Love's Blazing Ecstasy (14 page)

Looking at the man before him, Valerian wondered if he could have misjudged the tribune. He was one of his father’s friends. Perhaps he did want to bring about peace. What reason would he have to lie?

“Then you will let me go?”

“You have permission to do as you ask. I will wait two days before setting out, but no longer, I warn you. Hopefully I will not have cause to regret my decision. It would pain me to
have to inform your father of your death by heathen hands.”

Striking his chest with his fist, Valerian made a promise. “You will not regret this, tribune. I will do everything in my power to bring peace. By the gods I so swear.”

“So be it,” Severus said, giving Valerian a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I fear you have condemned me in your heart these past weeks. Being a tribune is never an easy task. Someday you will understand. I want the best for you, Valerian. Your father is like a brother to me. I admire him greatly. I know that a great future awaits you.” He turned his back. “Now, go, before I get sentimental. Go!”

Valerian ran out of the tent with wings on his heels. The gods were surely with him, as he had prayed they would be.

“We shall see what you are planning, centurion, we shall see,” Severus said beneath his breath as he watched Valerian leave. “For I doubt that it is peace you really seek.” He would give Valerian the freedom to do as he wished, but he would be following close in his tracks with the entire legion at his command.

He would strike a blow at these heathens such as had never been struck before. No doubt Valerian sought his own glory, thought to bring himself to the attention of Nero and
Rome, but he, Severus, would outwit him. He felt drunk with power. Soon, soon he would be General Severus. He had all but that title now.

“Ha! You are a fool if you think that I intend to wait two days before setting out, Valerian. I will be right on your heels, and when I am through, I will prove you to the be traitor that you are!”

Chapter Nineteen

Life had settled back into a normal routine for Wynne as the days passed. As usual, Brenna maintained a kind manner while Adair was in the lodge, but when he was gone she never hesitated to belittle Wynne’s efforts, finding fault with everything she did in an attempt to make life miserable for her. Wynne, however, did not let the woman’s words upset her. She had the love of her father, and that was all that mattered to her.

In the moments when all the work had been done and Wynne had time to sit and let her thoughts wander, she thought of Valerian, hoping to see him again someday, yet less optimistic about their reunion as the days passed. He was a
Roman soldier who had to follow orders and though she knew that he cared for her, she realized that there were a multitude of circumstances that could keep them apart. Still, she closed her eyes allowing herself the luxury of the memories she had of their days together.

“Well, I see that you are lost in your dream world again,” Brenna said bitterly. Wynne ignored her icy remark. She would not let her father’
s wife upset her any longer. She would close her ears to her stepmother’s taunts.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes I heard you.” Wynne remained seated by the fire.

“Look at me when I’m talking t
o you!”  Brenna flew into a tantrum at being ignored, grabbing Wynne’s arm so hard that she winced with pain as she was forced to her feet.

“I warn you, Brenna,” Wynne retorted, fighting against her impulse to lash out at her stepmother, “if you touch me ever again as you did just now….”

“You will do what?” Brenna’s expression dared Wynne to resort to violence.

Realizing that to give in to Brenna’s goading was detrimental to
her father and to herself, Wynne forced herself to remain calm. “What do you want, Brenna?”

“I need some of the wild berries that grow at the edge of the forest. Since you are not busy and I have my hands full preparing our food, I wanted you to pick them.”

It was a strange request. “But there are plenty of berries nearby. Why go all the way to the forest?” The knowledge that the worshipers of the darkness might be roaming the woods made Wynne apprehensive, remembering the night in the lodge and her encounter with the ‘giant’.

“Those berries aren’t what I want. I can’t use the red sweet berries with all the seeds. I need the tart purple ones.” Making her way to the wall where her cloak hung, Brenna clenched her fists in frustration. “If you are afraid to go, if you are such a coward, I will go instead.”

“I’m not afraid!” Knowing that Brenna would tell Adair that Wynne refused to help her, Wynne gave in, trying to keep peace in the household. Her father had enough worries on his mind of late. “I’ll go.” Picking up a basket, she pushed through the door. It would be a pleasant walk and get her away from Brenna’s watchful eyes and constant whining.

Passing by the common, where the horses were kept, she thought about Sloan. She missed the magnificent black stallion and thought about the many times they had ridden to the forest. Her father had given her another horse, but none could ever replace Sloan. Still, she was looking forward to training the white horse. Her instinct told her it would make a fine mare.

It was a cool day, the air filled with the scent of flowers and earth smells mixed with the fresh crisp fragrance of the spruce and oak trees. Wynne looked up at the gray clouds, which signaled the approach of a storm. She had an urge to forget about the berries and go back before the storm broke, yet her pride would not let her. She would get Brenna her berries. With quick strides she walked up the steep hill towards the woods, determined to finish her errand or be damned.

Stopping by a cool spring, she bent down to refresh herself, letting the cool water soothe her parched throat. It seemed strange that the forest wildlife had hidden thems
elves from sight today. Usually they scampered about, much to her pleasure. Instead, it was like the quiet before a storm.

A feeling came over Wynne that something was not quite right and that she should return to the village, but she didn’t listen to the warning of her senses.  She was already in the forest and the thought or returning empty handed seemed like admitting defeat.  She could see Brenna’s sneer in her mind’
s eye, thus continued on her way—running instead of walking.

The berries were easy to find and were plentiful, so Wynne filled the basket to overflowing, eating a few of the tart and fresh morsels herself, pausing as she thought she heard a sound behind her.  Cautiously she turned around. Had she seen a shadow behind that tree? Yes, she was certain she had. Clutching the basket, moving slowly
, yet preparing herself to run if need be she retraced her steps, keeping her eyes trained on the foliage behind her.

Suddenly something large fell upon her from the top branches of a tree
—not an animal—a human, and she dropped the basket. Berries rolled over the ground like the glass beads from her father’s gameboard. An arm wound around her like a snake, halting her flight. Wynne tried to free herself, but another hand lashed out from the darkness, covering her mouth, brutal in its  strength--the hand of her ‘giant’ opponent. How many were there? One hand over her mouth, one pinning her arms, and she thought she could hear a woman’s voice in the distance.  Three?

Cursing her vulnerability, she fought desperately against her captors, but she was helpless and outnumbered. All her kicking and twisting was to no avail. A piece of cloth was stuffed into her mouth as her attackers quickly bound her, bruising her wrists. Then to her alarm a sack was pushed over her head and down over her body, plunging her into total darkness. The sack was tied around her ankles, and like a sack of grain she was thrown over one of her captor’s shoulder
s. Struggling to throw him off balance, she hit her head on something hard, but still fought back.  Her bravery was useless, however, for the more she kicked and squirmed, the tighter the arms clamped around her.

Wynne cursed her
clumsiness in having dropped the dagger she had brought with her as protection when she had been taken by surprise. How ironic it was that her only hope lay in Brenna. Surely when she had not returned, Brenna would tell her father where she had gone and they would come to search for her. It was her only hope, unless she could find a way to escape.

Where are they taking me,
she wondered, listening to the muttering voices, trying to discern what they were saying. Were they going to kill her?  No, at least not yet or they would have already done so.

She heard laughter, then a horse whinnied and she felt herself flung over the animal’s back. Her head throbbed. The coarse sack was blocking the air from her lungs. Though she tried to remain alert she winced as a black fog enveloped her.

Regaining her senses, Wynne wondered how long she had been unconscious; she had lost all concept of time in her darkened void. She felt her hair tangled in a matt around her face. Her whole body ached except her legs, which were numb. Never had she been so miserable.

Where am I?
  She couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, couldn’t even rely on her sense of smell to aid her.  All she knew was that she was a prisoner and that she was in grave danger.

Now I know how Valerian must have felt that night
, she thought, struggling to loosen her bonds. Unfortunately whoever had tied the knots, had tied them well and all she got for her effort was exhaustion and chaffed wrists.

When at last the sack was removed, she found herself face to face with her enemy. She had spared his life once; would he do the same for her?  Somehow she doubted it.

The light hurt her eyes, blinding her, and she realized that she was surrounded by torches—thirteen flickering flames. How long had she been here? she wondered. Looking up at the fading moon, she knew the answer.

Father will have missed me by now and sent a search party
, she thought, wondering what she could do to draw attention to her location in case they came anywhere near.  As the gag was removed from her mouth she thought of screaming, but her captors’ threats of silencing her permanently if she did, convinced her to remain silent, at least for the time being.

The
giant looked down at her, his grinning visage unnerving and distracting until she determinedly focused her attention on him. His hair was thinning, a sign of his age, and his face was fat and pale, with eyes which reminded Wynne of a snake’s—cold and cruel. She knew he was not one of her tribesmen and yet he seemed familiar.  Where had she seen him before, aside from the other times he had tried to harm her?

“Who are you? What do you want from me?”

He didn’t answer. Had she really expected him to tell her?

“If you are going to kill me be assured that my father will hunt you down.” She had saved Valerian’s life; would she now take his place on the sacrificial pyre? The very idea was terrifying, yet she somehow maintained her courage.

“We will not kill you.” The smile turned to a frown.
“Not yet….”

Slowly Wynne’s eyes were growing accustomed to the light, she could see that she was not alone with her captor. By his side stood two other figures
, undoubtedly the two who had taken part in her abduction. Like the giant, they were clothed in black. She could not see their faces, just their shadows--one was tall and well-muscled, the other short and small of frame—a woman. Was it the woman whose voice she had heard whispering? She assumed so.

“Why have you brought me here?” Wynne asked, turning her attention toward the female, hoping that she would receive more empathy from a woman.

The woman did not answer. Wynne strained her eyes for a look at her face, but it was painted a ghastly blue with white markings covering the cheeks, nose and forehead, obscuring her features. Even her hair was tinted with blue streaks.

The three figures began to chant
, then from a distance the chanting was echoed as more dark-robed figures approached. Obviously there was going to be a ceremony tonight. Wynne remembered that the giant had said that they had something planned for her, but what? In panic she tugged at her bonds but it was no use.  She was tied securely; but somehow she had to escape from these  heathens.

The chanting grew louder. The small figure—the woman—moved far away from Wynne, shedding her clothes until she was naked, then swaying to the music of the singing. The woman’s body was supple and glowing in the light, her body, like her face, was painted with woad. Flinging back her head, she raised her arms and danced faster and faster, whirling—turning circles until she was nearly flying in the air. Throwing off his robe, the tall man joined in the dancing. His bare arms bulged with muscles and he was covered with scars. He moved with grace for one so big, dancing until perspiration ran down his body like rain from the sky. Wynne watched in fascination as if in a trance. The night seemed cloaked in a shroud of black and with a feeling of terror, Wynne realized that were she to break free, it was not a night in which she could easily find her way home.

Like a snake about to strike, the male dancer moved in closer to Wynne, bringing with him a wooden bowl filled with liquid and holding it to her lips.

“No!” Turning her head to avoid the brew, which she feared might be the potion given to Valerian, she resolved to keep a clear head.