Page 34 of In Bed with a Highland Beast

Alaric’s back stung, the wound shallow but long enough to hinder his movements and distract him with the pain. Now that they were getting away from any imminent danger, it was difficult to focus on anything else but the ache that spread all over his body from the blows he had received, but he knew he had to stay vigilant. There could still be Ravencloaks hiding in the woods, men waiting to attack them.

“Are ye alright?” Lucia called over her shoulder.

“Aye,” said Alaric, and held on tighter. But alright he was not.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“We should have never gone intae that cottage. We both kent it was a trap!”

Lucia was shaking with rage, her hands trembling so wildly that it was as though they hardly belonged to her. She paced back and forth in front of the horse they had stolen from Douglas, which was munching on a patch of grass by the path, oblivious to the turmoil within her.

They knew better than that. They had both suspected something was wrong and yet they had thrown all caution to the wind just so they wouldn’t risk displeasing the Ravencloaks and revealing their true identities. It wouldn’t have mattered in the end anyway; the Ravencloaks knew they weren’t who they claimed to be or at least they didn’t have the motives they claimed they did.

“I didnae hear ye object tae it!” Alaric said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. Out of the two of them, he was the one who had been hurt worse, fresh bruises blooming over his face, his back still bleeding sluggishly from the cut inflicted to himby either Callum or Douglas. Lucia herself was only a little dizzy from the poison and was sporting a torn cheek and a bruise on her temple from her fight with Douglas, but was otherwise unharmed. It was Alaric she was concerned about; that wound on his back was large enough to warrant the services of a healer.

But for the meantime, that was at the back of her mind. Her anger blinded her to everything else—anger directed not only towards Alaric, but also towards herself. As much as she hated to admit it, Alaric was right. She had never tried to object to the order the Ravencloaks had given them, even though she had found it suspicious. But then again, neither had Alaric. Both of them had walked in there without saying a word.

“I didnae hear ye object to it either!” Lucia pointed out. “Ye could have said somethin’!”

“Ye’re impossible!” Alaric said and stomped away from her, though he didn’t get too far. He only leaned his forehead against the trunk of a nearby tree, his entire body seemingly deflating as he exhaled.

They were passing the blame back and forth between themselves, Lucia knew. It would get them nowhere, but she had to admit it felt good to argue about it, to release all this rage and fear that had lingered inside her for so long.

They could have died back there and there would have been little she could have done to save them. Had it not been for Alaric, she was certain she would be dead.

And there would be nae one left tae avenge Ronan.

She could have gotten Alaric killed, too. They had both known the risks before they ever put the plan into motion, but now the realization that she could truly be responsible for the death of an innocent man had truly settled in and it was heavier than she had expected.

With a heavy sigh, Lucia walked over to Alaric and placed a tentative, gentle hand on his shoulder. At first, he flinched and Lucia was about to pull back, but then he relaxed under her touch, pushing himself off the tree.

“What’s done is done,” Lucia said, her personal form of an apology that was, truly, no apology at all. A part of her, after all, was still raging. Now any chance she ever had of getting close to Callum and avenging Ronan had vanished and there was nothing she could do about it. “We… we came out o’ it alive. That’s what matters.”

It was as though a dam had opened once she uttered those words, not only within herself, but also in Alaric. The two of them stared at each other for one, prolonged moment, before they fell into each other’s arms, the relief too overwhelming to resist. Alaric’s grip was crushing as he embraced her, holding her so close that it cut her breath short, but she didn’t try to pull away for even a moment. Instead, she pressed even closer, burying her face in his shoulder, and held on just as tightly.

When they finally pulled back from each other, it was only enough to look into each other’s eyes. Time seemed to stretchbetween them and Lucia found herself unable to look away, staring into the green that reminded her of the grass that grew near the banks of a river.

The kiss, when it came, was not a surprise. Lucia didn’t know who initiated it—whether she was the one to lean closer, to press her lips against Alaric’s, or whether he bridged the gap between them and captured hers. All she knew was that his lips were soft and warm, and when they parted to let the tip of his tongue swipe over the seam of hers, she couldn’t help but let out a breathy moan, soft and barely audible.

For the first time, Lucia’s heart raced, beating wildly in her chest. No other kiss she had ever shared felt like this; like an all-consuming wave that threatened to pull her under, like desire incarnate that only served to drive her wild with need. It was a new sensation, raw and exciting and something Lucia had missed for so long.

She once again felt alive.

The inn was sparsely populated at that time of the night. Lucia and Alaric had been delayed, as they had sought out the help of a healer who had patched up Alaric’s back and had taken care of the rest of their wounds, before they finally stumbled, cold and tired and hungry, into the first inn they spotted in the small town—perhaps the only inn in the entire town, Lucia thought. She only hoped they would have a room for them to spend the night, even if it had nothing but a rickety bed.

The air around them was heavy with the scent of ale and spilled wine, with the warm richness of the stew that boiled in the fire, and the dampness and staleness that came with covered windows to keep out the cold. Lucia and Alaric hobbled over to the man who was serving two of the patrons, short and stocky, with greying hair, who looked at them for a long moment in silence before speaking.

“Long ride?”

Next to her, Alaric let out a surprised laugh, nodding. Lucia knew what they looked like; the bruises on their faces, the muddy shoes, the soiled, threadbare clothes they wore. They had ditched the cloaks the Ravencloaks had given them earlier that day, as they didn’t want to be mistaken as members of the gang, and now they were both shivering with nothing but the clothes on their backs to keep them warm.

They had neither clothes nor weapons, but they had gold. Douglas had left plenty of it in his saddlebags, more than enough for them to purchase everything they needed and live comfortably for a while, though Lucia didn’t know what would happen now. Making a plan would have to wait. She couldn’t think about the future when she could hardly consider the present.

“Aye,” said Lucia. “I suppose ye could say that.”

“Dae ye have coin?”

“Enough fer a night an’ some ale an’ food,” lied Lucia, thinking it best to keep the extent of their current wealth hidden from everyone.

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