Love's Blazing Ecstasy Read Free

these heathens and their human sacrifices, but until this moment he had not realized they were true. His eyes strayed to the huge basket. Was this to be his prison or his funeral pyre?
    His hands worked feverishly at his bonds until his wrists were blistered and bleeding. He would not give up until every ounce of his strength was gone. Closing his eyes, he cursed these shrouded figures whose singing was nearly driving him mad.
    What potion did they force me to drink? He wondered fearfully. Certainly it would not be poison, for that would take all the fun out of their ritual. He felt light-headed, dizzy. He shook his head to clear it of its spinning. Was it the brew that had been forced between his lips which caused him to think that there was someone watching him from the bushes? Had it been only his imagination that had made him believe that he had heard a woman’s voice cry out in anguish a few moments ago? No, there had been someone there. He was sure of it.
    “Minerva, Goddess of Wisdom and War, hear me,” he pleaded. “Save me from this doom and I will forever serve you!”
    As if in answer to his prayer, he saw her. It was Minerva herself grappling with one of the hooded barbarians. Strange, he had always thought that the goddess would have dark hair, and yet her hair was so light, like spun gold. She was beautiful. More beautiful than he could ever have imagined.
    He tried to watch, but the drug was overpowering him. Trying to control his strength, he closed his eyes and with one final pull sought to free himself, but the ropes held him tight. He felt himself fall into unconsciousness.
     
    Whirling around and around like partners in a dance, Wynne and her opponent fought each other. T he man was three times her size—big and bulky, but she was armed with a sword and she was more agile. Still, he seemed to be able to doge her blows, coming closer and closer to her each time.
    “You are tiring, no?” the huge man asked with a malevolent smile.
    She shook her head and lunged at him again, but she didn’t know how long she could go on. Another fear gripped her heart. What if the others returned? She must strike a blow at him now, before she was outnumbered and subdued. Fear of joining the Roman as a prisoner goaded her into feats of daring and aptitude she didn’t know existed within her.
    Encumbered by his cloak, the man removed it and now stood naked before her. Wynne tore off her cloak, but didn’t have time to remove her gown. Besides even though her gown threatened to trip her, she didn’t want to face this giant in all her natural glory.  She would have to be careful.
    Wynne thrust again and again with the sword, but the giant of a man was more than a match for her. Although she had been able to hold him back so far, she feared the outcome.  She had to think of a way to outwit or out-maneuver him.
    A sudden idea came to her. “Sloan!” she called. The horse was by her side in an instant, pawing the ground before him. For a moment her huge opponent was distracted, but it was just enough time for her to strike a strong blow to the side of his head.  When he moved she struck him again, harder this time.
    Holding the sword above him, Wynne looked down upon the unconscious mountain of flesh, her hands shaking.  She had always valued life and now found that she could not kill him—wicked though he was--murder was not in her blood. She would let him live, but she must make certain that he could not warn the others. Taking off her belt, she tied him securely to a nearby tree and stuffed the end of his discarded cloak in his mouth to keep him from calling for help.
    I hope that my kindness will not be my undoing , she thought, slinging her cloak over her head and shoulders. Still, she had never killed anyone and did not want to do so now. Jumping once again upon the horse’s back, sword raised upward in her left hand, Wynne started toward the captive. As she rode, the hood of her cloak fell to her