Page 20 of Hold Fast

Ewan was confused for a moment until he remembered that he hadn’t actually gotten around to telling her thathewas the laird. He’d meant to open with that information, to use it as leverage to convince her to come with him. But then he’d nearly walked into an arrow shaft and it had been all he could do to give her his name.

Ewan cleared his throat. “I… I am the laird.”

“Verra funny, Ewan.”

After a few long moments of his silence, she scrambled away from him. Calman snorted.

“You didnae tell me you were the laird,” she hissed.

“There was nae time, what with you trying to shoot me and all.”

“And this entire afternoon? You’ve sat behind me for half a day, and you could nae have found a single moment to tell me that I was sitting in alaird’slap?”

“What difference does it make?” Ewan asked, exasperated.

“It makes every difference!”

“Why? I didnae come to you as a laird. I came to you as an older brother. I came to you frantic about my kin. What does that have to do with being a laird?”

“You could have forced me to come. Ordered me about all high and mighty, yourlairdship.” He could hear the sneer in her voice, the anger. And maybe… the fear.

“I wouldnae have commanded you.”

She snorted. “Right.”

“I wouldnae have!”

“Bah.”

Ewan clenched his jaw, feeling angry and defensive.

“Have I threatened you? Have I nae fed you and kept you safe thus far, helped you, respected your boundaries? Have I nae shown myself to be a good laird? A good man? You have no reason to accuse me of being such a horse’s ass.”

A long, heavy moment passed before she answered him.

“I have been treated thus before. And then, when I ceased to be useful or meet expectations, I have seen how all that care can turn to cruelty.”

“Cameron?” Ewan asked, because what other laird would she have met? She was common-born, a crofter’s daughter perhaps, but not a lady. A lady would never have been allowed to assume a trade like healing. As such, her world would have been very small. She wouldn’t have traveled to the king’s court. She wouldn’t have traveled anywhere.

“Aye,” she whispered.

“What business did you have with Cameron?” He felt her shiver next to him. “Are you cold?”

“I am fine,” she said in a muffled voice, obviously talking into her cloak.

He huffed. Whatever else she might be—and he was still trying to figure that out—she was stubborn as a mule.

He scooted closer to her and spread the spare plaid overtop of them. “We’ll have to share. You are nae good to anyone frozen solid.”

She was rigid as the stone around them. With his free hand, he reached for the smaller of the two flasks, pulling the stopper out with his teeth.

“Here,” he said, holding the letter flask out for her to take.

“What is it?”

“Whisky. It’ll warm your blood. Soothe your nerves.”

“Nay, thank you,” she said. “I want my wits about me. Especially if you plan to partake.”