Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I t was a race to don their armor, Alaric and Lucia both fastening the pieces over their torsos. Once the alarm had sounded, it was only a matter of minutes before the castle was drowned in chaos and noise as the soldiers were mobilized to deal with the threat, Lucia and Alaric not far behind.

He only needed to exchange a glance with her to confirm they were both thinking the same thing. This attack was a result of their dealings with the Ravencloaks. They must have followed them there or perhaps Callum had somehow found out where they had headed after they had fled. Either way, the Ravencloaks knew they were there and they had come to spill the blood they deemed was owed.

The castle is still the safest place fer us. The Ravencloaks dinnae have enough men tae deal with Evan’s forces.

The only thing Alaric regretted was the fact that lives could be lost because of them. Regardless of the number of men, regardless of the odds, regardless of the superior training Evan’s men had, death and destruction were always a possibility in such a violent conflict.

Not only that, but Kayla was there. Alaric doubted anything would happen to her—she would remain safe within the deepest parts of the castle until the attack was over, guarded by several men. Getting to her would be almost impossible, and Callum had no need or desire for her anyway. It was Alaric and Lucia he wanted.

Still, her presence gave him pause. The entire situation had been unfair to her and now she was also suddenly trapped in the castle, waiting as the Ravencloaks staged their attack.

“Ready?” Lucia asked as she fastened the last strap of her armor. Alaric had half a mind to ask her to stay behind, to hide like Kayla would, but he already knew Lucia would not only refuse but even pick a fight with him for suggesting it. He couldn’t help but worry and he desperately wished to keep her safe, but there was no point in arguing with her about this.

She’s a warrior. She kens how tae fight.

Alaric simply had to remind himself of that simple truth whenever his nerves and concern got the better of him. Lucia could take care of herself. She didn’t need his protection.

“Ready,” Alaric said and the two of them left his chambers together, rushing out into the courtyard. The night was lit up by dozens of torches, the black sky illuminated by the incandescent glow of the flames. Shadows loomed all around them, large and imposing, shifting against the castle walls as the MacGregor soldiers ran through the grounds, all armed to the teeth. The commotion in the courtyard was so great that Alaric could hear nothing but indistinct shouts as orders were thrown around and swords and shields were grabbed, thundering footsteps ringing out all around them.

A fire blazed in the short distance. Alaric recognized the burning structure as the wheat storage, around which several men were trying to get the fire under control with bucket after bucket of water. Within the castle grounds, though, Alaric couldn’t see a single black cloak.

He cursed under his breath. It was just like the Ravencloaks to do something as cowardly and destructive as setting fire to their food storages instead of completing a direct attack. There was nothing honorable about it, but as far as plans were concerned, Alaric couldn’t deny it was probably the one that would benefit them the most. Callum knew he didn’t have the numbers and that a direct attack would only end in defeat and lower the numbers among his men, so he did what any good strategist would do—attack where it would hurt the clan the most.

“Bastards,” Alaric hissed and Lucia gasped when she followed his gaze and saw that the storage was on fire.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Food,” Alaric said. “Come. I’ll gather some men an’ we’ll go after the Ravencloaks.”

They couldn’t be too far, Alaric knew. Maybe they were reluctant to storm the castle, but they hadn’t come there simply to start a fire. They had come for him and Lucia, so they had to still be lingering nearby. And Alaric would face them head-on.

Calling to a small group of soldiers, Alaric made his way to the castle gates, closely followed by them and Lucia. Around them, more soldiers were pouring out of the castle walls under Evan’s orders, all of them seeking the enemy in the darkness of the wilderness that surrounded the keep. There was only one person on Alaric’s mind, though; only one person he wanted to find.

Where are ye, Callum? Where are ye hidin’?

Knowing him, Alaric was willing to bet Callum was hiding. There was no doubt in his mind that he had sent his men to do the dirty work for him, but at the same time, he doubted he would be too far. Callum liked control, after all, and he wouldn’t leave Alaric’s and Lucia’s fate in the hands of others. This was personal for him; if he was going to kill them, he had made it perfectly clear he wanted to kill them with his own two hands.

Two soldiers walked ahead of the group with torches in their hands, illuminating the way. Alaric tightened his grip on his sword, knuckles turning bone-white under the pressure, and out of the corner of his eye, he kept glancing at Lucia to make sure she was still right there next to him. She, too, was tense, just like the rest of them, but her keen gaze was searching around them for any sign of danger with no hint of fear or hesitation.

It then dawned on Alaric that Lucia wanted to kill Callum just as much as Callum wanted to kill her—if not more. She was driven by revenge and she didn’t care what she would have to do to get it.

Suddenly Alaric realized the two men at the front had come to a sudden halt. He came to a stop next to them, peering into the darkness as one of them pointed a finger at the shadows, ears straining to listen.

There were people there. Alaric could hear them, their footsteps quiet but not enough to go undetected. They weren’t MacGregor soldiers, that much was clear to him. Their own men knew the woods like the back of their hands and they knew how to move around the forest without ever making a sound.

It wasn’t long before the men revealed themselves—a party of eight, jumping out from the shadows and throwing themselves at the group. In the chaos that ensued, the air filling with the sounds of steel against steel and the shouts of both his men and the enemy, Alaric moved swiftly, getting close to Lucia, the two of them standing back-to-back as the enemy closed in. The first blow from one of Callum’s men came just as Alaric raised his sword to meet it, the force reverberating down his arm and rattling his bones to the core.

The man who had attacked him was large, broad-shouldered, and young—too young for Alaric’s liking.

In the struggle, he was separated from Lucia. For a moment, he looked around, distracted, searching for her, but he couldn’t see her anywhere near him. Heart leaping to his throat, Alaric abandoned his fight with the man so he could look for her, but before he could even call her name, the other pursued him, forcing himself in Alaric’s way. He only had a moment to react before the other man brought his blade down, almost slicing him from shoulder to hip, and it was only a lifetime of training and fast reflexes that had saved him.

I cannae afford tae be distracted. Lucia is fine. She’s always fine.

She’s capable.

Repeating those words to himself was all Alaric could do to calm his racing heart and focus on the issue at hand. If he wanted to get out of there alive and be of any use to Lucia, then he couldn’t allow himself any distractions.

With a cry, Alaric parried the man’s blow, pushing him back with a kick to the thigh. The other stumbled, taking a few steps backwards, his eyes bloodthirsty, flashing in the light of the torches as he glared at Alaric. He couldn’t help but wonder how many other fights this man had fought. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had experienced anything else but fights in his life.

There is only one way out o’ this.

Alaric drew a deep breath and delivered attack after attack, swinging his sword with all his might as he trapped the other man against a tree. With a well-timed blow, the man’s sword flew out of his hand, landing a few steps away on the ground with a clang, and Alaric didn’t miss the horror in his gaze when the realization that he was entirely defenseless sank in. When there was no escape for him, nowhere to run and no one to help him, Alaric delivered the final blow—not with his blade, but with the hilt of his sword, hitting the young man on the side of the head and rendering him unconscious.

With any luck, he would wake up once the fight was over with little more than a lasting headache.

With him disarmed, Alaric turned his attention back to the fight that still raged behind him, but still, he couldn’t spot Lucia among the crowd. One of the men had managed to lodge his torch among the branches of a tree, but the other seemed to have dropped it at some point in the fight, and the flames had spread over the ground in patches, burning bright. Their only hope was that the ground was damp from days of humid and unfavorable weather, making it difficult for the fire to spread far, but the flames that had already been ignited obscured Alaric’s field of vision, disorienting him and turning his task of finding Lucia into an impossible one.

“Oi!” he heard a man call, and it was no voice he recognized. “Is that nay the lassie who worked with Rory? Rory Campbell?”

Alaric followed the man’s pointing finger to finally find Lucia, just as she plunged her sword in a man’s stomach. She made for a wild figure, her clothes soaked in blood, her dark hair falling out of the ponytail in which she had hastily gathered it, strands sticking to her face with sweat. She heaved, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stared at the man before her crumble to the ground, and Alaric couldn’t help but recall an image of an avenging angel, as beautiful as she was terrifying.

“Och aye, that is her,” another man said. “Wonder what she’s doin’ here.”

“I heard she paid a whole pouch o’ gold tae Rory.”

Rory… Rory Campbell… why is that name familiar?

Alaric was certain he had heard it before, though he couldn’t remember where. The men’s conversation had caught his interest, though, and he approached them quietly, trying to hear them better.

“Why?” asked the other man.

“Somethin’ about helpin’ her kidnap some prince,” said the other.

“Prince?” said the man. “What prince?”

“I dinnae ken! That’s all I heard! Daes it matter? We should find out why she’s here.”

Alaric didn’t give them the chance. He was close enough by then, moving undetected, that he could strike them both down quickly, killing them with two swift, easy blows. He didn’t even watch them as they collapsed to the ground, their lives bleeding out of them. Instead, his gaze was glued to Lucia, who turned to meet it through the flames of a burning fire.

He remembered now how he knew that name. Rory Campbell was one of the men who had captured him when Lucia had found him—when she had claimed to have noticed his kidnapping and had allowed the brigands to get to him and help him escape.

Had she been lying to him this entire time? Had she been the one behind the kidnapping? Had she been plotting this all along?

Those men had no reason to lie. They had seen her, they had recognized her, and they had been surprised by her presence there. But why would Lucia have done such a thing? Why would she have orchestrated his kidnapping? Why would she have lied to him all that time?

Was she tryin’ tae trick me intae helpin’ her? Did she ken I would feel indebted tae her?

If that was the case, it had been a risky plan, but one which had clearly paid off. If that was the case, then Lucia had been lying to him and using him since the first day they had met.

From across the flames, Lucia’s gaze slid off him just as the last man standing from the group of brigands approached her. Alaric watched, frozen, as she fought him viciously, mercilessly, with the same kind of lust for blood he had seen in those brigands themselves, bile rising to the back of his throat.

This was not the woman he knew. This was not the woman he loved. He couldn’t recognize a single feature about her.