Love's Blazing Ecstasy (18 page)

Using a length of linen  to towel himself dry, Valerian held the other man’s eyes with his own. “This is something I must do. I must take the chance. The one I am to see, I would trust with my life. Indeed, she once saved this sunburned hide of mine from being burned by a different fire. I
will
go alone.” Hurriedly he got dressed before he had to say more.

Burrus looked at him with surprise.  “A woman? No wonder you do not want me tagging along.” His expression seemed to say, “so the brave centurion is not immune to the powers of Venus.”

“It is not what you think so wipe that smile off your face.”  Ah, but it was. He could lie to Burrus but not to himself.  Without even a backward glance he put his hand on his sword, flung his red cloak over his shoulder like a royal robe and started off through the forest.  He didn’t take note of the hero worship in Burrus’s eyes as the young soldier stared after the imposing figure walking beside the magnificent black horse.

Although he had left the camp looking confident, as Valerian walked he was assailed by worries. It was not as simple as he had made it sound. How would he find Wynne? How was he to speak with her without making himself vulnerable to the warriors of her tribe who undoubtedly had heard about the destruction and death the soldiers of
Rome had brought down upon the Celts? Dare he hope that she would be at the cave, that secret hiding place where he had first possessed her beautiful body?

“Sloan, we must hope that your mistress will sense my thoughts and be there to meet us.” he said to the horse. As if in answer, the horse snorted and shook his head no.

“And so we know your answer, Sloan.” He laughed. “Well, I will dare to imagine that you are wrong, that my lovely golden-haired goddess will indeed be there.

Wynne shaded her eyes from the midday sun with one hand, while in the other she tightly clutched her spear and worked her way through the foliage in search of her prey. She had always abhorred the killing of deer, for it was such a graceful and beautiful creature, but now it was her duty to do so. She had vowed to Brenna that she would keep the lodge well provided with food and she was determined to keep her word.

A rustle in the undergrowth behind her nearly unnerved her. Whirling around, she saw that it was only a
weasel, also in search of its dinner.  She laughed at her fears. “Fine hunter I am, frightened out of my wits by such a harmless animal.”

Again she scoured the bushes for sign
s of her quarry. Her pulse quickened as she caught a glimpse of a small buck ducking into the undergrowth ahead of her. Clutching her spear and holding it out from her body, she scurried after the animal, mentally thanking her father for suggesting that she wear his
braccae
instead of her gown under her tunic so that she would be more agile. Even so, the animal led her a merry chase through the forest. But when she paused briefly to catch her breath, the buck eluded her. Disappointed, and yet half-relieved, she sat down upon the hard ground to plan anew.

She reached up to adjust her pointed cap, which held her long flowing golden locks secure. This, too, was her father’s suggestion, partly to make it easier for her to hunt and partly as a disguise. Adair had tried to talk her out of her resolve to go hunting, but she had remained firm, insisting that she enjoyed the challenge. At last he had given his approval on the condition that she dress like a man.
 

Looking about her, she could see that she was not far from her childhood hideaway. It had been so long since she had been able to visit the cave.  Now as she approached she was assailed by memories of Valerian and the time they had spent together. It all seemed so long ago. Life was so different now. Putting her hands to her face, she sat on a rock and gave in to her tears, not for herself but for her father. She had tried to be so brave in front of him, but now that she was alone, she could not control the flood of emotions.

When at long last she had spent her grief, she got up, determined to renew her search for deer. “I will never shed tears again,” she vowed. “I will not give in to this womanly weakness. I will be strong, for my father and for myself.” Somehow her own words were a comfort to her, thought she knew that it would be a difficult promise to keep.

Wynne set out again on the trail of the buck, pausing from time to time to watch and to listen. Once she thought she heard the sound of horses’ hooves in the distance, yet her people seldom rode their horses out this far.

“I’m imagining things!” she scolded, moving onward through the woods.

A sound up ahead of her in the foliage told her that her quarry was nearby. Indeed, she could see the tip of the buck’s horns, hear his very breath. Taking careful aim, she let the spear take flight, racing off to the spot where the deer would be lying. She had a feeling of pride at her first kill, mixed with sorrow for the animal. But it would live again. Life was everlasting.

Wynne stepped through the bushes, her eyes searching for the wounded buck. She would put it out of its misery quickly so that it would not have to suffer. Such were the laws of her people. She could see no trace of the animal, however, and so she stepped back—confused.

A hand grabbed at her from behind, clutching at her, grasping, pulling her down to the ground and Wynne’s fear returned full force remembering the darkness cult. Taking a deep breath she calmed herself, then fought—biting, scratching, and flailing out at her attacker.  She looked up expecting to find the hulking man who had tried to subdue her once before, but it was not he.

Wynne let out a gasp as her eyes beheld her assailant. The armor gleamed in the sun, as did the sword poised to strike her. The creature’s head looked like a huge bird with its horsehair crest and the glittering cheek pieces. She could not see the face, but she imagined it to be cruel and savage—one of the hated Romans.

A scream bubbled from her mouth in terror as she sought her escape.

“So, you young savage. You try to murder me as you tried to do last time,” she heard a voice that she recognized say. Eyes wide with disbelieve, she stared up at her captor.

“Valerian?” she whispered, not daring to believe her senses. Their eyes met and held.

Bending down, he gently lifted her up. “By the gods, Wynne. I might have killed you!” He was trembling all over from the shock of seeing her beneath his sword. “I would have died a thousand deaths if I had hurt you.”

She reached up and tugged at her hat, releasing her hair to fall down upon her shoulders in a cascade of gold.  “Hunt…” she said with a slight smile.  “
I am dressed..like hunter….” She made him understand that she had been tracking a deer and had thought him to be the quarry.

Valerian went to the spot where the javelin was embedded in the earth and shuddered as he thought what might have happened if she had better aim.  Pulling it out, he brought it back to her
, caressing her with his eyes. Even dressed in male attire she was lovely, perhaps even more so since it showed her curves in detail.  “Why are you hunting?” The women of his world would never do such a thing and he did not think that it was the custom among the Celts either.

“Because….” Her face was so filled with grief that he held out his arms to her, yet she did not come freely into their comforting warmth. Seeing him in his
Roman garments, his soldier’s clothing, made her feel uneasy.  It was as if he were a stranger. She realized the gulf that separated them, like the great sea between their lands. So much time had passed. It was as if she did not know this soldier standing before her, and yet it was Valerian.

Sensing her thoughts, Valerian reached up and took off his imposing helmet, removed his baldric and scabbard, and gathered her into his arms, murmuring her name over and over as he kissed her hair, her lips, the softness of her neck.
The long sweep of her lashes against the curve of her cheek made her look vulnerable and he vowed to protect her. His eyes moved tenderly over her form, moving from her legs to the top of her head, pausing for a moment as he looked longingly at her generous mouth, that felt so soft against his own.

Wynne clung to him like one drowning in a raging sea, her emotions battering her like waves. He was a
Roman, a soldier, but he was Valerian and she loved him more than anything in the world. She felt the warmth of attraction she had felt for him from the first time she had seen him and knew that she belonged in his arms.

Breathlessly—stumbling over the words as she
tried to remember his language--she told him about her father, her capture by the darkness cult, her punishment and isolation, Brenna’s wrath, and her promise to keep food at the hearth of her father.

Valerian listened patiently, brushing back the hair from her face, murmuring words of c
omfort and sympathy, trying to control the desire which threatened to engulf him as he held her. It had been so long since they had last made love and she was so very sensual and alluring—a bundle of beauty and bravery. He could not escape her web of enchantment even for a moment.

It was as if the world beyond them ceased to exist, as if they were the only two people alive, as if there were no warfare between their peoples, only this fire which burned in them whenever they were together.
  As she reached out and took his hand, the contact of their fingers    s was overpowering, yet for the moment Valerian knew he had to keep his passion under control.

When Wynne had finished her story, Valerian told her about his reason for coming back—his warning.  “You must either leave, flee this land until the
Romans have gone,” he said, “or put down your weapons and make peace.”

Wynne did not even try to hide her anger.  “The
Romans must make peace. This land is our home. We will not run!”

Forgetting for the moment all gentleness, he shook her roughly by the shoulders, trying to make her see what must be done.  “You must understand me, Wynne. My chieftain has sent me ahead of the other soldiers.  I wanted to warn you.”  She disentangled herself from his arms.  In her eyes he once again became the enemy—a hated
Roman.  “Wynne If you do not do as I say, he will have you killed!”

In anger she turned her back on him and stalked away, but he followed.

“Wynne!  Wynne! Can’t you see that I don’t want any harm to come to you? I love you,” he called out. Helplessly he stood there, not knowing what to do or what to say to convince her.

“You and your people—enemies!” she exclaimed bitterly.

“No! 
I’m
not!” Her reaction to him and the danger he knew she would be in if she didn’t listen to him was tearing him in two and it showed on his face and his clenched hands.

Turning toward him again, she looked into the depths of his amber eyes and saw his sadness. There were hard lines around his mouth, furrows on his brow, the flesh beneath his eyes was shadowed.  In that moment he looked like a tortured man and she found herself wanting to sooth him. He was right. 
He
was not her enemy. This was Valerian, whose life she had saved and who had taught her the joys of love.

With a sob she ran into the circle of his arms, felt herself engulfed within the cloak of his passion, as all her resistance ebbed. Her lips found his, her body arched against him. With a tormented cry he crushed her in his arms, kissing her hungrily, fiercely. Sweet Venus, he loved her. All the weeks of worry, of misery, of nightmares, dissolved. Forgotten were Sevreus, the legion—everything but his longing to love her.

Picking her up in his arms, Valerian headed for the cave, unaware of the eyes which watched them from afar, the cunning eyes of Severus Cicero.

“A little bedsport, eh, Valerian?” Severus whispered beneath his breath with a chuckle. “Well, you had best enjoy it while you may. Before I get through with you, a woman will be the last thing on your mind.” Turning his horse around, he galloped over the crest of the hill to his camp to plan for the coming battle.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The ground under Wynne and Valerian was hard, but they didn’t feel it. Their thoughts were only on each other. He moved his mouth on hers, pressing her lips apart, seeking, exploring the softness. His kisses made her dizzy, sparking a fire within her.

Valerian undressed her slowly, reverently. “I want to look at you,” he whispered. “It’s been so long and  you could only be mine in my dreams. And now I see that you are even more lovely than I remembered.” His eyes moved over her like a caress, warming her heart, touching her soul.

On impulse she reached out and took his hand, smiling—completely unaware of how seductive such a gesture could be, for the contact of their hands was overpowering. Compulsively, his fingers closed around hers. Then he leaned down to kiss her again. A gentle kiss that slowly, sensuously grew more passionate as his arms closed around her, crushing her tightly against the iron hardness of his body. Wynne had no thought other than that she was in Valerian’s arms and he was embracing her, kissing her.  He was finally here and he belonged to her.

He kissed her neck, her shoulders, the swell of her breasts, then c
aressed the softness of her skin. A flicker of arousal spread from their joined mouths to the core of her body and though thoughts of future heartache pressed against her soul, she pushed them far from her mind. How could the hands of a Roman soldier be so tender, she wondered.  Why did she only feel safe when she was in his arms?