Chapter 4

4

Liam tried to ignore the sting of Alison’s words as he walked swiftly from the castle to the stables. He knew they were spoken in frustration, as had many of the words they exchanged, if words were spoken at all. Liam had done well to keep the space between them at all times. They had separate chambers, him taking new ones that wouldn’t remind him of the one night of pure passion that had been shared between them three years prior. It had been that passion that sustained him as he ensured her safety from everyone, but most importantly from himself.

Madness. That had been the final proclamation when the news of his parents’ deaths was revealed. A murder; from his father’s own hand. A crime of passion brought on by rumors of ill behavior, the start of which could never be determined. Liam refused to believe that his mother would have been guilty of anything other than loving his father with her entire being, and yet neither were here to speak their truth. It left Liam continuously reeling as the memory of that night stalked his dreams.

Alison had been a wonder, propping him up as he shouted his rage at the world, and yet, it was precisely that reason that he now kept his leave of her. The ease at which she came to him was too much for him. He knew, if he let himself fall into her again, he could be swept into that same passion that had provoked the loss of his parents. It hadn’t been the first time such a thing was discovered; one lover taken to violence until both were lost. But never had Liam thought such a thing could touch his clan, let alone his kin. Now, everything he thought he knew was still upended, shaken until it was unfamiliar, and he was left wondering if he was next. Could the same madness of his father be embedded in his own blood? Would he one day awaken with the passion he felt for her turned into an all-consuming rage? The nightmare of him being bathed in the blood of the woman he loved had driven him from her arms until he could hardly remember their warmth. The only way to confirm he would never fall into such madness was to remain removed from her, and so he had moved from their marital chamber, staying resolutely separate from her in all ways.

He found the stable hand and saddled up on his usual steed. The path into town was one he knew well. The tavern was one frequented by many in their clan with the understanding that what occurred at the tavern was not up for discussion. The night was calm, with hardly any wind to ruffle his hair as he rode in. He dismounted easily, stomach grumbling with the reminder that he had hardly eaten. The invitation to dine with Alison had nearly been one he took. It was rare they dined together for any meal that wasn’t strictly necessary. One of those rare times, he would find himself ignoring the food in favor of watching Alison’s lips as they curled around each bite. Her lips were always the most inviting shade of pink, calling out to him to sample from them as he had once. It was difficult to ignore that yearning with her right in front of his eyes, and so he usually declined.

Tonight, though, had been different. Her harsh words had pierced him until the only recourse was to turn and flee with no words uttered from him minus her name. Even that was almost too much.

The tavern was in full swing when Liam pushed in. The air was thick with the scents of sweat and mead, and laughter abounded. Many turned when he walked in, calling out his name as he made his way to his normal corner. Liam had barely had a moment to breathe in the sticky air before he was flanked on both sides by Bridgette and Fiona. Both women he had regularly employed to take care of the urges that drove him from his home. They were adept at getting him off while not feeling slighted at the way his mind often wandered, intent on imagining Alison to keep his manhood hard until the finish.

“Well, aren’t you a sight fer sore eyes,” Fiona said, leaning in close as Liam leaned his head back, swallowing whiskey. He let it slide down his throat, the burn warming him from the inside out before responding.

“Aye. I reckon you two are free for the night?”

Bridgette smiled wide, no doubt at the promise of coin to line her pockets. Liam didn’t hold any illusion that they liked him any more than they liked the other patrons. For them, it was all about the coin to be made and in a way, he could respect that. He appreciated the straightforward desires leaving no room for misunderstandings.

“If you have the coin, then I reckon we do,” Bridgette replied. She placed a hand on his arm, though the warmth of it brought him no pleasure. “‘Tis a full house, but I ken there are free rooms upstairs we can occupy fer an evening.”

Liam nodded. His stomach still grumbled, but he had no desire for food. His was a need for flesh to fall into until he could forget the look on Alison’s face when he turned away. He stood, knocking back the last of his whiskey in a quick shot before holding out his hands to Bridgette and Fiona. Regardless of intent or payment for services, he was still a gentleman. They went willingly, both giggling as if he had said something outrageously funny. The three made their way through the crowd dodging those who had been taking part in the whiskey longer than Liam. They had reached the stairs when a problem arose in the form of a drunkard with more entitlement than sense.

“There ye are. I gave you coin for the night,” the man said, reaching out and grabbing Fiona’s arm. She turned, trying to knock off the man’s hold as he pulled her to a stop.

“Ye’re drunker than sin, Callum. Go sleep it off and then come find me.”

Callum didn’t like her words and let his hands speak for him as he yanked Fiona toward him, ripping her from Liam’s hold. Fiona let out a yelp of surprise as she nearly lost her footing on the stairs. She recovered quickly, but Liam had already turned eyeing Callum and sizing him up. He was an older man though no larger than Liam with a frame that had clearly been battered by the seeds of time. His beard had seen better days, wiry and rough in appearance. He seemed the type to spend more time in the tavern than in the bath, and Liam could smell several days of drunken festivities on his breath.

“Aye, don’t rough up the lassie,” Liam said, turning towards Callum. “Perhaps you should sleep it off, like Fiona said. You look like a strong wind would be the end of you.”

Callum scowled. “Mind yer business, lad. Otherwise, I’ll mind it for you.” He turned back to Fiona, shaking her slightly. “Tonight is my night with you.”

“Nay,” Fiona countered, trying to peel his hands from her arms. “Tonight you have a date with yer bed, Callum. Let me free, and I’ll return yer coin so you can get out of my sight.”

“The coin is yers, now give me what I paid for,” Callum shouted before roughly pushing Fiona against the wall. Her shout of surprise and pain was enough to have Liam seeing red.

Without a thought, Liam released Bridgette, pushing her behind him as he reached for Callum. The air crackled with tension as his hand landed on Callum’s shoulder, and he didn’t hesitate before jerking the man towards him. Shadows danced on the walls as the other patrons shifted around them. The conversations still swirled around, but Liam only had eyes for the fight ahead. Not letting Callum get the upper hand, Liam struck, his movements quick and calculated. In a blur of motion, he struck Callum in the stomach, pushing the air from him and making the man double over. It served its purpose, biding some time and allowing Fiona to slip away relatively unscathed. But it only lasted for a moment. Callum stood quickly, rearing back and throwing a punch of his own, his fist connecting with Liam’s jaw and snapping his head back.

The pain across his face bloomed bright and sharp, and Liam grinned. The pain was as welcome as the mouth that would have been wrapped around his manhood if not for the interruption. He allowed Callum another jab just to give the man something to say. The second punch was weaker than the first, only barely grazing Liam’s cheek, the pain muted in comparison. Before Callum had a chance to regroup and throw another punch, Liam moved, aiming a sharp jab at Callum’s face. Callum barely had time to react, raising his arm in an attempt to stop the strike. The impact reverberated through the room, and Callum gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing in focus.

The conversation around them might have continued, but Liam’s focus narrowed on the fight at hand. He followed his jab with his other fist, knuckles cutting through the air with a force intent on shattering any fight left in the other man. He saw Callum attempting to duck out of the way, but followed him down, letting gravity give him more force as his fist connected with Callum’s nose. The cartilage snapped in a satisfying crunch, and Liam’s grin sharpened when Callum grunted and staggered back.

“You think you can take me down that easily?” Callum growled, wiping a trickle of blood from his split lip but ignoring the small surge that came from his nose. He surged forward with a drunken roar, his fists swinging wildly. Liam dodged and weaved, his agility allowing him to stay just out of reach before kicking with precision sending Callum crashing to the ground. He didn’t allow the man the space or time to stand, instead following him down with a rain of fists intent on ending things before they grew even more out of hand. When Callum went from swinging to protecting his face, Liam landed one final blow before standing up. He raised his head shaking out the soreness that was sure to come before stepping back and allowing Callum to get to his feet.

Callum’s face was a mess of cuts and what would be bruises in a few hours’ time. He was quiet now, all the bravado disappearing with his pride at having been beaten down by a lad twice his junior. With a final grumble, he made his way to the entrance, slipping out the door with a limp showcasing his defeat.

When Bridgette and Fiona rushed to Liam expressing their gratitude and offering to shave off some coin for his troubles, Liam declined. He let them keep the coin but wandered back to his chosen table. Another dram of whiskey was all he planned to accompany him for the rest of the evening as he wondered if the fight tonight would get back to Alison. He often wondered what she knew of his nightly escapades but refused to ask. He could handle her looks of sadness and confusion, but the look of disappointment would be the death of him. That he was sure of.