Love's Blazing Ecstasy (17 page)

“To the clearing!” he called out, giving his horse free rein and easing up behind her. He was proud of the way Wynne and her horse seemed to move as one. He was struck anew by his daughter’s power and skill. Man or woman, there was none her equal.

“What a warrior you would have made,” he shouted.  “I am bursting with pride for having sired such a lovely and determined daughter!”

Wynne felt immortal on
Tara’s back as she rode like the wind, laughing and looking over her shoulder as she outdistanced her father. Challenging herself and determined to give her father a better chance to keep in the race, she changed her route and went the longer way, guiding Tara over fallen logs and boulders, making certain that the horse did not endanger herself. Galloping on and on, she rode faster and faster.

“Catch me if you can!” she called out.

Adair came within a length of his daughter, urging his horse to go even faster. He could not lose without a fight.  What’s more, the race made him feel younger.  “Do not be too sure of yourself.”

“Why not….?”

Deciding upon the shorter route, Adair called out, “You have not won….yet…”

So engrossed was Adair in watching Wynne that he did not see the snarl of roots, vines, spears and nets which loomed in his path—a trap! His horse stumbled and Adair felt himself falling to the ground. With a cry of pain he hit the earth like a star fallen from the sky, succumbing to the darkness which descended upon him, as if it was a gift from the gods to spare him any more agony.

Wynne turned, meaning to goad her father with her victory, but to her alarm could not see him anywhere. Had he given up so easily? That was not his way. Troubled by visions in her mind’s eye she felt a sudden sense of  panic, racing back through the maze of pathways, her eyes searching for him. When at last she saw him lying on the ground, as still as someone dead, her heart constricted in her chest.

“Father!” she screamed out, leaping from her horse and coming to his side.  He looked so pale, so still. Hastily she bent down and put her ear to his chest, remembering his words about death only moments before. Had he had a premonition of his own end?

Forcing herself to remain calm, she quieted and could then hear the faint pounding of his heartbeat. Giving thanks to the gods and goddesses for his life, she examined her father with probing hands, noticing the blood trickling from his head. Tearing off a piece of cloth from the sleeve of her gown, she carefully bound his wound.

“Father. Wake up!” she entreated him. “Please, open your eyes!” She scolded herself for having caused this accident. Had she not been so vain, so anxious to show off her horsemanship, her father would not now be lying here like this—hurt, broken, bleeding.”

Looking over her shoulder to see what might have caused the accident, Wynne’s line of vision caught sight of the man-made pile of nets, spears, roots, and vines, an obvious entanglement meant to cause trouble.  Suspicion goaded her into thinking that it was a trap that had been set up for
her
!  And she knew who was to blame—the same person or persons who had killed the giant.

“Oh, Father. I’m sorry, so sorry,” she sobbed, letting her tears fall freely. She pressed her face c
lose to Adair’s, wetting his cheeks with her tears. Was it the feel of those tears that finally caused him to regain consciousness? Struggling, he managed to open his eyes and look up at her.

“Wynne,” he called out, so weakly that she could barely hear him.

“Father,” she murmured, stroking his face with her hand.

“The..the pain…” he moaned, closi
ng his eyes to torment. “My arms…my back….”

Wynne knew that she must get him back to his hearth, for she had no healing herbs with her, yet she was fearful of putting him on her horse and risking further injury to him. And she could not leave him alone out here at the edge of the forest with the wild animals prowling about, or even worse yet, the members of
the darkness cult roaming around.

She had to think clearly. Then it came to her—when Cedric had been wounded in the battle with warring neighbors the Brigantes, he had been brought home on a litter fashioned from leather and wood. She would have to do the same now for her father, for his life depended upon her skills.

Slipping his sword out of his scabbard, she hacked feverishly at two straight tree limbs which would serve her purpose: then she removed her linen underskirt which was held up by a drawstring, stretching it tautly over the makeshift braces and fashioning a sort of litter.

Soothing her father with her words, she struggled to put him on this contraption, being careful lest she injure him more.

“My legs…..Wynne. I cannot fell my legs,” he groaned.

“You’ll be all right, Father. I promise you,” she answered, trying to hide her own emotions from him. She could not stand seeing her strong, powerful father so helpless.

She had been so busy with her father that she had not taken notice of his horse, but she did so now.  It’s leg was broken.  As she came closer she could hear its soft shrieks of agony. Bending down she swiftly slit the animal’s throat to end its misery, the blood flowing on the ground like a sort of sacrifice.

Hurrying back to her father’s side she tied the litter to
Tara’s harness to begin the journey back toward their village. She stopped along the way only once to gather some herbs to ease her father’s pain.

It was a slow, agonizing trip back to the lodge. She could see that her father was in misery, yet he never once cried out.

When at last they arrived back before the hearth of their people, Wynne hastened to bring the Druids with their healing hands, who finally quenched the fire raging in her father’s tortured frame.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Wynne was by her father’s side morning and night as he struggled to live. She soothed him with poultices as well as with soft words, and administered her herbs—rosemary for the pain in his head and yarrow for the fever which had taken hold of him the night of the accident—but there was little she could do for his
uncertainties and worries, for Adair had no feeling from the waist down. The Druids had visited the lodge with their remedies and prayers, but it appeared that Adair was to spend the rest of his years confined to his bed.

Wynne tortured herself with blame for her father’s condition because she was convinced that the snare that had caused her father’s horse to stumble and fall, had been meant for her. She wished over and over again that she could control time and return again to that day of their race knowing what she knew now so that the tragedy could be averted.

“I will never leave you, Father,” she vowed. Even were Valerian to return for her, she now knew that although she could love him, give him freely of her body, she would never leave her father. She would spend the rest of her life by his side. She knew Adair would do the same for her.

Loyalty to Adair was not something Brenna exhibited, however. At first she had been full of concern for her husband, seeing to his every need like a dutiful wife, but as it became apparent that Adair would never walk again, she began to spend so much time away from the lodge that Wynne suspected that she had a lover.

Let her stay away forever. I could hardly care,
Wynne thought. But seeing the hurt in her father’s eyes, knowing that he too suspected Brenna of infidelity, Wynne’s heart went out to him. There was nothing that could be done to censor Brenna, for if a husband could not please his wife, it was her right to go elsewhere. Still, Wynne could not help the scorn that flowed from her lips after Brenna returned one night.

“You are foul! My father is tied to his bed while his loving wife plays the whore,” she said scathingly.

Brenna’s eyes flashed with hatred for her stepdaughter. “And what would you have me do? Sleep in my bed alone? That I will never do. It is not my fault that I am now tied to a helpless invalid—a man whose manhood can no longer pleasure me!”

Putting her hand over her stepmother’s mouth, Wynne tried to keep her father from overhearing them argue. She would do anything to shelter him from the woman’s cruel words—anything. “Quiet. Or by the gods, I will not be responsible for my actions,” she warned.

But Brenna would not be stilled, as she vented her anger and self-pity. “Who is to hunt for us? We will have to depend on the charity of the tribe.”

Wynne shook her head vehemently. “No. I will do the hunting. I am as skilled as my father in bringing down the deer and boar.”
It was a boast that she knew she would have to honor.

Brenna gave a harsh laugh. “You? You” So your wish is granted and you become your father’s son after all!” She put her hands upon her ample hips and snarled. “Well, I will not be dependent on you for my food. I will go elsewhere. To another lodge.”

“No! You cannot do that!” Wynne was well aware of what such an insult would do to her father’s pride. He would have no will left to live were such a thing to happen. Brenna was his wife, and even though Wynne would have liked to see the last of Brenna, she would never allow her father to be hurt in that way.

“Oh, can’t I?” Brenna replied with a cold smile.

If hatred could poison someone, Wynne knew the loathing she felt for Brenna at that moment would surely kill her. “If you ever leave, you will have me to answer to,” Wynne said fiercely.
You are as self-centered as the earth, knowing that the sun and moon  encircle you
, she thought.  But she knew her father cared deeply for his wife. “Have you no pity at all, no love in your heart for my father?”

Brenna laughed cruelly. “Better for me that he had died from his fall. At least then I would be a widow and free to marry again, and not be tied to a useless lump of flesh and bones.”

Wynne felt as if she would explode.  She could no longer control her temper and lashed out, striking her stepmother full across the face, sending her reeling across the floor.

“You will never speak that way of my father again. Do you understand?” she said menacingly. “Say what you want to me. Do as you will. But at least show a little decency and kindness to my father or you will regret it.” With that, Wynne turned on her heel and walked out the door, seek
ing the night air to cool her flushed face.

“You will pay for this. You will pay,” Brenna hissed beneath her breath as she watched her husband’s daughter leave. “I will see that I have my revenge. I swear it to be so.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Valerian and his men stood at the far side of the forest. It had been a long and difficult journey through mud, over hills, and through rivers, but the god, Mars had guided them and the goddess Minerva had guarded their steps. Now Valerian had the strange sensation that he was home, that this was where he belonged—here with Wynne. If only they could be alone together and shut out the rest of the world.  But for the time being that was only a dream.

“Centurion, are we to rest and make camp here for the night, or move onward?” he heard Burrus ask.

“We will make camp here.
The men can wash off the dirt of the road in the river. It can’t compare with the bathhouses in Aquae, but for now it will have to suffice.”

Taking off his bronze-crested helmet, armor and the rest of the garments, Valerian was the first to take advantage of the water
, wading out into a part of the river where the current was slow and the rocks had formed a pool.  Though he was usually quick about such personal grooming while soldiering, he spent an inordinate amount of time, remembering his first sight of Wynne’s lovely body that day by the lake.  Soon, if all went as he planned, he would be with her again and the thought sent waves of desire coursing through his body.

“It’s beautiful here.”

As Burrus came up behind him, Valerian sank deeper in the water to try and get his amorous thoughts of Wynne under control.  “It is.  I can only hope that through my efforts we can see that it remains beautiful.”

“How long will we make camp?” Burrus
likewise submerged himself, sitting in the water as he splashed water on his face and hair, then wiped his eyes.

“A day or two. I have someone I must talk with before we go any farther.” Valerian
dunked his head in the water and came up sputtering.  It felt so good to be clean again after the long trek.

“Shall I go with you?” Burrus’
s voice sounded eager, his youthful desire for adventure underscoring his words.

“No!” Valerian answered quickly.  “This is a journey I must make alone. I ask only that you attune your ears for my signal—if there is any trouble, you may have to come to my aid.” As Burrus raised his brows in alarm he added, “however, I do not foresee such a necess
ity.” He gave Burrus a friendly slap on the back. “You have been a great help to me. I shan’t forget it.”

“But you can’t go alone.
”  Burrus followed Valerian as he stood up and trudged through the water to the shore. “Remember the last time? What if you should fall into enemy hands?”