Love's Blazing Ecstasy (26 page)

He reached for her amulet, examining it in the light. The three faces intrigued him. What did they mean?

“Beautiful,” he said with double meaning.

Her eyes stared into his, wary and frightened. Now she reminded him of a small rabbit caught in a snare, and he smiled at her in an effort to befriend her.

“What is its meaning?” he asked.

“It belonged to my
father,” she answered. “It is a symbol of the life cycle.” She was not afraid to speak the truth; there was no law against wearing the symbols of the old gods, merely in the practice of sacrifice to them.

He let the figure drop from his hand and returned his attention again to her hair, so soft. Her lips were full and he had the urge to kiss her right at this moment, but did not. Something about this girl was familiar; he had seen her before, but where?

“And was your father a priest?”

“He was a Druid. He was a holy man of my people,” she said proudly, ravaged still by grief at his loss.

“And you? Are you also a Druid?”

She shook her head.  “No. Among my people women cannot hold the priesthood,” she replied; then, remembering Brenna, she added, “At least, not until now.”

Curiosity overcame him. She understood Latin very well, although she could not speak it fluently. Obviously she had known how to speak Latin long before he came.

“How is it that you know my language? Who taught you to speak my language so well?” he asked, noticing the blush which came to her face at his question. She who had stared so boldly at him with such defiance now lowered her eyes from his.

“I…I learned it from one of your people,” she answered. “And my father knew the words of your land.”

“One of my….”  It hit him like a battering ram.
Valerian.
This was the woman he had seen with his centurion. He began to laugh. This was just too good to be true.

The sound of the tribune’s high-pitched laughter startled her.
He’s mad
, she thought. Why else would he react this way? With an instinct of self-preservation she ran for the entrance of the tent; she had to get away from this lunatic. He was quicker than she, however, and with two large strides had her by the wrist.

“You will stay if I command it,” he ordered. “You are mine. My property!”

She looked at him with large, questioning eyes. “What do you mean, your property?” she asked warily.

He drew her to him and his bony hands grasped her waist so hard she could barely breathe. Her breasts crushed against his chest, she could feel the beat of his heart through the coarse linen of his tunic.

“You are my slave. My property. From now on I will do with you as I will.”

“No!”  It was the worst punishment Wynne could imagine.

“Oh, yes, sweet beauty. You will be sent to Eboracum, where you will await me.” He placed his wet hot lips against the base of her neck and sucked as an infant would at its mother’s breast.

Wynne was repulsed by him. She tried her best to draw away, but she was imprisoned by his bony, but strong hands.
She wanted to scream her outrage but a voice inside her head told her that she would have to think of another way the thwart him.  Instead of fighting him she merely closed her eyes and tightened up in every muscle. 

“You are a cold woman,” he said suddenly letting her go.  “But I will teach you how to please me.”

Never
, she thought.
You may own my body but you will never own my heart or my soul.
  Her expression mirrored her thoughts and she looked at him defiantly.

Severus called for his guards. “I grow tired of you,” he said peevishly. He instructed his guards to house her in a tent near his own, with constant watch.  “You will be my concubine,” he said. “In the meantime I suggest that you learn how to please a man, for only as long as you please me will I let you live.”

In her own quarters, Wynne put her knees up to her chest and rested her head on her knees. Slavery was worse than death; still, she had reasons to live now: she would make that vile beast Severus pay for what he had done to her people, and she would find Valerian, no matter where he was, and make him suffer also for the death of her father. “On my father’s death I so pledge,” she vowed quietly. “Only by the death of these two
Romans will I be revenged.” Until then she could bear any torture or indignity.

And yet the idea of Valerian’s death brought an ache to her heart. To see those amber eyes closed forever, never again to feel those lips u
pon hers—her loss caused her physical pain, as if her body itself were grieving.

“Father!” she cried out.  “Help me, help me to be strong, to do what must be done!”

The thought that she would no longer be able to see her loved ones—Isolde and the three little ones—or walk on the grass in the spring; view the sunrise through the trees, was a devastating thought that she knew was soon to become a reality.

I will be in a foreign land among my enemies
, she thought. Her life here was over and a new life was beginning, a life of hatred and sadness and grief.

Eboracum

“Walk while ye have the light, lest darkness come upon you.”

--John, 12:35

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The fog-misted nights of summer gave way to crisp, cold evenings as autumn approached. Meghan shivered as she stood, clad only in her tunica, looking out the small tent opening across the hills for any sign of an approaching band of men. She had heard the whispered news that Valerian was returning, not in glory but in chains, a prisoner of Severus.

“Oh, my sweet lord, my kind master. What could have happened to have brought you to such a cruel fate?” she moaned. Valerian had been so very kind to her, saving her from that monster Severus. Never once had he forced himself upon her, but treated her rather as a daughter or sister than a slave.

Meghan tensed at the distant sound of trumpets. Was it the soldiers with Valerian? It had to be. Valerian had returned. Donning her palla,
she wrapped it tightly around her, covering her head from the chill of the night air, and ran from the tent to await the arrival of the soldiers. She ran quickly by a small group of men who boldly leered at her as she passed. She could hear a few words of what they were saying amid their raucous laughter, and being fluent in Latin, she knew what they meant.

“Fine-looking piece of goods, she is,” said one.

“Yes, and with her master Valerian soon to be parted from his head, she’ll be available,” said another.

“Don’t be too certain. Old Severus will surely decide to take her to his bed. What a waste. I hear that he has long been impotent. Now, me, I
could keep a pretty little morsel like her happy.”

Meghan shuddered. I will not let that disgusting old man touch me! she vowed silently as she continued to the area where the soldiers would arrive and hitch up their horses. Slipping behind a supply tent, she waited patiently for them to emerge from the cloud of dust in the distance which the pounding hooves of their mounts had created.

The soldiers numbered five-and twenty and in their midst she now saw the familiar shape of Sloan with Valerian on his back. The sight of the haggard face of her master brought her to tears. He looked as though he had lived several lifetimes and experienced a visit to Hades and back. Even so, he was still the most handsome man  she had ever seen. It was all she could do to control her temper as she saw two of the men push him to the ground, laughing at his fall from power. With his chin held upward in defiance, Valerian would not be humbled, even though death awaited him at the end of this journey.

“What’s to be done with his property?” Meghan heard one of the soldiers ask, hping obviously that the centurion’s belongings would be drawn with lots.

“Can’t touch them until Severus comes back. That’s all I’ve been told. He’s to be kept in the prison tent, chained like an animal and guarded night and day until then.” The voice of the soldier could not hide his disappointment. It would be a long while until the tribune finished his duties in Northwest Britain and returned to Eboracum.

Meghan carefully noted the location of the prison tent. Under cover of night, she would pay her dear master a visit so that the two of them could decide how he was going to make his escape.

Ibu, she thought suddenly, remembering the black slave boy whom Valerian had also saved from Severus. Ibu will help me. He, too, owes his very life to my lord.

With a smile she made her way back to her quarters, secure in the knowledge that all was not yet lost.

It was a cloudy night and the moon was hidden from sight as Meghan hurried to the tent where Valerian was to be held prisoner. To blend with the night, she wore a dark cloak and had tucked her red-gold hair underneath the hood. At a sound behind her she ducked hurriedly behind a tent, but it was only one of the large wild dogs which roamed the camp scavenging for scraps of food. Reaching into her leather pouch she quickly fetched the beast a piece of lamb that she had stolen to bring to Valerian. Knowing how the prisoners were treated, she feared that he would not be given proper food.

“Here, take this and be quiet,” she whispered gently to the dog, which wolfed the piece of lamb down greedily and then came back for more. Anxiously Meghan threw another scrap some distance away so that the dog would have to chase after it.

Not five feet from where she stood a soldier stuck his head out of a tent. “So, it’s only that mangy hound again,” he said with a laugh, and went back inside.
Thankfully he had not noticed her.

Meghan waited several minutes before continuing on her journey. She did not want to be caught without an escort by one of these jackals called infantrymen, for she would be raped for sure. The entire camp would know by now that she was without a protector, and there would be no one to fight for her.

As she approached the prison tent she saw that, as usual, the soldiers on night duty were drinking and gambling just as she had hoped.  They were a small distance from the tent, intent on their dice so that they did not notice her. They had a fire going, which would make it nearly impossible for them to see anything beyond the ring of its light. Meghan carefully tugged at the flap of the tent, ducking underneath as quietly as she could. It was black as pitch inside, and she paused to let her eyes adjust, then crept slowly toward the voice she heard moaning softly in sleep. She knelt down beside the man, gently touching his shoulder.

“Valerian. Valerian, it is Meghan,” she whispered, “I have come to help you.”

She nearly screamed out in fear as a hand grabbed her wrist. Fear overcame her that this was not Valerian after all, but another man. Her breath caught in her throat as she struggled to her feet.

“Meghan, is it really you?”

“Yes, my lord, it is.” She sighed in relief. “Ibu and I are going to free you as soon as we can.”

“Free me? Oh, that you could.” His voice was toneless, as if he had given up hope. He did not sound like the Valerian she knew.

“Ibu has a way to get the key to these chains, and I will make provisions for your journey—food, weapons, clothing, and of course Sloan.”

Her presence, her words, seemed to bring him comfort. “Yes, I have to get away from here. I have to find out about her,” he went on in a near-delirium. “If she is alive or dead. I have to make her understand that it was not I. Not I….”

Meghan was confused by his words. What was he talking about? “You must escape and travel to Rome to seek help from your mighty king,” she replied sternly.

“Nero? He will take
Severus’ side. I fear I will get no help from him.” Valerian ran a hand over his dirty bearded face. But his father—perhaps if Severus’ treachery were known to his father’s friend, General Cassius Quintus, something could be done.

“Master, you must try. You cannot let them kill you! I will never care for another master as I do you. You have been so kind.” Valerians’s manner, his voice, spoke of his heartache and his grief. What had happened during the campaign to make him so listless? “If not for yourself at least try to escape for me and for Ibu. Redeem yourself for my sake, for if you do not, I will again be given to Severus.”

Valerian gently took her hand and held it firmly in his own. “That will never happen. You will never be given to that beast. Tomorrow I want you to bring me quill, ink, and parchment. I will arrange for my friend Burrus to protect you. No matter what happens to me, you will be safe with him and away from the evil hands of the tribune.”

Meghan lifted his hand to her cheek, where he could feel her tears. “Thank you for thinking of me, master, but you must also save yourself.”

He was touched by her loyalty. “I will do as you ask, little Meghan. I will go to Rome if it means so much to you, although I have little desire to stay in the legion after all that I have seen. First, however, I must go north again.”

She gasped. “But that is where Severus is. You will again be taken. Why must you do such a dangerous thing?”