Rescued by the Celtic Warrior (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 1) (38 page)

Her insides froze when Engus again faced her. His eyes steeled, he gave a curt nod to Morag. A cry of shock escaped from Valeria’s throat as a cold knife slit the fabric of her new dress from the nape of her neck clear down to the floor. Morag crossed in front of her, sweeping the knife under her nose. With a wicked cackle, she grabbed the front of Valeria’s dress and tore it off.

Clad only in the mamillare around her breasts and her subligar, Valeria wrapped her arms around her torso to hide her humiliation. She wanted to cry out for Taran. Her lips quivered and her gaze shot to Greum. He slightly shook his head, encouraging her not to move. His hand grasped the hilt of his sword. Clearly, the elders had taken an unexpected step.

“From head to toe before us all, ye shall cleanse yer body of all that is Roman,” Engus roared.

Morag moved behind her, yanking her hair back with such force, Valeria stumbled. Her hands flew to her crown as Morag held up the knife. “No!”

“This raven’s hair is the first to go. It bewitched King Taran with one look. Now we will see if yer beauty holds without it.”

Valeria gritted her teeth, her mind racking, seeking any pure thought. As Morag savagely attacked her tresses, she planted her feet and clenched her fists under her chin. Closing her eyes, she recited in her mind the twenty-third psalm.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…

When she raised her lashes, her long, black tresses lay at her feet. Morag glared at her with a harrumph and reached for a pot. She scooped a handful of mud clay and plastered it on her head, rubbing it into her scalp. “With the earth of Gododdin we wipe out the filth of Rome.”

…Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…
Valeria harbored no hate for Rome. Hearing Morag refer to her homeland as filth burned her throat. Fingernails cut into her clenched fists.

The gray mud spilled down to her shoulders and ran in streams along her back and torso. Valeria stared straight ahead.

“The dye of the woad will tell the nation you forsake all others and ally with the Picts,” Engus said, his arms rising.

Morag reached for another bowl and faced Valeria. “Lower yer arms.”

Valeria stared into the woman’s uncaring eyes and let her arms drop away from her body. …
thy rod and thy staff comfort me.

With a smirk, Morag dipped her fingers into the woad. She drew the sign of honor on Valeria’s left arm, the sign of loyalty on her right. Duty and freedom each filled a space on her thighs. Upon her stomach, Morag drew the sign of a sword. “This is to cut out all ties with yer prior life. If ye can.”

Valeria bristled at Morag’s final words. What more was to come? She stood frozen, humiliated in front of the entire citizenship of Dunpelder, stripped of every earthly possession, clad in her meager undergarments, her beautiful hair gone, her head wrapped in clay mud.

Morag’s hand filled with liquid woad dye slapped across her left cheek, and then the hag twisted her hand and slapped the right, running her fingers roughly across her cheek to etch in the dye compounding the marks Greum had made the night before. The smug grin on Morag’s face filled Valeria with loathing. The woman enjoyed every moment of her mortification, her shame. When this was over, she’d have her vengeance against this tyrant. She vowed it.

Morag stepped back and Engus resumed his oration. “Valeria Fullofaudes, ye will be sent to the wood and banished from Dunpelder for a complete cycle of the moon.”

A shocked gasp erupted from the crowd.

“No Pict will help nor speak to ye in your isolation.”

Valeria nodded.

“Drust will take ye now, for ye must survive with yer wits and yer dirk.”

“Valeria is too fine a lady to be thrust into the wild like a savage.” Manas’s youthful voice rose above the crowd.

“Silence!” Engus roared. “It will be done.”

Regally, Valeria walked down the steps and faced Drust. Painted with Pict symbols, her head dripping with mud, she maintained her poise. Holding her chin level, she clutched his elbow. “Lead on, Master Drust.”

****

Gooseflesh rippled across his skin when Valeria’s cool and collected voice commanded Drust to lead on. How could she withstand so much humiliation without breaking?

Taran had stood behind the cracked door of his chamber and listened to the charade. It took every ounce of self-control he had in his entire being to remain in the room and bear her taunts. In his mind’s eye, he could see Morag’s self-satisfying sneer as she destroyed Valeria’s dress, butchered off her hair and rubbed her head with mud. Never in his life would he expect this level of embarrassment to befall the woman he loved.

From her silence, he knew she’d stood and taken her punishment with the heart of a warrior. But he could hardly fathom tiny Valeria outcast for an entire twenty-eight days with nothing but a dirk. She would not even be allowed a blanket for shelter from the night wind? This was an abomination.

When the scuffle ended, Greum pushed into his chamber, closing the door behind him. “ʼTis worse than anyone thought.”

“She could die of exposure in three days. The bastards, what were they thinking?”

“I believe Mistress Morag had something to do with the extent of the test. She openly enjoyed herself. She’s made it clear she has no love for any Roman, no matter how pure their heart.”

“Mistress Morag best be careful, else she’ll feel the cold steel of me sword.” Taran rubbed his fingers along his hilt.

“Aye. She’s not fared well in my opinion either.”

“Go to Pia and ask her to bring me an item of Valeria’s clothing.”

“Ye have a plan, sire?”

“The elders decreed Picts cannot help her, but they said nothing of a dog. We’ll put him on her scent then send him off.”

Greum nodded his head with a smile stretching one corner of his mouth. “Stag could keep her warm at night until she can skin a few deer.”

“And it could take her a week or more to kill them. I didn’t teach her how to hunt with the dirk, only to defend herself. I don’t believe my lady has any training at all.”

“Do not worry yourself. With Stag at her side, she’ll learn. Besides, mushrooms and berries will keep her alive for a bit.”

Taran watched the door slam behind Greum. Mushrooms and berries, indeed—he was well aware they wouldn’t sustain her for a month. Her body was already weak from the journey south. She’d dropped what little weight she had. She was flesh-and-bone with nothing in reserve. Stag would need to help her sniff out food.

The dog was adept.

Taran’s thoughts were interrupted by relentless pounding on the door.

“Come.”

Bishop Elusius barreled into the chamber, slamming the door behind him, eyes red with rage. “You are aware your wife has just been banished to survive in the wild for the next twenty-eight days?”

“Aye.”

“Pardon me, sire? You speak as if this is a daily occurrence. Heavens, you weren’t even in the hall to support her.”

Taran looked at him through anguished eyes. “ʼTwas forbidden.”

“Forbidden? And where were you when that woman stripped her in front of everyone? My God, you call yourself a king? Valeria is of royal stock, with only the finest breeding. A woman of her stature would never be asked to stoop so low.”

Taran hung his head. “ʼTis the only way.”

The bishop raised an accusing finger. “Her death will be on your hands.”

Degraded into insignificance, Valeria stood alone in the wooden cart Drust’s horse pulled down the cobblestone road and out the gates of Dunpelder. She felt like a Christian heading for the Coliseum. All the while, she stared toward the horizon, too humiliated to meet the eyes that gaped at her. The citizens watched in silence. Roars from the tribunal had been quashed when the term of her banishment was announced. Engus’s voice had echoed through the hall followed by an eerie hush. No one expected the test to be so harsh.

It wasn’t until they entered the secluded wood that Valeria allowed a tear to escape. One drop streamed from her eye and dripped from her chin. Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she glanced down. The droplet made a mark just above her exposed bellybutton. It probably cut a stream through the blue woad on her face, but she didn’t care.

She could scarcely breathe when she thought of being turned out into the wild with nothing but a dirk and her undergarments. Though it was the peak of summer, this was the northern frontier. A chill came in the night.

She had three urgent needs: food, clothing and shelter. She would set her mind to each one in that order.

They’d traveled quite some distance when Drust pulled the wagon to a halt. He jumped down and pointed east. “There’s a glade through the trees yonder and a stream that runs clear.” He pulled his waterskin off his shoulder and handed it to her. “I’m not to assist ye at all, but I would never leave a living soul in the wild without one of these.”

“Thank you.” Valeria took the gift and climbed down from the wagon unassisted. She didn’t meet his gaze, mortified and shamed at her appearance.

“May your God help you, m’lady.”

Valeria nodded and watched as Drust pulled the wagon round and headed back to Dunpelder. She stood without moving until the sound of the cart crackling through the woods muffled into the chirps of birds and the rustle of leaves above.

Shivering with the breeze, her heartbeat quickened. Her mouth grew dry with panic. She was completely alone, abandoned. She hadn’t eaten that morning. A wave of hunger churned through her stomach. She circled in place, trying to come up with a plan, but her thoughts froze, fixated on her own ineptitude. She dropped to her knees.
Am I completely expendable? Is there no soul on earth who would assist a useless Roman maid? How will I stay alive?
An inhuman wail tore a raw stream through Valeria’s throat.
I am hideous. How will Taran ever be able to look upon me again?

She doubled over, tears pouring from her eyes as her weeping echoed across the trees. The stress from the past year welled to the surface of her anguish. The death of her mother, traveling across the Empire to join her father, only to have him slain within weeks of her arrival, had landed her here in the region of barbarians. Now she was an outcast with no idea if she would ever become a Pict. They taunted her, sheared off her most cherished asset and smeared what remained with mud. She curled into a ball, her bleary eyes focusing on the blue markings painted on her thighs. She was a monster.

Hugging herself, she rocked and sobbed. Her jaw trembled as spittle moistened her lips and chin. Every muscle in her body burned as Valeria ruminated over the raw memory of her humiliation. She wanted to die. She didn’t care about the stream or food or water. She prayed for God to send down a bolt of lightning to strike her dead. How could she survive alone for twenty-eight days? Her hair destroyed, her skin dyed blue—how would Taran ever bear to look upon her again?

Valeria wept from the bottom of her soul—a gut-wrenching wail. No one could hear. Complete loneliness racked her entire being, forcing her to cry more. No one would help her; she had been discarded. She lost track of time. Anguish and disgrace claimed her senses. She remained curled on the forest floor, her only refuge. She rocked, her arms still tight around her body, her tears flowing without pause.

At some stage in her wretchedness, sleep came over her, sending her into a dreamless state. In slumber, the warmth of the afternoon sun nurtured her.

Valeria woke to a warm tongue licking her face. As she roused, the musky stench of dog invaded her senses. Absently, she batted the sloppy tongue away. “Leave me.”

The licking stopped, but only momentarily. The dog yipped and licked again. Valeria opened her eyes. Her heart flew to her throat.
Stag!
She reached out her hands and yanked the smelly fur-ball to her chest. “Oh, Staggie boy! You’re here. My God. I am not alone.”

The dog nuzzled against her with an elated moan, happy to be scratched behind the ears, on the back, everywhere Valeria’s hands caressed him. She ran her hand down his front right and stopped when it hit his pastern. She sat up, inspecting the bandage around his leg. “What happened to you?”

Carefully she unwound the cloth, expecting to see some horrible gash, but a note tumbled out. With a trembling hand she opened the papyrus. He’d written it in Latin.

My Dearest Valeria,

Be strong, for soon we will be reunited. My love for you is more powerful than the fiercest storm, deeper than any sea and wider than the Pict nation.

With all my love,

Taran

Valeria reread his note and kissed it. Though she now had lost everything to become a Pict, he had used her own language to write to her, further proof of the depth of his love and respect. She held it against her breast until her strength returned. Her cause was not hopeless. Though she’d always be
from
Rome, she would uphold the ways of the Picts but would never lose sight of her own identity.

She reached out and scratched Stag behind the ears. “We need food, clothing and shelter all before dark.” She glanced at the unwound bandage lying before her. “Now why didn’t Taran wrap a piece of clothing around your leg?”