Love's Blazing Ecstasy (37 page)

“Tomorrow I will leave this place, she vowed, thinking perhaps she could
stay with Meghan and Burrus until these Romans had left. Valerian would never look upon her face, never be able to chide her with his scornful words, or tell her any more lies—never again in this life.

With the first rays of the sun Wynne was up and dressed, a cloak wrapped securely around her so that she would not freeze in the cold morning air. She had few possessions, so it did not take her long to gather them together in a small sack. With dismay she saw that there was a dusting of snow on the ground. How she longed for the warm shoes of her own people. Her feet would soon be wet and cold in these Roman sandals she had been forced to wear.

In a daze she walked to the door. There was so much she needed to think about to drive out the agony tearing her in two. Perhaps she would feel better when she was far away from Valerian. She pushed open the door, but a hand reached out from behind her and grasped her tightly by the arm.

“Are you trying to go somewhere, slave? Trying to escape? Does the thought of belonging to the tribune Valerian frighten you so much as that?” came an unfamiliar voice behind her. “I would think that he would be more desirable to a young woman like you than that old man you have slept with.”

Turning around slowly, Wynne met the eyes of a stranger. He was wearing a uniform different from any that she had seen so far, a short scarlet tunic covered by a breastplate emblazoned with a woman who seemed to have snakes coming from her head instead of hair. Wynne shuddered at the sight.

“Have you lost your tongue, woman?” the man asked, shaking Wynne by the shoulder. “You cannot leave. You are a slave, the property of the new tribune.” He reached for the bag that she held tightly to her breast. “Have you also been stealing from your master?”

She threw him a defiant look. “This sack is mine and carries my belongings. I would not steal from Roman dogs!”

The gray-haired man laughed. He admired her spirit. Too many slaves whimpered and cringed like animals. She might prove to be interesting. In a way, he envied Valerian this woman, who was no doubt a passionate lover. He wondered how Severus had been able to please her, for he knew at one glance that this beautiful woman had to bed the concubine.  There could be no woman as lovely this side of Rome.

“All right. I will believe you were not stealing, but I want to know why you were running away,” he said less harshly.

Wynne didn’t know what to do. No doubt anything she said would reach Valerian. She could not let him know how she feared that her own treacherous body would betray her and send her into his arms.

“I want to be free. I do not like slavery!” was all she could think to say. It was the truth.

Cassius Quintus chuckled. “No slave does, young woman, but that is the way of the world. The strongest enslave the weakest. It is for the good of the empire.”

“I am not weak. It was by treachery that I was enslaved,” she answered hotly. She stood looking at him with her shoulders back and her chin up. “Severus is an evil man!”

In spite of himself, Cassius Quintus felt a flash of pity for this young beauty. He had heard of the brutality of the tribune. Undoubtedly she had suffered perverse and twisted sexual acts while under Severus control.

“So I have heard, but you will not have to worry about Severus any longer. In my wisdom and kindness I have given you to the new tribune.”

“New tribune?” she asked, her eyes wide with surprise. It could not be true. The gods would not be so cruel as to deliver her into the hands of her enemy…..

“Valerian Quillon Tullius. A handsome, virile young man, not an aging fool like your former owner. That should please you.” He smiled and gently tipped her face up to look into her eyes, wondering why he had such a strong impulse to please her, this mere slave. But the look he read there was not one of gratitude.

“No, no,” Wynne was whispering, horrified at her new plight.

Cassius Quintus turned his back on her, puzzled by her behavior. Was the girl weak-minded? It would be sad if that were so. She was so very beautiful.

“It will be up to your new master to determine your punishment for trying to run away,” the general said. “I would suggest that you go and make yourself beautiful for him and hope that he finds it in his heart to be merciful. If he decides that he does not want you, I will send you with Sevrus to the land far across the ocean where the sun bakes all the moisture from your skin until you are old before your time.” He left her, tired of talking and anxious to find some breakfast. He would put a guard on the Celtic woman. She must not be allowed to get away.

Wynne walked back to her room, fervently praying to her gods for strength. She felt thoroughly shamed, her slavery a bitter draught to drink. Must she now bear this humiliation also. It was true that she had hated Severus and did not want to go with him to that hot land the stranger had spoken of, but was the alternative to live out  her tortured days with Valerian until he tired of her?

Hurriedly she made her way to bed, burying herself among the blankets like a caterpillar in its cocoon. She tried to cry but the soothing tears would not come. “I will not bed him. I will not let him make of me his whore.” She would fight him just as fervently as she had Severus.

Even if he whipped her and starved her, she would not submit meekly to Valerian. She had given him his life twice now. She did not owe him anything more. To let him know she loved him would give him the means to destroy her. Soon he would make her his concubine before all, submissive to his every desire. She could not let him further debase her.

“No matter how much I love him, and I do,” she sobbed, “he must never know.”

Valerian awoke with a start, his heart beating wildly. He had been dreaming of Wynne, despite having thought that he was finally over the tragedy of her death.  Was she then to invade his dreams as she had once invaded his heart?

In the dream she stood before him dressed in virginal white, her long blond hair flying about her shoulders. She had started toward him with a look of ecstasy on her face, calling out his name softly. But as soon as she had gotten near him she had started to scream, fighting him and trying to escape, as if he were some sort of demon.

“So you are finally awake, eh?” Cassius called from the doorway. “I thought surely you would sleep the day away. Your days away from soldiering have made you soft.”

“You should have awakened me.”

Cassius laughed. “No, sleep while you can. In a few weeks it will be early to bed and early to rise again.” He started to leave the room, but turned back. “Severus’ concubine tried to run away. I caught her at the door early this morning..”

“Run away?”

“I hadn’t told her that you were to take Severus’ place as her master yet, so don’t feel too slighted. Still, she must have had some reason for wanting to get away.” Cassius shook his head in puzzlement.

“Perhaps
Severus gave her to his guests but she fears that I will not want her.”

Cassius looked deep into his eyes. “If you do not want her, then you are either blind or a fool. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on, and I have traveled the world for many years and looked upon many lovely women.”

Valerian felt an odd sense of excitement rise within him. “She is that beautiful?” he breathed.

“Yes, enough so to nearly make me want to break my word to you and take her myself. However, lovely or not, I would suggest that you summon her to see you as soon as you are up and about. If this sort of thing is not punished immediately, you will no doubt have a slave revolt on your hands. She must be punished to set an example.”

Putting a hand to his tousled hair, Valerian shook his head. “I do not like to punish women,” he said, feeling a twinge of sympathy. To be a slave must surely be a terrible experience, especially for a woman. He would be gentle with her no matter what she had done, although he would chide her.

“I do not like to lay a hand on a woman in punishment either, but these Celts….well, the bastards have to learn their place as conquered people and you cannot let this woman be immune from your wrath.” With this said, he strode through the door, leaving Valerian scowling behind him.

“Thus I am to have a beautiful, spirited woman on my hands after all. Well, she will soon learn to obey my words.” He arose from the bed to start the new day with a surge of exhilaration.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

The splendor of the morning sun streamed into the courtyard as Wynne
looked into the silver mirror. What would Valerian think of her? Would he find her changed? Would he still desire her? Would he lie to her again and tell her he loved her, or would he shun her now that she was no longer necessary to win his victory?

Wynne set about the task of making herself presentable, knowing that Valerian would call her to him today. She had taken the suggestion of the stranger and dressed in her finery: a rich golden stola adorned her slim figure, and her hair was done up in its false curls. She wore a gold necklace around her throat.  Though she did not like pain
ting her face, she had outlined her eyes in kohl and painted her lips as the Roman women did. If she must act the part of his whore, she would look the part as well.

“The master summons you,” a young male slave said from the doorway.

Turning from her mirror, she followed him, her heart in her throat. They entered the atrium and then went up a narrow hallway to a reception room. Somehow Wynne forced her trembling legs to support her. At the open doorway she paused, her heart beating rapidly. Valerian stood with his back to her. She had forgotten how wide his shoulders were, how trim his waist.

“Why did you seek to run away from me?” he asked, still without turning. “I will not punish you this time, but if it happens again, I assure you I will have to do so.”

“You can never keep me here willingly. Every chance I get, I will try to escape from you—you…you Roman.” She spat the words in a raw whisper.

“So I see we must begin as foes,” he said, turning around to face her. “I must…..”  It was as if all the blood drained out of his body, as if he had been struck in the chest with a large fist. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t say anything but, “no!”

By the gods, she looked so like Wynne. She was a vision, a man’s dream. The gold of her gown set off her wide blue eyes and fine complexion, her hair golden in the sunlight, a cluster of curls atop her head. It was not fair for another woman to look so like her and haunt him with things that might have been.  He tried to talk but he was speechless before this golden beauty.

Wynne’s legs went weak, she was dizzy. She feared that she would shame herself by collapsing in a faint at his feet.  She waited for him to say something but all he did was stare and that in itself was unnerving.  Why didn’t he at least tell her he was sorry for killing her father? For bringing the entire sky down around her ears.  So many thoughts whirled through her head that her mind was a muddle, still she strove to maintain her composure, smiling stiffly in mock greeting.

“So we meet again,” she breathed.

“Meet again?” He closed his eyes and then opened them, expecting to see another woman standing there.  But the golden beauty stood there as still as a statue.  “Wynne?” His voice whispered the question he dared not believe, yet in the next instant he knew it to be her. Somehow the gods had worked a miracle.  Or had it been her gods? “Wynne, is it really you!” For a moment their gazes locked in silence.

She started toward him, but memory rose up like a wall between them—his treachery, her father’s death. Her eyes turned cold as her expression filled with scorn and her heart turned to stone.

“By the gods. It is you.” He hurried to her and gathered her into his arms, holding her stiff body close to his own. The gods had brought her back to him, back to his arms. It seemed to have been an eternity since he had kissed her and held her close.

“Yes,” was all she said, her mouth muffled against his neck.

“You are even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said softly.  His emotions were soaring.  He had never been so elated in all his life.  “I have missed you more than you will ever know.”

He started to kiss her, but she struggled free from his embrace. “You missed me, Roman?” She shook her head.  “No. Words are meaningless. It is deeds that tell the story.”

He didn’t know how to react to her coldness towards him, her obvious resentment. “I thought you dead!” he said, thinking that she was angry because he had not made contact with her.

“The woman you knew once
is
dead,” she replied.

It suddenly dawned on him that she was speaking perfect Latin with little trace of an accent, not the halting words of someone who was unfamiliar with the language. “You have learned my language well,” he said.

“We slaves have been taught well,” she said bitterly.

She must think that I betrayed her people that blood-filled night
, he thought. How would he ever show her the truth? But she must believe him, after all they had shared; their love would show her the truth. Love was a healing emotion.