Page 5 of Hold Fast

Ewan glared at the arrow protruding from the animal’s side. It had been a poor shot—a mortal wound, but not one that would deliver a quick death, and certainly not a merciful one. The sight made Ewan’s stomach turn. The shot had been one of youthful arrogance as Ewan’s youngest brother, Connor, believed himself to be a far better marksman than he was.

Ewan fumed. “I should have made him come finish the beast himself.”

It was one thing to kill from a distance. It was quite another to draw your knife and take a life with your very hands. Ewan knew that all too well.

He waited a few minutes longer, already planning the hours of target practice Connor would be completing as punishment. If Connor wanted to believe himself an ace marksman, he would put in the training until his skills matched his opinion of himself. That’s what their father would have done.

In his youthful arrogance, Ewan had believed himself to be a far better swordsman than he was. That had earned him hours in the ring sparring with man after man while his father and the captain of the guard critiqued his form and offered corrections. For years, Ewan had spent his mornings training with the guard and his afternoons and evenings in the laird’s solar, learning the “inside work,” as his father called it. Every night, he’d collapsed in his bed exhausted and slept like a corpse until dawn.

But he’d learned. The politics. How to manage a large holding. How to wield a sword. He had been well positioned to step into his father’s shoes, but that didn’t mean he’d been ready. The work of laird was endless, and for all his preparation, he felt woefully unprepared. He missed his father’s guidance. He missed his wisdom. He missedhim.

Ewan whistled sharply and heard the heavy plodding of the gray stallion’s hooves moving towards him. The dog stayed where he’d been left. Ewan had just hoisted the stag onto the horse’s back when he heard an ear-piercing squeal and the sounds of men yelling. A boar. They would feast tonight.

Ewan turned back to the task of securing the massive stag to his saddle, muttering to himself about the lecture he was going to give Connor when they returned to the keep. He didn’t have the heart to thrash the boy, but he’d blister his ears for certain.

He was checking over the fastenings when he heard a human scream of pain.

Ewan flew into the saddle, whistled for the hound, and kicked the horse into a gallop. The forest was quiet now, save for the percussive exhales of the great stallion and the pounding of Ewan’s heartbeat in his ears.

Before long, Ewan came upon the clearing where his men gathered in a tight circle. They parted as Ewan ran towards a body, which lay motionless on the forest floor. His worst fears materialized when he saw that it was Connor. Ewan dropped to his knees next to the fifteen-year-old boy and looked across his still form into the eyes of his best friend and right hand, David.

“The lad thought to help us bring down the boar. We had it cornered well enough, but the beast gave us the slip and made right for Connor. We felled it, but nae before it gored him,” David murmured.

Ewan ran his hands over Connor’s leine shirt. There was so much blood that Ewan couldn’t tell the source.

“His leg,” David offered quietly.

Lifting up the blue-and-green plaid, Ewan saw a deep gash in his brother’s thigh. The boar’s tusk had nearly cut down to the bone. Looking up, Ewan saw two of his four brothers standing in the tight circle around Connor, who was pale and unconscious.

“He should never have come with us,” Ewan bit out at them, drowning in his own frustration and grief.

Kenneth, two years younger than Ewan, sighed. “You know good and well that if you’d forbidden him to come, he’d have followed anyway.”

“We must get him to the keep,” Ewan said, his jaw clenched.

“The healer’s gone,” muttered Angus, born a mere thirteen months after Kenneth.

The MacDonald healer who had served the keep and surrounding crofts for decades had died three weeks before after succumbing to a sudden fever. Cold dread settled in the pit of Ewan’s stomach. Of all the rotten, cursed timing.

Ewan pulled his leine shirt out of his plaid and used his knife to cut the bottom several inches away. As he worked, the great, shaggy dog sat next to the boy and whined softly. Kenneth reached out and absently scratched behind Mathan’s ears as he watched Ewan.

Wrapping the fabric tightly around Connor’s thigh, Ewan wondered what they would do for him once they returned home. How would they stave off fever? How would they treat it if it came? He was a laird, not a healer, and while he had been taught how to cauterize or stitch up smaller wounds after battle, he had nowhere near the skill required to deal with an injury like this. His mind raced as he scooped his brother’s body into his arms and stood in one, powerful move.

“Where is Connor’s horse?” he asked.

“We moved your stag to it, m’laird,” one of his men replied. “We thought you’d prefer your own mount.”

Ewan nodded at the man, set his jaw, and walked towards his stallion, Kenneth following close behind. Kenneth took Connor so that Ewan could mount the horse before handing him up to his brother. Connor groaned and protested weakly. Ewan’s throat felt full to bursting, and he imagined it was his heart that had lodged there. Heavy snowflakes began to fall as he turned his stallion and made for home.

“Hush now,mo ghaisgeach,” Ewan whispered against the boy’s blond curls.My hero. “You’re nearly home now.”

CHAPTER2

Una banged on the door to her childhood cottage. On the other side, she heard her father grunting and shuffling as he made his way to the door, opening it just far enough that she could see his faded, watery blue eyes. A bushy gray eyebrow rose sharply toward the shiny top of his head, and he flung the door wide open.

He looked unkempt. His trews were dirty, the leine shirt he wore even more so, and the ring of hair that still grew on the bottom half of his head hung long and limp and dirty around his shoulders.

Her father had never been much for tidiness, but it seemed that since her youngest sister Mary had gotten married a few months before and left home, he’d given up on it entirely.