Page 102 of Hold Fast

He chuckled, and the sound froze Una’s blood. “That is true of virgins, perhaps. But have you forgotten that I bought and took that prize long ago? I willnae wait till tomorrow to reclaim what’s mine.”

With that, he dropped her wrists and grabbed her face with both hands, pressing his lips to hers and forcing his tongue into her mouth. Una gagged and shoved him. He slapped her hard across the face. Her vision swam and her ears rang as she leaned against the wall for support.

“So it is to be like this again, is it, Una? You need to be broken in once more?” She dodged him, walking backwards across the room, sidestepping the chair he had vacated. “I didnae want to break your spirit twice, lass, but it seems that you require it.”

She circled the table, cursing the clumsy state of her pregnant body as Malcolm advanced gracefully. “Apparently, Laird MacDonald doesnae ken how to keep a woman in her place.”

What had been ice-cold fear slowly melted into a burning, white-hot fury that coursed through her and gave her strength. “He will come for me.”

“Is that so?” he said through clenched teeth.

They circled the table again, each one trying to predict which way the other would go. Under normal circumstances, Una was fairly quick on her feet. But she hadn’t calculated for the shift in her momentum from her belly. She stumbled, and Cameron grabbed her by the upper arms. He hauled her up and shook her.

“Aye,” she spat, her voice full of venom. “He will come for me. Perhaps not today, but he will come.”

“If that is true, then I’ll be sure to put the pike with his head on it somewhere that you can easily see it. No doubt you’ll have missed him.”

She hated Malcolm Cameron. Down to the marrow of her bones, she hated him. And while she’d been afraid of him before, afraid of what he could do to her, what hewoulddo to her, she realized in that moment that nothing short of his death would ever be enough to placate that burning rage.

Malcolm shook her again, cursing loudly in her face, spittle flying, before dragging her by her arms toward the bed. He threw her down upon it, tossing her skirts and shift up until she was bared from the waist down, her legs hanging off the bed. She kicked wildly as he placed himself between her thighs, fumbling with his clothing with one hand while the other gripped her wrists like a vice.

“You are mine, Una,” he said through his clenched teeth. “You will say it.”

“Nay,” she shouted, still kicking, still struggling against her held wrists.

“Say it,” he roared, still struggling with his belt. Frustrated, he tossed the front of his plaid to the side and leaned over her, crushing his mouth to hers and kissing her clumsily. Una felt the flaccid length of his cock against her thigh. His hip pressed against her boot, and she felt the outline of the sgian dubh dig into the outside of her ankle.

She had a chance—just one—to end this, to save herself and every other woman who would come after her from Malcolm Cameron. But she needed him relaxed. She needed him to believe that she was capitulating, that he had in fact “broken her,” as he had said. And so she let her eyes appear vacant and drew her legs up higher, wrapping them around his waist. He groaned, the sound turning into a chuckle in the end.

“Now, there’s a good lass. I’m glad you’re finally starting to return to your senses,” he said, panting, grinding against her sex.

Una mewled, reaching for her ankles, and Cameron buried his face in her neck, his body draped over her large belly. Before he could lift his head, Una squeezed her legs more tightly and moaned to cover the sound of her hand slipping her sgian dubh from her boot.

“It was always good with us, Una. Dinnae you remember? You fought me hard in the beginning,” he said, pausing to thrust himself against her thigh, “but then you gave in and let me pleasure you. And I did pleasure you, aye?”

She moaned again in response, anything to keep him distracted. Una wrapped one arm around him, rubbing it up and down his back until she felt him relax even more against her, his lips grazing her neck.

“What a happy turn of events in an utterly dreary week, Una,” he rasped against her throat.

She felt his ribs, palpating for the fleshy spaces between them. If she stabbed and hit bone, she was dead. He’d strangle her here. But if she stabbed lower, she would hit his kidneys. It would be fatal.

“Aye, Una. You remember how good it was. And so do I. I’ve thought of little else this year. Nae one else compared to you.”

She clenched her teeth and took a deep breath. His cock grew hard between them, but Una did not wait for him to use it before she plunged the dagger under his ribs. Once, twice, three times, quickly striking at his kidneys with all her strength.

Malcolm roared and reared up to grab the dagger, but Una was quicker and plunged the small blade into the side of his throat. He took two steps back, and Una scrambled off the bed, placing as much distance between them as she could. He advanced on her, blood pouring from his wounds and flooding the floor. She dodged him, putting the table between them again. He lunged over it to grab her but at the last moment she jumped back and he crashed to the floor.

She held the sgian dubhin her hand, in case he rallied and came at her again. Her dress was drenched in blood, her hand and arm stained red. She could feel it under her fingernails. Una was well accustomed to blood—to the slippery feel of it between her fingers, the coppery smell, the way it bloomed bright red then deepened in color as the minutes passed. But never had she been covered with the blood of her own violence.

As she watched Malcolm try to turn onto his belly to crawl towards her, his life force pulsing out of him with every movement, she felt that violence keenly. It thrummed through her veins with a staggering heat. Her ears rang with it. He flopped onto his back, his breathing labored, making choking sounds as blood filled his throat. Una could not locate one grain of compassion for him.

Quite the contrary, she clenched her fist around the handle of her sgian dubh and resisted the urge to fall upon him with her blade and carve out his heart. The sudden image made her gasp and she stepped away, pressing her back against the far wall opposite the door, feeling the stones bite into her flesh.

Una clutched her free hand to her chest, her breathing heavy and hard as she watched him die. Her vision narrowed until all she could see was his body on the floor, the pool of blood around him widening, the edges seeping out to wrap around the legs of furniture. Her body began to shake violently, the heat of her anger replaced by intense cold as reality set in.

Suddenly, breathing seemed impossible as she gasped rapidly, feeling panic rise and grip her throat. There was no escape. The guards in the hall would not let her pass covered in blood, and Giffard and Blair would know that she was the last person to be in the laird’s chamber. Blair was a good man but he was not in charge, and Giffard wouldn’t hesitate to make her pay.

She would hang for this. Or worse, if Giffard had anything to say about it.