Love's Blazing Ecstasy (20 page)

Adair had awakened and thought at first that he was dreaming as he watched his wife. Surely she must know that it was forbidden to don the sacred robes.  But though he was tempted to cry out to her, a sixth sense warned him to keep silent.  He would tell Wynne, however
, and seek her advice on how to handle the situation from a woman’s perspective.

Brenna was disappointed once she had put on the mystic garments. They felt no different from any of her other garments. They were lighter weight than her dark robes, but she had felt n
o surge of magic power from it.

A sudden anxiety made her wonder if Domnu would be angered by her actions, thus she tore the robe from her body. She began chanting to the offspring of Chaos and Old Night—the deformed ones—gods of the darkness; demons of the night, darkness, death, barrenness and evil. Then in a final act of atonement she tore the garment in two and held it up as if it were an offering to the goddess.

“May the gods protect us,” Adair whispered as he heard the evil incantation and beheld her sacrilege. What vile evilness was this? Had he been a whole man he would have leapt from his bed to take retribution on her for her treachery, but he was helpless. All he could do was to warn Wynne when she came back to the lodge to watch out for Brenna. Either she was demented or was acting like one who had lost their mind.  He didn’t want to believe that she could be a member of the darkness cult, not the wife whose body he had entered, whose love he had cherished, but that seemed to be the logical answer. Just the possibility tore at his heart and he couldn’t help but whisper a prayer that it was not true, then closed his eyes to return to the safety of his sleep.

When Wynne returned to the lodge, Brenna greeted her with such a look of surprise that Wynne was alarmed. “What is it? Father is not ill, is he?” she asked fearfully.

For a long turbulent moment Brenna just stared. 
Wynne was alive!
  That reality made her stomach roil with frustration but she soon recovered her poise. “No…your father is sleeping. He is fine. But you….”

“Me?”

“Your clothing. I…well….did you have any luck?”

Her thoughts were in turmoil. So Wynne had
escaped capture again. She cursed the girl and her father for their cunning.  At the same time she felt a tingle of fear. Had they perhaps suspected what was afoot. Was that why Wynne had dressed herself in that strange costume…had covered her hair?

“I brought home a large buck,” Wynne answered proudly, feeling triumphant and content.

“Well, it certainly took you enough time to bring the animal down,” Brenna retorted scathingly, envious of the young woman’s success.  Unlike Brenna, Wynne had killed her quarry.

Remembering the moments of love she had shared with Valerian in their hideaway, Wynne blushed.  “Some things take time….”

Thinking of Valerian brought to mind his words concerning the Romans, and she pushed past the dark-haired Brenna to talk with her father. She wanted to tell him all that Valerian had told her and ask his advice. She could only hope that he would not be angry when he learned that the Roman was back.

Brenna followed close on her heels, afraid to let Wynne out of her sight just in case she was suspicious and might tell Adair what she feared.

Wynne found that Adair was sleeping.

“That’s about all he does now,” Brenna said sarcastically.

Ignoring the cutting words, Wynne bent down, gently brushing back the blond hair from her father’s face, the face she so dearly loved. If only there were something she could do to give him his legs again. She had prayed to all the gods, but her prayers had not been answered.

At the feel of her cool hands, Adair opened his eyes and smiled. “So, you are back,” he whispered. “How was the hunting?”

“I brought back a large buck, Father.”

“I knew you would have no trouble felling a deer. I am proud of you.” He struggled to sit up, and she carefully helped him. “Wynne…” he choked, looking in the direction of his wife, remembering her strange behavior but not wanting to say anything to Wynne in front of her just in case there would be repercussions.  He would talk with his daughter later.

“Be careful, Father. You have not fully recovered your strength.” She looked at Brenna over her shoulder, wishing that her stepmother would leave so that she could talk with her father alone, but Brenna hovered close by.  Only a stern nod from Adair sent Brenna far across the room where she engaged herself in cooking the evening meal. 

“I must tell you something….” “Adair began, looking in his wife’s direction.  But Wynne put her fingers to his lips to silence him.  It was obvious to her that Brenna was straining to hear what was being said between father and daughter.

“There is something I must tell you first,” Wynne whispered in her father’s ear. “The Roman is back!”

Adair’s eyebrows drew together as he frowned. “He is here?” The fear that the stranger would take Wynne from him washed over Adair. “What does he want?” he asked.

“Valerian came to talk peace.” Wynne took his hand in hers and squeezed it tightly, as if by doing so she could make him understand her feelings.

“Peace! Ha! The
Romans do not want peace. They want to wipe the Celts off the land so that they can expand their mighty empire. Your Roman is no different.”

Wynne shook her head. “Yes, he
is
different! He
does
want peace.”  Turning her head she saw Brenna moving closer, thus she chose her words carefully.  “Father, we cannot let our hatred blind us. There are Romans who are greedy and cruel. But is it not true that there are those of our race who are the same? Should we be judged by the deeds of the darkness cult?”

“No!”

Quickly she told him all that Valerian had said, careful to avoid any reference to their lovemaking for fear of alienating her father once again.

When she had finished with her story, Adair scowled. “How do we know that we can trust this
Roman?” he asked with suspicion. “I have been to the lands of the South and seen what the Romans have done. They are like maggots swarming over the carcass of a dead animal. The Romans have little love for us.”

Avoiding his eyes lest she betray her feelings for Valerian she answered, “I know we can trust him, Father. He would not lie to us. What reason would there be to play us false?

“Ambition. Greed.”

“Valerian abhors all the bloodshed. He wants an end to the fighting between our peoples. I felt as you do now at first, but I see the wisdom of his words. We are not prepared to fight. The
Romans will crush us like a beetle beneath their heels.”

“But to give up without a fight. That is not our way. We are not afraid to die, Wynne. We are not cowards. Death is but the blink of an eye between this life and the next.” Again he struggled to sit up, loudly cursing his infirmity.

“Perhaps we could prepare ourselves to fight at a later time if need be, if the Romans play us untrue or rule us too harshly. Then could we overthrow their hated rule, when we were strengthened?”

“We must fight now.”

“But what is the wisdom in fighting a battle we know we will lose?” At her father’s silence she continued. “I promised that I would talk with the warriors at the council this very night. I vowed, Father. I cannot go back on my word. Please, can you be there with me? Can you arrange such a meeting?” She bent her head in submission to his will, her lower lip trembling, her eyes closed.

Adair could deny her nothing, not even this. His hatred for the
Romans ran deep, but his love for his daughter was even deeper.  More importantly, he did not want her to die in the violent manner other Celts had suffered.

“What harm can come of talk?” he answered. With his hand he tipped up her face so that he could meet her eyes. “I must warn you, however, that the council will think as I do. If they do not agree to peace, there will be nothing either you or I can do to sway them, nor would I want to do so.”

She nodded her head.  “I understand.”

“Still, I will be there with you.”

She knew how much strength it would take for Adair to do as he promised, and she loved him more at that moment than ever before. “Thank you, Father.” Hugging him close, she could hardly contain her excitement at being able to at least try to initiate peace. Hurrying off to see about the preparations for the council, she left her father’s side before he could tell her about Brenna and give her a warning.

The veil of night fell over the village as Wynne awaited the time of the council with acute anxiety. She sought to still her trembling hands, for now of all times she must be strong and could not show any sign of weakness. To be among the Druids and warriors at such a time, to speak at the council, was in itself an honor. Not even Brenna’s envious gaze and sharp tongue could dampen her pride.

Taking great care choosing her garments for the meeting, she looked into the polished silver mirror her father had brought back from one of his trips to the southland. She had chosen to wear scarlet and white, symbolizing war and peace; the underskirt of white, the over
-gown of scarlet. The gown had long close sleeves and she wore a sleeveless bodice of fur. The glow of her jewelry shone in the light of the fire, the large ornate earrings with their great golden hoops, the large gilt bracelets which covered both her arms, the bronze belt which carried a scabbard for her sword—a gift from her father for the occasion. Her hair was left hanging long, a golden circlet adorning her head. Wynne carried in her left hand a bronze shield emblazoned with a maze of curving tendrils. Studying her self in the mirror she thought that she looked imposing in her finery, just as she had intended.

Adair, too, was imposing in his purple tunic and black
braccae
. He wore a sleeveless overtunic and a fur cloak over his once-strong body and looked like the leader that he indeed was. Cedric, the chief of the tribe, had come with his son Edan to carry Adair to the council. Edan’s eyes shone with admiration.

“You are beautiful, Wynne,” he said in awe. “As beautiful as a goddess.”

She smiled her thanks, taking his hand in a gesture of friendship. Cedric and Edan carried her father in a wicker chair, and Wynne followed close behind them to the sacred oak grove.

The full moon shone brightly down on the earth like a round bronze shield. As they approached the fire Wynne could see that the warriors were all wearing their helmets of bronze with horns on either side, or helmets decorated with a comb of bronze in the center. Their faces were stern which caused Wynne a brief moment of apprehension, until she remembered that both Valerian and her father had expressed confidence in her abilities.

Tonight there was to be a feast of deer meat. Wine and mead flowed as freely as after a battle, which annoyed her. “Why must there be wine and mead?” Whenever there was drink there was likely to be a quarrel. She knew that sometimes even the smallest pretest could provoke a duel, which could often be fatal.

Adair laughed for the first time in a long while. “Ah, just like a woman to question,” he said. “Men need to feel relaxed when important business is at hand. They want to feel the blood course through their veins.”

Wynne snorted in disgust. “Well, I hope that they remain sober so that we can discuss the matter at hand.” She well remembered the last time there had been such a meeting. It had soon turned into a near brawl.

There was little cause for worry, however, as she was to find out, for after eating, Cedric raised his hand and the council was started. Wynne knew from experience that each warrior had a vote. She would have to convince the majority of them of the wisdom of keeping peace with the
Romans, and that would be no easy task. At the end of the night the vote would be taken—javelins pointed with the tip to the ground would mean a vote for war, javelins pointed upward a vote for peace.

Standing, with her hands clutched tightly in front of her, Wynne began explaining what the
Roman had told her.

“The
Romans have the mistaken idea that our peoples still indulge in human sacrifices,” she said. “They ask of us only that we abolish such practices, which we have done already—long ago as a matter of fact.” Wynne knew that in the far North there were still a few tribes that practiced human sacrifice, though most were civilized. It was unfortunate  that the Romans saw all the Celts as one people and were unaware that they were made up of several tribes and thereby different customs.

One weathered old warrior stood defiantly in front of her. “And what else do these
Romans ask of us? Far more than a promise to change our rites and customs, I would believe.”

“They want us to lay down our arms to them, give them our swords and our shields.”

“Let them shear us of our weapons as the shepherd shears the sheep? Never!” Edan shouted from out of the darkness, his fists clenched in anger as he glared at Wynne. Gone was his look of admiration.

Staring into the darkness, she sought to see his face. “The
Romans want peace. Their chieftain in Rome wants peace. Can it harm us to talk with them?”