Love's Blazing Ecstasy Read Free Page A

shoulders, her long blond hair glowing nearly golden in the moonlight.
     
    Drifting in and out of consciousness, succumbing to hallucinations, the Roman watched his rescuer. Cloaked in black, riding her magnificent black stallion, hair billowing wildly about her shoulders, she indeed looked like Minerva. She was a breathtaking sight, yet he felt no fear of her, knew that she had come to free him.
    He saw her jump from her horse, felt the swift thrust of a sword as she quickly severed the ropes which bound him. He felt the softness of her hands as she touched him, and then he sensed nothing more. He slumped upon the hard ground in a swirl of darkness.

    Chapter  Two
    The first rays of sunlight gently caressed her face as Wynne welcomed the dawn. She looked down at the sleeping form of the Roman, could see him clearly now in the light. He was handsome, this stranger, perhaps even more handsome than her father, if that were possible. He was powerfully built, perhaps a few inches taller than her father, but whereas Adair was lithe and lean, this man was muscular. His hair was short, cropped close to his head in raven-black curls; it was unlike the long loose or plaited hair of the men in her tribe. She had the urge to touch the shining curls but quickly drew back her hand as the man sighed heavily in his sleep.
    Who are you? she wondered as she studied his features, the high cheekbones, fine chiseled nose, the long dark eyelashes which cast a shadow on his face. She couldn’t help but wonder what color his eyes were—blue or green. He had a small cleft in his chin, which fascinated her. This time she couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin against her soft hand. She ran her finger lightly over his face as if memorizing it. The man again stirred in his deep slumber, and Wynne drew back her hand.
    I’ve never seen a Roman up close before , she thought. I have been told that they are unworldly monsters, but he is flesh and blood.   Most definitely human.
    It was chilly without her cloak, but she had relinquished it to the stranger, fearful that after his ordeal he might become ill without its warmth.   But even draped in her cloak she could see the outline of his muscular form and his body fascinated her. The Celts had told stories where the Romans had bronze scales like fish, but this Roman’s chest was made of flesh covered with a light thatch of hair. His arms were well muscled, his legs well formed and between those legs….  She blushed as she thought of what had been said about that part of a Roman’s body, that it was a battering ram with which to force themselves upon captive Celtic women.
    Forcing herself to look away, Wynne rose to her feet, hoping that by moving around she could bring back a little warmth to her body. As she walked, back and forth, she thought about what had happened during the night, and was amazed at her bravery, at her skill in fighting the dark-robed giant. She was thankful now to her father for training her in the handling of arms, a practice not unusual among her people, for women in some of the tribes were even known to sit among the men in the war councils. Yet, if not for her father’s badgering, she would not have become as skilled as she had at wielding a sword.
    Wynne shuddered, this time at the memory of the hulking giant she had been forced to fight. He had come upon her with such anger, such hatred, that she knew he would have killed her had she let down her guard even for an instant.  Closing her eyes she could see his face. It had been vaguely familiar to her, but she could not place where she had seen him before.
    The sound of the stranger murmuring in his sleep interrupted her thoughts and she hurried to his side. It had been a struggle for her to lift his body and put him on Sloan’s back after she had cut his bonds. Somehow she had managed to do so, as if aided by some unseen force, some inner strength. She had ridden to this