Love's Blazing Ecstasy (5 page)

Still deep in thought, Valerian began to dress in the garments his blond protector had brought, wondering at the strangeness of the clothing, further proof of the wall between their worlds. The tunic was much the same as his own, only the sleeves were much longer, falling all the way past his wrists. With a laugh Valerian realized just what a poor fit the tunic would give him, the former owner being much taller and more slender of limb. It was an amusing sight to see the sleeves hanging down nearly to the tips of his fingers. With a laugh he rolled them up so that he would have free use of his hands. A sudden feeling of anger overcame him as he wondered who the garments belonged to. Were these the clothes of her husband?  After all, he did not know for certain that Wynne was unmarried; perhaps her virginal air was merely that of a shy young married woman alone with a man she did not know. Gone now was his laughter as he imagined Wynne in another man’s arms
, writhing and moving her hips beneath him.

“Fool! You have no claim to her!” he exclaimed, pounding his
fist against his open hand and closing his eyes against the pain the thought brought him. “She is merely a very beautiful young woman who saved your life. She has her own life to live, a life which does not include you.”

Valerian tried to wipe all thoughts of Wynne from his mind, although the nagging thought which tortured him kept coming back: soon he must be gone and would see the woman no more.

Pulling the tight-fitting trousers over his muscular thighs, Valerian fumbled with the unfamiliar drawstring at the waist. It was difficult to maintain his balance as he struggled with each leg, thrusting his foot through the opening and then pulling the pants up. In confusion he stared at the strips of material upon the ground. What were they for? A belt? A baldric? He did not know, yet supposed them to be a belt. Tying the strips around the waist, he was surprised by the sound of laughter behind him. Turning, he found Wynn standing there.

“No!” she said, pointing at the shred of cloth he held in his hand, preparing for its place around his waist. She shook her head and came toward him. Their hands brushed as she grasped the strips of material, and caused a shudder to sweep through Valerian’s body. He hungered for her, but looking into her eyes at the innocence, the trust written there, he could no
t resolve himself to betray her just to satisfy his own wanton desire.

Wynne gently wound the straps around
Valerian’s leg from knee to ankle, showing him how to do the other leg, crooning her strange language to him in her sweet voice. He understood few of her words and realized how futile it would be to talk to her in the dialect he had been taught in Rome.  They would have to speak Latin.

“I
’m sorry.  I can’t understand. If we are going to communicate, we will have to talk in my tongue,” he said to her with a smile. Her eyes met his, and he was confused by the look he saw
there. If he did not know better , he would think that her eyes were mirroring his own longing. How I wish you would touch me…with your hands, your lips.
Just the thought caused him to have an erection.

Wynne stared up at
the Roman from her kneeling position on the ground. The feel of his firm legs under her hands was pleasant and stirred her emotions. Nor was she oblivious to the sudden hardness that had stiffened that part of him that made him male. She wanted to reach out and touch him and was embarrassed by her feelings.  She was intrigued and sexually curious about him, wanted him to make love to her, but was afraid that her feelings were not returned. In confusion she turned her head, rising to her feet and walking away from Valerian. The gesture returned Valerian to reality again from his fantasy of bedding the young woman. Obviously he had misinterpreted her feelings.  She was merely being kind to him. No doubt she read his mind and knew his intentions. No wonder she had moved so hastily away. She must think him bold indeed to stare at her so.

Again he resolved to keep his distance and to resist the temptation she presented with her soft blue eyes, golden hair, and wondrous curves. Still, for now her nearness was more than he could bear. Cursing, he ran from the cave, leaving behind a confused young woman who wondered what she had done to anger him.

“Come back, Roman!” she cried, wondering why he was acting so strangely. She supposed it to be some sort of Roman ritual.

Running her fingers through her unbound tresses, she tried to bring some order back to her unruly mane of golden hair, as if by doing so she could win his affections. Picking up the jar of food which she had put down upon the floor in order to help him dress, she followed him. Her mind was a jumble of worries
, for now she knew that if the Roman did not care for her, somehow a little part of her would die.

Riding back to the village, Wynne reflected on the day she had spent with the Roman. He had been polite but distant. Had she offended him: she wondered. Was it because she was a Celt? She had heard that the Romans considered the people of her land to be barbarians. The thought caused her pain and anger. It was the Romans who were the barbarians, coming from their land far to the south, across the wide span of the waters, gobbling up land as they marched like some great beast. Her father had seen with his very eyes the atrocities these foreigners were capable of, when Boadicea, Queen of the southern tribe of the Iceni, was defeated. Was it any wonder he hated them so? Valerian was her enemy, her people’s enemy.

“No,” she whispered. She could not consider him that. He was not her enemy, no matter what the others of his kind had done. She had sensed a gentleness and a kindness about him. He had praised her
ability to speak his language, had spoken of her bravery, had called her beautiful. He had smiled at her, had touched her hair in a gesture of farewell when she took her leave of him. Had called her “Minerva” again and had explained to her about the goddess of his people.

The sound of
hoof beats behind her startled Wynne out of her thoughts. Panic overcame her. She would be in danger if it were the dark-robed ones. Nudging Sloan into a full gallop, she fled, pausing only once or twice to glance back over her shoulder. Her intuition had been right—dark-cloaked figures on horseback were following her. She must hide, using all of her instincts for survival.

Dodging in and out among the trees, Wynne retraced her tracks in order to confuse her pursuers. There had been three horses behind her; now there was only one. Guiding Sloan to a clump of trees by a small stream, Wynne quickly ducked behind a large bush, blending with the thick foliage just in time to escape from a cloaked figure who sped by on a dark brown horse.

Fear overtook her, not for herself, but for Valerian. She realized the danger he would be in if he were found, but on reflection was certain that the horsemen had not witnessed her departure from the cave. Valerian would be safe for the moment. Wynne could take no more chances, though, in coming to the cave by daylight. From now on she would have to wait until dark to see the man she was falling in love with.

“Valerian,” she cried, as worry overcame her. She felt driven to return to the cave to protect him, yet knew that to do so could cause his death, for no doubt the riders were still in the forest watching her. There was nothing to do but return to her village and wait until nightfall to go to him.

Chapter Six

Valerian stared into the light of the fire. It had been five days and nights since his capture by the heathens a
nd his rescue by the woman named Wynne. He’d had more than enough time to regain his strength, but somehow he could not force himself to leave. He looked forward to seeing the woman each night when she brought him food. Yet he could not stay here forever; soon he would have to find his way back to his own people.

“Why is the thought of leaving so painful to me?” he asked himself, as if he did not know the answer. The fair-haired Wynne had bewitched him.

Not only was she beautiful, but she learned so quickly. He had taught her several additional words in his language, and she in turn had taught him words in her native tongue. Their conversation was primitive, but it was improving day by day.

Since that first night, Valerian had made
no move to touch or kiss Wynne. He was afraid of frightening her. She was so shy, and he didn’t even know if she liked him in that way or not. No, he would not take the chance of offending her, not now. If he were honest with himself, he would have to admit to a certain fear, as he had never felt this way before. It was intimidating.  Women had come and gone in his life; he had sampled their charms and then said his good-byes. With Wynne he wanted something more, something forbidden.

A sound behind him startled him, but turning, he saw that it was Wynne. She had brought him a leg of mutton, bread, and a small keg of ale.

“Certainly you know how to please a man, Wynne,” he said with a laugh, then began to eat greedily. By evening he was always starved, since Wynne now came only at night.

Valerian’s hunger for Wynne’s visits, however, had little to do with the food she brought. As a centurion he was used to keeping himself alive by foraging on the berries and small fowl in the forest. No, it was her company that soothed him. Looking up, he caught her eye and smiled. She shyly returned the smile, then glanced away, fearful lest he be able to read the longing in her eyes. Much to her disappointment, he had not tried to kiss her again. Perhaps he already had a wife, she thought sadly, or did not find her appealing. Yet she had tried so hard to make herself beautiful. As always, she anxiously watched the
Roman for his reactions.

After quenching his thirst with ale, Valerian stood up.
How beautiful she looks tonight,
he thought, openly staring at her. Like many of her people, Wynne was nearly as tall as he, only about two inches shorter than his six feet. Her stature made her appear regal, particularly in the scarlet gown she was wearing, which reached to the ground—her midriff bare. Her waist was  small, her breasts full--he could see the tips straining against the linen of her gown. It took all his self-control not to gather her into his arms. Her slim arms, revealed by the sleeveless gown, were decorated with large gilt bracelets, twined around them. He wondered at the engraving which adorned not only these bracelets but also her necklace and brooch.

“You look lovely,” he said softly.

“Thank you,” she answered, knowing that he was complimenting her. Her heart quickened as she noticed his eyes savoring her body.

Valerian looked hastily away. The sight of her was too arousing. Frantically he searched for something to say to her to fill the stillness in which his own heartbeat seemed deafening.

“The food was good!” he blurted out, feeling like a fool as soon as the words had left his mouth.

“Yes. Good,” she answered, wondering why he would not look at her again. She was becoming used to his language, found it pleasant to her ears. Indeed, she liked everything about this man and looked forward to their time together, although she could tell that her stepmother was becoming suspicious about her whereabouts.
She looked at Valerian, gently touching his arm as she started to tell him of her concerns.

Valerian drew away from her so quickly that he stumbled. He had dreamed sensual dreams of her for so many nights, wanting to make love to her, that their close proximity to each other was disturbing. She had clothed him, fed him, and saved his life. He didn’t want to repay her by taking her virtue and then leaving her behind
, he told himself for the umpteenth time.  No, as much as he wanted to stay, he needed to leave as soon as possible.  Battling with his emotions, Valerian put his hands to his head.

“What is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. I…I…” Searching for the right words to say to her, he looked down at his clothing, and was struck again by this unfamiliar dress—the leg coverings bound with criss-cross strips, the tunic ending just above the knees and worn with a stout belt.

Noticing Valerian’s glance at his garments, Wynne laughed, thinking that this was the cause of his distress and strange behavior. In truth he did look strange in her father’s clothing, which somehow looked all wrong on the
Roman.

Her laughter made Valerian relax, and he too gave in to mirth, laughing at himself and the sight he must make. “I would surely frighten my men if they were to see me now,” he said. The thought of his soldiers suddenly sobered him. He had an obligation to them that he seemed to have forgotten.

A slight frown passed over Wynne’s lips as she understood what he must be thinking. The Roman naturally wanted to return to his own people. That thought was upsetting to her, though she knew it was selfish to expect him to stay just because she liked his companionship. She turned away, fearing her expression would give her away.

“Wynne, can you help me find my people?” he asked softly, wondering what she was thinking.

So the time I have dreaded has come,
she thought.  “I have listened for any talk,” she said, struggling with her emotions.  “I have heard that they are not far away.”

“My legion is not far away from here?” he questioned. “How far? A day’s ride? Two?”

Wynne held up her fingers.  “Three…or..or… more.” A sadness welled up within her at the thought of his leaving and she fought against the tears which trembled on her thick lashes.