Love's Blazing Ecstasy (22 page)

Wynne started to say that she could not leave her father now, could not go with him when he returned, but he silenced her with a kiss.

He is right, we have only tonight,
she thought.  What happened in the coming days was unknown, but they were together at this moment. Her hand found his and squeezed tightly, then she lifted her arms, encircled his neck and wound her fingers in his dark hair—clinging to him, wanting him to love her again. “I long so to be naked in your arms.”

He stroked her hair, remembering their lovemaking, so fierce and passionate, yet tonight he felt a gentler emotion—such an overwhelming need to protect her that he knew he would give up his own life for her. No matter what happened to him he would protect Wynne. Strange that he had never before had the emotional courage to make such a promise to himself.

“I want to be with you forever….” His hand reached out to caress her, sliding his fingers over the soft mounds of her breasts. “No matter what happens, know that I love you.”  Cherishing her with his fingers and eyes, he helped her undress, stripping her garments off one by one like the petals of a flower.

“Valerian….”

Her body glowed in the dim light like a marble statue.  With reverence, he caressed every part of her. “We were meant for each other—do you know that my beautiful Wynne? I knew it the moment I saw you bending over me like an avenging goddess. My flesh, my heart, my soul belong to you. Without you I am as nothing….”

His words touched her heart as his fingers touched her flesh.  Oh, how she loved the feel of his massaging fingers, tracing a path of erotic magic over her skin—breasts, stomach, and between her legs.  She arched against him in sensual pleasure, a desire for him that could only be appeased by blending with him. Closing her eyes she sighed as he took her mouth in a hard, deep kiss.

Valerian pulled away just long enough to strip off his own clothing, longing to become one with her. Wynne’s eyes and heart, all her senses were filled with him as he stood naked beside her—his chest and arms powerful, his skin tan and smooth. As she felt the flames of desire consume her she arched against him in sensual pleasure, moving as if she were performing some kind of ritual dance—her breasts against his chest, her arms entwined with his, her woman’s core brushing intimately against his stiffened shaft. They were aware of every inch of each other’s bodies, tingling with an intense arousing desire.

Valerian spread his cloak upon the ground and gently tugged at her hand, pulling her down upon it.
Caressing her breasts, he murmured words of love in her ear, his lips branding her flesh as he kissed her stomach and thighs.

“Love me, Valerian,” she moaned.  His touch was driving her mad with her need of him. More than anything else she wanted to feel him inside her.  Reaching out she encircled her fingers around the hard length of him, caressing it in fascination, watching as it hardened even more.

“Sometimes it has a mind of its own,” he said with a husky whisper. “I think….”

He started to speak but as she pushed him down on his back and straddled him in a manner she had seen Brenna do to her father when they thought she was asleep, he grew quiet except for his deep-throated moans.

Sensuously she undulated her hips, touching the tip of him to that soft place between her thighs that ached for his entry. Every inch of her tingled with an intense arousing awareness of his body as she moved her hips downward, pushing him deep within her.

“We are a perfect fit. Like a sword in a scabbard,” he whispered as he arched up to her. They moved together—rhythmic motions
that brought shuddering excitement, a wild rapture of their loving—rocking and plunging; faster and faster in wild abandon. Valerian groaned softly as the blood pounded in his head. He grasped her hips, his hold tightening as they rode a passion-filled tempest together; an explosion that burst within them in spasms of sexual fulfillment.

“Like a bolt of Jupiter’s own fire,” he whispered in her ear.

Wynne had never known such abandon, such ecstasy.  “It was like falling.”

“But never hitting the ground,” he exclaimed, nuzzling her ear.

When their passion was spent, Valerian moved away from her slightly, but Wynne did not want him to leave her. They fell asleep entwined, fulfilled, and content.

Valerian sat staring at his fair-haired lover, marveling at the effect she always had on him—passion yes, but much more than that he felt a deep sense of respect for her courage, her wisdom, her loyalty. “I never have enough of you, goddess,” he whispered, watching the flutter of her eyelids as she slumbered. He reached out to stroke her soft silken hair.

“You will be my wife. I vow it,” he said, then wondered what the customs for marriage
were among her people. In the Roman world a woman could not marry or dispose of property without the consent of her father, brother, son, or guardian, and after she was married she in turn became the ward of her husband, for the family was patriarchal, the power of the father and the husband nearly absolute. Would Wynne have to have her father’s permission to marry him? Could he ever convince her father to let her marry a man from a different land and culture?

“Surely the gods could not be so cruel as to let me glimpse what life is like with your love, the happiness we could share, only to take you away from me!”
No, it must not be so;  he would have Wynne as his wife no matter what he had to do.  He would not give her up.

Gazing down at his beloved, Valerian was alarmed to see that she had suddenly gone pale, and was now tossing and turning and moaning in her sleep. Was she ill? He reached down to gather her into his arms, but she pushed away from him, her eyes wide open.

“No. No…please…don’t let it be true,” she cried out, her eyes wide with fright.

“What is it? Wynne, what is wrong?” he asked reaching out for her. This time she sought the safety of his arms.

“The voices…they told me…danger. Fire…death…” She told him how they had also warned her of the danger he was in that night when first they met. “I must go back!” Quickly she donned her clothing as Valerian watched, feeling panic rise in him as well.

“Let me go with you,” he demanded, reaching out for his own clothing and dressing himself with trembling hands. What was happening? What terrifying sight had her dreams brought forth?

“No. I must go alone,” she insisted. “There is danger.”

“All the more reason for me to go with you,” Valerian answered firmly. He followed her out of the cave determined to go with her, but she raced to her white horse and sprang upon its back.

Seeing that she would soon be out of his sight, Valerian called after her. “I will come again for you in a month, in one cycle of the moon. Do you hear me, Wynne? I won’t let you go!”

Turning for one brief glimpse of him as she rode off, Wynne felt as if a dagger were thrust into her heart. How could she live without him? Closing her eyes for an instant, she felt the tears trembling upon her lashes.

“Goodbye. Goodbye, Valerian,” she whispered through her tears.

Valerian mounted Sloan and started off for his camp, but suddenly he heard a shrill sound far off in the distance, the sound of trumpets.

“No. It can’t be,” he exclaimed. The sound was all too familiar, the signal for attack. With a scream of anger and anguish he turned the horse around and headed off in the direction of Wynne’s village, but he soon became lost in the forest, not knowing exactly which way to go. He had to find Wynne before she reached her tribe, for he too now knew what was to happen.

“Great god Jupiter, let it not be so!” Why had he not been more wary of Severus? How could he have trusted his word? The man was a serpent, a vile heartless beast, and Valerian was
certain that it was of Severus that Wynne had been warned.

“I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him,” he shouted, racing through the forest on Sloan’s back like a furious centaur. He would find his way out of this maze of trees, he had to, for his very life, his soul, his future depended on it.

Looking towards the sky, his eyes beheld a flock of ravens. He could hear their voices clattering as if to mock him, and he shuddered. The ravens were an evil omen. Their presence heralded disasters.

“May the gods be with me that I will not be too late,” he cried, hurrying off through the trees.

The approaching horses sounded like a distant roll of thunder to Adair’s ears, yet he knew instantly that this was not the rumble of the sky’s fury, but of men at war. He longed to get out of bed, walk to the door of the lodge and look out upon the night, but he knew he could not. How he hated being helpless. If not for Wynne, he would end this miserable existence. If not for Wynne!

“Brenna!” he cried out. But his voice echoed in the empty room. He touched the amulet hanging around his neck with reverence; it was the image of the earth goddess with her three faces—one facing
front wise and two side profiles representing the cycle of birth, life, and death.

Wynne. I have got to warn her!
he thought with panic. As if with superhuman strength, he pushed himself from the bed with his powerful arms. Dragging himself along, he worked his way slowly across the dirt floor and managed to maneuver himself to the doorway of the lodge.  Looking out he saw that it was as he feared—
the Romans!

They thundered down on the village, the infantrymen marching and brandishing their swords. Already blood was flowing, homes were being put to the torch, as an atmosphere of brutality reigned.

“Unarmed! We are unarmed,” he wailed mournfully, cursing a foul breed of men who would talk of peace and then sneak upon their opponents like thieves in the night. At this very moment his daughter would be returning after promising them peace.

Adair could hear the cries for mercy but knew there would be none this night. He could hear the
Roman voices babbling in their strange tongue and damned them out loud.  Why were these Romans doing this to them? They were cowards! Barbarians….  Visions of Wynne being put to the sword tortured his soul and he felt as if a fist squeezed his heart.  No!

“Brenna!”

Where was his wife, he asked himself. Though she had scorned him lately, belittled his manhood because he could no longer walk or pleasure her in bed, he still loved her,  honored her, and now feared for her. And what of Isolde, Tyrone, their children, and Edan? He did not have to wonder about Cedric’s fate. Their chief would be slaughtered on the spot.

“A curse on them and all their kind,” he cried, loathing the
Romans with a festering anger.  Though he had never seen Wynne’s Roman soldier he could imagine him in his mind. “Damn you!  Damn you!”

Valerian rode on, whipped by the wind as it swirled around him. At last he had let Sloan have his head, knowing that the animal would take him to Wynne’s village. Onward they rode, like an avenging god on his immortal stallion. The shelter of the forest lay behind him, and the rolling hills lay before him like the waves of a green and brown ocean.

In the ebbing light Valerian could see them now, the ranks of soldiers stretching before him, pillaging and killing. The cavalry was stirring up the dust of the ground like an evil fog.

“Wynne….” How could she ever forgive him? Would she ever understand that he had no part in this? That he had been betrayed as surely as she had been?

Even from this distance he could hear the screams and the pleas for mercy, see the bright scarlet of blood everywhere. Dazed and exhausted—sick with disgust at his countrymen—Valerian dashed on.

“I have to reach Wynne!” he cried, praying to all the gods at once that she was not already among those slain. If only he had kept her with him at the cave or gone with her to die by her side! “No—no talk of dying.” He would rescue her, or die trying; this he swore as he led Sloan on at a merciless pace.

Wynne arrived back at her village horrified by the sight which met her eyes. It was what she had seen at the war council, what the voices had warned her of; all was death and destruction. Frantically she tried to fight her way to her father’s lodge, but it was no use. The Romans were as thick as the trees of the forest, forming an impassable wall.  Dismounting, she walked aimlessly, looking about her.

The embers of the fire of life faded and died as Wynne watched, helpless to aid her people.
All around her was a tangle of dead bodies and broken weapons. Death was everywhere; the strength and pride of her people gone, drained out with their blood on the ground.

Desperate to reach her father, Wynne wept.  How could Valerian have betrayed her? He had told her there would be peace, that they should lay down their arms, yet all the time his words were lies and his promises false.

“I trusted you….” she bemoaned, giving in to tears of despair for those who had listened to her at the council meeting and had paid with their lives. “Father….!”  She had to protect him for he had not the power to defend himself.

Fighting her fear of the
Romans, she moved in the direction of the familiar dwelling she shared with Adair and Brenna hoping that she was not too late. She could see the tall, strong figure of Tyrone as he tried to fend off the Roman soldiers, using one of their own swords, which he must have confiscated in the battle.