Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

“ W ake up.”

Alaric winced, waking up to the sound of a vaguely familiar voice and the soft impact of a bunched-up cloth against his face. He blinked his eyes open just as Lucia, standing by the dresser next to the door, grabbed another cloth to toss at him. This time, Alaric grabbed it mid-air, sitting up on the bed to rub at his eyes.

“When did I fall asleep?”

He didn’t remember even wanting to sleep. The last thing he could recall was his conversation with Lucia—a conversation they never got to finish. He still had so many questions for her, so many things he needed to find out, and he was about to start asking them once more when the combination of a throbbing headache and an empty stomach stopped him.

“How are ye feelin’?” Lucia asked. “Those men were rough with ye.”

“I’m alright,” Alaric said, though it wasn’t quite true. His entire body ached, the pressure behind his eyes felt unbearable, and even the smallest hints of light from the candles Lucia had lit in the room were enough to blind him. “How long was I asleep?”

“A while,” said Lucia as she headed to the door. “There is water fer ye in the washbasin. Come down tae eat when ye’re ready.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Alaric in the dim light of the room. For a moment, he fell back down onto the pillow, shutting his eyes firmly and trying to stave off the worst of the headache with little success. A part of him wanted to stay there forever and try to sleep the pain off, but when his stomach rumbled loudly, he figured Lucia was right; he had to eat.

With great effort, Alaric pushed himself off the bed and shuffled over to the washbasin, quickly scrubbing off the sweat and what was left of the blood from his skin. He righted his clothes and fixed his hair as much as he could while looking at his reflection in the looking-glass, taming his dark curls and smoothing down his beard, and by the time he was done, he looked almost presentable. It was only when he opened the door of the room that he paused, the sudden influx of noise that had been dampened by the thick wood making him wince again. He took a moment to breathe through it, willing the headache away, and then made his way down the stairs where Lucia was waiting for him, sitting at a table tucked away in the far corner of the room.

It was the kind of table he would have chosen. She had also selected the seat where he wanted to sit, ideally, with her back against the wall and a full view of the room before her. Not for the first time, Alaric wondered who this woman was who was acting like a seasoned scout.

Could it be it was only chance? Could she have chosen that table by accident?

But there were a couple of other empty tables in the room, though the tavern wing of the inn was strangely populated even at that time of the night, with several men at each table. Then there was the way she was watching—not looking at, but obviously observing—her surroundings. Every now and then, her eyes scanned the room and any movement near the door instantly drew her attention.

Wary and confused and tired, Alaric made his way to the table and, with some reluctance, took the seat across from Lucia, with his back to the room. He had never felt so exposed. He had no reason to think someone was going to attack him in that tavern, but it was impossible to quiet the voice in his head which spoke of untold danger every time he turned his back. His tutors’ teachings were deeply embedded in his very core after all those years of learning how to fight.

Before Alaric could gather his thoughts enough to speak to Lucia, a serving wench brought them food—the typical stew of unidentifiable ingredients served in all such taverns—and two mugs full to the brim with ale, some of it spilling onto the already sticky table as she placed them down. The food hardly looked appetizing, but as it were, Alaric thought he could even eat the dirt from the ground outside and still be content.

“Wait,” he told the young woman as she made to leave. “Dae ye have ink an’ paper?”

“Aye,” said the girl, nodding. “Me faither should have some.”

“I need tae write a letter,” said Alaric. “Will ye send it fer me?”

Though she regarded him curiously for a few moments, the girl nodded and left, weaving her way through the crowded tables. When he glanced at Lucia, she had the same curious look on her face.

“Who are ye writin’?” she asked.

“Me braither,” Alaric said. “I must tell him I was delayed.”

He didn’t mention the reason for his eagerness to write Evan was not only because he didn’t want his brother to be concerned about his well-being—after all, there had been plenty of times when Alaric had been delayed on a mission and had returned home later than expected—but also because there was the matter of his betrothed. His reluctance to tell Lucia about her didn’t puzzle him, but only because he refused to think about it. What was there to say, after all? His betrothal was none of Lucia’s business.

“Tell him it will take ye a while tae return,” said Lucia, like giving orders was second nature to her.

Alaric observed her for a few moments—the casual, wide stance she had assumed on the chair, which was by no means suitable for a lady, the hooded green eyes that revealed nothing about what she was thinking, the way she seemed to dominate the room even with her rather small frame.

He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of woman she was. Never before had he met someone like her and the allure of the unknown and the unfamiliar was irresistible. Maybe if he found out more about her, if he got to know her motives and her desires, then the mystery she posed wouldn’t affect him so terribly.

“What, precisely, dae ye mean when ye say a while?” Alaric asked as he dug into the bowl of stew, barely tasting the concoction of meat and vegetables. The moment the first bite settled in his stomach, he realized just how ravenous he was and he had to stop himself from tearing into a bannock with complete abandon, trying to remember his good manners and upbringing even if they were in a lowly tavern and not in a castle. Lucia, on the other hand, seemed entirely uninterested in the food, taking a few large gulps of ale instead.

“A while,” she said, as if repeating it explained anything. “I dinnae ken how long, but I ken it willnae be a simple task.”

“I dinnae even ken what the task is!” Alaric pointed out, pointing his spoon at her in an accusatory manner. “Ye’ve told me naethin’ about yer plan an’ yet ye expect me tae dae as ye say!”

“Keep yer voice down,” Lucia hissed, slamming her hand on the table as she leaned over it to glare at Alaric. The sudden outburst startled him, but he was slowly beginning to understand Lucia was nothing like the other women in his life. She had not been raised by governesses or with the expectations of a lady, yet neither did she have the mild manners of the peasant girls he had met before. She was something else entirely, something which defied categorization. “I’ll tell ye if ye promise ye willnae panic.”

“Panic?” Alaric asked with a frown, his heartbeat already kicking up a notch. “I’m a warrior. I dinnae panic.”

The look Lucia gave him was an unimpressed one. “Ye seem tae be panickin’ already.”

“I’m nae panickin’,” Alaric insisted. “But ye cannae tell me tae nae panic an’ nae expect me tae be at least a wee concerned about what ye’ll tell me.”

For a moment, Lucia stared at him in silence. Then, she said, “I suppose that is fair. Well… here is the plan, then.”

Alaric waited with bated breath, but Lucia didn’t speak. Instead, she looked around the room, eyes once again searching for a threat that didn’t seem to be there, and despite her warning that Alaric shouldn’t panic, he found it increasingly difficult to remain calm.

What is it tae which I agreed? Why is she so scared?

“Alright,” said Lucia, taking a deep breath as she leaned even closer over the table, her voice lowering to a whisper. “I need tae infiltrate the Ravencloaks.”

Alaric laughed. He couldn’t help it, since surely, it had to be a joke. He was well aware of the Ravencloaks and their reputation around those parts, and he doubted anyone in their right mind would try to infiltrate an organization of mercenaries, let alone one as savage and vicious as them.

Lucia, though, wasn’t laughing, and so Alaric’s laughter quickly faded and was promptly replaced by a chilling sense of dread.

“Ye’re jestin’, surely,” he said, but Lucia only shook her head. “The Ravencloaks? Dae ye have any idea who they are? How many people they have killed?”

“Aye,” said Lucia, her gaze hardening. “An’ one o’ them was me braither.”

Alaric cursed under his breath. Lucia’s desire to infiltrate the mercenaries was not a simple whim, then, but a quest for revenge, and Alaric knew how persistent people who sought revenge could be. Looking at her in the dim light of the tavern, he could see the determination written plainly in her features, in the clench of her jaw and the narrowed eyes, in the challenge held in her gaze as if she was daring him to take back his word.

Alaric couldn’t, of course. He was bound by honor, as he had already promised Lucia he would help her if she helped him, and she had held up her end of the bargain. If he backed out now, he would be betraying all the ideals he held so dear.

Still, this was madness, and he needed Lucia to know that.

“Dae ye understand how dangerous what ye’re suggestin’ is?” he asked. “If we’re nae careful?—”

“We’ll be careful.”

“Even if we are careful,” Alaric said with a sigh, already frustrated by how easy it was for Lucia to disregard his concerns, “there is nay guarantee that either o’ us will survive this. Ye said it wouldnae be disgraceful an’ it wouldnae affect me clan, but I could end up dead. Ye never said anythin’ about that.”

“Ye could end up dead any day,” Lucia pointed out with a shrug, seemingly unbothered by the thought. “Ye’re a warrior, are ye nae? Or dae ye send men tae battle in yer place while ye stand behind the walls an’ watch?”

Alaric’s blood rushed to his head at the accusation, worsening his already terrible headache. He, too, leaned over the table until their faces were so close that his nose brushed against Lucia’s, baring his teeth as he spoke.

“It’s best tae say naethin’ if ye dinnae ken what it is ye’re sayin’,” he told her. “I’ve never once stayed behind the walls.”

“Then why are ye so afraid?” Lucia asked. She stayed precisely where she was, as if Alaric’s presence and proximity did nothing to intimidate her, which was as confusing to him as it was alluring. Only very few people didn’t cower in fear near him when he was angry—those who knew him well enough to understand that his rough appearance had nothing to do with his milder temperament. But Lucia didn’t know him at all and yet she was still comfortable around him, as if she was certain he wouldn’t hurt her.

Or as if she was certain he couldn’t.

“I’m nae afraid,” Alaric said, deciding to give her a small victory by pulling back first and settling against the back of the chair. “I dinnae have tae be afraid tae think that this is madness. Why would I wish tae give me life away like this?”

“Are ye sayin’ that ye willnae help me?” Lucia asked and her tone was suddenly so cold, so devoid of any emotion that a chill ran down Alaric’s spine. It was not a simple question, he knew; it was a warning.

For a moment, he hesitated. Once again, he began to wonder who it was he was dealing with, as Lucia revealed more and more of herself to him. Was she simply heartbroken by her brother’s death, a sister in mourning who wanted to avenge him, or was she as dangerous as she seemed in those seconds, a woman he should never trust?

“I’ll help ye,” he said, though reluctantly. “I have given ye me word, so I’ll help ye. But I willnae give me life fer nay good reason. If anythin’ happens… if it becomes too dangerous, ye will listen tae me an’ ye will dae as I tell ye.”

Lucia snorted, the sound as inelegant as it was full of mirth, rolling her eyes as if what Alaric had said was ridiculous. She didn’t try to argue, though. Instead, she dragged her gaze to the far end of the room with a frown, and Alaric heard a commotion behind him before he even had the time to turn and look.

“Will ye participate?”

Looking up to find the serving wench there, handing him some paper, some ink, and a pen, Alaric asked, “Participate in what?”

“They’re fightin’ fer coin,” the girl said, nodding her head in the direction of the men who had gathered there, in the far corner, creating a makeshift rink with their bodies as two of them stepped in the middle. “Some o’ them fight fer their entertainment.”

“Nay,” said Alaric, “I dinnae think?—”

“I’ll dae it,” said Lucia, draining the rest of her ale before she slammed the cup down onto the table. Before Alaric could protest, she was already standing and making her way to the group of men, leaving Alaric to scrabble behind her, a hand shooting out to stop her.

She truly is insane!