“I told yer wife as I tell ye now, take my word or no. I knew naught of ye until this day. If I could change it I would, but I cannot, and I am sorry for it.”
She bunched the edge of her cotton shift in her hand, waiting for Winn’s response.
“Keep your words. You came for Benjamin. You may stay until you find him and no longer,” Winn said. He would not look her way as he spoke, his gaze fixed instead on Marcus.
“I need yer help. That’s why I tracked ye down. That, and to see Maggie safe.” Marcus sighed. “I don’t know how much Maggie has told ye of the future. They keep records then, more than you can imagine. After I found Maggie’s letter, I found quite a lot of information on Benjamin…and on you and Maggie. You’d be surprised what people keep records of.”
“About Winn and I? What records?” she interrupted. Marcus squinted and looked down at his drink, avoiding her gaze.
“Ah, land records, for one. That’s how I knew where to find you. This head right of yours is unique. How did ye manage to convince the English to give ye a head right property, being a Paspahegh…and you, Maggie, now you’re the same, according to the English, anyway.”
“I serve as counsel to the English for my uncle. The English trust me for now,” Winn answered.
“Do they trust ye enough to give ye information on Benjamin?” Marcus asked.
Winn nodded. “I know men who will talk. I will leave for Jamestown when the sun rises, if he was there, the English will tell me.” Winn finally met her gaze before he spoke further. “You can ride there with me if you wish.”
She saw Marcus relax his shoulders.
“Yes, I will. Thank ye,” Marcus replied.
“Makedewa,” Winn said, “you can tell me about this foolish coat you wear. Join me outside, brother, I need more hands to see to the horses.”
Winn effectively ended the conversation, putting Kwetii on the ground. The toddler scurried to Rebecca and held up her hands, and the girl immediately picked her up.
Maggie watched Winn leave with his brother. Makedewa wore a scarlet coat studded with brass buttons, obviously obtained from one of the English soldiers.
“Do I want to know how he got that coat, Chetan?” she asked, expecting a straight answer from the more reliable of the two. Chetan grinned, a gesture that did not convey any reassurance to her.
“No Englishman died, Fire Heart. Makedewa is good at dice, especially when the soldiers drink rum. Mind your business, sister,” he chuckled, using a phrase from her own repertoire. She jabbed him with her elbow and joined his laughter.
“Yeah, mind my business. Sure,” she replied.
If only she could take such advice.
CHAPTER 5
Maggie
Her laughter tapered off when Chetan followed his brothers outside. She would need to figure out a place for Marcus to sleep, preferably outside, but she was not sure where the best place would be. Of the two yehakins, she shared one with Winn, and his brothers shared the other with Chetan’s son, Ahi Kekeleksu. Teyas and Rebecca slept in the cottage loft, leaving the small room in the rear of the cottage available, but she was reluctant to subject Rebecca to a stranger in the cottage. Although she was still angry at Marcus, it made little sense to see him sleep in the barn when there was a perfectly good cot available inside.
“I’ll tend to my horse with the others,” Marcus said.
“I’m sure the brothers will take care of it, it’s no problem,” Maggie replied. “Leave them be for now. Don’t you think we should all just cool off? There’s been a lot to take in today.”
Marcus nodded.
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he said quietly. “There sure has.”
She heard the pause in his words as he looked out the window at the brothers. Suddenly she felt like a complete fool. Yes, Marcus had kept things from her, important things, but she was not so dense that she didn’t understand why. As she watched her daughter playing, she could see exactly why Marcus and her grandfather kept the truth from her. She would do the same to protect her child from such dangerous magic.
She remembered the day when Benjamin disappeared as a boy and the pain it caused Marcus to lose his young son. Marcus had changed that day, from a man who laughed easily to one who rarely smiled. Though still loyal to fault and protective of his family, the loss of his child had changed him. Now as he stared out the window at the son he didn’t know he had, she could see in him a fragment of the desolate bereaved parent he once was. Though he had traveled to the past to find one son, he now had two to consider, and she could hardly imagine how the man must be feeling.
“We shall take Kwetii to yer yehakin, if it pleases ye, Maggie,” Rebecca said, breaking the silence. Kwetii grabbed the cap off Rebecca’s head when the young woman lifted her up, causing her springy blond curls to fall loose.
“Thank you,” Maggie replied. “I brought a bundle of garments back from trade with the Chosicks. You can take a look if you like.”
Rebecca preferred the English manner of dress and continued to wear a heavy layered skirt over her shift with a jacket bodice fitted snugly over it, despite the constrictions it caused in the warm summer months. Maggie made the offer knowing Rebecca would likely refuse, but she was determined to keep trying to help her be more comfortable.
“Nay, I like my own just fine. G’night to ye.”
Maggie gave Kwetii a kiss before she went off to bed. Rebecca adjusted the child on her hip and followed Teyas out the door, sneaking a glance at Marcus as she passed.
“Night,” Maggie answered. “I’ll be there soon, sweetheart.”
When the door closed behind the women, she sat down heavily on the bench next to Marcus. She propped her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands for a moment, the events of the day sinking in as she let out a sigh.
“Don’t ye pass out. Yer husband will blame me for that as well,” Marcus said.
“Yes, he would. He’s a good man. He would give his life to protect his family, if it was necessary,” she answered softly. “He’s had a hard time of it, Marcus. He was shuttled around by his uncle to live wherever it suited him best–he lived with the Nansemond, the Paspahegh, and …” her words trailed off as she looked into his eyes. “With the English. He lived with Benjamin’s family for two summers. They were like brothers.”
“Like brothers,” Marcus said, the corner of his lip dipping downward. “Aye, it must have been hard on the lad.”
He ran his hands through his thick dark hair, the color of his skin flushed from neck to ears. He rose and thrust the wooden bench back with one quick shove, nearly causing her seat to topple as he arched his back and stared upward, as if begging the heavens for guidance.
“I never meant to cause this trouble. I thought to see you safe, find my lad, and have words with yer husband…now this. My son? Benjamin is likely dead, and yer husband willna forgive me.”
She shook her head.
“You’re wrong on both counts. Benjamin is too damn stubborn to be dead. And Winn? Winn will come around. He just needs time. After a good night’s rest, I think we’ll all see things more clearly, right?”
She stuck her hand in the stitched pocket of her shift, which was belted over her short doeskin skirt. It took a moment to find it, but when she pulled out the raven figure his response was quick. His eyes softened and rimmed with moisture at the sight of it. He reached out for it, palm up, but then pulled his hand back.
“You had that all this time?” he choked.
“Yes. I think it sent me here. There’s a reason for everything, Marcus, I’m more convinced of that than ever now.”
He crossed his arms over chest, the thin white fabric of the trade shirt stretched to near tearing over his shoulders.
“When did ye turn into such an optimist? I hardly recognize ye!”
It felt good to smile, and hearing him joke opened the doorway to the playful banter they once shared.
“Optimist? That’s about the only thing
I haven’t been accused of in this time,” she laughed. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “We have a lot to catch up on.”
She waited as long as she could for Winn to retire to their yehakin, but as the night wore on the excitement of the day grew heavy and she succumbed to the fatigue to lie down without him. Should she search for him, or let him come home on his own? Perhaps the company of his brothers was what he needed, instead of his wife, who would ask him to forget the past and welcome his long-lost father.
What else could she do? Winn, the one who knew her best of all. He knew how much she loved Marcus, how the man had been family to her. Would he hold onto his anger, and follow through with the promise he made her long ago– the vow to kill his father should he ever meet him?
As much as she knew her husband, she admittedly knew little of the warrior he had been before they met. She could only guess upon it from the manner in which others regarded him. Even when his brothers voiced dissent, they still deferred to Winn’s decisions on every matter despite the fact they no longer lived with the Paspahegh tribe and Winn was War Chief no more. Yet as she lay beside him at night and traced the winding tattoo upon his flat belly, she could recall the meaning of each mark as he conveyed it to her.
“This one, here,” he said, “Is for the first man I killed. This part, here, is for the day I became a man. And this, this one shows I am different, that I am not true Paspahegh, that I carry the blood of the whites in my veins.”
No, there were some things about him she might never truly understand. Nor did she need to. There was no reason for her to know how many he had killed, or when, or why. She did not ask it of him after the massacre, and she would not ask it now. It was his past, a part of him he could share if he chose, or hold onto if not.
Her eyes had just closed when he slipped into the yehakin. With his usual stealth he slid between the furs behind her, placing his arms around her to pull her against his chest. The heat of the day had skittered away and she snuggled into the warmth of his skin against her back. She smiled as his lips ran over her ear and he placed a soft kiss against her neck.
“Winn?” she said softly.
“Hmm?” he murmured.
Even as he rested his hand on her hip and pressed his lips into her hair, she could sense the pull of his unease. The gentle rise and fall of his chest against her cheek was soothing as she snuggled closer, aching to calm him as he did for her.
“You’re going to town tomorrow?” she asked quietly.
His arms tightened around her.
“Yes,” he said. “If Benjamin still lives, I will find what happened to him. Do not worry, I will return before the sun sleeps.”
He rubbed her back absently, his blue eyes shadowed as he looked up at the moonlight through the smoke hole.
“I don’t like you going into town. I’m afraid they’ll turn on you. Look at how they burned the crops–they even attack the peaceful tribes. There’s no sense to it.”
“They have few men they trust to negotiate, and the new English soldiers have orders to keep peace. There will be no trouble for me, wife.” He was right. The English crown had taken over control of the colony in the last few months after revoking the charter of the Virginia Company, and so far, the English had sought to calm relations between the settlers and the Indians. She hoped it would be enough to save her small crop of corn this season, as it had been burned by English scabs in the fall.
“You’ll take your brothers, too, then?” she asked. “Makedewa and Chetan, I mean.”
“If you would have it so, then yes,” he replied.
She waited for him to acknowledge the unanswered question, giving him the chance to speak on it. After a few minutes his breathing slowed, and she knew if she did not broach the subject, it might never be said.
“Winn?” she whispered.
“Hmm?”
“What about your …brother?”
She traced the line of his tattoo from the point of his hip to the indent of his navel, the black ink design raised slightly from his skin. She felt him shudder and he grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.
“Chetan had a wife, years ago, when we were young warriors. She was called Sapalente.”
She opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it.
“English men visited the village to trade with us. We had little to share with them that year, enough for our people, but not enough for the English as well. They were angry, they thought our women hid the corn. So they took our women to the Long House, and bound them hand and foot. They put the women inside and set the Great Yehakin on fire.”
His muscles grew tight beneath her hand. She could see the throbbing of the pulse in his neck, standing out like a cord. The flat Bloodstone pendant lay on his chest, betraying the quickening of his breath as he spoke.
“Many men were away hunting, as was Chetan. Makedewa and I stayed behind to meet with the Council. Men of the Council were old men, no warriors, and they were rounded up by the English as well. I killed the man who touched Sapalente first. And then Makedewa and I killed the others.”
She swallowed hard.
“And the women? Sapalente? Did she live?” she asked.
“Yes. No women died that day.”
“But what happened to her?”
“She birthed Ahi Kekeleksu and then died of the spotted fever. The English killed her after all.” He frowned and looked down at her. “I tell you this to show you what a brother is. I would give my life for my brothers, as they would give for you. They need not ask it of me, they have it by honor of our bond. There was a time when Benjamin was brother to me, you know this,” he said, his voice rising. Kwetii stirred and hiccupped across the yehakin.
“I understand, Winn, I do,” she said, placing her hand on his cheek. She felt him tremble, the anger palatable under her fingertips.
“No, you do not. Chetan did not ask me to save his woman, he did not need to speak any words to show me the way. The day Benjamin took you from me, when I lay wounded with him at my side, I thought soon I might take my last breath. I asked it of Benjamin, to protect you, since I could not. Do you know what it means, to ask such a thing of a man?”
“Winn–”
“My English brother, the man I called friend? He stole you from me and left me for dead. He kept you with him by his lies. He sent you to hang as a witch–with my daughter in your belly! Do not ask it of me, wife. Do not ask me to call him brother. He is nothing to me but another Englishman.”
“I won’t ask it,” she whispered. She bowed her head to his shoulder, tearing away from his searing blue eyes, unable to take in the intensity of his gaze. In the end, Benjamin had saved her, but that fact meant nothing to her husband. She could not fault him for his resolve, yet even as she held him and felt his tremors ease, she knew it was a matter long from settled.
“Stay out of the fields while I am gone tomorrow. Keep near the yehakins until we return,” he mumbled, effectively ending the discussion with a demand. Although she did not voice her submission, she nodded in agreement.
He pulled her snugly against his chest and kissed her forehead. She felt his breathing grow shallow in the silence, and his heartbeat slowed beneath the touch of her ear pressed against his skin.
CHAPTER 6
Winn
Chetan led the way, always the guide on any excursion they made. He was the best tracker of the three brothers, and Winn valued his skill above any other. Makedewa hung back in his usual position flanking the group from behind, keeping a careful watch for any danger that followed. Winn slowed his mount to ride with his younger brother, unwilling to ride alongside Marcus.
Pale Feather, the coward. Whoever the man was, he could ride alone.
“What do you think of the tempers in town?” Winn asked Makedewa. The other warrior shrugged and uttered a non-committal grunt.
“No different than usual. They speak with one face to you, another face to their King. For now we should have no trouble
.”
“I see you leave your pretty red coat behind. No need of it today?” Winn grinned, chiding him. Winn knew full well why Makedewa stopped wearing the English solider coat, and it had nothing to do with fearing the townsfolk. Makedewa won the coat fairly in a dice game, along with a small flask of gunpowder and a jug of sack. The three brothers had enjoyed the wine while tending to the horses the night before, and as they finished it Makedewa confessed he only wore it to impress Rebecca. Unfortunately, his attempt had backfired. The young Englishwoman thought it obscene and told the warrior as much.
“Ah, that coat reeks of Tassantassas. I will not wear it again,” Makedewa grumbled.
“You worry too much of what that girl thinks. Wear it if you please.”
Makedewa laughed aloud at Winn’s words.
“Oh, yes, brother. I think too much of a woman? Maybe you do not see the sun through the clouds. If Maggie smiles, you smile. If she cries, you sulk. And help us, Creator, when she rages, for then you act a fool!” he laughed.
Winn shook his head in mock disgust, yet laughed with him.
“You will see, little brother.”
“No, I will not,” Makedewa said, as his laughter eased and his lips tightened. “She will never smile at me as Maggie smiles at you.”
Winn cocked his head to the side as his pony plodded on. He looked up ahead to ensure the others did not listen, and once satisfied they paid no heed, he spoke quietly to his younger brother. He saw the change in Makedewa at his confession. Tall, lean, every ounce a powerful warrior, his brother had shown an unusual glimpse of kindness to the girl. It had been Makedewa who saved her during the Great Assault, slaying another warrior who meant to take her as captive. Since that fateful day more than two years past, Rebecca had remained living with them with no desire to return to the colony and Makedewa had mooned over her like a love struck buffoon. Whatever damage had been done to her, however, appeared lasting, and the young woman seemed to care for nothing more than friendship.
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