Chapter One
As Alaric MacGregor sat on a rickety chair in a dark, unfamiliar, bare room, he began to think that perhaps this was a bad omen for his upcoming marriage. His wrists were bound behind his back and his mouth filled with the taste of blood whenever a grimace pulled his bottom lip open again.
An irrational thought, surely—he was certain his betrothed was a perfectly lovely woman, though he had yet to meet her, interrupted as his return home had been by the men who had captured him. When his brother, Laird Evan MacGregor, had called him back from his scouting mission to meet his future wife, Alaric had thought that even if it would be a marriage of convenience and he had little, if any, say in it, he could still try to make the most of it. He hadn’t expected that he would find himself suddenly captured and brought to a cottage in the middle of the woods for reasons he had yet to find out.
There were two things those men could want from him: information or gold, and Alaric would give them neither.
Ever since he had been thrown in that room, he had been considering his chances of escape. There were half a dozen men outside his door, at least as far as he was aware. For all he knew, there could be more and he simply had not seen them yet. There was also only one escape route—the door that was firmly locked. The room where they kept him had no windows and with his hands bound, escape seemed all the more challenging.
Someone will have tae let me loose… that is the only way.
If he could just get one of the men to untie him, he could then overpower him, steal his blade, and attempt an escape. Sooner or later, they would have to cut him loose, after all. If they wanted him alive, he would have to eat or relieve himself at some point, and it would be then that Alaric would strike.
Until then, he would bide his time. He had already tried to untie his own hands only find out to soon that his binds were too tight, giving him no room to wiggle free. The attempt had left the skin on his wrists raw and chafed, and so instead of hurting himself further or wasting his energy on something that would not work, he decided to wait for someone to come to him.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when the door opened, but it couldn’t have been too long, since light still poured into the room through the opening, drowning out the orange glow of the single torch that burned on the wall. Alaric blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light, at first seeing nothing but the dark silhouette of a man. When he walked closer, he saw the details of his appearance: short yet sturdy, with dark hair and rough features, his face and forearms scarred, much like Alaric’s own.
“I dinnae suppose ye would be so inclined as tae let me go,” said Alaric, drawing a chuckle out of the man. At least he had a sense of humor, he supposed.
“Nay, I’m afraid I cannae dae that just yet,” he said. “But I have good news. We’ve sent word tae yer braither an’ if he wants ye back without any missin’ limbs, I’m sure he will pay the gold we asked soon.”
“Is that so?” Alaric said with a sigh. Of course, it was gold. More often than not, it was gold, but Alaric had to admit he was surprised, even almost impressed, at how organized those men were. For common brigands, they had done a good job trailing after him and overpowering him before he could do any real damage to any of them. The fight when they captured him had been short and brutal, but the six of them had managed to subdue him suffering only minor injuries.
Unlike them, Alaric couldn’t say he had suffered only a few injuries. There was no part of his body that didn’t ache, as the men had found it, if not necessary, then certainly amusing to beat him bloody and bruised. The only reason he was still so alert was the sheer force of his will and the fact that he had been in such situations before, so he knew how to push away the pain and focus on what truly mattered: a strategy to get out of there alive.
They could have at least had the decency tae avoid me face.
His face had taken the worst of the damage, and the headache that spanned the entirety of his skull was yet another obstacle in his search for freedom. No matter how much he tried to ignore the throbbing pain, it was persistent and ever-present, a constant fog over his mind.
“That is so,” said the man. “So, the sooner he sends it tae us, the sooner ye can leave.”
“Me braither daesnae negotiate with the likes o’ ye.”
“I dinnae wish fer him tae negotiate anythin’,” said the man. “Our demands are what they are. I only need him tae comply.”
Knowing Evan, not only would he give those men the gold if it meant saving Alaric’s life, but he would also meet them himself instead of sending some men to deliver it. Alaric couldn’t help but worry about him. He would much rather escape on his own than have this exchange between Ewan and the brigands.
Besides, the last thing he wanted was for them to get what they desired. He didn’t want them to win.
“Well, until then, perhaps ye could untie me fer a moment,” Alaric said with an impatient sigh. “Unless ye want me tae relieve meself on this chair.”
The man hesitated for a moment, perhaps considering his options. Naturally, he didn’t want to untie Alaric, but what other choice did he have?
“I think ye can wait,” said the man and Alaric looked at him in disbelief. Though he didn’t feel the need to relieve himself just yet, he didn’t understand how that man expected him to wait when he would. Was he supposed to simply wait until Evan had brought the money? For all he knew, it could take days.
“How long, precisely, dae ye expect me tae wait?” he demanded. “Ye seem like a fool but I didnae think ye would be that much o’ a fool. Even fer ye, this seems—”
His sentence was cut short by the echo of shouts that reached his ears through the wooden door. Both he and his captor whipped their heads around to face it, and as the man pulled his sword out of its sheath, Alaric desperately tried to free himself, this time uncaring of the damage he caused to his wrists.
Whatever was happening out there couldn’t possibly be good, especially since he could hear the thundering sound of boots approaching the door. The steps belonged to several men, a jumbled mess of sound that reminded him of a pack of spooked horses, and the only thought in his mind was that there was perhaps a coup of sorts, some of the brigands banding up against the rest.
Without a word, the man rushed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Alaric didn’t hear the distinct sound of the lock, but even so, he didn’t dare move. Where could he go, bound as he was, when there was a fight raging outside? If he tried to escape like this, chances were that he would end up dead.
Straining his ears, Alaric listened for any signs that would give him a hint as to what was happening. Soon, the footsteps stopped and so did the shouts. Alaric waited, holding his breath with his gaze glued to the door, to see what was on the other side.
What he saw when the door opened would have never crossed his mind. A woman stood there, tall and lean, with her long, dark hair tied at the nape. In her hand, she held a sword, its blade bloody. Blood was splattered all over her clothes, too, dark stains against the brown fabric, and her knuckles and lip were bruised and swollen, but she was still grinning.
“There ye are,” she said as she stepped inside, wiping the blade on the edge of her sleeve without a care in the world for the blood she smeared there.
Alaric stared at her, wide-eyed and speechless. She looked like a warrior goddess of the old tales, like a vision rather than a real woman. Had his captors hit his head, he would have feared she was just a figment of his imagination, but now she seemed entirely real, a mythical creature brought to life.
Perhaps the most perplexing thing of all was that she seemed to know who he was.
“Have we met?” he asked rather dumbly, for lack of anything else to say as the woman crouched down before him so they were at eye level.
“Nay,” she said. “But I was there when those men took ye. I was ridin’ by an’ I saw them attack ye, so I came tae see what they were doin’.”
Alaric felt as though he was stumbling over his own thoughts as he tried to take in the situation. It didn’t help that the woman’s eyes were boring right into him, a brilliant blue that left him breathless and distracted him from the mystery of her presence.
“An’ ye… ye killed them?” he asked. “All o’ them?”
There were at least half a dozen men there, the very same ones who had captured him. How had this woman fought them all on her own? How had she bested them?
“I dinnae think I killed all o’ them,” she said. “Perhaps one or two. The rest, I simply stunned, so we must hurry an’ leave afore they wake up an’ find us.”
That was a very convincing argument for the need of a speedy escape, Alaric thought, but he still had so many questions that he didn’t even know with which one to begin. When he heard the distant sound of actual horse hooves, though, signaling the arrival of more men, he realized that none of them was as important as leaving as fast as they could.
“Aye,” he said. “Untie me an’ we shall leave.”
But at his request, the woman hesitated, sitting back on her heels. “I must be honest with ye,” she said. “I didnae come here tae save ye out o’ the goodness o’ me heart.”
Alaric sighed, letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling. He should have known there was going to be a catch. It all sounded too good to be true.
“What is it that ye want?” he asked. “Gold? Fine. I’d rather give it tae ye than them.”
“Nay, nay… I have nae need fer gold,” the woman said. “Ye see, I heard that ye are from the MacGregor Clan, is that right?”
“Aye, that is so.”
“An’ that ye are the laird’s braither?”
Alaric gritted his teeth. “Aye. What o’ it?”
“I need yer help with somethin’,” she said. “If ye promise tae help me, I will untie ye an’ we can go.”
Alaric didn’t like the sound of that at all. Whatever the woman wanted, he doubted it would be a small favor, especially when she seemed so reluctant to tell him what it was. He couldn’t simply walk into this deal blind. After all, there was a good chance he would be dragging his entire clan into this, not only himself.
“Tell me what ye want an’ I’ll tell ye if I can help ye,” he said.
“I’ll explain everythin’ once we’re nae bein’ chased,” said the woman. “It is a long story an’ ye must hear all o’ it.”
“How can I agree tae somethin’ about which I ken naething?” Alaric asked. “I dinnae ken who ye are. I dinnae ken what ye want. I cannae agree tae yer demands afore I ken what they are.”
“Would ye rather stay here, then?”
The question gave Alaric pause. There was a chance that it was the wiser thing to do, staying there and waiting for Evan. On the other hand, perhaps this woman was not trying to fool him and by rejecting her offer, he would be damning himself.
Though he was under the pressure of time, Alaric found himself unable to make a decision, even if he was rarely indecisive. He liked to have as many facts as he could before he put himself in a dangerous situation, and as he knew nothing about whatever it was he was going to face if he allowed this woman to help him, making up his mind seemed like an impossible task.
“I’ll tell ye this,” said the woman. “It is naething disgraceful.”
“An’ yet ye dinnae wish tae tell me what it is until after I have agreed tae help ye,” Alaric pointed out. “Will it bring trouble tae me clan?”
“Nay.”
The woman seemed sincere, and Alaric figured that if it was nothing that would harm his clan and nothing that would bring him disgrace, then it was probably best to agree to help her and escape that place. Nodding, he scooted his chair a little closer to her, eager to have his hands unbound.
“I’ll help ye,” he promised. “Let us leave.”
Alaric had hardly finished his sentence when the woman grabbed a small blade that was strapped to her calf and rounded the chair, quickly sawing off the rope that held Alaric’s hands together. He couldn’t help but wonder just how many weapons she had concealed on her body. He had never met a woman like her before, someone who was clearly a skilled warrior and knew her way around weapons, and her novelty intrigued him in a way that could only be dangerous.
He could not allow his lust to get in the way of business. This was not the kind of woman with whom he should have any closer relations, as he was certain they could only lead to trouble. Besides, he still had his betrothed waiting for him back home. Kayla Sinclair was said to be a good woman from a good, if rather volatile, clan. He was reluctant to do anything that would cause the wrath of his wife or his family to crash upon him.
The moment Alaric was freed, he jumped to his feet, rubbing at his sore wrists. Before he could take a single step, the woman ushered him out of the room, pushing him down a cramped hallway, and Alaric took a moment to grab a sword from one of the fallen brigands before the two of them spilled out into the chilly afternoon.
In the distance, not too far from the cottage, he could see a group of riders fast approaching. They must be brigands, he thought, and the woman seemed to share that thought as she tugged him along towards a large horse. The woman jumped onto the saddle with practiced ease and Alaric soon joined her, the two of them rushing down the path as the brigands pursued them.
“I didnae ask ye yer name,” Alaric called, shouting so that she would hear him over the whistling wind.
“Lucia,” the woman shouted back. “Me name is Lucia.”
Chapter Two
What 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.”
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