Rescued by the Celtic Warrior (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 1) (36 page)

Taran stood with Greum and the bishop as Valeria descended the ladder. Taran was right, the color suited her, and the extra coin was worth seeing her as a vision of beauty on her wedding day. She’d found the comb and her hair glistened blue-black with the light that shone down from the loft.

“What?” she asked.

Taran opened his mouth to speak, but the bishop held forth. “You’ve lain with this man?”

Valeria gasped. With a look of horror and shocked betrayal, her gaze shot to Taran.

He reached out for her shoulders. “I can explain…”

Valeria didn’t wait. She shrugged from his grasp and ran out of the barn.

This was
not
how Taran envisioned his proposal. He raced after her in the wake of her wails. When a pace behind, he reached out for her hand. “Valeria stop. Hear me.”

She whipped around, eyes ablaze. “How could you betray me? I gave myself to you. It was pure and holy, and you have turned it into something sinister and immoral.”

Valeria tried to wrench her arm away, but Taran held firmly. “No. I. Did. Not! I asked the bishop to marry us this day. I cannot live without ye.”

Valeria stopped fighting. Her tormented obsidian eyes gaped up at him, tears wetting her cheeks. “M-marry us? H-how can that be? You are king. I must past the test.”

“Aye. What you say is entirely true, but I’ll make my own pledge to you—as a man. We will be wed in secret before Atar and your God. We shall honor each other and make holy our bed. When you become a Pict, we’ll have a gathering and all of Pictdom will know we are one.” He drew the sobbing woman into his breast. “I want to be yer husband, Valeria. I can wait no longer.”

She sucked in a stuttered breath. “But you could be banished.”

Taran led the party northward. Valeria could barely contain herself. He hadn’t said where they were going, only that he knew a secluded place fitting for the ceremony.

Valeria rode beside him at a steady pace. She thought it fitting when Mia nipped playfully at Blackie. “I think Mia has chosen her sire.”

“The pair would make a fine colt.”

Valeria shot him a knowing smile. “As would we.”

True to Taran’s word, the glade looked like a scene from a painting. Green moss hung from the trees, kissing a still pool of water. Wildflowers were in bloom, daisies and snapdragons in pinks and violets. Lavender wisteria sprinkled through the trees, as if the king had ordered it to match his bride’s gown.

Greum hobbled the horses while Valeria excused herself and sought privacy behind a thicket. Her heart leaping for joy, she ran the silver comb through her tresses one more time. She pinched her cheeks to give them color and smoothed her skirts. She wished Pia were there to help her prepare, but this would have to do. At least she’d washed her face and hands before they departed Vindolanda.

When she stepped into the clearing, Taran and Greum stood on either side of the bishop. Taran wore a new tunic that glowed white in the sun. His hair was ablaze. A mighty picture he made, a head taller than Greum, two over Elusius. As Valeria walked toward them, she marveled at Taran’s muscular build—long, powerful legs were skirted by his blue surcoat, a sword at this side, a narrow waist from which sprouted broad masculine shoulders. He was a man destined for greatness simply by the size of him.

Her feet felt like they were floating when she stopped and faced him. Greum handed her a bouquet of wildflowers. “Ye cannot be wed without a posy.”

Valeria held the flowers to her nose and inhaled their fresh scent. “Thank you.”

The bishop joined their hands and recited the ceremony in Latin. Valeria knew both Greum and Taran understood every word, and she gazed into the aqua blue eyes that locked with hers.

She repeated the words when the bishop commanded, as did her betrothed in his assured deep bass. Valeria’s heart thrummed in her chest as his words resonated. She floated through the service, hardly able to grasp she was marrying the man upon whom her entire world centered. He’d shown her love in so many ways, they were meant to be one. She refused to allow her mind to sabotage the occasion with thoughts of Dunpelder, the elders and what was to come. This was her moment. It was beautiful, sacred and entirely personal.

When the bishop ended with the words, “…I pronounce you man and wife,” Taran shuttered his eyes with long auburn lashes. As he lowered his head, luscious anticipation and slow burn of desire curled through her. He tipped her head back with his palm, and his mouth claimed hers with a dominant kiss. Valeria trembled. The coil of need radiated from the depths of her very being. She was alive and in love, and this was the most glorious day of her eight and ten years.

When the rite of marriage ended, Elusius and Greum said their goodbyes.

“Where are they going?” she asked.

“I’ve asked them to meet us at the Antonine wall.” Taran lifted her hands to his lips. “We have this day and the beauty of this glade to rejoice in our union.”

Valeria wrapped her arms around him, holding her head against his heart. The life thrummed within powerfully. “I am happier now than I ever dreamed possible.”

He kissed her possessively, as if he were staking his claim. “Ye are my wife and to you I will always be true.”

Taran led her through the wood to a pool fed by a waterfall spilling across a crag of ancient boulders. He faced her and ran his fingers through her long tresses. “Ye are so fine to me. I can think of no one more suited to be my queen.”

Enraptured by his words, she traced her finger along the blue swirls on his face. “Taran, son of Brude. I want to give you sons who will wear your sign over their hearts.”

With a tug, he loosened the lace on the front of her gown. She lowered her arms and allowed him to push it from her shoulders. He unwrapped her mamillare and cupped her breasts in his hands. Bending, he took her nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. Her legs weakened and she threw her head back, grasping his shoulders for balance. His delectable lips trailed down her belly until he reached her subligar.

She opened her legs and allowed him to push the loincloth to the ground. He smoothed his fingers between her legs. Her entire body shuddered with yearning. But she didn’t want to succumb to her own pleasure. Not yet.

She grasped his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. “Now you,” she whispered, too overcome with raw arousal to speak louder.

He growled, his eyebrows jumping, the corner of his mouth ticking up. Before Valeria could blink, he’d cast his surcoat aside and removed his tunic. Naked.

The juncture at Valeria’s legs quavered with want.

His length sprang from coppery curls and pointed directly at her. In one step the object of her desire crushed against her abdomen, his mouth joining with hers in fevered passion.

“I cannot wait,” he growled.

“Nor can I.”

He laid her in the grass and kneeled between her legs. She arched her back and reached for him, unable to delay. Grasping his manhood, she guided it to her smoldering entrance. Together they joined in a rush of heat.

When he filled her, the world around them blurred. They were one body, moving in sumptuous harmony. When finally she could take no more, she cried out. Her body shuddered in an explosion of ecstasy. Another thrust and Taran threw his head back and roared.

She lay cradled in his arms for a time, the sun warming their bodies. He ran kisses along her neck. “Ye fancy a Pictish pool?”

“Is it as cold as the last?”

“Mayhap not so much. ʼTis the peak of summer after all.”

He led her into the pond and together they swam in the chilly water, their bodies brushing, their lips locked in passion.

Valeria wrapped her legs around her husband and let him swirl her through nature’s bath. The cold could not cut through her impenetrable love. Completely alive, she indulged her desire for this man who was now only hers.

They rested in the sun to dry their bodies, caressed by a warm summer breeze. Again they made love upon the cushion of the clover. Taran touched her with gentle fingers, ever aware of his size, enquiring as to her comfort each time he entered her.

She loved the way he cared for her. He took her to heights of passion Valeria never could have dreamed existed. After each bout of lovemaking, they would nap in each other’s arms, until the need built up again and again.

Taran opened a leather package tied with a thong and revealed a lump of cheese, bread and strawberries. “Ye must keep up yer strength, wife.”

Valeria grinned and let him feed her, breaking off pieces food and placing them in his mouth as well.

When the sun set, they slept naked under Taran’s blanket, their bodies molded together with Valeria in front, Taran’s arm draped over her. Before giving in to peaceful sleep, Valeria mouthed her silent desire.
If only this moment would never end.

The carnex sounded when Taran led the party into the expansive meadow leading to Dunpelder. Excitement thrummed from behind the castle walls. Taran leaned into Valeria. “I will request an urgent council with the elders. I’ve asked Greum to assist, but when ye appear in the hall, ye must be a Pictish queen. There can be no question.”

“Yes. Pia will help us.”

His mind raced—he must share with her everything he could think of to help Valeria make it through the next few days. “Do not let Pia twist yer hair into a fancy Roman style. Wear it down like a Pict.”

“All right. I understand.”

The sentry cranked up the heavy gates as they crossed the bridge into the stronghold.

“King Taran has returned,” cried a sentry on the wall.

“We’ll have roast pig in the hall tonight,” called Tomas, reaching for Blackie’s reins.

The citizens of Dunpelder gathered with excitement, calling out welcomes and good wishes.

Manas came running down the lane. “Ye’re safe m’lady!”

Valeria nodded and reached her hand toward the boy. “Yes, Manas. We’ve returned from our great adventure.”

The welcome at the hall was not as exuberant as their procession up the cobblestone lane. Betha, Morag, Drust and Leda all stood with their arms folded.

Taran dismounted bellowing orders. “Assemble the elders.” He glared at his welcoming committee. “I will meet with each of you individually in my chamber. Betha, come.” He nodded to Valeria, who left for her chamber as they’d discussed. It pained him to know the next week or more would be difficult ones for his new wife.

Facing his duty, Taran decided it would be best to start with the matriarch, especially since she was one who was involved in the pledge of Taran’s hand when he was still a bairn. Stag followed at his side, the dog giving him moral support—at least he would fend off any rogue attack. Taran smiled inwardly at the thought.

He hadn’t made it to his table when the thunderous door slammed behind him.

Betha’s eyes blazed a fire. “You’ve returned with the Roman, I see.”

“Valeria is a Pict.”

She pursed her lips with a frown. “Valeria. Her very name exudes Romanism.”

“What’s in a name? She is committed to becoming a Pict.”

Betha threw up her hands. “You are going against me will and the wishes of Oisean.”

“Aye, but when ye made me match, ye had no way of knowing fate would bring Valeria to us.”

“But what of duty? What of honor?”

“I have honor. Leda is in love with Drust, and I love Valeria with every breath I take. If she cannot be mine, I will abdicate the throne.”

Betha’s jaw dropped. “Ye would do that? Taran, ye are the chosen one, the Pict king. Ye cannot walk away.”

“I do not
want
to walk away. Valeria will become a Pict, and life will go on. The only people frowning upon my return were standing at the hall. Can ye not look into me heart and see it is inflamed with love for her?”

Betha paced, arms folded. “Valeria shall be put to the test.” She pointed her finger under Taran’s nose. “But I promise nothing.”

She pushed through the door, and her womanly form was replaced by Drust.

“Taran, what are ye doing?”

Taran opened his arms. “Have ye no welcome for me?”

“Ye’re a foolish man and I’m sorry to be related to ye.”

Taran clenched his fists. He’d had enough of Drust’s disdain. “Foolish, am I? I have devised a plan where we will all be happy. Ye will go north to Fife with Leda at your side. I will remain here with Valeria at mine.” Taran grasped Drust’s shoulders. “Look into yer heart. Is this not what ye desire deep down in yer soul?”

Drust wrenched from Taran’s grasp. “It doesn’t sit well with our creed of honor and duty.”

“Nay? Is not a man’s honor first to his heart? Is not his duty to uphold the values and laws of the Picts? A pact was made between our parents when we were children. Things have changed. Does this mean we cover our eyes with blindfolds and ignore the present?”