Love's Blazing Ecstasy (4 page)

But she is different,
he thought
. Wynne, there is so much that I must learn about you, about your people
.  He supposed that just as she was intelligent, brave, and totally civilized so perhaps were the Celts of her tribe. He hoped so.

Perhaps all of these people are not savages, he thought. Surely Wynne was not, although he knew nothing of her tribesmen or of their ways and customs. Of one thing, however, he was certain. The lovely blond beauty was not like the chanting, naked, painted heathens who had fallen upon him as he rode through the night in search of his fellow soldiers, who had become lost to him in the dark mists of the sudden storm. She had come to his rescue out of the darkness like a golden flame.

His thoughts in turmoil, the Roman shivered with the sudden chill of the air and picked up the cloak from the ground, touching it reverently as one would something holy, remembering the face of the woman whose touch he could still feel upon his brow. Her touch had been gentle, yet strong. Her lips had been so soft, her skin so smooth. The goddess Minerva herself could not have so inflamed his senses, and yet she had been frightened of his kisses.

Throwing the cloak round his shoulders, he clutched it tightly around him as if by so doing he could bring back the woman whose image was emblazoned on his mind’s eye. Again fear overcame him. What if she had been captured by those naked savages and forced to pay for coming to his rescue? What if at this very moment she were being held prisoner? He longed to go in search of her, but she had made it clear that he was to wait for her and not leave the sanctuary of the cave.

Valerian waited until the sky turned dark gray, and then had not the patience to wait longer. Visions of Wynne lying injured somewhere assaulted him. What if she had been thrown from her horse and even now lay bruised and bleeding upon the ground? Or worse yet, had been captured?

“If anyone harms her, he will answer to me,” he vowed, picking up his sword and leaving the security of the cave.

The night was warm, the sky cloudless. Valerian loved the forest; it was a paradise, thick with greenery and tall trees which stood against the sky like centurions. Clear springs bubbled forth from the earth, and he stopped to cup some of the cool water in his hands to refresh himself.

A sudden rustle in the undergrowth put him on his guard. Valerian drew his sword and rose cautiously. Then he saw the small fawn in search of its mother. With a sigh he shrugged his shoulders and  continued on, careful to mark his trail so that he would be able to find his way back to the cave.

A vine hidden by the underbrush caught around Valerian’s ankle and he fell to the ground with a thud. His hand brushed something soft, material of some sort, perhaps linen. With a feeling of dread he gathered the garment in his hand and held it up to see it in the moonlight. It was a woman’s gown, similar to Wynne’s. Drawing the gown to his chest, he closed his eyes, praying to his gods that she had not come to harm. Rising to his feet he fought his way through the thick vines and bushes until he came to the edge of a huge lake.

Wynne was standing there, her arms outstretched toward the sky, her blond hair fal
ling in two braids to her waist like twin ropes of gold. She was like a glorious marble statue in the moonlight, arousing his desires. As if in a daze he started walking toward her, longing to make love to this beautiful young woman right there on the mossy bank.

“O Mother of the Water of Life, hear me,” Wynne chanted in her language.
“I thank you for the power you have given me. May my eyes be strengthened to see the glory of your bounty, my ears attuned to the sound of your voice, my heart be joined with you. I give myself to you now. May my spirit be cleansed from all evil.” Thus having spoken, Wynne dived into the cold waters, swimming around in the still pool, feeling peaceful.

Valerian stopped in his tracks at her words, for although he did not know their meaning, he could sense that she was performing some kind of ritual. He ducked back into the foliag
e so that she would not see him, troubled by what he had seen.  It had emphasized to him that she was a pagan; beautiful yes, but a non-Roman none-the-less.  Despite his attraction to her there would be no hope for a future together.

F
rom this moment on you will have to learn to control your passions,
he thought to himself.
This young woman is no mere slave upon whom you can quench your lust as you see fit. And she saved your life!
He would be leaving soon and he knew that she deserved better than to be bedded and then left behind.  To take advantage of her for his own sexual needs would be the greatest injustice of all.

With an effort he turned away and ran back through the
forest, his heart pounding in his breast, but not entirely from his exertions, as he entered the cave and made his way to his bed of moss. Covering his face with his hands, he could see her still, so very beautiful, and knew what torture it would be from now on to keep from touching her—making love to her.

If only I could stay here forever
, he thought sadly.
Woo her and take her back with me
. But  he knew that he could not. Wynne was not a woman who would be happy to be a concubine or camp follower. Instinct told Valerian that she was pure. No doubt that is why she reacted to him as she did that first time he kissed her. No, he must leave the girl untouched so that she could go about her life once he was gone, marry, and mother many fine sons. Yet the thought of her bearing another man’s children caused an ache in his heart. He closed his eyes against the irrational jealousy, forcing himself to remember that she was not Roman born.

Wynne quickly gathered up her garments and dressed. She felt calm, serene, and very happy. Was it because she would soon see Valerian? She knew the answer was yes. The handsome Roman made her feel giddy and lighthearted as none of the young men of her tribe did. Always before now the young men Wynne kept company with had been like brothers. She rode with them, fished with them, and frolicked with them, as if she too were a young man. When one of them tried to caress her or touch her in any way, she promptly scuffled with the bold aggressor to teach him that she was his equal and to keep his distance, but now she felt differently. The Roman made her feel soft, feminine. She did not want
him
to be her brother. She longed for something else, for him to look at her again as he had when first he had opened his eyes and gazed upon her.

Your father has betrothed you to Edan
, she thought, the reminder troubling her mind until her rebellious nature pushed aside the guilt.
My father is giving me to Edan without any thought to my feelings. I am not an object to be given away! I should have some say in who I take to my bed.
Yet such was the custom of her tribe.

“I don’t want Edan……”  But she did want the
Roman.

Wynne thought about the ceremony she had just performed. She had purified herself in much the same way a young bride would before joining with her chosen husband. T
he thought of belonging to the Roman made her blush with pleasure. She had thanked the goddess of the Waters for the Roman’s life and for her own strength in rescuing him, but it was much more than that. Now their spirits were joined together as one. She had offered herself to the goddess in exchange for Valerian in the ancient way. Yet, the goddess had let her live, surely a sign that she had found favor with the Mother of the Water of Life, that although the Roman did not believe in her gods, he was still worthy.

Wynne made her way through the trees, tingling from the lake’s icy water. Her mind
was filled with dreams of the Roman’s touch, his nearness, but when she arrived he was fast asleep. Little did she know that he was only feigning slumber, afraid of what he might do if he set eyes upon her tonight.

Walking quietly over to him, Wynne was filled with the urge to reach out and touch him
, waken him, cover his mouth with hers as he had done to her. Even at the lake she had felt the strange sensations flood over her as she had thought of him. She reached out her hand, but in sudden fear pulled it back again. She did not want to waken him, to risk angering him. Disappointed, she placed the food she had brought with her and her father’s garments on the floor of the cave and tiptoed out into the darkness of the night.

Chapter Five

Wynne awoke the next morning before the rays of the sun touched the earth. She had spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning upon her bed
—troubled by visions, wishing with all her heart that she had been able to spend the night again with the handsome stranger. She knew this was impossible, however. Brenna would have wondered where she had gone, and she could not take the chance of Valerian being discovered by her tribesmen. The fear and hatred of the Romans was still too strong. Stories of their cruelty, were well known, and where they traveled, they brought burnings, rape, pillaging, destruction and death. Once she too had felt hatred toward the newcomers from the South, but no more, not since meeting Valerian.

Stretching her slim arms above her head, Wynne gave in to her dr
eams about the Roman, remembering his strong arms about her, the warmth of his mouth upon her own. Perhaps tonight she would find out what it was to truly become a woman. She had not been deaf to the groans of pleasure which came in the dark night from the bedshelf her father shared with Brenna. Surely what a man and woman did together must be enjoyable to bring forth such moans. Nevertheless, the ceremony which had made her a woman, when her virginal membrane had been severed by the knife of the hooded Druid, had brought her a great deal of pain!

The sound of her stepmother’s footsteps caused her to quickly cease her daydreaming as she bolted from her bed to come face to face with the dark-haired woman. The dark eyes seemed to bore into her very soul, as if to read her thoughts.

“What ails you, Wynne?” Brenna asked with a frown. “It is not like you to stay abed once you are awake. You are not galloping on your horse. Is Sloan lame?”

Wynne shook her head. Usually at this time of morning she was already upon the stallion’s back, galloping in the early-morning air. No doubt Brenna thought her either ill or her horse injured. Still, she could not tell her the truth. She longed to be able to talk to the woman as she would to her mother, but caution prevailed. Brenna would not, nor could no
t ever, take her mother’s place. Sorrow for the loss of her own mother overcame Wynne and her eyes filled with tears. Why had her mother been called to another life so soon?

“So, I was right. You are ill!” Brenna said, standing with her hands upon her wide hips, studying her husband’s daughter.

Wynne was touched by her stepmother’s concern. Usually the woman seemed not to care what happened to her. Was there still a chance for some sort of friendship between them?  Her stepmother’s next words shattered her hopes.

“Let me gather some herbs for you. I don’t want to be burdened by a helpless invalid. You are useless enough when you are well,” Brenna added, shattering all hopes that Wynne
had for a truce between them. “You know I can’t stand to be around weaklings.”

Wynne fought against her anger. It took all her self-control to keep the promise she had made to her father to obey his new wife as if she were of Wynne’s own flesh and blood.

“I am not ill. Thank you for your concern,” she mumbled, averting her eyes, lest she betray her feelings or her thoughts. Before Brenna could say another word to her, she donned her tunic and cloak and hastened out into the crisp morning air. She walked from dwelling to dwelling, breathing the aroma of cooking porridge, until her anger cooled.

I’ll bring the
Roman some breakfast
, she thought, a smile coming to her lips at the idea of pleasing him. She would bring him cereal along with honey and milk. She filled an earthen jug then made her way to where Sloan waited. As before, Wynne was unaware of the hostile eyes that watched her.

Valerian opened his eyes to the harsh light of day streaming into the cave from the rocky opening. At first he was bewildered by his surroundings, looking for the familiar signs of his camp, his soldiers. Then he remembered.

“I fear it will be a long while before I see my companions again,” he said aloud. “If
I do meet up with them.” At the sound of his voice the small brown squirrel stopped gathering its breakfast and looked at him with black eyes. Deciding that he posed no threat, it again began harvesting its hoard of nuts and then scampered off.

Valerian rose from the hard ground and flexed his limbs, stretching and bending to bring life back to his aching body. He was thankful for his training as a soldier, which
had accustomed him to hardships—scant food, hard beds, constant travel.

As he groomed himself, Valerian smiled, knowing the cause of his vanity. The young Celtic girl. The clothing on the ground reminded him of how much self-control it had taken not to reach out to Wynne the night before. Yet, he had been strong, and had not given in to his desires, all the while yearning to bury himself deep within her golden beauty.

“Oh, if only she were a Roman. I would not hesitate to make her my wife!” he said aloud, letting himself imagine how envious all other men would be of his goddess wife. But the truth remained that Wynne was a Celt, considered a heathen by his people, as he no doubt was to hers. A gulf as wide as an ocean separated them.