Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

W hat Lucia Donnelly had been searching for was an avenging angel, someone who could help her finally have the revenge she deserved. What she found was a man who had been beaten to an inch of his life and who, the more time passed, the more he seemed to surrender to his injuries.

When she had first found him in the cottage, Alaric had been more or less alert, following not only her steps but also the conversation with no trouble. Now that they had escaped the brigands, though, he was leaning heavily against her, his arms loose around her waist as he held onto her while she was steering the horse to the nearest town. Lucia cursed under her breath. Those men had truly done too much damage and now she would have to take care of him and make sure none of his wounds were too serious.

Ever since asking her name, Alaric hadn’t spoken again, but Lucia could feel his uneven breaths on the back of her neck and the warmth of his body as he pressed up against her. The only sounds around them were the wind and the horse’s hooves, loud and rhythmic against the soil as she rode as fast as she could down the path without running the risk of Alaric falling off. By the time they made it to the town, Alaric was barely hanging off her and keeping himself upright, and so Lucia had to help him off the horse, huffing with exertion when he put his weight on her.

All her training had built plenty of strength in her muscles, but even she was not prepared for the solid weight of Alaric’s towering figure. She took a moment to steady them both, wrapping one arm around him, and to his credit, Alaric seemed to force himself to be a little more alert now that they were walking towards the small inn.

“I thought… I was doin’ better,” Alaric said and though he struggled to speak, at least he wasn’t slurring his words. Lucia took that as a good sign, considering all the bruises and the cuts he sported on his face, which spoke of several blows being delivered directly to his head.

“Ye’re doin’ fine,” she assured him, even if it was a lie. “Ye just need tae rest.”

When she pulled him into the small, cramped inn, every person in the room turned to look at them, staring at Alaric’s slumped form. Fortunately for them both, there were only three of them—the innkeeper and two other men sitting at a low table by the fireplace.

In a small town like this, though, word would spread fast, and Alaric wasn’t exactly difficult to recognize. Not only did he resemble his brother from what Lucia had heard, but he also had tattoos covering a large portion of his body, along with countless scars underneath them. They couldn’t stay there for too long. You never know who might be watching.

Dragging Alaric over to the innkeeper behind the counter, Lucia put on the most distressed expression she could muster, her bottom lip trembling ever so slightly as she spoke.

“Could we please have a room fer the night?” she asked. “An’… an’ if possible some hot water an’ cloth.”

“What happened tae him?” the innkeeper asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously. That was the other issue, Lucia thought. Whoever didn't know who Alaric was would surely be wary of him with the way he looked. It was no wonder the innkeeper didn’t quite trust them. Alaric looked more like a brigand than most brigands did, with his tattoos, his scars, and the dark beard that gave him a rough and rugged appearance.

“He was attacked by brigands,” Lucia said. “Please… he isnae a bad man.

The innkeeper didn’t quite seem convinced, at least not until Lucia dug into her pocket with a sigh and gave him enough coin for more than two nights.

“Just fer the night,” she said. “Please.”

That was enough to convince him and within moments, Lucia held a key in her hand and a promise that they would soon have hot water and cloths in their room. Once she managed to drag Alaric up the stairs, she made him sit on the bed and then there was a knock on the door. Lucia opened it to find a young woman there with a tray in her hand with a pitcher of steaming water, a pitcher of wine, two cups, and a cloth on it.

Upon seeing Alaric on the bed, the girl paused by the door, her gaze flitting back and forth between them.

“Me faither told me tae bring ye this,” she said, and Lucia reached for the tray, placing it on top of the small dresser.

“Thank ye,” she said and promptly shut the door in the girl’s face.

She didn’t have time for this. She had to get Alaric back in working condition and get out of there.

The room was as small as the rest of the inn, holding nothing more than a bed which dominated the space, a dresser, and a washbasin. It was more than enough for one night, Lucia had slept in worse places.

She didn’t think she would be getting any sleep anyway.

Grabbing a piece of cloth, Lucia wet it with the hot water and walked over to the bed, carefully cleaning off the wounds on Alaric’s face. Though he hissed in pain every time she rubbed the blood off his skin, he remained still, letting her work and never once flinching away from her touch.

“Will ye tell me what ye want o’ me now?” Alaric asked and Lucia looked up at him to find him staring at her, his green eyes peering into hers. “Nay one is chasin’ us. We have time.”

Lucia took a deep, shuddering breath. “Aye, ye’re right. Ye should ken the truth.”

Even after saying those words, she remained silent for a while, carefully cleaning off the more stubborn blood stains. Alaric didn’t push her. He only looked at her expectantly, waiting for her response.

“I had a braither,” she said, swallowing around the knot that formed in her throat whenever she spoke of him. “His name was Ronan an’ he… he was a good man an’ the best brother. We never had much. We never had gold or even family. All we had was each other.”

As she spoke, Lucia’s hand fell to her side, her fingers clutching the cloth tightly, until her knuckles went white. It was never easy, talking about Ronan. Though he was always on her mind, as long as she didn’t speak about him, she could shoulder the grief. It was only when she spoke his name aloud that it threatened to overwhelm her, to choke her and force the tears she held back to spill from her eyes.

“What happened tae him?” Alaric asked in a soft voice.

Lucia took a deep breath, pulling herself together. She could never allow herself to wallow in her pain and sorrow, not when there was so much work still left to be done.

“He was killed by brigands,” she said. “They murdered him. They murdered him an’ he didnae even have anythin’ valuable on him. We never had anythin’ more than a roof over our heads an’ enough food fer a few days, an’ yet they didnae hesitate tae take his life.”

Alaric listened in silence, but Lucia could tell he was more alert now. When she looked in his eyes, they were focused on her, the former haze in them gone.

“When I saw those men take ye… aye, it is true that I heard who ye are an’ I kent ye could help me, but I also couldnae bear the thought that they would harm ye. I couldnae save me braither, but I could save ye an’ so… so I did.”

Swallowing with an audible click in his throat, Alaric reached for Lucia’s hand, holding it between his palms. For a moment as she looked at him, she was mesmerized. Under the rough exterior, Alaric was a handsome man, with a piercing gaze and strong, striking features. Perhaps not many would call him that, at least not at first glance, but Lucia felt her throat dry as she stared at him, her heartbeat picking up just a little.

It was only because he was showing her a hint of tenderness, she thought. No one else had shown her any since Ronan’s death. She had no family. She refused to take a lover. Alaric was the first person to touch her like that in a very long time.

However, Lucia had no use for such sentiments. She wasn’t there to fall in love, but to avenge her brother’s death. That had been her only goal in life ever since she had found his body, ever since she had put him in the cold earth with her own two hands.

“I’m sorry fer yer braither,” Alaric said and he sounded so sincere that Lucia felt something akin to guilt—a feeling that quickly dissipated, much like everything else that wasn’t her grief and her rage. “But I dinnae see how I can help ye with this.”

“I wish tae find the men who killed him an’ bring them tae justice,” said Lucia. It was difficult to contain her rage, to pull it back so it wouldn’t frighten Alaric, but he didn’t seem frightened at all. Though he was still guarded, looking at her with some doubt, he was listening carefully to what she had to say.

He was an honorable man, Lucia had heard—the kind of man who held up his end of the bargain, and since she had saved his life, she doubted he would go back on his word and refuse to help her. After all, he had no reason to refuse. As far as he was aware, he would be doing the right thing.

“Why would the brigands attack yer braither?” Alaric asked and Lucia’s irritation spiked, to the point where she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from lashing out. Naturally, none of this could be easy, because nothing in her life was easy. Alaric would not simply agree; she would have to convince him. “Was he travellin’ when they attacked? Was he alone?”

With a sigh, Lucia disentangled herself from Alaric and stood, walking over to the dresser to pour the wine in the two cups. As she did, she angled her body to hide her movements and then plucked a small vial from a hidden pocket in her dress, emptying its contents into one of them before offering it to Alaric.

“They passed through our village,” she said as she took a sip of the wine. “I dinnae ken why they killed him. Why dae brigands dae anythin’?”

Alaric considered her answer for a moment before he took a sip from his cup. Just as he lowered it from his lips, he tipped it up again and drained the whole thing, much to Lucia’s surprise—and delight.

“Dae ye ken who they are?” Alaric asked.

“Aye,” said Lucia. “I found out after the attack.”

“Did they think yer braither had somethin’ o’ value on him?”

Lucia shook her head, quickly losing her patience. “I dinnae ken. But I can assure ye he had naething o’ value.”

“Did they…”

Slowly, yet surely, Alaric’s eyelids began to fall shut and he struggled to keep himself awake. He frowned in confusion, parting his lips as if to speak but then saying nothing, and his fingers loosened around the cup.

Lucia caught it before it could hit the floor and pushed Alaric gently onto the mattress. “Rest,” she said. “Ye are tired. We can speak about this later.”

Alaric went easily, his eyes falling shut for good before his head had even hit the pillow. Almost instantly, he began to snore and Lucia took a moment to snap her fingers right about his head, making sure he was truly and deeply asleep.

“Finally,” she grumbled, taking their cups and returning them to the tray before she slipped out of the room. For a moment there, she had thought Alaric’s questions would never stop.

Once out of the inn, she rounded the building and headed to the back, where Rory was waiting for her. When he spotted her, he threw up his arms in frustration, but Lucia could only laugh at the incredulous look on his face—and the black eye she had given him.

“Did ye have tae hit me?” he asked, his voice too loud for Lucia’s liking. She shushed him sharply, giving him a stern look, but it seemed he was not yet done. “An’ ye had me waitin’ here fer half an hour! What if someone saw me?”

“It is up tae ye if someone sees ye,” Lucia pointed out as she pulled a pouch full of coins out of her pocket and handed it to him. “An’ I had tae make the attack look real. Look at this,” she said, pointing to her swollen lip. “One o’ yer men did this. They certainly didnae hold back. Why did ye hurt the MacGregor lad so badly?”

“Ye said tae make it seem real,” Rory reminded her. “We made it seem real. Besides, ye didnae tell us he could have killed us all! Have ye seen him fight? The lad’s a demon!”

“I told ye that ye would need several men,” Lucia pointed out. “An’ naething happened tae any o’ them, so stop complainin’. Here’s yer coin.”

“I dinnae owe ye, ye dinnae owe me,” said Rory with a tip of his head. “Correct?”

“Correct,” Lucia confirmed. “Go. Get out o’ here.”

Rory turned to leave, but then came to a sudden halt, looking at Lucia over his shoulder. “What will ye dae with him?”

“Join the Ravencloaks.”

Though Lucia’s tone was entirely nonchalant, Rory gaped at her, shocked. “Ye will get yerself an’ the laddie killed.”

“They killed me braither,” she reminded Rory. It didn’t matter if she died. It didn’t really matter to her if Alaric ended up dead, too. All that mattered was revenge. “An’ now I will kill the bastard who took him from me.”