The Blooded Ones

by Elizabeth Brown

  “You’re here. You’re really here,” she whispered.

  It was all a lie. Winn was warm and breathing and very much alive in front of her. She needed to tell him everything, tell him about the child, and tell him how much she loved him. She needed to touch him, to feel his skin, to know he was truly there. It was the only way she could be certain he was not one of her desperate dreams.

  “You’re freezing,” he said softly.

  Her eyes glazed over and Winn was a blur as he bent to help her. He kneeled beside her, and she felt the fabric of her shift give way. He tore off some of the buttons in his haste to rid her of the wet garment, and continued to shed sopping wet fabric from her body until only her thin damp shift remained. She felt him gather her against his warm skin, sharing his heat. He wrapped a dry fur around them both and lay down next to the fire, rubbing her arms to return blood to her frigid limbs.

  Maggie reached for him, but his hand circled her wrist and stopped her attempt. He brought her palm upward and gently pressed it to his lips, closing his eyes.

  “Oh, Winn,” she whispered. He grasped her face in both hands, his eyes searing through to her soul. She moved closer in his arms, and a strangled groan escaped him when she laid a hand over the ragged healing scar on his bare chest. It was the wound he suffered on the day she believed he had died.

  He abruptly pulled back, holding her at the length of his arms as if she burned. Confused, she bit back her unease. Why was he pushing her away?

  “I have a gift for you,” he said, his voice low. He pulled the fallen fur up over her shoulders, his motions mechanical. A measure of fear replaced her confusion, washing through her blood and leaving a sickly bile sensation in her belly, and when he held the gift out to her, she stifled her cry.

  He held the Bloodstone. Although it was wrapped in copper and attached to a long rawhide lanyard, she knew it was the same stone that had brought her to his time. When she did not move to take it, he placed it in her hands and stood up, his face a vacant mask that betrayed no hint of the man she loved.

  “You will use the Bloodstone to return…to return to your time,” he said. “We will leave when night falls. I will see you safely home.”

  “No, Winn, I won’t go.”

  “You will. There is nothing for you here.”

  She blinked back tears. Anger began to replace her despair, rising rapidly to snatch what control she had left. She could not believe he was casting her away, as if he felt nothing for her. Her pride refused to accept his answer, and with shaking fists clenched to her sides she glared back at his stoic face. She grasped the fur to her shoulders and stood to follow him.

  “There is nothing here for me, Winn? Then why did you save me from the English?”

  “I would not see them hang you. And it pleased me to take you from your English husband.” His dismissal stung, but still inflamed her.

  “So you do care,” she accused, reaching for him. He grabbed her by both shoulders, the fur sinking to the ground in a heap. His eyes bored through her and his fingers dug painfully into her skin.

  “Do I care you chose the Englishman? I did at one time, but no more. You made your choice.”

  She slapped him. He turned his cheek but remained otherwise still, although his grip on her arm tightened. Stunned at his lack of emotion, she moved to strike him again, but this time he grabbed her wrist and twisted it, then dropped it as if it burned him.

  He turned and left her alone, stalking away out of the cave.

  Stunned, she could find no words. She stared at the Bloodstone. It was her Bloodstone, the one she arrived with, the one he hid from her all along. She turned it over in her hand, felt the warmth that spread up her arm. Yes, Winn had kept the stone from her. But would a man who worked so hard to keep her trapped in his time suddenly have a change of heart? For weeks now she had thought him dead. Had he stopped loving her in that time as well? How could he abandon her when she needed him the most? He owed her an explanation. Yes, he had suffered—but she had suffered, too.

  Maggie clutched the fur around her shoulders and followed him. The bottoms of her feet felt numb as she stumbled along the rocky path. She approached, determined to make him listen, her frustration and pain spilling forth when she grabbed his arm.

  “You are a stubborn fool, Winkeohkwet. When did you turn into such a – such a half man?” she demanded. “I thought you were brave – you said you would always come for me! Yet you left me there. Was that a lie, Winn? A lie from a sorry excuse for a man?”

  His hands bunched into fists and he stepped back from her, his eyes flashing like black jade. She could see every muscle of his chest tense, the sinews in his thick arms straining as he listened to her taunts.

  “I took care of myself when I thought you were dead,” she continued. “I did what I had to do to survive. And I’m still standing.” Her voice cracked with the last, and she was not sure if he would even respond by the way he looked at her. Was that passion in his eyes, or hate?

  She glared at him, her breath coming in short gasps, and was caught completely off guard when he grabbed her. Squirming in his arms, she scowled at him, causing him to grasp her face with one hand and hold her with the other. His breath left a brand on her skin, sending ripples of electricity down her spine.

  “Why do you taunt me, Maggie? Do you think I can forget? That it does not burn me, the thought of you with him?”

  “Then release me, if you hate me so much!” she cried.

  His eyes were glazed over as if he could see through her, and she could feel the torture of longing running through her starving blood. She did not recognize the man behind the embers of his eyes, his soul consumed by the raging fire, his fingers searing into her skin like burning coals. His thumb brushed over her lower lip.

  “Did you tell him you loved him with these lips?”

  Maggie’s eyes widened when she realized what he meant. Winn thought she wanted Benjamin. He believed she loved Benjamin.

  She had to tell him the truth, make him understand it was never about love. She could not let him believe such a lie.

  “Halloo! Winkeohkwet!”

  The familiar call of his brother echoed in the tense air. Time screeched to a stop. Winn held her tightly, his hard gaze imprisoning her in place. The rush of water from the falls sounded so loud, nearly as loud as Winn’s stilted breathing, filling the air between them. He let her go and she slowly stepped back away from him. His eyes, once crazed with anger, now echoed with regret.

  She struggled to control her shaking. He shouted a greeting in reply to his brothers and stood for a moment with his back to her, his shoulders betraying emotion left unspoken as they heaved and lowered. He finally turned to her, his fists clenched at his sides and his voice cold.

  “Go back to the cave. Wait there until I return.”

  It was far from her nature to give in when he gave such commands, but she knew she had no choice but to obey.

  Winn could pretend she was nothing to him and claim he no longer loved her, but she knew him better than that. She doused her despair with the surge of anger rising in her blood, and lifted her chin as she straightened her back. She stalked away to the cave where the fire still burned, her auburn hair whipping in her wake.

  Winn did not follow her. She dressed in what was left of her torn garments and watched silently as they prepared to leave.

  CHAPTER 37

  Winn sat ready on his horse. His mount stomped impatiently beneath his body, as if sensing what his master would do. One of the other men gave word to depart, but Winn knew he could not yet go. Chetan gave him a hard look, shaking his head with a sigh when Winn raised his hand to stop them. His glare was full of knowing, as if his brother could read the thoughts that haunted him. The other men did not appear surprised to see Winn dismount and stalk back toward the cave. Someone chuckled, obviously amused at the warrior. Their grumbles meant nothing to him, as they were nothing to him.

  He had no plan and knew nothing of wh
at he would do when he saw her. He simmered with rage at her, yet the anger he carried in check was more for himself.

  Ntehem, his heart, his love.

  How could he still want her? He should not, but he did.

  To have her back in his arms after all this time, to touch her soft skin, was torture. He was a liar, and a bad one at that, for he was certain she could see straight through to his soul. It wounded him to know she loved the Englishman and to know she carried the man’s child. That was the crux of it, he knew—if she truly still loved him, he would take her no matter who sired the child in her womb. Yet he could not keep her when she loved another.

  It was an unbearable truth, one that could not be denied. There was nothing in the world that could make her abandon her stubborn nature, of that, Winn was certain. She had not denied his words when he spoke of her husband, in fact, it only seemed to inflame her, and Winn vividly recalled the way she once insisted she could not lay with a man she did not love.

  It did not matter any longer. He would not keep a woman who loved another. The bitterness was too strong, and he knew if she stayed, he would become a man he did not wish to be and that he would do things to her that he would regret. Yes, he loved her, but he would let her go. The last gift he could give her was the safety of her own time in the future. Suddenly the only thing he knew was that he needed to make her understand.

  Words failed him as he approached her. He meant to tell her he loved her and that no matter what, he always would. There were sweet words he knew would soothe her fire so she could listen, but none of the words emerged. He wanted her safe, but he wanted to ravage her. He wanted to leave her, but the thought of life without her shattered his heart. None of it made sense, the conflict driving his blood frantic through his veins, pounding in his chest.

  Her half-dried hair fell in amber ringlets around her shoulders. When he entered the cave she glared at him in challenge, and he was lost. In seconds he crossed the space and was on her, eliciting a startled cry before he crushed his mouth to hers.

  The feel of her in his arms, her skin sliding against his, sent his senses to that place between darkness and light where he could hold her forever and never account for his sins. There he could possess her soul, hold it captive, pretend she felt love for no other, let her soothe the aching emptiness she left in the hollow of his chest.

  He clutched her so tightly he could feel her heart pounding against his chest, until he broke the heated kiss and lowered his forehead against her shoulder. She looked up when he raised his head, meeting his gaze with the beginning of a shy smile.

  Her smile tore a hole through his heart.

  She looked radiant. Happy. Like a woman in love.

  But he knew better, and he hated himself for needing more from her, for needing her whole heart instead of fragments of what they once shared. Perhaps she had stared at her English husband the same way.

  “Did he ever kiss you like that, Fire Heart?” he asked, the words seeming to come from some foreign place he no longer recognized. He knew he was a swine. Her rosy cheeks suddenly lost color and tears rimmed her eyes at his words. He deflected her blow but held her wrist tight.

  “Winn…” she whispered. He released his grip on her and slowly retreated. He had to put distance between them before his shattered pride begged her to love him once more, and he resorted to taking what scraps she might bestow upon him.

  “Stay here. When I return, I will show you how to use the stone and you will go home. You will be safe in your future time. There is nothing left for you here.”

  Winn stepped back, his throat tight and dry with the cruelty of his own words.

  He turned and left.

  It was finished. He would send her back with the Bloodstone to the life she missed, the only gift he could give her, sending her away with the broken remnants of his blackened heart in her keeping.

  It had only taken minutes for Winn to rejoin the others, but he could see from their stares they wondered what had happened. He ignored Chetan’s questioning glance as he stalked to his mount and threw himself astride.

  They searched the site of the ambush, but the English were long gone. One wagon remained, the horse lathered and heaving as it lay in the creek with the cold water rushing over its broken leg. Makedewa put an arrow through its skull to give it peace, and the animal ceased its struggle.

  “Two whites were left. I saw them ride back to Wolstenholme Towne. They had Benjamin Dixon bound and took him as well,” Makedewa said, swinging his bow over his back. “I followed them for some time. They say they will see him hang.”

  “Let him hang,” Winn muttered, turning his shoulder to his brother. Their plan was to find The Pale Witch and bring her to safety before the attack on the whites was put in motion, and he would not be swayed. He knew his actions only drove the wedge deeper between him and his uncle, but Winn would not allow Maggie or his grandmother to die in the Great Assault. She was no longer his wife, but he would not let her be harmed.

  Maggie was safe. Soon Finola would be as well. If the Creator meant for him to kill more Englishmen, then he would gladly do it. Perhaps the blood would silence the shouts in his head, quell the anger he felt. It might ease the burden of knowing he had lost everything.

  He walked off a few paces and pulled his breechcloth aside to relieve himself before they mounted the horses again. Damn Benjamin, let him hang for what he had done, Winn thought bitterly as the stream came forth onto the soil. What kind of man could let his wife hang? As much as Maggie had ever enraged him, and no matter what had been left unsaid between them, he would still die himself before he watched her swing from a noose. It hardened his heart to know a man he once called brother held so little care for the woman he took such trouble to steal away from him. If Winn and his brothers had arrived moments later, they would have missed the Englishmen taking Maggie away in the wagon. She would be dead, because of Benjamin.

  The stream ended, and Winn replaced his breechcloth, dropping it back in place and then tightening the cord at his waist. An image of Maggie entered his vision, when he helped her shed her wet dress and she kneeled beside him in her damp cotton shift. By the Creator, he would remember her that way for all of his days, the curve of her sweet rounded belly beneath his hand, her eyes alight as if she still belonged to him. He shook off the memory before the urge to turn his horse around took over.

  “What is it, brother?”

  Winn did not turn to Makedewa, struggling to keep his voice even.

  “Tell me again what you know. How far gone is Maggie with the child?”

  “I know not. Benjamin Dixon said she breeds, but not how long.”

  Bile burned his throat as he realized the truth. Her protests, her anger when he taunted her about Benjamin. Her swollen belly, her heavy breasts. He had seen many women with child, and suddenly it hit him that Maggie was not newly pregnant, she looked a few months gone. In his jealous rage, he failed to realize the truth. She was carrying his child. That is what she had tried to tell him, and he was too foolish and jaded in his jealousy to listen to the truth. He thought he would vomit. He was a fool.

  “Dixon is mine to kill when we arrive.” Winn walked away from him, but Makedewa followed at his flank, his face wide in astonishment.

  “What mean you? I thought –”

  “That one…he deserves death for his deceit.” He let his words fall off, unwilling to meet his brother’s eye at his rash change in plan. “You say they took Benjamin back to town?”

  “Yes, he was bound and gagged. I think they beat him as well, his face looked like deer meat,” Makedewa grinned, but then became thoughtful. “You know, brother, she will hate you if you kill the father of her child.”

  “The child she carries is my blood.”

  Winn scowled and Makedewa raised an eyebrow but refrained from asking any more questions.

  CHAPTER 38

  Maggie left her horse ground tied in the woods, and made the rest of the way on foot. She was close
enough to town, and although she knew a way to steal inside near Finola’s cabin, she thought the horse was better off hidden in the brush. She knew if she was spotted there would be no way out this time. Although she tried to hide her flaming hair by dividing it into two thick braids, she would not go unnoticed by any stretch of imagination.

  Winn was going to kill her if he discovered she left the cave. Well, she’d be back before he returned, and then they would pick up where they left off.

  The fact that Winn was alive still stung her, and his hateful parting words left her reeling. She did not know which emotion was stronger, the frustration and rage she wished to return to him, or the desperate heartache that threatened to break her down. How could he be so cruel? He had no idea what she had been through. She had done what she had to do to ensure the future of their child, yet he behaved as if she had some choice in the matter. She had no choice in being kidnapped, nor in anything else that happened – yet she was still standing, and she would still try to make Winn understand.

  Yet there was one thing she must do before that happened. She heard the men talking about Benjamin. Despite what he had done, he had chosen to save her in the end. After trying to reason with Winn, Maggie could certainly understand how betrayal and the pain of a broken heart could make a person do things in anger. She did not love him, but she could not leave Benjamin to die.

  She came up behind Finola’s cabin and peeked around a corner toward the church, knowing most of the activity took place down that end of town and people tended to gather nearby. The sun had barely risen for the day so she did not expect much activity, and she was lucky to find no prying eyes as she darted through the front door of the cabin. She slammed it closed behind her and immediately checked the lone window. Satisfied no one approached, she turned to Finola.

  “Maggie?” the older woman cried, swiftly crossing the room and throwing her arms around her. Maggie clutched her in return as they cried, while Finola patted her face and kissed her cheeks in joy.