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

by Amy Jarecki

  She used the pigskin to fashion a cape and tied it around her shoulders. She bound the skin from the pig’s hindquarters around her feet. For days, she and Stag gorged themselves on roasted pork and wild strawberries while Valeria practiced throwing her dirk. She set up a target against a stump and threw it until she hit the mark with every throw.

  In the next week, she became bolder, venturing away from her camp for hours at a time. She tracked deer with the dog, who proved to be true to his deerhound breed, sniffing them out. Returning each day, she’d find rabbits or pheasant in a trap or two. Her stash of pelts grew. There was enough meat to dry. The further she ventured out, the more fruits and tubers she found to eat.

  Every day, she became stronger. With each sunrise, she came closer to winning the right to be Taran’s wife. Yes, they were married in the eyes of God, but that didn’t matter in the eyes of the Picts.

  Valeria grew accustomed to the sounds of the night and found it easier to sleep with Stag beside her. She guessed she’d been alone for nearly three weeks when she jerked awake to the dog’s guttural growls.

  Stag pushed his body against hers, as his rumbles grew more intense. Her eyes flashed wide when deep, guttural growls returned. Carefully, she reached for the stick of wood beside her and tossed it onto the fire, casting light. Three sets of yellow eyes encroached into the clearing.

  Ice rippled up her spine. Valeria’s fingers wrapped around her dirk. She moved to a crouch. Stag’s growls rose to a snarling gnashing of teeth. The wolves circled, sizing them up.

  Valeria and Stag would be no match for three wolves if they attacked at once. She stretched forward, reaching for a leg of venison and tossed it at the biggest one. The wolf pounced on the meat, while another fought him. Valeria didn’t hesitate. She sprung from her crouch and plunged her knife into the heart of the nearest beast. The wolf let out an earsplitting yelp, its legs buckled beneath.

  Valeria faced the second wolf just as Stag latched onto its neck. The largest turned from his feast, startled by the howl of Stag’s victim. His eyes shot to Valeria. He crouched low, growling, baring his yellow teeth.

  “Come on you mongrel bastard,” Valeria roared, spewing the most vicious curses in her vocabulary. “I shall not die this night!”

  The wolf leapt at her, his teeth aimed at her throat. Valeria dropped to her knees and slashed upward, catching his flank as she crouched under his airborne body. The wolf yelped and snarled rounding on her, but Valeria was back on her feet, brandishing her blade. “Is that the best you can do?”

  The wolf snarled with a terrifying growl. He crept closer, but Valeria stood firm, holding the knife with both hands. To her right she heard a yelp and prayed Stag was winning. The big monster sensed her inattention and jumped at her, his paws slamming into her chest. Valeria stumbled back. The wolf’s fangs sliced through the base of her neck. Her left hand pushed him away, only to be met with a vicious bite.

  Shrieking in pain, Valeria drove her dirk into the animal’s back. The wolf howled and scooted away. Again, Valeria lunged with her dirk. The wolf reared and fled into the forest.

  She regained her stance and clutched her blade, ready for battle. “You come back here again and I’ll carve out your heart. I swear on my father’s grave!”

  Her hands shook like a willow sapling in a breeze. Her gaze shot to Stag. The dog held his death grip as the wolf’s legs batted the air, struggling with its last breaths. Valeria stood back and let the dog finish his kill until the wolf’s legs slowly ceased fighting and drooped lifelessly.

  When she swiped her hand across the base of her neck, she hissed with the pain. Her palm smeared with blood—the wolf’s bite would leave a scar. Inspecting her arm in the firelight, she saw that blood streaked down to her wrist but had mostly stopped flowing.

  ʼTis only a flesh wound. She laughed out loud at her use of Taran’s words.

  Valeria surveyed the clearing. Two wolves would provide plenty of meat and skins. She’d clean them in the morning. Then she’d have a couple of days to dally. The thought of relaxing made her smile. After using the waterskin to clean her wounds, Valeria curled up on her mat and patted the space beside her. “Come, Stag. We can tend to our kills on the morrow.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Taran was already fastening his sword around his hips when Greum burst through the chamber door. “Sentries report smoke still rises from her campfire.”

  “It will be a miracle if she hasn’t gone completely mad.”

  The past twenty-eight days had seemed as if they’d never pass. Though Taran had an endless barrage of duties to tend to, thoughts of Valeria remained at the forefront of his mind. He’d sent out sentries to patrol the perimeter of her camp with orders not to make contact. When the report came in she’d been attacked by wolves, he’d strapped on his sword and mounted Blackie. The five men who barred the gate did their best to hold him back, but when Pia came out and pleaded for him to reconsider, he hesitated. She’d given him a tonic that knocked him silly for two days, the witch—though a kind-hearted witch.

  When he’d roused from his stupor, the sentries reported Valeria lived, though they could not say if she’d suffered any injury.

  The most gratifying day in the month was when Simian rode into Dunpelder with Morgon’s corpse draped across a mule. The faithful guard had cornered Morgon before he reached Katica. Morgon refused to go down without a fight and Simian had been forced to run him through. Taran had the traitor’s head impaled on a spike to bear witness of his intolerance for disloyal Picts. He granted Simian lands in Gododdin and a seat on his council.

  Morag brought in a bowl of porridge and placed it on the table. “Ye need to eat, sire.”

  Taran frowned. He hadn’t forgiven Morag for her part in Valeria’s rite. He probably never would. Though the woman claimed she was simply obeying the wishes of the elders, Taran knew she reveled in her sadistic pleasure. He’d allow Valeria to decide Morag’s fate once she was crowned. He owed her that satisfaction.

  Taran waved Morag away with a dismissive hand.

  Greum nodded toward the steaming bowl. “Ye better eat.”

  Taran picked up the spoon and shoveled in a mouthful. “I’ll not be taking orders from the likes of you.” Two more bites slid down his gullet. “We’ll be off.”

  As they paraded through the hall, Pia rushed up and grabbed Taran’s arm. “My lord, wouldn’t it be preferable if I fetched Valeria? She may not be fit for your eyes, sire.”

  “Any foul state is a consequence of my own doing. Only a coward would send another.” Taran jerked away. “Go prepare for the gathering. On the morrow all of Pictdom will see me wed.”

  Taran’s eyes shot to Greum. His friend had kept quiet about his secret union with his wife. Soon he’d be able to openly show his affection.

  Engus rode with them as the elder adjudicator. By her own survival, however, Taran had every confidence Valeria would pass this final stage of scrutiny. Bishop Elusius also rode along at his insistence. Taran led Mia beside Blackie, sure she’d be overjoyed to see her mare. Nearing the glade, Greum sounded the carnex.

  “Valeria,” Taran called to warn her of their approach. His heart raced. He wanted to gallop into the clearing and sweep her into his arms, but with Engus and Elusius in tow, restraint was necessary.

  Taran turned to the entourage. “Please wait.”

  Alone, Taran dismounted and entered the clearing. Stag bounded up to him with a yelp, tail wagging. The dog pissed himself in his display of exuberance. A fire smoldered in the center of the glade. Pelts lined a bed and a boar skin was tied taught between three trees above it. The bones of dead animals were scattered across the ground.

  “Come behind, Staggie boy,” Taran commanded as his eyes darted through the wood. “Where’s yer lady?”

  ****

  Valeria had lost track of time early on when depression and hunger overwhelmed her. When the Carnex trumpeted, panic shot through her veins. She raced to the creek, splashed
water on her face and ran damp fingers through her hair. Her heart thudded in her chest. Was it really time? How could she allow Taran to see her like this? Her hand flew up to the tender wound on her neck and she stooped over a pool to catch her reflection. The nasty gash was still swollen and raw.

  Her temples pounded with every beat of her heart. With her hair butchered, her throat deformed, and her body clad in a patchwork of animal pelts, Taran would sooner run her through than take her back to Dunpelder.

  His voice called her name. She crouched into a ball, fists under her chin. He couldn’t see her like this. She ran away from him as tears stung her eyes. She could never return. Not now. Not like this.

  Batting branches away from her face, she plowed through the dense forest. Stag’s bark neared. She turned her head, and the toe of her pigskin foot-wrappings caught on a log and sent her tumbling into the dirt. Her knee scraped a severed branch. She ignored the sharp sting and struggled to rise.

  Stag yipped behind her. “Go back.” She slapped his shoulder

  But the dog rubbed up against her. Valeria set out again. “Valeria. Why are ye running from me?” The booming deep voice stopped her dead.

  Her hands flew to her face, her back curved, hiding her embarrassment. “I cannot let you see me like this.”

  In seconds, the earth fell from her feet. Taran cradled her in his arms and held her against his chest. “I see a woman who’s been to hell and survived. These past days have torn me heart out. Do not deny me, my love.”

  Valeria buried her head in his shoulder, unable to breathe. Taran was everything she wanted and there he stood holding her, a wretched mess of a woman. “Do not say that. I am hideous.”

  His lips caressed her forehead. “Ye’re beautiful.”

  “My hair is gone and I’ve been mauled by wolves.”

  “Aye, lass. Yer hair will grow and wounds will heal.”

  He carried her back to the clearing and set her down. Valeria hugged herself as he inspected the bleeding gash in her knee. His eyes traveled up her body, his brows knit when his gaze stopped at the scar on her neck. Valeria threw her palms up to cover it.

  Taran touched her hand. “Is that from the wolves? Let me see.”

  Trembling, Valeria lowered her fingers. “I am ugly now, marked for life. I can no longer be your wife.”

  Valeria sucked in a sharp breath as Taran bent down and kissed it. “ʼTis a sign of battle. Such a scar should be worn with pride, for ye received it fighting for yer right as a Pict woman.”

  A burst of sunshine radiated through the foliage above. She tingled through to her toes. She allowed herself to meet Taran’s gaze. His eyes twinkled brilliant blue in the sunlight. He loved her. Even in her grotesque state, he still wanted her.

  He pulled her into his embrace. “We need to take ye back to Dunpelder. The gathering is on the morrow and we shall be wed before all of Pictdom.”

  “Ahem. I believe I am the one to make that call,” Engus said, leading the bishop into the clearing.

  “Are you insane?” Elusius shook his finger under the elder’s nose. “Look at what this woman has endured to become one of you.”

  “Aye. She’s not only survived, she’s prospered,” Greum said, holding up the cache of Valeria’s pelts.

  Engus eyed the pelts and gaped at Taran, and then Valeria. “ʼTis unbelievable. We’ve taken a damsel and turned her into a right bonny Pict huntress.”

  ****

  Alongside Taran, Valeria rode Mia through the gates of Dunpelder. Enduring gasps and whispers from the citizens, she sat erect in the saddle. Extremely conscious of her bedraggled state, she’d not allow herself to display the embarrassment twisting her insides.

  Taran lifted her off her horse and carried her into the hall.

  Pia gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth. “Oh my heavens.”

  “She needs hot water in the bath and yer healing hands,” Taran bellowed and marched toward the stairs.

  He cradled her until the door closed behind them in her chamber, then gently set her down. “Are ye all right?”

  Valeria nodded. “Yes, though I am afraid the people will taunt me.”

  “Why? Ye have proved stronger than most, my love.”

  She swiped a hand across her head. “Look at my hair if not my scars. I’m repugnant to the eye.”

  “Have ye seen yer tresses? ʼTis darling the way the curls frame yer face. Ye still look like a woman. Only…”

  Valeria tensed. “What?”

  He smiled sheepishly. “Ye’re a bit on the nose.”

  Heat burned her cheeks, but she flung her hand back and wacked him on the shoulder. “What did you expect after twenty-eight days? Have you forgotten about your stench from your stay in the gaol?”

  “I ken. I’ve got no recourse, and ye’re as beautiful to me now as ye were the first day I laid eyes on ye.”

  Taran laced his fingers behind her neck and drew her lips toward his. Valeria melted into him, savoring the taste of his tongue as it swirled around hers. His ragged groan rumbled through her entire body. He pulled her flush against his hard, masculine chest. She wound her fingers around the collar of his tunic and yanked the laces open.

  She jumped near a foot when the door swung open. “Taran, I’ll need you to leave, sire,” Pia said.

  A line of maids bearing pots of hot water paraded into the room.

  Taran gave her a crooked smile. Valeria squeezed him tighter. She rose up on her toes for a final kiss. “I don’t want to let you go.”

  “Nor I you.”

  “When will I see you next?”

  “Ye will sit beside me at the feast tonight. Kin started arriving for the gathering yesterday. The hall will be overflowing with Picts.”

  Pia tugged on Valeria’s shoulders. “You’ll have time enough for that after you clean up. In the bath with you.”

  She didn’t argue. When Taran left, she shrugged out of her ill-fitting, cavewoman skins and stepped into the steaming water infused with lavender.

  “This is heaven.”

  ****

  At dinner, Taran watched as Valeria descended the staircase. Her long slender neck was accentuated by her shorter hair. It surprised him how beautiful she looked with it cut. In the middle of a conversation with a northern chieftain, he excused himself and hastened to her side. Bowing, he offered his hand. “Ye grow more beautiful every time I see ye, m’lady.”

  “Thank you, sire.” She curtsied with a shy smile. “I hope I am a fair bit improved over my appearance from earlier this day.”

  “Ye were a vision in the forest.”

  She waved a hand in front of his face. “Are you blind, sir? I checked the looking glass, I was quite frightful.”

  Taran leaned in and inhaled deeply. “Lavender. ʼTis beautiful.”

  Everyone stood and watched him lead Valeria to the high table. Holding her hand, he turned and addressed the crowd. “The elders have declared Lady Valeria to be a Pict in mind, body and soul. On the morrow we will be wed before noon upon the foregrounds of Dunpelder. I invite you all to witness our vows and to honor your new queen.”

  With a flutter in his belly, he led her to the expectant eyes of his parents. She looked up at him with a questioning smile. “Valeria, meet me father and me mother. They arrived from Fife today along with Leda and Drust.”

  Valeria’s eyes popped wide as she graciously held out her hand to his father. “Your lordship and your ladyship, ʼtis truly a pleasure to meet you.”

  Brude stood with a gallant bow. “I can understand why me son was so intent on winning yer hand, m’lady.”

  “And I can see where Taran comes by his auburn locks and imposing height.”

  Taran’s mother nodded appreciatively. “He’s a fine lad, and there’s none better to lead the Picts.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Valeria agreed. “And I see he inherited his handsome looks from his mother’s side.”

  Taran led Valeria past Drust and Leda to the chair on his right. Betha
still occupied the queen’s chair. Valeria glanced at her questioningly. He bent down to her ear and whispered, “This is Betha’s last night as queen. Tomorrow you will sit to me left and Betha will take the right.”

  “I see. ʼTis right for her to sit in her place of honor until our Pict wedding.”

  Contentment filled his breast as he took his seat. Valeria finally at his side, he gazed out across the faces of his kin. The hall amassed with bodies all stuffing their faces with greasy meat. Greum gnawed on a lamb chop bone while he animatedly spoke with a lovely lass, whom Taran didn’t recognize. “ʼTis a fine gathering we have here.”

  “Yes, so many people. Where will they all sleep?”

  “Wherever they can find a place to lay their heads. We’ve erected tents upon the stronghold foregrounds.”

  Valeria leaned in. “Leda and Drust look happy.”

  Taran glanced at the newlyweds who were gazing into each other’s eyes. “Aye. ʼTwas the right thing to do, sending them to Fife.”

  Valeria squeezed his arm. “I’m happy for them.”

  Taran pressed his lips against her temple. “And are ye happy for us, lass?”

  “Indeed. The morrow will be the most blessed day of my life.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Valeria stood beside the narrow slit that served as her window. A crisp breeze caressed her skin. This would be her last night in this chamber—her last night sleeping alone. She ran her fingers along her arms, inhaling deeply. Pia had prepared her dress, but it would be a surprise until morning. She giggled in anticipation of the entourage of lassies Pia would bring with her to tend her short curls. At last her dreams had come true.

  When her door creaked open, she looked up abruptly.

  “Valeria.” It was the deep rumble she’d come to adore.