by E. B. Brown
Maggie let out a soft cry as he broke the embrace, but obeyed when he pushed her down to the furs at their feet. She let him cover her with dry furs, sitting cross-legged next to the fire he started. She worried he would never speak or that he would leave, and she felt panicked until he sunk down behind her on the furs. Her eyes closed as his arms surrounded her, drawing her back to nest in his lap. Beneath the furs, she shivered as his hands darted under the coverings to rest against her skin. She writhed around in his lap to face him when his lips caressed her ear, unable to resist the surge of desire gathering in her belly. He chuckled, but she did not miss the edge of sadness in the gesture.
“My wanton little Tentay teh,” he said, his lips still buried in her hair. “Why do you let me take you in anger?” he asked.
Her words caught in her throat as she returned his stare. Sad, sincere, his eyes were like windows through the warrior, a glimpse of the tormented soul within. She hated to know she caused him such grief, and although there were many more players in this tragedy to cast blame on, the knowledge was of little comfort.
“I wanted you, Winn. I was angry at you for refusing me,” she whispered. “How could you let me think you were dead?”
“I sent my brothers with word I lived, but it was too late.”
“I saw him shoot you. Thomas said you were dead, he brought your amulet to me as proof.” She touched his face with her fingertips. “Then I found out about the baby. I blamed myself…I didn’t know what to do.” She shook her head when he tried to interrupt. “I tried to stop Thomas from firing his rifle that day, and he suspected why.” She swallowed to steady her voice, omitting how Thomas had beaten her severely. “I had to get away from Thomas – he was going to send me to England. Benjamin said he would help me. He said he promised you he would protect me, so…” she paused. “I thought you were dead … If you were alive, why didn’t you come for me? How could you leave me there? How could you?”
His shoulders dropped and his face creased as if the breath had been stolen from his chest, his arms tightening around her as he pressed his lips into her damp hair. He closed his eyes as he inhaled and kissed her ear very softly.
“Makedewa. He told me you carried a child. I would not steal you away from your happiness…even if it was not with me.”
“But-” she reeled, confused. “Oh…I see. You thought…no. You thought Benjamin was the father.”
He did not answer, and his silence infuriated her.
“So why not just leave me to hang then, if that’s what you thought?”
“You took my pride when you married your white man, but still I loved you. I would not let you hang.”
“But you would send me back to my own time, then? With no explanation?”
He pressed his lips against her cheek and she felt his arms tense. “You once said you would give anything to return to your time. I had your Bloodstone. It was all I could give you.”
Maggie closed her eyes. So much had happened.
“Oh, Winn,” she whispered. “Nothing mattered to me anymore. I never loved him, Winn, it was never like that. I wished my own death, and damn you, I tried! But then there was the baby…and a reason to keep breathing, at least for one more day.”
She felt his wordless nod against her hair and his chest expanded as he let out a deep sigh.
“I know something of this pain.” His gentle hands closed tighter, and he clutched her back against his chest, his words forced out through a half-choke, half-groan. “I wanted to explain, to tell you so many things. But when I saw you standing there, like a fire goddess, like you would strike me down before you let me touch you- I knew nothing but that I needed to have you, if only to purge your ghost from my mind. Even if you loved another, even with his babe in your belly, I would have you once more and it would be finished.”
She reached out to touch his face, but he caught her hand and pressed it to his chest against his heart, where she could feel the tortured thud as it beat against her palm.
“I was only a fool. When I walked away from you, I knew your ghost would never leave me, that I would see your face in my dreams and each day when I woke. I am so sorry, ntehem.”
Maggie found no words to answer, wanting to comfort him as much as she wished to bury her face in his bared chest and weep. She closed her palms on each side of his face, kissing him softly. His mouth opened as he groaned and pulled her so close her legs parted and fell to straddle his hips. She sat above him, holding his head as his mouth dipped to her aching breasts, arching up to meet his kiss. He fumbled with the strings of her chemise and she pushed his hands away to untie it herself, loving the way his eyes widened and he smiled as she lifted the shift over her shoulders. His fingers traced a line down both of her upraised arms and her skin felt laced with fire as he grabbed her face and ravaged her lips again, a shudder running through her at the touch of his skin against her own.
“Don’t stop, my heart,” she whispered. It was all he needed. One arm slid around her waist, the other guided her hip, and she clutched his head to her breast as he moved. Slow, steady, a tantalizing rhythm that rapidly began to build like a wave, he showed her how to move to catch the crest, melding her buttock with his strong hand as he controlled the pace. She lost herself in the startling blue depths of his eyes, the anguish in her chest ebbing away with each touch of his hand, each needful thrust, each measure of his desire tearing down the barrier around her soul.
Later they lay in a tangle of furs and sweaty skin. He covered her face with kisses as the searing sweetness of his touch left her breathless, her lips tasting salty where it pressed against his chest.
“Ktaholel,” he said softly, his lips pressed into her hair.
“I love you, too,” she whispered back.
“I could not stop, you know,” he said quietly, after their breathing began to slow and their limbs lay still, threaded through furs and soft flesh. “When you married him, I still could not stop wanting you. Even though I knew you were lost to me. These eyes haunt my dreams,” he whispered. Her eyes closed as he pressed his soft lips against each lid, and then grazed across her lips. “I betray all that I am, all that I know. I walk alone now, ntehem, I cannot return to live among my people. Still none of it matters. I lay here with you, and tell you I would do it again!”
His hand closed around her face, his fingers firm but gentle, his face creased and his brows pinned over his slanted blazing eyes. She cried out when he kissed her, not from pain, but from something much more as his soul cast out molten embers that scorched her stubborn heart, like desperate fingers licking a flame.
“Did you come to me with this power, from your future time? Why do I think nothing of betraying my people, if only to be here, with you, like this?”
“I have no power,” she said softly. She briefly recalled his Uncle, the legendary leader who also believed her a witch, but the memory passed back into the recess of her mind where it belonged. He shook his head and placed his hand on her belly, using one calloused finger to trace a line from navel to her throat, then up under her chin, where it stopped at her swollen lips.
“No, ntehem, no power,” he whispered. “Only my lifeblood, a prisoner here,” he dropped his lips, and kissed above her left breast, then placed his palm against the gentle swell of her belly. “I am your prisoner, Tentay teh. Do with me what you will.”
***
Maggie heard horses approach, the sounds of hooves scrambling up the mountainside unmistakable. She joined Winn outside to greet the riders, surprised to see it was Makedewa, holding Rebecca in his arms. She slumped over, clearly unconscious after her harrowing ordeal.
“Chetan returned to the village?” Winn asked.
“Yes, he took the Pale Witch to mother, she will tend her. I brought this one here. Will you let Maggie see to her?” Makedewa answered.
She stepped up beside Winn.
“Of course I will. Bring her inside.”
Makedewa lifted her easily and brought her into t
he cave, where he set her down on the furs next to the fire. Winn said something in Paspahegh, which elicited only a grunt from Makedewa, and the two men quickly left the cave.
She stared after them for a moment. She imagined they expected her to know what to do. After all, wasn’t caring for the sick a woman’s duty? Looking down at the exhausted girl before her, all she could think to do was give her a nice hot bath. A long soak would go a long way towards her tired muscles and weary mind.
She untied the girl’s blood sodden apron and placed it in a pile, adding her scuffed leather boots and brown wool stockings as well. The girl did not stir. Maggie lifted her skirt to untie her starched petticoat, still not accustomed to English fashion, but thinking she could wrestle it off without waking the girl. She found the stays and pulled them loose, and then pulled the petticoat gently off.
She inhaled a quick breath and held it when she pulled the garment away. The inner lining was smeared with blood, as were the girl’s inner thighs. As the air hit her skin, the girl opened her eyes and began to thrash, kicking and hissing like a cat held under a waterspout. Maggie did the best she could to deflect her blows, unwilling to hurt her further. Finally she wrapped her arms around her in a bear hug, as Marcus had so often done to her when she had flown into a temper, rocking her and murmuring soothing words as she patted her back.
The girl howled against her chest, her white little hand clenched under her chin as she sobbed.
Makedewa and Winn came to the cave opening at the screams. She held up a hand to them over the girl’s trembling back, and they stopped still.
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay now,” she soothed her.
“I couldna stop him,” she cried softly into Maggie’s breast. Maggie held her as tight as the girl could tolerate, rocking back and forth together, mimicking the easy sway of a babe inside a cradle.
“It’s not your fault,” Maggie whispered.
“I wish he killed me. Why didn’t he just kill me?” she sobbed.
Maggie continued to rock her.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, at loss to give her any semblance of comfort.
***
Despite the closeness they shared on returning to the cave, when dawn arrived and they parted, Maggie felt the slow strangle of distance growing between them. Makedewa and Chetan joined them with more supplies, and she was pleased to hear they would join them soon in their exile. Winn would never admit it, but she knew how much he missed his family and she was glad they would all settle together in one place to ride out the coming winter.
Maggie wondered how Rebecca would adapt. The girl followed Maggie everywhere and took a liking to Teyas, so it was a welcome relief that Teyas decided to join them. The girl was only fifteen, as Maggie suspected, and she looked at the men with tribulation most days, but she was smart enough to understand they meant her no harm. They never spoke of returning her to the English, and Maggie had a feeling the girl would not go even if it were offered. Rebecca held a deep shame for what had happened to her.
“It’s better off my Ma and Pa lie dead. Better dead then to know the truth of it,” Rebecca said.
The cave served as their home and also as a central gathering place, the large enclosed space adopting the usage the community longhouse would traditionally take in their new settlement. The men built two yehakin in a semi-circle outside the cave, and also a smaller house to keep their gathered food and supplied. Teyas and Ahi Kekeleksu joined them as well, and their private sanctuary suddenly was a bustling mini village. Maggie welcomed the companionship, but at the same time she longed for privacy with her husband, who seemed to be slipping further away.
It was nothing she could point to that suddenly changed things. The first night the others arrived, she thought he was merely trying to placate her shyness when he did not attempt to make love to her with his brothers sleeping nearby. He held her tenderly in his arms, his desire evident, yet he made no move to press his attention and she soon fell asleep in his embrace. However, when the next night followed the same routine, Maggie knew something was amiss, and on waking alone in the furs once again she decided to confront him.
Makedewa and Chetan worked on completing the supply house. Makedewa grunted in greeting as Chetan secured a flat bark shingle to the roof and tapped it into place with the blunt end of his iron axe, a gift he had gleaned from the English when they were all still on better terms.
“Have you seen Winn?” she asked.
“He checks the snares by the cliff. Take care if you follow him,” Makedewa answered, disapproval evident in his tone.
“Thank you, I will,” she smiled. She left them to their work. Stopping by the cave to grab her heavy wool cloak, she also tossed some crusty bread and some cheese into a small satchel before she set off up to the cliff in search of her husband. Although she knew the trail well, it still might take a bit of time to find him and she did not want to be trapped without any recourse if her stomach acted up. Most of her nausea had diminished in the weeks they spent in the mountain valley, but there were still waves of dizziness that seemed to get better with a bit of food in her belly.
She found him on the ridge by the cliff, standing at the edge. His ears were sharp and she was surprised he did not hear her advance as he looked out over the valley, his empty gaze searching over the tumble of green that graced the land as far as the eye could wander. His chin dipped down and he cocked his head to the side when he finally noticed her, but he did not turn to greet her.
Maggie slipped her arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to his bared shoulder. He was dressed simply in a breechclout and buckskin leggings, his copper skin shimmering with a layer of fresh sweat dampening his skin, slick against her lips. He placed one hand over hers and held her tightly as he continued to watch the valley.
“I miss you, husband,” she said softly. She felt his ribs move as he let out a sigh.
“I do not go away for long.”
“I’m not talking about just this morning. I miss more than that.” She let her hand slip down over his breechclout and smiled when his body responded to her touch. He shuddered and let out a strangled groan at the contact, but his hand closed over her wrist and he moved her hand to his chest.
She refused to be dissuaded, and ran her fingers over his taunt nipples to entice him further. He made a low choking sound and swung her around into his arms, and she sighed with pleasure as his lips came down upon hers. Needful and wanting, his mouth made promises, but she was left panting and empty when he pulled back.
“You should go back to the cave. I will return soon,” he said. One of his hands caressed the small of her back as he held her, and she felt the fingers of his other hand twisting in her hair. He kissed the top of her head as he often did and made to part, but she circled her arms around his waist and would not yield.
“Please tell me what troubles you,” she asked. She wished it was only the uncertainty of the coming winter, or worry over storing enough food before the first snow, but when his almond shaped blue eyes fell dark and he gazed down at her in despair, she feared perhaps it was something she did not want to know after all.
“I…I will not worry you over my thoughts, ntehem,” he said softly.
“But I would hear them anyway. What keeps you from my bed, warrior? Am I too round now for you to love?” she tried to joke, infusing a bit of humor. The corner of his mouth turned up and he did smile, but it did not reach his eyes and it was rapidly replaced with a frown.
“Of course not. I know my babe grows inside you.” He broke away at the confession, and turned back to the cliff.
Maggie winced at his words and made no move to follow him. So that ghost was rearing its memory, shades of the time they spent apart, and she had no idea how to battle such things. They had not spoken of that time since they were reunited, and although she knew someday it would need to be said, she feared it was still too fresh of a wound to risk bending it.
“Do you doubt this babe is yours?” she asked,
the words so hoarse as to be nearly silent as uttered from her lips. His shoulders flinched and sagged, but he did not move otherwise.
“I know the child is my blood.”
“Then what are you getting at, Winn?” she whispered. She felt the sting of tears and thrust the despair away, instead embracing the rising tide of anger as a means to clear the path. He was stubborn, she would give him that, but she was even more so to a greater fault, and she would not let his accusations go unanswered.
She put her hand on his arm but he shrugged it off, turning on her. His eyes flared like beacons in a storm, his cheeks flushed, his fisted hands at his sides, the veins in his neck and arms standing out in rails along his skin.
“Did you love him?” he asked. His lips trembled with the force of holding back, and his hands reached for her once but pulled away, instead rising to squeeze his temples and then run through his thick hair. “I fear to ask it, but not knowing haunts me.”
“Winn – “
“I know you shared his bed. I must know – did you share his heart as well? I will hear it from you. ”
“Then hear this, husband,” she said. “I have loved no other but you.”
He stepped back, putting space between them, and when she reached for him he gently pushed her hands away.
She turned to go as a sob reached her throat, stifling it with a fist clenched against her mouth as she made for the trail. Through blurred eyes she followed the path back down to the cave, but instead of returning to the others, she followed the tree line to the crevice where the spring sat beneath the falls.
She wanted to be angry with him, but she could not. Would she be any better, had he been with another woman? She cringed at the thought of her warrior in the arms of another, and with the intensity of disgust that surfaced within her she could hardly hold him accountable for the anger he now felt.