Rescued by the Celtic Warrior (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 1) (39 page)

Valeria stood and surveyed the clearing. She could gather food and firewood. She’d need a length of rope or two. That’s where she’d start.

Finding edible tubers and mushrooms proved to be the easy part. Once Valeria had gathered a healthy stack of firewood, she set to lighting it the old-fashioned way. Without a flint, she resorted to the caveman method of rolling a dried twig between her palms. When a spark finally erupted in a puff of smoke, she shoved her face beside the small collection of leaves and blew. Nothing happened. The puff of smoke vanished into the air as if it never existed. Her palms burned and arms ached from the steady friction. She started again, gritting her teeth against the blistering pain.

After what seemed like an eon of rolling the twig, another puff of smoke billowed from her pile. Valeria crumpled dried leaves over it, blowing gently. She laughed out loud when the flicker of a flame leaped from the leaves. She broke clumps of tiny twigs and stacked them vertically to ensure she would not snuff out the budding fire.

With the sun rapidly diving to the western horizon, she used her dirk to cut clumps of cattails. She arranged boulders, creating a bowl of water in the creek. She soaked the cattails and stripped the bark from a half-dozen green willow branches, reserving the moist green-yellow center.

Though the day was warm, she kept the fire burning. A glance at the ragged blisters on her palms assured her she didn’t want to start another fire any time soon. Stag wandered off while she worked the stripped twigs into tight braids, making a rope. The grumble of her stomach and lightheadedness warned she’d not be able to live on tubers and dandelion leaves for long. To maintain her strength, she needed meat.

She uncorked the waterskin and drank. Tenderly, she made her way around the perimeter of the glade. Twigs cut into her feet. How long would it take to form callouses so walking barefoot would not cause so much pain?

The sky had nearly lost its light when Stag bounded back into the clearing. He dropped a rabbit at Valeria’s feet and nudged it toward her with his nose. “Is that for me?” He wagged his tail and spun in a circle.

Valeria rewarded the dog with a pat on the head and a warm hug around the neck. She made quick work of skinning it and thanked God Elusius had shown her how to make a spit. Soon she was twirling the rabbit over the fire with Stag drooling beside her.

“You like your meat cooked too, do you not, boy?”

Darkness shrouded the glade when she pulled their dinner off the spit. She cut away half and tossed it to Stag. He demolished it with a gulp. Valeria turned her back and devoured her half. She ripped away the delicious flesh with her teeth, unwilling to share more with the dog.

Together they rested beside the fire and Valeria inspected her bleeding and cracked feet. The rabbit skin would come in handy, but would only cover one foot. Tomorrow she’d set a snare with the rope she’d made—possibly catch a rabbit or something bigger.

At the moment, with her belly full and her emotions spent, she backed against the dog and gathered the surrounding leaves in a pile for her head. The fire stacked with wood, Valeria slept as the chill of the night air encapsulated her body, except for the part nestled against the warm and faithful dog.

****

The gift from Stag didn’t last, and after three days, Valeria seriously thought she was going to die. She’d lost control of her wits due to hunger and her fingers shook while she braided twig pulp for yet another rope. She’d set three snares, switching the rabbit skin to whichever foot hurt the most. She checked her traps several times per day. With each pass, the snares remained as empty as her stomach. Even Stag’s hunting efforts had been for naught and Valeria wondered if the dog would leave and return to Dunpelder for a meal.

When a week had passed, Valeria stopped hunting. Too weak to move, she lay on the mat she’d woven from cattails. Stag rested beside her, and though she figured he must be finding sustenance on his frequent romps, he hadn’t caught anything large enough to share.

Valeria closed her eyes. If God intended to take her, she prayed for him to act swiftly, for the agony of hunger was too much to bear. All she could think of was food, piles of it spread along the huge dining table in the great hall. Her mouth watered at the memory of roast lamb with onions and cabbage. What she wouldn’t do for a piece of cheese right now. Crabapples had to be in season. Pity there were none nearby.

At first she thought she imagined it in her semi-conscious state, but when Stag sprang to his feet and barked, Valeria pushed herself up and looked toward the trap she’d set by the creek. Though the foliage of the forest concealed it, she sensed something there. She crept to the edge of the glade, slowly pulling aside the brush. She gasped.

With a wave of energy, Valeria snatched her dirk from the binding on her leg. A black boar squealed, trapped by its leg. Lunging forward, she swiftly sliced the blade across its neck.

Her mouth watered. “Stag. We shall eat for days.”

Valeria dragged the pig to the fire, careful not to damage the rope she’d toiled to braid. She would need it again.

After a meal of spit-roasted pork, Valeria used the fat to scrub the blue woad staining her skin and what remained of the clumped clay from her hair. She held out her arms and inspected the stains from the Pict markings Morag had made. They faded a bit with washing, but it would be a long time before the blue tint was completely gone. Valeria’s heart swelled with an unusual sense of pride while she traced her finger over the patterns of honor, loyalty, duty and freedom. They were symbols representing her reason for being there, icons of what she’d sacrificed. She bore the markings of a Pict—anyone who found her now would identify her as such.

She used the pigskin to fashion a cape and tied it around her shoulders. She bound the skin from the pig’s hindquarters around her feet. For days, she and Stag gorged themselves on roasted pork and wild strawberries while Valeria practiced throwing her dirk. She set up a target against a stump and threw it until she hit the mark with every throw.

In the next week, she became bolder, venturing away from her camp for hours at a time. She tracked deer with the dog, who proved to be true to his deerhound breed, sniffing them out. Returning each day, she’d find rabbits or pheasant in a trap or two. Her stash of pelts grew. There was enough meat to dry. The further she ventured out, the more fruits and tubers she found to eat.

Every day, she became stronger. With each sunrise, she came closer to winning the right to be Taran’s wife. Yes, they were married in the eyes of God, but that didn’t matter in the eyes of the Picts.

Valeria grew accustomed to the sounds of the night and found it easier to sleep with Stag beside her. She guessed she’d been alone for nearly three weeks when she jerked awake to the dog’s guttural growls.

Stag pushed his body against hers, as his rumbles grew more intense. Her eyes flashed wide when deep, guttural growls returned. Carefully, she reached for the stick of wood beside her and tossed it onto the fire, casting light. Three sets of yellow eyes encroached into the clearing.

Ice rippled up her spine. Valeria’s fingers wrapped around her dirk. She moved to a crouch. Stag’s growls rose to a snarling gnashing of teeth. The wolves circled, sizing them up.

Valeria and Stag would be no match for three wolves if they attacked at once. She stretched forward, reaching for a leg of venison and tossed it at the biggest one. The wolf pounced on the meat, while another fought him. Valeria didn’t hesitate. She sprung from her crouch and plunged her knife into the heart of the nearest beast. The wolf let out an earsplitting yelp, its legs buckled beneath.

Valeria faced the second wolf just as Stag latched onto its neck. The largest turned from his feast, startled by the howl of Stag’s victim. His eyes shot to Valeria. He crouched low, growling, baring his yellow teeth.

“Come on you mongrel bastard,” Valeria roared, spewing the most vicious curses in her vocabulary. “I shall
not
die this night!”

The wolf leapt at her, his teeth aimed at her throat. Valeria dropped to her knees and slashed upward, catching his flank as she crouched under his airborne body. The wolf yelped and snarled rounding on her, but Valeria was back on her feet, brandishing her blade. “Is that the best you can do?”

The wolf snarled with a terrifying growl. He crept closer, but Valeria stood firm, holding the knife with both hands. To her right she heard a yelp and prayed Stag was winning. The big monster sensed her inattention and jumped at her, his paws slamming into her chest. Valeria stumbled back. The wolf’s fangs sliced through the base of her neck. Her left hand pushed him away, only to be met with a vicious bite.

Shrieking in pain, Valeria drove her dirk into the animal’s back. The wolf howled and scooted away. Again, Valeria lunged with her dirk. The wolf reared and fled into the forest.

She regained her stance and clutched her blade, ready for battle. “You come back here again and I’ll carve out your heart. I swear on my father’s grave!”

Her hands shook like a willow sapling in a breeze. Her gaze shot to Stag. The dog held his death grip as the wolf’s legs batted the air, struggling with its last breaths. Valeria stood back and let the dog finish his kill until the wolf’s legs slowly ceased fighting and drooped lifelessly.

When she swiped her hand across the base of her neck, she hissed with the pain. Her palm smeared with blood—the wolf’s bite would leave a scar. Inspecting her arm in the firelight, she saw that blood streaked down to her wrist but had mostly stopped flowing.

ʼTis only a flesh wound.
She laughed out loud at her use of Taran’s words.

Valeria surveyed the clearing. Two wolves would provide plenty of meat and skins. She’d clean them in the morning. Then she’d have a couple of days to dally. The thought of relaxing made her smile. After using the waterskin to clean her wounds, Valeria curled up on her mat and patted the space beside her. “Come, Stag. We can tend to our kills on the morrow.”

Taran was already fastening his sword around his hips when Greum burst through the chamber door. “Sentries report smoke still rises from her campfire.”

“It will be a miracle if she hasn’t gone completely mad.”

The past twenty-eight days had seemed as if they’d never pass. Though Taran had an endless barrage of duties to tend to, thoughts of Valeria remained at the forefront of his mind. He’d sent out sentries to patrol the perimeter of her camp with orders not to make contact. When the report came in she’d been attacked by wolves, he’d strapped on his sword and mounted Blackie. The five men who barred the gate did their best to hold him back, but when Pia came out and pleaded for him to reconsider, he hesitated. She’d given him a tonic that knocked him silly for two days, the witch—though a kind-hearted witch.

When he’d roused from his stupor, the sentries reported Valeria lived, though they could not say if she’d suffered any injury.

The most gratifying day in the month was when Simian rode into Dunpelder with Morgon’s corpse draped across a mule. The faithful guard had cornered Morgon before he reached Katica. Morgon refused to go down without a fight and Simian had been forced to run him through. Taran had the traitor’s head impaled on a spike to bear witness of his intolerance for disloyal Picts. He granted Simian lands in Gododdin and a seat on his council.

Morag brought in a bowl of porridge and placed it on the table. “Ye need to eat, sire.”

Taran frowned. He hadn’t forgiven Morag for her part in Valeria’s rite. He probably never would. Though the woman claimed she was simply obeying the wishes of the elders, Taran knew she reveled in her sadistic pleasure. He’d allow Valeria to decide Morag’s fate once she was crowned. He owed her that satisfaction.

Taran waved Morag away with a dismissive hand.

Greum nodded toward the steaming bowl. “Ye better eat.”

Taran picked up the spoon and shoveled in a mouthful. “I’ll not be taking orders from the likes of you.” Two more bites slid down his gullet. “We’ll be off.”

As they paraded through the hall, Pia rushed up and grabbed Taran’s arm. “My lord, wouldn’t it be preferable if I fetched Valeria? She may not be fit for your eyes, sire.”

“Any foul state is a consequence of my own doing. Only a coward would send another.” Taran jerked away. “Go prepare for the gathering. On the morrow all of Pictdom will see me wed.”

Taran’s eyes shot to Greum. His friend had kept quiet about his secret union with his wife. Soon he’d be able to openly show his affection.

Engus rode with them as the elder adjudicator. By her own survival, however, Taran had every confidence Valeria would pass this final stage of scrutiny. Bishop Elusius also rode along at his insistence. Taran led Mia beside Blackie, sure she’d be overjoyed to see her mare. Nearing the glade, Greum sounded the carnex.

“Valeria,” Taran called to warn her of their approach. His heart raced. He wanted to gallop into the clearing and sweep her into his arms, but with Engus and Elusius in tow, restraint was necessary.

Taran turned to the entourage. “Please wait.”

Alone, Taran dismounted and entered the clearing. Stag bounded up to him with a yelp, tail wagging. The dog pissed himself in his display of exuberance. A fire smoldered in the center of the glade. Pelts lined a bed and a boar skin was tied taught between three trees above it. The bones of dead animals were scattered across the ground.