Love's Blazing Ecstasy (43 page)

Burrus opened his eyes, mumbling beneath his breath.  Putting her ear to his mouth she heard him say “Meghan…I must see her.”

“Lie still, my dear friend,” she answered, binding his wound.

He struggled to get up but was too weak from loss of blood. “Meghan..so much…to..to say to her.”

Wynne was able to keep him quiet with her promise.  “I will see that she is brought to your side, but for now you must save your strength.”

“That monster Severus. Oh, that I had killed him long ago,” Valerian mourned, anxious about Burrus’ wellbeing.

“It is too late to speak of what-ifs, tribune,” Cassius said quietly. “What is done is done. We must now guard Burrus’ life and see that no more tragedy comes from this day.” He motioned to the household slaves to carry Severus and the other fallen soldiers away to await proper burial, or if they were alive to a room in the villa to be tended to and then imprisoned.

Valerian and Cassius gently lifted Burrus and carried him to a bedchamber. Wynne again examined his wound carefully, issuing orders like a general. “I must have the herbs now! Whatever you can find,” she snapped.

The myrrh and other herbs were brought quickly and Wynne used the oak bark and Shepherd’s Purse to staunch the flow of blood, but the slaves who were not Celtic, were confused at the mention of golden seal—a healing root for the wound. Wynne realized she had called it by its Celtic name. “The root is called yellow paintroot or eyeroot,” she said, seeking the Latin name. She described it in detail, her heart thumping wildly as she fought against time. Burrus was now pale as death, and she feared for him.

An old woman stepped forward. “It is ground raspberry that you seek,” she said. “I will find some for you.” She hurried away, soon returning with what Wynne sought
.

Wynne steeped the myrrh and the golden seal in boiling water and washed the wound carefully in this solution.  She again bound the wound with clean linen when she was through cleansing it, having sprinkled a little of the powdered golden seal on the wound itself.

She stroked Burrus’ forehead as he fell into a healing slumber. Turning to Valerian she said, “There is no more that I can do here for the time being. I will ride to bring back Meghan. She is the best medicine he can have.”

“Let me go with you,” Valerian whispered, fearful lest she run into any danger.

“No. I can travel faster alone. Sloan will carry Meghan and me back—and I shall be careful,” she promised.

Within minutes she was off like the wind to Burrus’ villa. Everywhere, she could see the mixture of Roman and Celtic culture as she rode. The city had paved and drained streets, forums, basilicas, temples, houses with stone foundations and tiled roofs, public baths where
a hundred could bathe at once. And through the city were statutes of Roman gods entwined with Romanized Celtic goddesses.

Burrus’ villa was made of wood and smaller than Valerian’s. Jumping from Sloan’s back, she ran to the door, little thinking what a fearsome sight she made, her pale blue stola covered with blood, her hair in disarray.

The slave at the front door drew back in shock when she saw her. “Go away. Go away,” the woman shrieked. “Help me. Help me. A heathen.” The door was firmly closed in her face.

In answer Wynne pounded the wooden door. “I must speak with Meghan. I must!”

The door was opened a crack and the woman looked out again. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice rasping.

“Tell Meghan that Wynne is here to see her. And hurry, please. Burrus has been wounded and is asking for her.”

When the door opened again, Meghan was standing there.  “What has happened to Burrus?” Seeing the blood soaking Wynne’s garments, she stifled a scream.

“He has been wounded,” Wynne answered, grabbing her hand. “We have no time to talk. Come!”

Nearly as soon as Wynne reined in Sloan behind the villa, Meghan was off and running toward the courtyard, her red-gold hair tumbling about her shoulders. Wynne turned Sloan over to a  slave and followed her.

Meghan was flushed, her jade eyes wide with the fear that she would be too late. Through the chamber door they could see the bent figure of a white-haired Roman wearing the green toga of a physician.

“My Lord Burrus!” Meghan cried, rushing toward the pillowed couch where he lay and burying her face in his tunic.

Awake now, Burrus reached for her, wincing in pain as he held her to him.

“Don’t die. Don’t leave me. Please, Burrus,” she cried, “I love you. I love you so.”

How he wished he had made this lovely girl into a woman. Why had he been so foolish and noble, when they had both wanted to belong to each other in soul and in flesh.

“He will live,” said the physician sternly. “Although I must tell you that the wound in his chest came very near to his heart.” He regarded Meghan appraisingly. “Are you the woman who bound his wound?”

“No, I was,” Wynne said softly.

“Even I could not have done better. The wound is clean, without even a sign of the illness which comes of a blade thrust. Where did you learn your healing art?”

“From my father.”

“Was he a physician, then?”

“No, he was a Druid!” she answered proudly. For just a moment it was as if her father was in the room.  Perhaps in spirit he was.

“Ah, yes. I have often heard of the wonders of their magic and herbs. There is much you could teach me about healing. Too often our methods are useless,” he said with a scowl. “
Rome has learned much from others, but I fear there is still much to be learned.” He turned to give Meghan instructions on Burrus’ care.

Wynne could feel the strong arms of Valerian around her waist and leaned back to rest her head against him. The knowledge that Burrus would live was a balm to her soul, and to his.

“You have been through so much today,” he whispered. “yet as always you amaze me with your strength and wisdom. What a lucky man I am to have you. As beautiful as Venus and as wise as Minerva, with the healing touch of your earth goddess..all rolled into one.”

“No woman has ever had a man as kind, gentle and handsome as you, my love. I am the fortunate one.”

His lips brushed her hair and she could feel a flash of desire run through her. Together they walked out into the courtyard. As they walked, Wynne’s smile faded. “So Severus is dead—I am avenged. But I still wonder who killed my father.”

Valerian had his suspicions. “I have found out where Brenna is housed,” he said. “Perhaps now is the time to find out the truth once and for all.”

She nodded. “Yes, I must know, for only then can I be truly content.” She reached up and put her arms around him, drawing him close. Her lips were soft and sweet as they mingled with his. “Perhaps when all this is over I can then give you my whole heart.”

“Then let us put an end to this right away.  I’ll go with you. I too have a score to settle with that witch!”

“All right,” she agreed. “I have need of your strength and your comfort. Together we are much stronger than when we are apart.” 

Together they made ready for the final confrontation, the one which would remove once and for all the last wall between them.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Wynne and Valerian were ushered to a small dank stone cell when they came in search of the slave named Brenna. The guard eyed them warily.

“Why do you want to see her?” he asked. “She is touched, that one.”

“There is something I must know, and only she can tell me,” Wynne answered, pulling her cloak tightly to her to ward off the dampness of the room.

“She is dangerous. Already killed one guard. She should be safely in the underworld, where she belongs!” Grumbling, he pointed toward a barred corner which was more like a cage than a cell. “There she is,” he said.

Holding on to Valerian’s arm, Wynne walked over to the cage-like structure, which was only big enough for a person to sit. She had seen wild beasts treated better than this. Huddled in the corner was the figure of a woman muttering to herself in Celtic. Her hair was matted and filthy, lice abounding in the dark tangles.

“Brenna? Brenna, is that you?”  Despite all the hurt this woman had caused Wynne felt pity for her.

At the sound of her name, the woman turned, and Wynne gasped in shock. The creature that stared back at her with glazed eyes looked like the mask of death. There was hardly a trace of Brenna’s former beauty.

“The darkness that falls is heavy with light. The powers of hate are no longer strong,” she babbled to herself.

It was terrible to see her like this. Wynne shuddered. No matter what this woman had done—even if she herself had killed Adair— nothing made her deserve this punishment from the gods. 

“Brenna. Brenna. It is Wynne. Look at me. Look at me!” she cried.

“Life kills…the earth is shattered by too much light,” the woman crooned, rocking back and forth on her knees.

“She is hopeless, Wynne,” Valerian whispered, feeling pity for the soulless woman. He drew Wynne back, intent on leaving this foul-smelling place.

“No. Not yet. Brenna. Brenna,” she called again.

At last the bedraggled woman turned to her, her eyes clearing for a moment. “You look like the daughter of Adair!” Brenna croaked. “But you are dead…
.dead…I myself saw that you were condemned to death.” A burst of laughter  came from her cracked lips. “I turned you in as a Druid priestess.”

So it had been Brenna who had nearly destroyed her life.

“Strong and fierce are the wolves of the dark world,” Brenna rambled on. “They rush on and tear at our flesh…be strong…be strong….power will win all…sons of the darkness…daughters of Domnu…arise!”

Wynne shook the bars in an effort to quiet the woman’s ranting. The crazed eyes met hers. The face covered with dirt smiled. She held up her hand in greeting, and with shock Wynne could see that it had been severely burned.

“No doubt Severus’ punishment,” Valerian exclaimed. “No wonder the woman is insane. He was a tyrant.”

“As well I know,” Wynne breathed. Taking a deep breath she closed her eyes and spoke the word “Adair.”  She clanked on the bars once more when she saw the name got Brenna’s attention. “What happened to my father?”

“Adair…Adair….Adair…” the woman chanted. She wiggled her head as if in rhythm to some unearthly music, then suddenly stopped and faced Wynne again. “Dead. He is dead.”

“How do you know?” Wynne persisted.

“I killed him. My husband. Adair is dead.” Piercing laughter cut through the semi-darkness of the cell. “I killed him with the Roman’s sword.” Again the laughter. “My revenge as complete you see.”

Valerian reached out to gather Wynne into his embrace. “I thought as much. No doubt she used my sword to further hurt you and draw suspicion from herself.  She is even more wicked than I suspected.” Not waiting for any chance for Wynne to object, he drew her away from the cell and soon they were again outside breathing in the fresh air.

“Brenna murdered him. I should have know.  I should have had more faith in you. Wynne put her arms around his waist and hugged him.  “How often did she tell me that she was tired of being tied to a man who was confined to his bed.”

“Hush, now. It is all over. From now on we will be together, and I swear to you that no one will ever part us again.” Seeing a smudge of dirt on her face, he gently wiped it clean with his thumb, then cupped her face in his hands. Her lips tasted salty from her tears as he kissed her, and with his warm scalding kisses he melted them away.

“Come!” he said, putting his arm around her waist. “It is time to go home.”

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Wynne was completely spent by the time she and Valerian arrived back at the villa. It was as if all the months of pent-up pain and hurt had spilled forth like the waters of the ocean at high tide.

“You must try to forget all that has happened, “ Valerian said gently, kissing her with all the tenderness of his heart and soul. Yet even Valerian’s kisses did not seem to waken her from her lethargy. It was as if she were somewhere else at that moment, another place, another time.

“If only I had realized that she was capable of doing such a foul deed. If only I had stayed with my father that day. I should have sensed somehow that she might seek to do him harm. Indeed she once told me that his death would bring her freedom.”

“You saw no such evil in her because there is no evil in you. We can only torture ourselves by trying to relive the past.” Valerian picked her up in his arms. “We have the future to think of now,” he said, making for Wynne’s sleeping chamber. “I am going to put you to bed. You are exhausted.”

Valerian ignored her protests and took her to the chamber and placed her on the bed. She looked up at him asking, “what if I had killed you? Avenged myself upon you?” The idea made her shudder, and she prayed silently to her gods for staying her hand that day when Valerian had returned to Britain from Rome.