Page 18 of Hold Fast

Ewan knelt at the mouth of the cave, fumbling at the bottom of his bag until his fingers closed around his flint. He hadn’t planned well or packed—there hadn’t been time. It wouldn’t have been a problem for him alone, but he had Una to take care of. She’d need a fire. She’d need food.

He heard her shiver behind him.

“Go and stand by the horse, Una. He’s plenty warm.”

As she hesitantly picked her way past him, approaching the horse, he attempted the impossible task of lighting a fire with damp wood in a snowstorm.

Ewan was in the middle of a long, elegant stream of curses under his breath when Una said, “What’s his name?”

“Who?”

She huffed. “The horse, of course. What is his name?”

“He doesnae have one.”

“What? How do ye refer to him? You cannae just call him horse.”

“I dinnae call him anything,” Ewan said with a shrug, striking the flint, the sparks dying as soon as they touched the damp kindling. “I just say, ‘Ready my horse.’ The stable master calls him Lucifer, though, on account that he’s such a devil.”

Ewan wished he had thought, even just a moment, before saying that. She was afraid of the horse. He didn’t need to add more fuel to the fear. But it was too late now.

He sighed. “This horse is… high-spirited. He willnae let anyone but me ride him. Doesnae take orders from anyone else without some cheek.”

“He let me ride him,” Una said quietly.

“Aye,” Ewan said, rolling a shoulder to ease the tension. “He likes you, it seems.”

From the soft sounds, he could tell she was petting him. And from the answering sounds of the horse’s snorts, he wagered she was stroking his nose again, the way he’d shown her.

“He also likes to be scratched beneath his chin,” Ewan said, striking the flint again.

“Everyone needs a name,” Una said. “And that includes you, horse.”

The horse snorted.

“You are a verra good boy. Mo sneachda, mo luchag.”

“Well, which is he? A snowflake? Or a mouse?” Ewan asked, sounding surly. Hefeltsurly, his temper rising hotter with every failed flint strike.

Heneededa fire. With a fire, Una would stay reasonably warm. Without one, well… the night would be long. Huddling would be required, which he imagined was the last thing Una would want. She’d probably rather freeze.

“Such a big, strong boy,” she said softly. “Perhaps you should be called Larann. What say you, Larann? Is that your name?”

The horse whinnied and shorted.

“Nay to that, then,” she said with a chuckle. “It is such a hard name. And you are such a sweet boy. Aye. You are. So verra sweet.”

Ewan stopped his flint strikes, transfixed by the conversation between Una and his horse. She had been terrified of the animal just a few hours before. But she had faced her fear and ridden him all afternoon anyway, and now she was petting him and speaking to him like a bairn. She had threatened to murder Ewan—and he had no doubt she would have followed through on that threat if provoked.

She was a collection of sharp edges. But between the jagged, armored plates, there was a softness. Agreeing to help a boy she’d never met. Speaking gently to a horse that terrified her in a busy, melodic voice, calling him one ridiculous pet name after another.

And the horse, a renowned grump at best, a menace at worst, was putty in her hands.

As he listened to her talk to the horse, Ewan couldn’t help but wonder if Una used that voice when she was healing, or sitting with the dying. Did she speak sweet words to a person to ease their leaving, soothing them the way she gentled the horse? Ewan felt a sudden tightness in his chest and a lump in his throat as he remembered whispering into Connor’s sandy curls.“Hush now, mo ghaisgeach.You’re nearly home now.”

The horse snorted happily, and Una chuckled.

“I have it. What say you to Calman?”