Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

A laric woke with a start. He didn’t know what it was that had disturbed him in his sleep, and he was quite certain he hadn’t been asleep for long, but from the moment he opened his eyes, there was a strange tightness to his chest, a knot in his stomach. He had the feeling that something was wrong. Never before had he woken up like that in the middle of the night, especially after an attack that had left him exhausted and in desperate need of sleep.

For a few moments, he tossed and turned in bed, thinking that perhaps he had had a nightmare he could no longer recall. Eventually, though, the feeling in his gut grew until he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood, dressing hastily before he left his chambers.

He didn’t know where he was going until he came up to a familiar door. Everyone else was now asleep save for the guards on patrol. He figured Lucia would be asleep, as well, but he couldn’t help the urge to check in on her. Slowly, quietly, he pushed the door to her chambers open, only to find them empty, and then he instantly knew what that feeling in his stomach was.

She was gone. Just as he had thought, her promise to stay within the castle walls had been empty and she had fled in the middle of the night.

Or maybe she hadn’t fled at all. Maybe she had left for a very specific reason—to find Callum.

Alaric wouldn’t put it past her. If anything, the more he thought about it, the more he feared that was precisely the case. He had seen the look of determination on her face when he had told her he couldn’t forgive her. There had been that familiar mask over her features once more, the very same one he had seen on her countless times before, whenever she spoke of her brother. Now that Alaric had no way to hold her back, it wouldn’t surprise him if the first thing she had done was to track Callum down and try to kill him.

But that could only mean danger. Lucia would walk right in the jaws of the wolf, and the Ravencloaks would not let her live.

He had to go after her. A part of him was reluctant to do so after everything; after all the lies and the manipulation, he thought that perhaps it would be in his best interest to stay where he was and let Lucia deal with this on her own, in the only way she knew how. Another part of him, though, the bigger of the two, would not be able to live with himself if something happened to her, and it was more than likely in his mind that she would lose this battle.

He didn’t want to see her harmed. Even more so, he didn’t want to see her dead, and if he did nothing, he feared her death would be imminent.

At first, Alaric had half a mind to simply don his armor and ride after her, searching for her in the dark. He didn’t know what time it was, he didn’t know where she was or how he would find her but he knew Evan’s men were still out there, combing the area for signs of the Ravencloaks and if they found them, then they were bound to find Lucia, too. As tempting as it was to go after her on his own, he knew he needed help, and so before anything else, he rushed to Evan’s chambers, knocking incessantly on his door. When it opened, Alaric saw his brother there in nothing but his nightshirt, his eyes wide in alarm and his dark hair forming a wild halo around his head, strands sticking up towards all directions.

“What is it?” he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What is the matter?”

“Lucia,” said Alaric. “She went after the Ravencloaks.”

It was all he needed to say for any trace of sleep to disappear from Evan’s gaze. Suddenly, he was entirely alert, ready to step right into the role of the laird.

“Get ready,” he said. “An’ gather the men.”

Alaric nodded, pulling Evan into a quick, tight embrace. He didn’t know how he would ever do anything without his brother. He didn’t know how he would have achieved anything without his support.

Hurriedly, Alaric headed back to his chambers and prepared for yet another battle, before rushing down to the courtyard and grabbing a few select men among the guards who would be going with them. He wished he could take as many men as were in the castle, but he couldn’t leave the place defenseless. If anything, he figured Callum and the Ravencloaks may find it as the perfect opportunity to attack, thinking that the MacGregor forces would be diminished by going after Lucia.

When Evan joined them, Alaric jumped on his horse and led the group out of the castle walls and into the darkness of the night. Isabeau and Bonnie both stood by the doors, watching them leave with matching looks of concerns on their faces, and Alaric wished he could tell them something to reassure them everything would be fine, but he couldn’t even convince himself of that. Fear and doubt both gnawed at him. There was no shedding the fear that something may have already happened to Lucia. There was no taking the image of her, lying dead on the ground, out of his mind.

There had been no word yet from Evan’s search parties regarding the whereabouts of the Ravencloaks, and so their group searched blindly for a while. Dawn began to break in the horizon, bathing the land in a cold, blue light, and the more it took them to locate the gang, the more Alaric began to lose hope. Could it be that they had already left, he wondered? Could it be that they had captured or killed Lucia and that had been enough for Callum to abandon his quest for Alaric?

Perhaps he had already satiated his bloodlust and thought going after him wasn’t worth it when he had the support of an entire army behind him. But if that was the case, Alaric didn’t know how he could possibly go on living with himself, knowing he had not saved Lucia on time.

I kent she would dae this. I kent, deep down, an’ I still allowed it.

He should have posted a guard outside her door, at least, or have had a few of them watch her and report to him. Lucia was capable and she could slip out of many people’s notice, but she, too, was human. If he had tasked everyone with keeping an eye on her, this would not have happened.

Just as Alaric began to despair, his fear getting the better of him, he caught a glimpse of glowing flames in the distance. He knew a campfire when he saw one, and so he pulled his horse to a stop, raising his hand so the men behind him would do the same. Silence suddenly fell around them in the woods. All the men were holding their breaths, adrenaline coursing through them just as it did in Alaric’s veins.

“We continue on foot,” he said and everyone dismounted, leaving the horses to the last two guards in the group. Evan walked towards him, falling into step next to him as the two of them began to move at the head of the group, his eyes keen, scanning the area around them for any signs of hidden danger.

“Dae ye think it’s them?” Evan asked.

“It must be, right?” said Alaric. Who else would it be so deep in the woods? Travelers, even the most experienced ones, had neither reason nor desire to hide like this. It was easy to get his hopes up and think that he had finally found the Ravencloaks, but the closer they got to the camp, the more his fear grew, tearing him up from the inside.

What if he got there and found Lucia dead? He could not even fathom such an outcome. He could not imagine his response to such a tragedy. Even though he had lost many people in the past, this seemed like the kind of loss which would ultimately break him.

Evan must have sensed it in him, this fear, this hesitation to get any closer, as he placed a gentle hand on Alaric’s shoulder, urging him forward. Alaric was grateful for it. Even that small gesture was enough to propel him, to give him the simple push he needed to take those last few steps and make it to the clearing.

The moment he stepped past the last line of the trees, it was clear to him that they were all Ravencloak men, all of them donning the usual dark cloaks that identified them as part of the group. But the sight before him made Alaric’s heart stop. Lucia was right there, bound and surrounded by Callum’s men as he loomed over her, blade in hand.

With a roar, Alaric rushed into the clearing without a second thought. Around him, the MacGregor men did the same, attacking the first Ravencloaks they found on their way, and the battle among the two parties erupted so suddenly that everyone seemed confused at first, a little uncertain of what to do or what was happening—everyone but Callum, whose gaze instantly fell on Alaric and knew it for what it was; an attempt to save Lucia’s life.

In all his years, Alaric had never seen a battle as vicious as that one. Both sides were out for blood, the conflict much more personal after everything the Ravencloaks had done to the MacGregor Clan. Their soldiers threw themselves in the midst of the battle with no hesitation, with nothing but the desire to protect the clan and avenge the last attack, the men clearing Alaric’s path so he could get to Callum.

Alaric saw Callum’s blade flash in the light of the dawn as he raised it, ready to take Lucia’s life. She was trapped in his grip, surely weakened by the fight that must have ensued between them. No matter how much she fought him, thrashing and kicking at him, she couldn’t escape his grasp. Alaric cried out as Callum brought down his sword, his strides long and fast and desperate—and just enough to get himself close to Lucia in time to block Callum’s sword at the last moment, stopping him from taking her life.

To his surprise, Callum laughed as though he was delighted, the sound cutting through the chaos around them. Alaric’s ears buzzed with the rush of blood, with the battle cries of his men, with the shouts and the pained groans as men were injured and killed around them. But that laugh rang out over everything else, and Alaric knew he would never forget it.

“Well, ye came,” Callum said, taking a few steps back, much to Alaric’s relief. As long as he was far away from Lucia, then he didn’t have to worry about her. “Ye came, even though ye ken now what kind o’ lass she is. She told ye, did she nae? That’s why she came here on her own.”

Alaric didn’t grace that with an answer. Callum was only taunting him and Alaric was not going to give him the satisfaction of appearing affected. Instead, he only assumed the stance for an attack, planting his feet firmly on the ground as he adjusted the grip on his sword. Then, he waited, though he didn’t have to wait for long. Callum was an impatient man and soon attacked, rushing towards him with a snarl, his features contorted into a mask of rage.

Alaric met the first blow with his blade, the sound of steel against steel deafening in his ears. Callum was putting his entire strength behind the attack, but it was more than that—his bloodlust had gotten the better of him, and Alaric didn’t know if he would ever reel it back. It made him less cautious, that much was true, but it also gave him the kind of dangerous edge that came with the hatred and lust for blood he carried within him.

Before Callum could attack again, Alaric swung his sword and delivered an attack of his own, only for Callum to block it and swiftly attack again, the tip of his sword moving dangerously close to Alaric’s neck. With a grunt, Alaric attacked again, aiming for Callum’s stomach next, but he was quick enough to jump back and avoid the blow before Alaric could cut him down.

The blows they traded were brutal, full of hatred for each other. Alaric was also losing himself in the battle, and he knew that he had to end it soon. Both of them were already tired, panting and dripping sweat, but they barely allowed each other to breathe as they fought, eager to bring the fight to a vicious end.

Taking a few steps back then, Callum laughed, shaking his head. “It is rather ironic that ye will die much like yer parents did. They died at the hands o’ the Sassenachs, did they nae?”

The words were meant to cut deep, and they did. It was one of those wounds that Alaric knew he would carry forever within him; the death of his parents at the hands of the English, a loss so great and unfair that it had left him reeling. He knew what Callum was trying to do, though; he was trying to taunt him, to force him to stumble and make a mistake, and Alaric was not going to give him the satisfaction.

“Ye’re nae Sassenach,” he pointed out.

“Nay, but the king an’ I have a… close bond,” Callum said. “So it’s the same thing.”

It was an old pain, one Alaric was used to but that would never end. For the first time since his parents’ deaths, though, he didn’t see it as a weakness. The tragedy of it had only made him stronger, forging him into the man he was, and so Alaric channeled all his anger at their deaths, all the rage he had for the English into this fight, attacking Callum once more.

He wouldn’t let him get away with any of this. He was determined to bring him to justice, for all the people he had hurt.

The renewed vigor in his attacks caught Callum by surprise and at first, he could do nothing but defend himself, moving farther and farther back as Alaric dealt attack after attack. Just as Alaric thought he could finally put an end to the fight, though, Callum managed to cut his arm, forcing him to drop his sword before he could react any differently. Within moments, Alaric was thrown to the ground, with Callum’s sword pointing at his throat, and Alaric quickly made peace with the fact that he would not be leaving that clearing.

At least Evan was there and there was no doubt in Alaric’s mind that he would defeat the Ravencloaks and save Lucia. Even if Alaric couldn’t do it, his brother would save her life, and that was enough for him.

Instead of killing him, though, Callum looked over to Lucia with a sneer. From where he lay on the ground, Alaric couldn’t see Lucia, but her cry of terror told him everything he needed to know.

He wished he could comfort her; he wished he could tell her everything would be alright and there was no reason to be afraid, but he thought it wiser to keep his mouth shut. Besides, anything he could tell her would only be a lie.

“It’s yer choice, lassie,” Callum said, much to Alaric’s surprise. “If ye decide tae save him, I will flee. But if I kill him, I will almost certainly die as well, an’ ye will have the revenge ye seek fer yer braither.”

Alaric looked around them, seeing that every other man was still engaged in a fight. Perhaps Callum could really do it, he thought. Perhaps he really could flee, and no one would be able to stop him.

But how could Lucia choose anything else other than avenging her brother? It was all she had ever wanted, and after the way Alaric had rejected her and dismissed her, it was only natural that she would choose the one thing she had wanted from the start.

“Dinnae hurt him,” Lucia cried, her voice breaking. “I dinnae care what ye dae, just… just dinnae hurt him.”

It wasn’t what Alaric had expected to hear at all. Callum, though, seemed pleased with her choice, as though he had already expected to hear just that. With a chuckle, he took a few steps backwards, slowly moving faster and faster, but just as Alaric thought he would disappear for good, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Blood poured out of the corner of Callum’s mouth, his eyes staring straight ahead in horror. His hand came up to clutch at the center of his chest, where blood was rapidly spreading, and soon, he collapsed to the ground, revealing none other than Tiernan behind him, blood dripping from the blade he held in his hand.

As Alaric looked at Tiernan in shock, Tiernan looked at Callum’s corpse in turn with nothing but contempt and disgust. Slowly, hesitantly, Alaric pushed himself to his feet, swaying a little from side to side.

When Tiernan’s gaze met his, his eyes were full of fire.

“Ronan was a good man,” Tiernan said, something Alaric had heard from Lucia’s lips several times but never expected to hear from someone else. “Many o’ us were loyal tae him. Many o’ us still are, even in his death. We didnae ken what Callum had done. We didnae ken he had been the one tae take his life.”

Alaric didn’t know what to say to that. In fact, he didn’t know what to say at all, shocked as he was by the turn of events. He only nodded his thanks to Tiernan, and that seemed to be enough for the man before he called to the rest of the Ravencloaks, letting them all know it was time to put down their weapons.

The first thing Alaric did was to run to Lucia, freeing her from her bonds. The moment the rope was gone from her wrists, she threw herself at him and clung onto his shoulders, shaking in his arms. Alaric himself was in no better state. He could only hold her close, his emotions so intense and so tangled that he didn’t know what it was he was truly feeling. The sense of betrayal, the anger still lingered and he knew it wouldn’t be easy to move past them. It wasn’t something he could let go of within a single day. He also knew, though, that he had come very close to losing Lucia and that had given him some perspective. Even after the lies and the deception, he couldn’t help but love her. How could he even imagine a life without her when all he wanted to do was to hold her in his arms forever? And… she had chosen him, making her love clear. Now he knew it was real.

“Lucia… mo ghraidh . Are ye alight?” he asked, voice weak and trembling as his hands roamed over her body, checking for injuries.

“I’m alright,” Lucia assured him, nodding firmly. “I’m alright. I’m right here.”

“I never wish tae be apart from ye again,” Alaric confessed. He didn’t want to waste any time. He didn’t want Lucia to think for another second that he didn’t love her.

He had thought that she was nothing but a cold, cruel woman who had used him and who could discard him with ease once he had served his purpose, but she had proven him wrong. She had let go of her burning desire for revenge so she could save his life, and now Alaric could truly see that she had changed. She was not the same girl he had met back in that cottage. She was not the girl whose only purpose in life was to draw blood.

He had changed, too. Now he knew the truth; there was no life for him without her.

Before she could find the right words to speak, Alaric pulled Lucia into a bruising kiss, pouring all his love for her into it. And Lucia, this maddening, beautiful woman he couldn’t help but adore, kissed him just as ravenously.