until finally, when he pressed his face to the earth the sky exploded into darkness.
He woke lying flat on his back, staring up at grey storm clouds overhead. Scattered raindrops dotted his skin as he sat up. As he looked around to gain some sense of reality, he saw an English-style house with the soft glow of lights inside through the glass windows. To his other side was a large red barn, with the door slightly ajar. The future had some fragrance of the past, but most of the scent assaulting his senses were dank. As he crept up to the house and knelt down next to the window, he could hear the sound of a man speaking. Without being able to see who was in the house, he could only assume the man was daft by the way he carried on a conversation alone. He peered through the window and saw one of the things Maggie had described to him. It was a picture box, one where people acted out stories on a flat screen. Although his wife had told him it was called a television, his heart still raced at the sight of it and he recalled a fight they once had.
“You have no idea what my life was like!” she had shouted.
Yes, she had been right. No matter how much she described the future, he still had no idea. The truth of her words felt heavy in his belly as he sat there in her future time, so far away from all those he loved. What if he was unable to return to them?
Winn swallowed hard and took a deep breath. There was no time for hesitation. He needed to find Marcus, and get what he came for. As he stood up, suddenly the door flew open and slammed against the shingles of the house, and a woman strode outside past him. She clutched a red coat around herself, muttering under her breath as she bent her head against the wind.
His heart hammered in his chest as she turned his way. Her auburn hair whipped over her shoulder, and her soft green eyes lay flat beneath red-rimmed eyelids. Her face was round and she carried more weight on her frame as she had on the day they met, and as he took in the rest of her attire he could hear his own pulse throbbing in his head.
Maggie stood in front of him.
The denim trousers, the heavy buckskin colored boots. The strap of a pink undergarment peeking out at one shoulder where her thin cotton shirt exposed her skin. She shoved her hands in the front pockets of her trousers and raised her eyebrows at him. Defiant and unamused, the woman who would someday be his wife stared at him with restrained indifference.
“Well?” Maggie said, as if he had failed to answer a question. His words caught between his dry lips as he stumbled over what to say to her. She made no effort to hide her eyes as she surveyed him head to foot, her brows squinting down and her lips pursed. If he had ever thought her behavior bold before, the way she confronted him now leant some indication of how she was accustomed to speaking to men.
“W—what?” he stammered.
“Were you gonna knock, or just stand there? If you’re looking for Marcus, he’s in the kitchen,” she replied, as if impatient with him. Winn knew his face must have looked addled, so he made an attempt to slow down his breathing and make his words more confident. It confused him that she would not ask who he was or what he wanted, but instead she merely offered him entrance to her home.
&n
bsp; “Yes. Yes, I am here to see Marcus,” he said slowly.
“Whatever. Later,” she said as she shrugged. She turned away to leave, and before he could stop himself he reached out and snatched her hand. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to feel her heart pound against his. But this was not his wife yet, he was no more than a stranger to her, and he could not endanger the success of his journey by falling prey to his aching soul.
“Wait,” he whispered hoarsely. “I think you dropped this.”
Winn pulled her watch from the pocket of his tunic and placed it in her hand. She stared down at it but did not pull away. Her fingers felt warm against his despite the brisk air, and she slowly looked up at him.
“Thank you. I’ve been looking for that,” she said softly. Her green eyes softened as they met his, creases forming as her lips twitched and dropped slightly open. “Who did you say you are?”
He continued to hold her hand, fighting the urge to draw her close.
“An old friend,” he replied.
“Oh, okay. Well, thanks. See you later,” she said, and this time her words were stammered out as her cheeks filled with color. She uttered a nervous laugh and pulled her hand back, and then walked away. As he watched her go into the barn, he had no doubt about what day he had arrived in the future. Any moment she would be taken to his time by her Bloodstone, and he could recall every detail of their meeting as if it had happened only yesterday.
I hope you enjoyed this preview of
A Tale of Oak and Mistletoe
Look for it in Fall 2013
About the Author
E.B. Brown enjoys researching history and genealogy, and uses her findings to cultivate new ideas for her writing. She resides in New Jersey.
BOOKS BY E.B. BROWN
Time Walkers Series
The Legend of the Bloodstone, Book 1
Return of the Pale Feather, Book 2
Of Vice and Virtue, Book 3
Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle
COMING SOON
A Tale of Oak and Mistletoe, Book 4
The Faithful, a Fantasy Romance
Connect with Me Online:
Twitter
https://twitter.com/ebbrown_
Facebook
http://www.facebook.com/ebbrownauthor
Goodreads
http://www.goodreads.com/EBBrown
Official Website
ebbrown.net
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Preview: A Tale of Oak and Mistletoe
About the Author