Page 2 of Hold Fast

“Your brother certainly doesnae care whether or nae I am willing,” she had countered icily.

He had shrugged again, a casual, careless gesture. “He doesnae care about anyone. Only himself. But even if I loved you with my entire soul—which I verra much dinnae—I wouldnae touch you.”

“Oh, really? And why is that?”

He’d looked skyward, his hands clasped behind his back. “Because he swore to me that he would kill any woman I touched.”

Her mouth had dropped open. “But…why?”

She would remember the haunted look in his eyes for the rest of her days. “Because an heir of mine is yet another threat to him.”

“How would he know?”

“He would know. He knows everything. He has rats in every wall and eyes in every corner.”

Malcolm Cameron had despised Blair since Blair had drawn his first breath. Blair told her that it was because Blair was their mother’s obvious favorite. The second son. Quiet and kind and gentle. He told her that his mother had called him easy to love. Una hadn’t known Blair as a child, but she could picture it. Whereas she couldn’t imagine Malcolm ever being loveable a day in his life.

But now, the very things that had made Blair so loveable as a child—his kindness, his honor and honesty—made him a threat. It was unfortunate, really, that the entire reason Una had found herself bound in a handfast to Malcolm Cameron was how very much he hated his brother. If Malcolm did not have an heir, Blair would become laird in the event of his death, something Malcolm could not stomach.

“Do ye think he would ever try to have ye killed?

Blair had shrugged but shaken his head. “I havenae done anything wrong. The clan would forgive many of his sins—and they do—but they wouldnae forgive that.”

And so Malcolm kept his younger brother under his thumb. The ink hadn’t yet dried on the handfasting contract before Una found herself under that very same digit.

But she hadn’t been able to recognize that at first and had fought Blair like an angry cat, insulting him, goading him, pouring into him all of her anger and hurt, and he, the noble, gentle man that he was, had taken it.

That was yet another thing they had in common—being on the receiving end of Malcolm’s vicious temper, though Blair had insisted she had the worst of it. For the most part, Malcolm left him alone. The same could not be said for Una. Rather, Malcolm came to her every night and exercised his will and wishes no matter how unwilling she was. He was vicious and violent, raging at and mistreating her in every conceivable way short of starving her.

“You belong to me, Una, and I shall do with ye as I see fit,” he often sneered in her ear from behind.

And, in the eyes of the law, shewashis property. For a year and a day. But that time was nearly up.

Ten days.

That day, nearly a year before, when Blair had confided in her, he had asked her if she was angry and, when she’d said yes, asked, “Would you like to do something about it?”

At her puzzled expression, he’d continued. “Some of the young lads get all riled before they are grown. Restless. Angry. Too many feelings they havenae been taught to manage. That’s when I start to train them with a dagger.”

“Why a dagger?”

“Because after you’ve stabbed a hay bale a few hundred times, you’re too tired to be so fashed.”

She had wanted to laugh. It had beenjust there. But laughter was beyond her grasp. “Just a dagger?” she had asked.

“We begin with a dagger. A sgian dubh you can carry in your boot. And when they have a handle on that, we move to the staff or the sword.”

“Can you teach me to use a sword?”

“Nay.”

Of course he wouldn’t teach her to use a sword.

He had sighed then, a gusty, frustrated sound. “I could teach you tousea sword. I cannae teach you toliftone. But”—a long pause as he rubbed his beard contemplatively—“I can teach you to use a bow.”

She’d dropped her digging stick, turning to look at him with wide eyes.

“What?”