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the lodge thankful that Brenna was now gone. Going over to her clothing chest, she raised the lid to look for something suitable to wear. She decided upon a green gown with an over-tunic of checks in tan and black, clasped together by a bronze brooch. The garments made her feel very feminine, almost pretty. When she was finished dressing, she looked carefully around her to make certain that Brenna was nowhere in sight and rummaged through her father’s clothing trunk, hoping that the stranger would not be too muscular to wear her father’s clothing. Wrapping the garments in one of her father’s fur cloaks, she made her way toward the fire.
    Ah, good. The family has left plenty of food from dinner , she thought, taking a large portion for herself and Valerian and putting it into an earthenware jar. She would have to find a small keg of mead or ale for Valerian too. No doubt there would be some near the meeting-house.
    So anxious was Wynne to return to the stranger in the forest that she did not notice the eyes which watched her every move—cold cruel eyes.
    “So,” said a voice when Wynne had left, “the Roman barbarian is still close at hand and the bard’s daughter shields him. So much the worse for her. She will learn obedience.” The figure in the shadows smiled and went back into the lodge.
     

    Chapter Four
     
     
    Valerian scowled as he looked around him. He paced back and forth, wearing a path across the floor of the small cave which had become his temporary quarters. His jaw was clenched, his arms crossed in front of him. Where was she? Had she come to harm or just forgotten him?
    Reaching up, he felt the stubble of his beard and swore beneath his breath. What he wouldn’t give for a hot bath at this very minute, though in this godforsaken land this luxury, as well as many others, was denied him.   Dressed in his loincloth, unable to groom himself, he felt like a barbarian.
    A chill ran up his back as he remembered what fate had almost befallen him, if not for the beautiful Wynne. Wynne! She fascinated him, not just because of her beauty but because of her courage, her intelligence, and the fact that she was different than any woman he had ever met.  His countrymen would call her a heathen, a savage, but he thought her to be intriguing. Still, he had to remember that she was a Celt, one of the people they were trying to subdue.
    With a shudder Valerian remembered all that he had heard about these people. The fierce Celtic warriors believed in the immortality of the spirit and in reincarnation. They were unafraid to die in battle, for they had been told by their Druids that they would come back in another body. Valerian had also been told that they were head-hunters who openly displayed the heads of their enemies as trophies. He had not believed all these stories while living safely in Rome. He had laughed at the fears of his cousin Marcus, who had cringed at the thought of being sent to Gaul. And yet wasn’t it true that these people made human sacrifices? Hadn’t he nearly been a victim of their priests?
    But she is different, he thought . Wynne, there is so much that I must learn about you, about your people .  He supposed that just as she was intelligent, brave, and totally civilized so perhaps were the Celts of her tribe. He hoped so.
    Perhaps all of these people are not savages, he thought. Surely Wynne was not, although he knew nothing of her tribesmen or of their ways and customs. Of one thing, however, he was certain. The lovely blond beauty was not like the chanting, naked, painted heathens who had fallen upon him as he rode through the night in search of his fellow soldiers, who had become lost to him in the dark mists of the sudden storm. She had come to his rescue out of the darkness like a golden flame.
    His thoughts in turmoil, the Roman shivered with the sudden chill of the air and picked up the cloak from the ground, touching it reverently as one would something holy, remembering the