Page 57 of In Bed with a Highland Beast

“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 dowas 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.

EPILOGUE

Two weeks later…

The wind whipped Lucia’s face, strands of her hair falling out of the low ponytail in which she had gathered it. Though the clouds were sparser that day, the sun shining through every now and then, the wind was merciless, making the grass on the hills sway and dance as she and Alaric rode over an overgrown path.

She hadn’t been there in a while, but she knew the way like the back of her hand. Sometimes, she would even visit it in her thoughts, when there was no time for her to physically be there, though she always preferred to simply think of Ronan instead of the place where he rested.

He had not been buried in a graveyard, but rather at the top of a hill. Lucia had not been the one to bury him and she still regretted this, but by the time she had found out about his death, it had already been too late. He had been gone and buried for days, the Ravencloaks taking the task upon themselves. Everynow and then, she would consider the possibility of digging up his bones and moving his remains, but she didn’t want to disturb him. Any such action would be for her sake and her sake only, and so she refrained from giving in to the desire whenever it resurfaced.

Besides, Ronan had loved the hills, the grass, the empty country. Perhaps he had even chosen this hill himself, Lucia thought, long before he even knew he would die. Men like him spent their lives knowing they would more likely than not be short.

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