Page 18 of In Bed with a Highland Beast

Why did he have to inquire about her scars? Why did he have to bring them up at all? If he had any decency, Lucia thought, he would have stayed silent, enduring his curiosity without ever receiving the satisfaction of an explanation.

He has nae right tae ask me anythin’.

They hardly knew each other, after all. Whatever honesty she had given him was already too much.

Thunder cracked in the distance and Lucia watched as the Ravencloaks gathered everything from their camp. Soon, they would be heading to their base, a cottage she had heard of many times but had never managed to locate. There, she hoped she could find out more about her brother’s death, but she already had a few targets in mind.

There was a group of men, half a dozen of them, who seemed more talkative than the rest. Lucia had watched them all morning, trading jokes and insults, neglecting their duties whenever they could, and already drinking more than their fair share of wine from the flasks until they were flushed with more than the cold wind. It didn’t hurt that they were looking her way more often than not, stealing glances whenever they thought she or Alaric weren’t looking.

Everyone did, of course. It must have been a long time since they had last seen a woman and they were neither shy nor bothered by the fact that she claimed to have a husband. Lucia couldn’t fault them for it, but she couldn’t resist taking advantage of it either.

Grabbing a flask of water, Lucia walked over to the men with a smile. In the distance, she could see Alaric staring at her when he should have been helping another group of men with one of the tents, but she ignored him. Whatever misplaced concerns he had were pointless.

“Ye’ve been workin’ fer a while now,” she told the men as she held out the flask for them to take. One of them reached for it, his fingers brushing against hers purposefully, a grin stretchingover his lips, and Lucia made a mental note of him. Out of them all, he seemed like the boldest—and most likely the most cretinous. “Ye should rest afore ye exhaust yerselves.”

“We are hardworkin’ men,” the man said with a shrug and a smirk, before taking a large sip of water and passing the flask to the man to his right.

Lucia didn’t make a comment; nothing she could say could be taken as anything other than an insult. Instead, she watched the men for a few moments with blatant curiosity, one they were free to interpret as interest of any kind that suited them.

“A bonnie lass like ye shouldnae be out here with us,” another of the men said and Lucia only gave him a puzzled smile.

“Ye think I’m bonnie?”

The men all laughed, most of all the one who had spoken, whose cheeks turned a bright shade of red. In the end, they were all the same, so eager to fall for a sweet word and a coy look.

“Well… it’s nae dangerous fer me tae be here as long as ye are here with me, right?” she continued before the men had the chance to respond. “I’ve heard many things about the Ravencloaks.”

“Have ye?” the man asked. “What dae they say about us?”

“They say ye’re all fearsome an’ formidable,” Lucia said. “They say ye have the best o’ the best among ye. Like that man… what did they call him at the village?”

“Fergus?” said one man.

“Douglas?” said another.

“Nay, nay,” said Lucia shaking her head, but then gasped as if she had finally managed to pluck a half-forgotten memory from the depths of her mind. “Ronan… ooh aye, that was his name. Ronan Donnelly.”

Upon speaking her brother’s name, everyone went silent. Gone were their good spirits and mirth. Now they all seemed to pale, their faces wan and their expressions terrified as though they feared that Lucia speaking his name would bring him back from the dead.

She wished it could be that simple. She wished she could see him one more time, even as a ghost.

“We dinnae ken that name,” a third man said coldly. “There was never a Ronan Donnelly with the Ravencloaks.”

Lucia knew that to be false, of course, but she only hummed, regarding the man with a scrutinizing gaze for a few moments. “I must have been mistaken. Perhaps they were speakin’ o’ a different group.”

Silence stretched over them as Lucia continued to stare at the man in silence. All six of them were uneasy, some looking away, others shifting their weight from foot to foot, none of them speaking a word. Only when she heard footsteps behind her did Lucia look away, turning to see Tiernan there, standing right behind her with his hands on his hips.

“What are ye doin’?” he asked and it took Lucia a few instants to realize he was addressing the men. “Why are ye standin’ here like fools? Pack the tent, ye imbeciles.”

The men mumbled their apologies before swiftly returning to work and Lucia couldn’t help but wonder what Tiernan’s role was in the gang. She wished she had learned more about the Ravencloaks from her brother, but Ronan never wanted her to be a part of this life. It was what had gotten him killed in the first place; she hadn’t been there to save him.

“Was Ronan Donnelly truly nae a part o’ the group?” Lucia asked. It probably wasn’t the most elegant way to get the information she needed, but no one in the gang had any reason to suspect she was Ronan’s sister. She doubted Ronan had ever even revealed the fact that he had a sister at all, cautious as he was.

Tiernan gave her a bemused smile, eyes narrowing just a little. “Ronan Donnelly?”

He said nothing else, perhaps hoping that his silence would force Lucia to say more, just so she could fill it, but she wouldn’t fallinto his trap. Instead, she nodded, giving him her most naive look, and in the end, it was Tiernan who broke first.

“How dae ye ken that name?”

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