The Legend of the Bloodstone

by E. B. Brown

  Winn looked in her direction from across the fire where he stood with Benjamin. Their eyes met for a moment, and Maggie glimpsed an edge of something unsettling in his gaze. There was no acknowledgement in his wooden stare, but she could see the muscles in his crossed arms tighten and the way his back stiffened at her inquisitive perusal of the strangers. He quickly broke contact and turned back to the visitor.

  “Will Winn eat with us?” Maggie asked. Teyas shook her head.

  “No, he will eat with the men.”

  “Is there some rule that says I can’t talk to him now?”

  “Shush, Mag-hee! No, no rule. But we wait to be spoken to at this feast,” the girl hissed back, jabbing her in the rib with her elbow. “He will take you to his yehakin soon, be patient!”

  Maggie scowled as her cheeks flushed at the implication. She brushed the jibe aside and continued questioning the girl, determined to glean information about the visitors.

  “I just want to talk to him!” she said.

  “You must wait to be spoken to! He will be angry if you go to him now!”

  “Well, he’s always angry, so what’s the damn difference?”

  Maggie stood up, but Teyas was fast on her heels and grabbed her by the back of her dress before she could go very far. Maggie shook her off.

  “Leave me be!” she snapped.

  “Sit down!” Teyas pleaded. Panic laced her words and her face was creased with fear. Maggie suddenly felt bad for causing a scene, and let Teyas pull her back down to sit on the grass. A few of the other woman shot them hard looks and shook their heads.

  “Ah, kemata tepahta! Now Winn sees us!” Teyas groaned.

  Winn was staring at them from across the fire, as was the visitor at his side. Benjamin tapped Winn’s arm and pointed at the quarreling women in question. Maggie watched as Winn said something tense to the man and waved his question off, shaking his head, while pushing a bowel of food into the man’s hands as if to distract him. Winn clapped Benjamin on the back in a friendly manner, and then spoke again. Maggie wished she could hear what they were saying, but the distance was too great and it was enough just to decipher the expressions on their faces. Winn left the visitor and turned to one of the warriors that flanked his sides, his attention shifting for the moment. He uttered some direction to the warrior before he left his position, his destination clear to both Maggie and Teyas.

  Maggie prepared to face his onslaught, unaware of what to expect since she knew little of what stoked the obvious temper he was in. She glanced back across the fire and noticed Benjamin was staring straight at her, confusion etched on his face as he squinted to see her in the glare of the setting sun. When their eyes met his mouth fell open, and she quickly ducked her head. No good could come of making contact with the visitors in front of the villagers.

  Maggie felt Teyas nudge her in warning before Winn grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet.

  “Ouch! What the hell-“

  “Be silent. You will go back to my yehakin. Now!” he demanded, his words uttered quietly and hoarse next to her ear. She allowed him to hold her upper arm, but turned to meet his steel gaze, thrusting her face within inches of his to meet his anger.

  “What is going on?”

  “Go, ntehem. I will meet you soon.”

  Shaking wracked her body and challenged her resolve, but she could see Winn tremble as well. It was not like Winn to show such emotion in front of others, and with a deepening sense of unease Maggie knew he was afraid. Of what, she had no notion.

  “Teyas, come! You will eat with Maggie and tend her wound,” he growled. His sister immediately obeyed, taking Maggie’s hand and urging her back toward the yehakin. Maggie let out a sigh and succumbed to being led away. Winn stood rooted in place, watching them go. Maggie saw Nemattanew approach and was glad to leave.

  “Wait!”

  Maggie swung around at the clear English plea. Her eyes widened at Benjamin standing next to Winn, both of the men looking at the women expectantly.

  “Please, Mistress, if I could have a word with you? Surely you do not mind, Winn?” Benjamin asked. Behind the Englishman stood two other, older men, dressed in similar attire but both equally as interested by the astonished looks on their faces.

  “The woman was wounded by a bear. She needs her wound tended,” Winn replied tersely.

  “Well, yes, of course! But it will only take a moment, my friend,” Benjamin insisted. Before Winn could offer any more objections, one of the older men that accompanied Benjamin stepped forward and threw his arm out in a gesture toward Maggie.

  “Where did you come by my niece, Indian?” the older man asked. Towheaded and stocky, but not in a pleasing manner, the gentleman pushed through Benjamin and Winn to approach her. Maggie held her ground as he scrutinized her with tiny piercing black eyes, making her feel like a piece of prime meat on display. The urge to inform him he was sadly mistaken crossed her mind, but she opted to keep her mouth shut for the moment. In light of the manner which Winn barely contained his anger, she stepped a pace away from the man instead.

  “I know not your niece. This woman is my guest.”

  “What is your name, Miss?” the man called Benjamin asked. Maggie thought her answer would settle the argument, and she eagerly responded.

  “Maggie. Maggie McMillan.”

  Winn froze at her words and Benjamin’s mouth fell open.

  The older man cocked his hands on his hips and spit on the ground at her feet with a nod. Maggie noticed his gun shift slightly forward on his shoulder in a way it would be easier to grasp. “See? You are mistaken. This girl is my niece, I think I would know my own dead brother’s sweet child! I got word she was lost in the river on the way to Jamestown. My thanks for returning her to me safely,” the man said, pausing before he added, with a side glance at Benjamin, “my friend.”

  “You will take the woman away?” Nemattanew interrupted.

  “Well, yes, I paid a great deal of money to bring her here, and I can’t rightly leave her. You don’t expect me to buy her back, do you?” Thomas snorted, the thought evidently causing him much distress.

  “Then take her.” Nemattanew made the offering, his eyes fixed on Winn.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for Winn’s response.

  “You forget she is not yours to give, Nemattanew.”

  “Then I will ride to speak with Opechancanough, I am sure he will wish to return the woman to her kin,” Nemattanew replied. “Our Weroance wishes nothing but peace between our people, Thomas Martin.”

  Veins stood out like cords on his arms, and Maggie saw the way his eyes narrowed as Winn stared at Nemattanew. His hand flexed open then closed into a fist at his side.

  “Then ride, Nemattanew. But until then, she stays here.”

  She felt Teyas squeeze her hand, and saw the look she exchanged with Winn. She did not protest when Teyas nodded to the men and then proceeded to drag her back to the yehakin.

  Once they were safely inside, Teyas began to pace back and forth, stopping every so often to peer out through the hide-covered doorway. When Maggie tried to ask a question, Teyas raised a hand in dismissal and urged her silence. Suddenly, Teyas stopped pacing and joined Maggie where she stood at the back of the room.

  Winn parted the bear hide and ducked into the room. He gave Teyas a short command in his own language and his sister quickly left the yehakin. Alone with Winn and his flaring temper, Maggie braced herself for the fight and let him approach.

  “That man is Thomas Martin. He claims you as his kin. He wants you returned to him.”

  She felt faint as his words struck her like a mallet.

  “But you know I’m not his niece.”

  “I know.”

  “But Winn-“

  “Listen, woman!” he hissed, “There is no time to argue! Nemattanew has left the village to seek permission from my Uncle to give you to the English. If he returns with orders from the Weroance, the Council will support him, and they w
ill release you from me.”

  “Release me?”

  “You became my prisoner when I found you,” he said quietly, his eyes dipping down away from her stare. “It is my right to keep you or cast you off. Only the Great Weroance can order me to release you.”

  “Your prisoner?” Her back stiffened. “Is that what I am to you?” she replied, the words slipping from her tongue laced with anger and betrayal. It shattered her to know he would rid himself so easily of her after what they had shared.

  “No! Listen! My Uncle does not know you are here, and when Nemattanew tells him the English claim you, he will order me to give you to them. My Uncle seeks to keep friendship with the English above all else, he will not risk angering them. If the English wanted Teyas, or Chetan, or even Ahi Kekeleksu, he would give them away. It only matters to him to keep peace.”

  His skin flushed red from his neck to his ears, his jaw clamped and his veins standing out like bowstrings.

  “I thought your Uncle hated them.”

  “He does. I do. But for now we give them friendship. It is part of his plan. I cannot tell you more than that.” He shook as he glared at her, every muscle across his chest quivering as his hands tightened, his knuckles white from the pressure. He raised his arms as if to draw her close, then thought better of it and thrust them back to his sides, turning his back to her. “I have no choice but to obey my Uncle, or bring his anger on my village.”

  She made the rash decision and crossed the space between them, determined to draw something other than anger from him. Placing her hands against his back, she slowly slipped them around his waist and rested her cheek against his shoulder. His taut muscles relaxed at her touch, and she felt him take her fist and hold it tight to his chest.

  “I know what happens to the English, Winn,” she whispered. “I know he plans to attack them, and that he will succeed. Will you be a part of that? Will you just send me to them, and slaughter me with the rest of the English when the time comes?”

  He turned rapidly around at her words, his hands closing around her face to capture her gaze. Blazing blue eyes narrowed and brows squared as she met his stare.

  “How do you know this?” he asked, his voice strained and hushed, as if he were afraid of ears that listened.

  “In my time children learn history- I was taught about the Indian Massacre in school, Winn.”

  “Indian Massacre? Is that what your people call it?” he hissed.

  “It was – it will be a massacre!” she shot back, unafraid of his rising fury. “You’re going to kill hundreds of people, women, and children! God, how can I love you when you would do such a thing?”

  “Love? You would not love a man who protects his people? You would not love a warrior who protects you?” he shouted. She tried to twist away, but his hands kept firm around her face as his slanted blue eyes bore into hers, his features clenched and his veins standing out like rawhide against his arms. She choked back tears, unsure of why such words spilled from her mouth but unable to stop them.

  “If your idea of protecting me is sending me to the English, then no. At least give me the Bloodstone and send me home before you massacre them all!”

  “No!” he roared. His lips silenced her next protest. It was no seductive kiss like his prior attentions, nor a gentle invitation. It closed her down, consumed her denial, and then he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, the sound of their shallow panting filling the void their passion had left. She lifted her lips to him again to keep his refusal at bay, but after dropping a series of kisses along her eyes and cheeks and chin, he grasped her face once again and forced her to listen.

  “You will stay here while I go to speak to my Uncle. I will not let Nemattanew be the only voice my Uncle hears.”

  “Don’t leave.”

  “Stay here until I return.” His tone was hoarse but firm, no answer to her question yet issuing another demand. She shook her head furiously at his words, refusing to submit. He pressed his lips to her hair, murmuring words that danced to her ears like the glimmer of a firefly.

  “I will always come for you, ntehem. Do you not know that by now?” His voice thick, he drew her close, pressing his face to her neck. She felt the smoldering anger flicker out as he held her in his arms. “No man will take you from me. As long as I breathe, I will hold you here,” he said, taking her hand to press it against his heart. “I lie to my men, I disobey my Weroance, and curse you, woman, I will do it again!”

  His mouth crushed hers, desperate and searching, his fingers sliding up to tangle in her hair as he staked his claim upon her. Frustration and longing buried in his touch, his lips sending a message of possession through her blood, all evidence of doubt extinguished with his declaration. With his touch, she knew in her heart what her mind refused to acknowledge, too hurt to see past the lies he spoke, that his love belonged to her. Relief washed through her veins and carried her back to that blissful place, the place where she belonged to him, where nothing of the chaotic life around them could pull them apart.

  She buried her head against his chest in that shallow valley beneath his throat, where his bronzed skin felt softer than the tautness of his muscled chest. He murmured words of love in soft Paspahegh, and although she did not know the meaning of them she loved the intent, and she nestled tighter against him. She was unwilling to break their impasse, but she knew in order go forward, she needed to know the whole of it.

  “Do you still think all whites are worth nothing?” she asked, fearing his answer but driven to ask nonetheless. He cupped her face in his hand and ran his thumb over her pink bottom lip, parted it with the pressure, and then gently kissed it.

  “You are worth everything to me,” he murmured. “I have nothing to give you, no fine clothes such as you wear, no land to call my own but where we might rest our heads at night. Can you love a man such as this?”

  She placed her hand over his heart, and he covered it with his own.

  “I love this man beside me, and that is all that matters,” she whispered.

  He turned his head to her palm and kissed her cupped hand, pulling her close to fit against his broad chest. There would be no other for her, she realized with a heat coursing through her body that warmed even her deepest fears, smothering any lingering doubt between them.

  “For my people, when words of love are spoken between a man and woman, they are married in the eyes of the village,” he said softly. “You are my wife, in here, in my heart…if you will have me.”

  She nodded, choking back a sob as her tears began to flow.

  “Say the words to me, and I will have you, Winkeohkwet.”

  He brought her hands to his lips and gently kissed them, his eyes never wavering from hers.

  “Now you will feel no rain, for I will shelter you.

  Now you will feel no cold, for I will warm you.

  Now you will never be lonely, for we will be together.

  There is only one life before us.

  Now we walk as one.”

  Belligerent time stood vacant as he kissed her, the passage of seconds akin to the swinging of an eternal pendulum, easy in motion yet moving time forward barely a moment. At standstill, but not stagnant, she welcomed the lapse and begged more of it, wishing her heart to settle safely among the scattered petals of their souls. His lips tasted of sweet brandy when he kissed her, the kiss of a man she now called husband.

  They both heard the call from Makedewa at the same time and saw his shadow across the doorway, and Maggie broke away, her hand still grasped in his.

  “No!” Winn groaned, snatching her back toward him. She saw the darkness in his hooded eyes as his lips came down, seeking the last vestige of her to take to arms, ready to plunder into oblivion anything that would stand between them. Their frantic hands sought each other, clothes quickly parted, skin seeking skin, and she thought her heart would explode through her chest with wanting of him when he pushed her back against the furs.

  “I cannot let you
go!” he whispered hoarsely in her ear as he clutched her hip with one shaking hand and pushed her dress up with the other.

  “Never!” she cried. She wrapped her legs around his hips and bit into his shoulder to stem her moans as he thrust, the frenzied joining the only way to meld their lifeblood back into a synchronous melody once again.

  “Winkeohkwet!” Makedewa shouted.

  She broke away from his lips but he did not stop, and she damned him as he took them to sweet completion, yet urged him on all the same.

  “Not yet!” he growled.

  “Winn!”

  “Yes, now! Now, ntehem, now!”

  He buried her cries with his mouth, their gasps for breath hammering through her ears as if no other sound existed. Sucked into the succulent embrace of him, she clutched him back as he started to pull away.

  With glazed eyes, he kissed her neck and then her breast, his hands pushing her dress back down into place. He gently released her, his lips brushing over her knuckles as her fingertips finally left his grip. She heard his whispered pledge as she braced against the furs and tried to slow her gasping breaths, the promise an echo through her soul before he left.

  “Nexasi, ntehem. Lapich knewel.”

  “Tell me what that means,” she whispered. His lips formed a smile that failed to reach his eyes as he answered her request.

  “Be safe, my heart. I will see you again.”

  Chapter 13

  Winn sat perched on his pony, ready to follow the English back to their town. He glared at the man who claimed to be her Uncle, and wondered what game he played as he snapped the reins and sent the horse forward. Winn knew little of the man called Thomas Martin, and was certain Benjamin had no idea the man was lying about Maggie being his niece. Benjamin had proven his friendship to the Paspahegh and visited Winn often, so he felt some trust for the white man, but he had none of that confidence for the rest of the English.

  Damn that interfering Nemattanew, that sneaky spy his Uncle trusted so much. Forced to make a decision in front of his people and the English, none of the choices were acceptable to him. Give her to the English who claim her as kin, or refuse to relinquish his right to her as his captive. Either choice would lead to the same outcome: Nemattanew would inform Opechancanough of the Time Walker in their midst, and his Uncle would demand her blood.