Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A laric stared, empty-eyed, at Callum as he spoke. After dinner, he had gathered everyone around the fire, announcing the gang’s next big job: ransacking a town that was on their way to their main quarters. In theory, Alaric had known from the start that he would have to do some unsavory things in order to infiltrate the Ravencloaks, but now, confronted by the reality of Callum’s plans, he didn’t know if it was something he could stomach.

He had been lucky enough to be able to help the man he and Lucia had robbed, but how could he help an entire town? Even if he somehow managed to send a letter to Evan or even if he survived that ordeal and returned to Castle MacGregor with all the desire to repay those people back, fixing up an entire town after the Ravencloaks had razed it to the ground would be neither easy nor cheap. He couldn’t hold his clan responsible for so much damage.

For a moment, he considered faking an injury or illness, but even if he successfully managed to pass as sick, he would still be watching as the others took everything from those townspeople and that was as good as participating. There was nothing he could do this time that could stop this disaster from befalling them.

An elbow to his ribs brought Alaric back to the present and he glanced to his side, seeing Lucia’s cold glare. He shook himself, hoping no one else had noticed that he had stopped paying attention to Callum and focused back on the plan. There would be time for him to be concerned about this later.

This would be another sleepless night, he knew.

“It’s a small town,” said Callum as he paced back and forth in front of the fire, the orange glow casting shadows over his face and making him look even more menacing than usual. “But it’s close tae Portencross Castle an’ so there will be smiths an’ artisans an’ gold.”

The men cheered, but Alaric frowned, sitting up a little straighter. “Portencross Castle?” he asked. “Is that truly on our way?”

Lucia shot him a warning glare, but Alaric ignored her. Portencross Castle was far from where they were and Alaric needed to know just how much time all this would take. No one had told them how far their safehouse was. No one had told them where they were going and he didn’t like travelling without knowing the destination.

Callum gave him a curious look from the other side of the flames, eyes narrowing. “Why? Is that too far fer ye? Has the travellin’ tired ye out?”

“I’m only wonderin’ where ye are takin’ us,” Alaric said, his choice of words entirely deliberate. It didn’t feel as though he and Lucia were following the Ravencloaks as much as being dragged all over the land by them, and if they were going to make it all the way to the west coast, then he wanted to know their destination, at least. If he ever got the chance to write to his brother again, he needed to know where they were heading. “An’ I am wonderin’ why ye havenae told us.”

Callum paused, pinning Alaric with his gaze. Then his stony expression changed into a small, strained smile. “All in due time,” he said. “Are ye concerned, Alaric? Is there somethin’ that bothers ye?”

“I already told ye what concerns me,” Alaric said flatly. Next to him, he could feel Lucia tense as he stood, glaring at Callum. “I’d like tae ken where me an’ me wife are headin’.”

Callum’s gaze slid from him to Lucia, but Alaric never once took his eyes off him. He only stared, as if daring him to give him an answer he wouldn’t like.

“An’ ye shall find out soon enough,” said Callum after a short pause. “All ye need tae ken now is that we are headin’ tae that town.”

It wasn’t the kind of answer Alaric wanted and so he was about to protest the lack of information when Lucia grabbed his arm and pulled him back down, much to the amusement of the men around them. Alaric could hear them whispering among themselves, joking about Lucia holding the reins and him being the wife, but he couldn’t care less about any of it. All he cared about was Callum and that look that he continued to give him, half irritated and half intrigued, as though he was trying to figure him out.

Alaric sat quietly after that, listening to Callum’s plan. He detailed everything, from the exact minute they would arrive to the positions of every man once they would begin their attack, and Alaric soon realized the Ravencloaks were more like an army than a gang of brigands and mercenaries. Callum led them with the organization and discipline of a war master, of someone who had spent his entire life learning and applying strategy. Where had he learned all this, Alaric wondered? Was it simply through years of trial and error? Did he have a predecessor, someone who had taught him everything he knew?

He didn’t know, nor could he ask, considering how Callum had just reacted to him asking questions. Instead, he remained silent and listened to the plan, taking in all the small details as he tried to figure out a way to minimize the damage the Ravencloaks would cause.

Lucia woke to two pairs of strong hands grabbing her—one of them closing around her wrists and the other around her ankles, a gag shoved into her mouth and a loose cloth bag over her head. It all happened so fast that she didn’t even have time to scream. She couldn’t even react at first, her entire body going rigid with shock and fear at the unexpected attack, but soon her instincts kicked in and she began to thrash in the men’s hold, twisting her body violently as she tried to escape their grasp.

She heard one of them curse; a gruff, familiar voice, followed by someone shushing him. In her senseless thrashing, Lucia managed to get one of her legs free, slipping out of her attacker’s grasp and kicking madly around in the hopes that she would get to reach someone and deal enough damage for them to let her go. Before long, though, footsteps thundered around her and another pair of hands grabbed her, the three men holding her securely in their grip.

Near her, she could hear Alaric grunt and struggle, surely trying to free himself much like she did. It was pointless, though. Lucia knew what was coming.

These were not simply some attackers who happened to find their camp in the middle of the night. No one could sneak up on the Ravencloaks like this now that Callum had tightened the security around the camp ever since she and Alaric had attacked them.

These were Ravencloak men and this was Callum’s real plan. There would never be an attack on that town, Lucia knew. It had all been a ploy to feed them false information and see if they would reveal anything should they fall in enemy hands.

A loyalty test. How quaint.

It was going to be far from enjoyable. Loyalty tests never were and their subjects usually took several days, if not weeks, to heal from the damage dealt to them. Still, that was the least of Lucia’s concerns. They couldn’t hurt them too badly, not when they needed them as part of the group if they passed. What concerned her was that Alaric could spill everything to them in an attempt to save them, since they had no real loyalty to the Ravencloaks. If he wanted a way out, then this could be it for him.

I must find a way tae warn him. I must tell him it is only a test.

But how could she do that? She was bound and gagged, and the bag over her head allowed her to see nothing but flashes of light, undoubtedly from the fire and the torches that were still lit.

Before long, Lucia was tossed to the ground, landing onto her back. Alaric soon joined her, his body thudding against the hard soil as he landed with a groan. Could she whisper to him, she wondered? Could she try to reveal what she knew without the other men hearing her?

It was unlikely. The others were silent, so that neither she nor Alaric would recognize their voices, and so they would hear her speak, even if her voice was barely more than a whisper. Perhaps she could play the role of the concerned wife, she thought. Perhaps she could seek Alaric out blindly, get close enough so that he would hear her but no one else. If he was panicking, though, if he was too shocked to hear her, then it wouldn’t matter.

The first blow came then—not to her, but to Alaric, who groaned in pain next to her. Soon, a fist collided with her stomach, too, forcing her to curl in on herself as the pain spread over her torso. Lucia breathed through it, trying to let the pain pass through her. What disturbed her the most were the grunts coming from her right as the men dealt blow after blow to Alaric—much more vicious with him than they were with her.

“Tell us what ye ken about the Ravencloaks,” someone said. It was a voice Lucia didn’t recognize, though whether it was someone she hadn’t talked to yet or someone who had simply changed his pitch, she didn’t know. It was a gruff, menacing voice, one that sent a chill down her spine.

Lucia remained silent and, much to her relief, so did Alaric. With any luck, he wouldn’t speak at all, no matter how much the men hurt him, but Lucia knew better than anyone that everyone had their limits. If they hurt him enough, why would he continue to remain silent? For all he knew, these were enemies of the Ravencloaks and giving them what they wanted would only set him free.

“Where is their next target?” the man asked, this time his voice sounding close to Lucia. When she didn’t respond, another hit followed, this time to the side of her head, forcing it to the side. It wasn’t hard enough to disorient her, though, or to deal any real damage, but rather just enough to rattle her, as if they knew just how much force they had to use. “Speak!”

Another blow, this one once again to her stomach, and Lucia coughed, the breath knocked out of her. She groaned as she rolled onto her back, her chest heaving as she tried to calm herself. As much as her mind knew she wasn’t in any real danger, her body was still experiencing the shock and the pain.

“Lucia!” Alaric called from next to her, the sound of her name followed by those of a commotion. It took her a few seconds to realize Alaric was trying to put up a fight once more, trying to reach her. “Let her go! She doesnae ken anythin’!”

“Lies!” barked the man. “How can she nae ken anythin’ when ye’re both with the Ravencloaks?”

“She doesnae,” Alaric insisted. “Nae one tells her anythin’. Why would they tell a lass?”

It was a valiant effort to save her, Lucia thought, but one that was in vain. Even if those men were real enemies, then they wouldn’t believe Lucia knew nothing about the plans, and even if they did, they wouldn’t care.

Taking a deep breath, Lucia steeled herself for what was to come. With the most despair she could muster, she called, “Alaric! Alaric! Let him go, please! Dinnae hurt him!”

As she screamed, she shuffled closer and closer to Alaric, following the sound of his voice and the contours of his body once she was close enough to touch him. Thankfully, the men allowed it, and Lucia could hear them snicker quietly over them, as though they found the situation amusing. Vile as that was, it suited her just fine. The more they laughed at them, the less seriously they would take them as threats.

Once she was close enough, she laid her head on Alaric’s shoulder, sobbing quietly a few times just to make sure they would think her desperate. Then, she whispered Alaric’s name in his ear, so quietly that she feared even he wouldn’t hear it.

He did, though. He flinched a little, surprised by the low tone of her voice and the proximity. Now Lucia had but one chance to warn him.

“This is a trial,” she murmured.

That was all she could risk telling him. For a moment, the two of them lay there, both panting, both trying to get over the pain, before someone grabbed Lucia again and tore them apart, tossing her to the side.

Lucia lost track of time. The questioning continued for what seemed like hours and so did the torture, the men coming up with increasingly creative ways to inflict them maximum pain with as little damage as possible. But through it all, both Lucia and Alaric remained silent, sharing nothing with their captors.

A part of Lucia was surprised by Alaric’s strength. She had never thought him weak—if she had, she wouldn’t have sought out his assistance in the first place—but to endure so much torture for a revenge that was not even his own startled her. Then again, he probably feared the same thing as Lucia: if they slipped, they would be killed. The Ravencloaks would not allow them to live if they proved to be traitors, even if they knew virtually nothing about them.

Then, just as Lucia thought her body could take no more and was on the verge of unconsciousness, there was a strange lull. Not only did the torture stop, but so did the voices, a silence falling over them in the dark of the night.

Someone yanked the hood off Lucia’s head. She blinked, trying to take in her surroundings in the low light of the torches, and saw all the Ravencloak men there, surrounding her and Alaric. All of them bore the same grin, satisfied and even proud.

When she glanced to the side, she saw that Alaric’s face was a horror. His left eye was swollen shut, his lip was cut in multiple places, and blood covered his skin and beard. From the horrified look on his face and the fact that her entire face and body throbbed with pain, Lucia could only assume she didn’t look much better.

Dragging her gaze back to the men, Lucia spotted Callum pushing his way through the crowd to stand before her and Alaric. He looked down at them, observing them both for a few moments, and then his lips split into a grimace of a grin.

“Congratulations!” he said, clapping his hands together in excitement. “Ye’re now both Ravencloaks! Lads, get them their cloaks.”

As Callum spoke, two of the men rushed to Lucia and Alaric, draping black cloaks over their shoulders—the very same ones as everyone else in the gang wore. Lucia released her breath, relief washing over her.

It was over, for now. She had gained their trust and so had Alaric, and the only thing between her and her revenge was time.