Love's Blazing Ecstasy (15 page)

Issuing a curse, the man slapped her so hard that she feared she would lose consciousness, but seeing the liquid had spilled on the ground, seeping into the dirt, she had a sense of victory.

“You will wish for the potion before we are through with you!” he snarled, his voice blending with the chanting.

“What are you going to do?” Wynne was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Bury you alive in that pit,” he said, pointing to the remains of an old well. “It will take time for you to die, and your death cries will be as music to the ears of the mighty Domnu!”

Wynne had heard tales of such things being done and knew that she would rather die any death rather than that one. To be thrown into that abyss where no doubt the serpents which were so revered by these foul creatures lived, was too horrible to imagine.

“You are lower than the snakes you worship,” she hissed at him, her blood pumping with anger. Ignoring her words, the man turned and
walked away to join the woman. Together in all their naked glory they walked to greet the worshipers, and Wynne found herself left alone with the huge hulking giant. If only she could somehow convince him to unbind her, there was a chance that she could escape. She had been the victor in their combat once before.

“My hands!” she cried out. “Can you not unt
ie my hands?” The man merely laughed and turned to gaze upon the departing forms of the dancers. She would get no pity from him. With every fiber of her soul Wynne wished she could get her hands on a dagger or a sword, even a cooking knife. In the meantime she slowly edge toward a part of the ground where it was rocky.

At first she felt nothing but the smooth earth beneath her groping hands, but them she found what she sought, the jagged edge of a rock. Rubbing her bonds up and down, bruising and scraping her wrists, Wynne fought to free herself. Calling on all the gods to help her, she worked feverishly to get free of the ropes that held her. Now was the only chance she would have to break free, for once the others returned, all would be lost.

The giant stood with his back to her, a threatening presence, but as long as he stood there, he would unwittingly act as a shield to hide her from the eyes of the others.

Steady….don’t cut your wrists, cut the ropes
, she thought to herself.  Still, she could feel pain as the rocks cut into her skin, and then she felt the warm flow of her own blood.

When at last her wrists were free, Wynne worked her hands to bring the feeling of life back into them. Slowly, so as not to alert her captor, she dragged herself farther away from where he stood, hiding in the undergrowth. With her legs bound, she could not
go far; she must free her ankles too.

As if sensing her thoughts, the man turned around and started toward her with a growl like that of a wild beast, but a sound from the bushes made him turn around. A large wild boar stood staring at him, snorting in rage as the giant moved. Wynne tore at the ropes around her ankles. Her flesh was bruised and bleeding, but at least she was free. With a bellow of rage the giant started toward her, but his movement caught the attention of the wild boar and it surged forward to attack. Wynne watched as the two creatures rolled over and over
on the ground in battle. The gods had been good to her this day. They had aided her in her escape and sent the boar to help her.

Bounding to her feet, she ran for her life, stopping only to look back at the swirl of blood and death behind. Her hair blew wildly around her shoulders as she ran, blowing into her eyes, obstructing her vision. She knew beyond a doubt that by now she was being followed, the dancers and their followers close behind her.

Onward she ran, not daring to look back. Suddenly she tripped over a large tree root in her path, tumbling head over heels onto the hard ground and twisting her ankle beneath her. Pain shot through the injured foot, but still she managed to get to her feet, limping as she struggled to run. She could not afford to stop or slow her pace, no matter how great her agony.

Wynne could hear a shout behind her and knew that the human had been victorious over the boar. Now he, too, was coming after her—closer and closer. Fear drove her with superhuman strength, for she knew what awaited her if she were to lose the race. Dodging between trees, using the blessed cover of the darkness as her hiding place, Wynne traveled on until she could bear the pain no longer. Her lungs felt as if they would burst as she paused, gasping for air. It was then that she saw the fires of her people. Truly the gods were watching over her she thought as she fell to her hands and knees and crawled over the hard ground back to the safety of her tribe—and to the loving arms of her frantic father.

Chapter Twenty

Standing before the fire of life, Wynne rubbed her hands together to restore feeling to them. Her ankle still hurt and no doubt she would have to walk with a staff, at least for awhile, but nonetheless she was alive and basically unharmed and for that she was grateful.

“Wynne!” Isolde cried, coming toward her, arms outstretched. She embraced her cousin, enveloping her with warmth and affection. “I was afraid you were lost to us, that we might never see your face again.”

“Nor I, yours,” Wynne replied, breaking away from her cousin’s arms
to retrieve her one of her father’s dagger from the lodge. As they talked she toyed with it, switching from one hand to the other. “I have learned a cruel lesson.  Always have a dagger aimed and ready when outside these walls.”

Isolde shrugged. “I
am fortunate to have Tyrone to protect me.”

Wynne shook her head.  “Listen to me and listen well.  You can not always count upon a man to
see to your safety.  Every woman must learn to take care of herself.”

Clutching her hands
to her chest Isolde shivered. “You are frightening me, Wynne.”

“You need to be frightened if it means you
will be cautious.” She repeated, “do not leave the village alone or unarmed.  Do you promise?”

“Yes.”  Isolde seemed to want to change the subject.  “Your father was beside himself with worry when you did not return.  He was afraid that he wouldn’t see you again.  Nearly every man in the village went in search of you, even those too old to wield a sword. Have you any idea just how beloved you are by our people?”

“Perhaps I know now that you have told me.” She added more wood to the fire. The crackling flames reached up to the sky. “Where did my father go?” Adair had been uncharacteristically emotional upon her return, clinging to her and whispering her name over and over again.  Then just as suddenly his voice had taken on a scolding tone as he had made her promise to be more careful in the future.

“He, Edan, Cedric and the others are searching the forest for the man you described when you first stumbled back
—the ‘giant’ as you called him. At first there was talk of war, for many were certain you had been taken by members of our neighboring tribe, but your father stilled their anger and urged them to have patience.”

“We have had peace with our neighbors for a long time now,” Wynne exclaimed.

“That is exactly what your father said.  That they must not risk war unless they knew for certain what had occurred.   He told the others that they must be united now more than ever, or the Romans would sweep over us and conquer us.”  Isolde lowered her voice, mimicking Adair.  “He said that we cannot fight among ourselves like jackals over a hare.”

“Father is always wise.”

“He said that there was no proof that these worshipers of the darkness are of the tribe of our neighbors, that we do not know that there are not those among
us
who bow down to the powers of Domnu. He stilled all those tongues who argued that retribution was the only way.”

Nearly a generation had passed since blood had been spilled at the hands of the Parisi, and Wynne was relieved that none of the warriors was anxious to end that peace. She would not have wanted to be the cause of the wrong tribe’s blood being spilled because of vengeance. All too often warfare was caused by misunderstandings and tribal leaders jumping to wrongful conclusions.

Isolde ushered Wynne to her own lodge to wait for her father’s return.  Urging her to sit by the fire, she briefly left Wynne’s side and when she returned brought her a steaming bowl of stew, which Wynne ate quickly. The bowl of meat and vegetables was followed by another.

“It is a fortunate thing that I am not taken captive every day,” she joked, “lest I eat so much that I grow too big for my gowns.”

“It would be a pity,” Isolde retorted.  “How surprised your Roman would be when he returns, to find you twice the woman he left.”

Wynne smiled sadly. She had heard no word of Valerian, did not even know if he was still alive. “As long as he does return, I do not care. 
If
he returns.”

“He will return,” Isolde replied softly.  She started to say more, but they were interrupted by Farrell.

“Mother, Mother, look, look!” He ran to Isolde’s side, stumbling into Wynne in his excitement, tipping over her half-filled bowl.

“Farrel
l, look what you have done,” Isolde chided.

Wynne bent down to clean up the
broken bowl and spilled stew, wincing with pain as she moved her ankle.

The boy was oblivious of the havoc he had created.  “Father’s home!”  All he cared about was that his father was riding up with Cedric, Edan, Adair and the others.

Wynne hobbled to the door and looked out, gasping as she saw the returning party had a prisoner she now knew all too well. It was the giant. They had captured him.

Adair bounded off his horse, dragging his prisoner by the chain around his neck, which held him tightly despite his struggling. “Is this the man who has sought to harm you, daughter?” he called out, certain of her answer.

Wynne’s eyes were drawn to the captive’s face. He was grinning at her as if to prove that he did not fear his punishment. 

“Yes. It is he,” she answered, staring into the giant’s eyes.  She saw no sign of remorse, only defiance.

“You were right, Adair,” Edan exclaimed.  “He is not one of the neighboring tribe. We would have noticed someone of his girth, even from far away.”

Although it was up to Adair to judge their captive’s penalty
and choose the manner of retribution he would suffer for the injury he had done to Wynne, he turned to face Wynne.   “I will leave it up to my daughter to decide,” he said. “It was she who suffered at his hands.”

Wynne’s eyes met those of the giant once again. Once he had sought her death and she had spared his life. Again he had sought to harm her in the lodge of solitude, and then once more in the forest, where he had taken her captive. He posed a threat to them all, it was true; still, Wynne now knew that it was another’s orders that he had been carrying out.

“Well, daughter? Will you seek this one’s death?”

To kill him would end forever any chance her people would have to find out the identity of the leader of the darkness cult.  “No. I do not seek his death. Life is too precious a gift from the gods to take away from another. To shed his blood would make me no better than the master he serves. Let him live!”

All eyes turned her way, surprised at her decision. This man had tried to harm her. Didn’t she know the danger in sparing him? Nonetheless, the choice had been hers to make.

Adair knew his daughter well and was not surprised by her decision. As if reading her thoughts, he spoke. “Wynne is wise. We will question this one. There is no doubt much that he can tell us.” At his words the giant’s eyes blazed anger. “We will let him live, but he will be made a slave. We will take him to the tribe of the Brigantes, where he will toil with a shackle about his neck until death takes him to another life.” At these words the giant gave a bellow of rage and pulled at his chains
like a shackled bear.

Wynne watched as her father and Cedric took the captive away, wishing that this could be the end of the danger, but knowing instinctively that it was just the beginning. There were still others of the giant’s kind roaming about
, for he had not acted alone.  Closing her eyes she remembered the ceremony—the man and woman who had danced together in the forest in their frenzy, who had meant to kill her in the most gruesome of ways. As long as they were free, her entire tribe was still in danger.

Chapter Twenty-One

Valerian drove his men onward at a furious pace as they set out upon their journey, heading west. He felt compelled to reach his destination as quickly as possible, before Severus changed his mind. The soldiers stopped only long enough to rest the horses and to take time to eat. Long into dusk they rode into the hills, continuing onward until the horses were just too tired to go any farther; then they made camp for the night.

Unfolding his bedroll on the hard ground, Valerian stripped off his helmet and armor, but was so exhausted that he didn’t take time to undress; plopping down on his makeshift bed in tunic and boots.  He didn’t even have the energy to eat the bread and dried meat Burrus offered him, drifting off to sleep as soon as his head touched the bed. His slumber was filled with tortured dreams of destruction,  reliving over and over again those days of blood and death.