Love's Blazing Ecstasy (30 page)

Chapter Forty-Three

Holding Sloan’s bridle in his hand, Valerian walked about the clearing as memories overwhelmed him. Here was the magical cave where he had first made love to Wynne, where they had been safe from prying eyes. He would rest the night in this haven and then with the dawn seek word of Wynne. He would have to be doubly cautious, for he well knew that Severus and his legion were still in the area, and capture would mean certain death.

Lying down on the hard ground without even a straw mattress or the soft grass to pillow him, Valerian sought sleep, but it was long in coming. His mind was tortured by the thought that perhaps he was too late to save Wynne. Yet his soul cried out that if this were true he would somehow know it, feel it in his heart. No, Wynne had to be alive.

The night seemed to be the coldest he had yet experienced on his rough journey, and he shivered, clutching his cloak tightly about him. He spent the night in relative comfort, dreaming of another time, a warm body pressed against his own.

When the first light streamed into the mouth of the cave, he opened his eyes. Squinting into the sunlight, he tried to remember all that Wynne had told him about the customs of her people. It was, to his reckoning, nearly the time for the feast of the
Samhain
, as she had called it, the autumn equinox. Soon the fires would be burning brightly on earth at the very time that the fire and heat of the heavens had begun to wane. If he was right in his timing, Severus would have his hands full trying to keep his new vassals in line, away from these fires and the influence of the Druids, who even beyond their graves would call upon the hearts of the Celts.

It is far easier to throw down idols than to destroy the inner force of the spirit
, Valerian mused. The sacred places of the ancient Celts might be invaded, altars and oak groves thrown down, priests slain, but the hearts of the people should still seek their gods and their freedom.

Valerian left the cave in search of his breakfast and found it—two small goose eggs which he ate raw, along with a handful of berries. In a nearby spring he sponged cold water over his body in a quick bath. If he were to find Wynne, he wanted to look his best. Thus refreshed and fed, he set out upon his quest.

From a vantage point on the hilltop, Valerian could see the Roman soldiers swarming around the village like bees around a hive, and cursed. How was he to enter the village with so many infantrymen around? His eyes searched for Wynne’s lodge. From so far away, it was difficult to tell which one it was.

All day long he stayed at his post, fearful lest he be detected by the eagle eyes of
the scouts. His heart ached for the plight of these proud people who had now been reduced to servitude. He could see women and children working hard, bending their backs to their Roman foes as they struggled to please them. He could see them flee at the first sight of the cavalry, screaming in fright at those who entertained themselves by frightening them with threats and abuse. Even the older villagers were forced to labor, stumbling on their frail legs as they went about their tasks. Valerian was not proud to be a Roman this day.

Searching in vain for sight of Severus, Valerian repeatedly saw the figure of a dark-haired woman walking about in her finery like a queen, gesturing and calling out loudly to the workers. Who is she? he wondered. He recalled Wynne’s description of her stepmother and wondered if it could be she. Dare he to hope? If  so, then it appeared that Wynne’s family was intact and had not been dealt with as harshly as the others.  His eyes scanned the area continuously, hoping for a glimpse of Wynne. Would she be among the workers, or perhaps working inside the lodge?

He could not take the chance on going down into the village, not yet. Still, if he could only talk with the dark-haired woman, perhaps he could find out Wynne’s whereabouts.

“If I have to wait here all night, all day, tomorrow, and the next, I will,” he said to himself.

That evening Valerian was rewarded for his patience. In the quiet darkness a mist came up, cloaking the earth in an eerie veil. Valerian quietly
made his way down the hill into the village.

Crawling on hands and knees, scarcely daring to breathe for fear of alarming the guards, Valerian crept closer, armed only with his sword and his cunning against an entire legion. He made his way to the lodge in the middle of the village, hoping that he would find Wynne safely sleeping inside. He would find her, we
d her, and return with her to Rome.

Sliding through the doorway of the small dwelling, Valerian slowly made his way past the strange fur-covered benches upon which
he had seen the figures of sleeping Celts when he had passed other dwellings. The light of the moon gave him aid as he searched for the familiar golden hair of the woman he had come so far to find. But he did not see her here. Was he in the wrong lodge? With disappointment he retraced his path, intent on leaving this dwelling and searching another.

A noise warned him of danger. Looking behind him, he found himself staring into the face of the dark-haired woman he had seen from afar. Armed w
ith a dagger, she had stolen upon him from behind. He met her eyes in surprised recognition, for who could forget that face!

“You!” he whispered in shock as she lunged toward him, intent on his death.

Valerian drew back to do
dge the fatal blow but the blade burned a ribbon of pain through his shoulder. Brenna turned to strike again, anger making her careless. He grabbed the wrist holding the weapon and twisted it behind her, holding her against him as a prisoner. The dagger fell to the floor, and with a quick kick of his foot Valerian sent it skidding across the room.

Struggling furiously, the woman threw herself at him, her free fist striking the wound in Valerian’s shoulder, sending a flash of pain through him. Fearful lest their fight rouse the others or that she
scream out for help, Valerian lashed out, his blow rendering her unconscious. With a thud she fell to the ground. Picking her up and flinging her over his uninjured shoulder, he quickly stole out into the night.

The fog was beginning to lift, and Valerian realized his danger, yet his only hope of finding Wynne lay in his questioning of this woman whom he knew to be the high priestess of the darkness cult which had nearly claimed his life.  He had gotten a clear look at her that night before she had stained her face with blue, but even so it was so hard to believe that she had been a member of Wynne’s tribe.

His shoulder burned unbearably as he dragged his prisoner along. He was losing blood from his wound, but his only thought was to get to the cover of the forest.  It was unfortunate that he would leave a trail of blood, but he was hopeful that his wound would stop oozing and once he regained his strength he could retrace his steps and seek to cover up the red trail so that it could not be used to follow him.

By the time he reached the edge of the village, the fog had all but drifted away. He would be visible to the
Roman guards unless he could find a place to hide or divert their attention. As if in answer to his prayers, a large stag came from out of nowhere, running in confusion into the throng of Romans. With shouts of challenge and laughter, the soldiers gave chase, each wanting to claim the trophy as his own. At that moment  Valerian summoned up a final surge of strength to pull both himself and the woman out of sight of the legion.

Ripping the leather laces from his boots, he bound the arms and legs of his still-unconscious captive, then used his baldric to secure her to a tree so that she would not be able to escape. Only then could Valerian see to his own welfare. Tearing frantically at the hem of his tunic, he at last staunched the flow of blood from his wound. His head whirled, and patches of black floated before his eyes as unconsciousness finally washed over him.

When Valerian awoke, the eyes of the dark-haired woman were upon him, blazing their anger. He struggled to sit up, not wanting her to realize how weak he was.

“It seems you are my prisoner,” he said with false bravado, putting his hand to his sword.

She snarled her defiance at him, pulling at her bonds. “Do you understand my language,” he asked, wondering at her silence. “If you answer my questions, I ma
y think about releasing you.” He moved toward her slightly, eyes boring into hers.

“I speak your language,” she answered finally.

“What is your name?” he asked, sensing the answer before it escaped her lips.

“Brenna, high priestess of the Celts,” she answered proudly. “I answer only to the tribune Severus. My power is great!”

So
, he thought,
she is already in league with Severus. I must watch her even more carefully than I thought.
“I remember you well. Once you held me prisoner and would have had me sacrificed had the gods not been merciful to me.”

“The gods had nothing to do with hit—only the interference of the girl took you from
me.” She spoke with such hatred of “the girl” that Valerian felt fearful.

“That ‘girl’ saved my life, and for that I will be eternally grateful,” he answered, trying to remain calm. “Are you the wife of the bard Adair?”

“His widow. He is dead, no longer the bard, no longer a Druid.”

“Dead? Adair is dead?” Sorrow for Wynne filled him.
He knew how much she had loved her father. “How…when did he die?”

“Your
Romans killed him. Yes, murdered a helpless man in his bed.” She shrugged. “And you slaughtered many of the tribesmen.” She couldn’t seem to keep the smile from her face. “Yet I have gained from their brutality, for now I have the power the Druids once possessed.”

“With the help of the tribune, no doubt. Well, I am not surprised. You are surely two of a kind.” His meaning was lost to her as she continued to smile.

“Someday they will be gone and I will rule my tribe,” she exclaimed proudly. “Women can rule better than men. A woman is wise, more cunning. Men—ha. All they think about is war and killing.”

Valerian rose to his feet but sat back down again as a wave of dizziness struck him. It was several moments before he could talk, for the pain from his wounded shoulder again stabbed through him. Looking up, he could see the dark eyes regarding him with triumph.

“You will die if you do not let me free. I can help you. I know of herbs which will heal you. Let me free and I shall help you,” she crooned to him.

Valerian shook his head violently. “I do not trust you. Why should I? You would have had me killed once before.”

“You have no choice,” she answered, staring at him as if to hypnotize him with her eyes.

“No! You will stay where you are. I cannot take the chance of your treachery.” Groaning, Valerian sank down on the ground to rest awhile and regain some of his strength. After a moment he sat up again and asked the question he had waited so long to ask. “Where is Wynne? Where is the daughter of your dead husband?”

“Gone,” she answered simply.

“Gone?” he repeated, his heart beating like a drum. “Gone where?” she did not answer him, merely smiled at him with malice. He struggled to get close to her, wanting to wring the answer from her if she did not tell him, yet not having the strength to do so. “Tell me, you evil
crone, where is she?”

A smile played about her lips.  She took a long time in answering, toying with him. At last she blurted out, “she is dead.”

“Dead?” The pain he felt at that moment was even worse than the pain from his wound.

“Yes, she is dead.”

Covering his eyes with his hands, Valerian swayed back and forth on his knees. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. The woman was lying. He fought his emotions. “But you said she was gone.”

“Gone to the land of death to await a new birth,” she answered.

The sob that tore from Valerian’s throat was such a mournful sound that even the heartless Brenna was stunned. Eyes filled with tears, he gave vent to his sorrow. How would he go on without her?

“How did she die?” he was finally able to ask.

“She was beheaded, as all those who refuse to give up the old gods are, and I am not sorry she was killed. I hated her.”

He could have strangled the woman there and then, but it would not bring Wynne back from the dead. Still, Brenna’s hatred of the woman he loved reminded him that this was his enemy, now even more than before.

“Who killed her?” As if he didn’t know, he thought.

“Severus, the tribune. He had her killed.”

He closed his eyes to the total devastation he felt. “When…when did she die?”

“A few days after our people were attacked by the
Romans,” she answered, enjoying his misery.

Heedless of his injury, Valerian rose to his feet, crazed with grief. “I will kill him. I will kill him!” he shouted, stumbling as he tried to walk back toward the village, but his weakened body could stand no more strain. Putting his hand up to his eyes to try and push away the black dots dancing before his eyes, he sank into the black pit of senselessness as he collapsed, the sound of sinister laughter ringing in his ears.