Page 59 of Hold Fast

It had been a lethal blow. Because, as she had acknowledged to herself so many times, he was not Malcolm Cameron. He was not a threat or a boor or a monster. He was a man. Flawed, up to high doh with worry, to his detriment. But safe. Good.Kind.

Part of her wanted to touch him, to reach out and bring him close again. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t afford to lose focus.

“Nay,” she murmured. “You are nae a monster. I know that.”

Ewan ran his hands through his hair, clasping them behind his neck as he so often did when he was frustrated, his forearms pressing into his temples.

“Then I’ll ask you again, Una. Why will you nae have me?” His voice was quiet, his restraint returned. “I’ve asked you. I’m damn near begging you. At least tell me why? What more must I do? Carve open my chest and serve you my own heart? Here,” he said, taking his dirk from the sheath at his hip and holding it out to her, the point of the gleaming blade pinched between his fingers.

“Goddamnit, Ewan,” she said, closing her eyes in frustration. “Put the dirk away.”

The knife clattered to the floor, and then there he was, filling her vision, her nostrils, all of her senses with his presence. He cupped her jaw in his hands, lifting her face to look at his.

“Dinnae you want me, Una?”

“It isnae that simple.”

“Do you want me?”

The lump in her throat threatened to choke her as tears sprang to her eyes. She didn’t want to look at his anguished face, but she also couldn’t turn away. She squeezed her eyes shut as her bottom lip quivered.

“I only wanted to keep you near so I could keep you safe. Anything to keep you safe, to keep you away fromhim,” Ewan said in a strangled voice.

Una reared back, confused. “Why would you worry about that?”

“Your father found out where you were because of talk traveling. If someone misrepresented the facts and Cameron believed I had kidnapped you, he might retaliate. He might try to steal you back.”

She was going to be sick.

“I willnae let it happen,” he said insistently, ducking down to look in her eyes. “If you married me, he couldnae take you. You would be mine, under my protection, safe in the keep.”

He heaved in a deep breath that Una felt as much as she heard. He brought her closer, so close that her chest was pressed against his, their noses touching.

“Ewan,” she breathed, his name a breath, a prayer. His thumbs pressed into her cheekbones as he held his mouth just a breath away, waiting for her to go the rest of the way to meet him.

“Una, mo cridhe,” he murmured into that space, making her feel the gentle percussion of every breath against her lips.

But the endearment wrenched her back. It might be true that Ewan MacDonald would never physically hurt her, she believed that with her whole heart. But that didn’t mean she should marry him. Nor did it mean that shecould.

“Or you could take me to the Stewarts,” she said, the words nearly choking her.

He dropped his hands and stepped back, looking as if he wanted to speak. In fact, he opened his mouth as if he would, but he clamped it shut before striding out of the buttery. Una heard his footsteps in the rushes, the creaking of the door on its hinges, and the bang as it slammed behind him.

An hour later, Una sat next to the hearth in Joan’s small room, braiding her hair and watching the sparks pop. Joan was asleep in the bed, snoring softly. When she had returned to the room, red-faced from weeping, Joan and Cat had fussed over her like she was a child. After a while, she had waved them off and begged them to sleep.

“All will be better in the light of a new day,” she had insisted.

Now, hours later, Una still could not sleep. The keep was quiet, the silence only broken by the occasional man’s voice, drifting up from the bailey. She wondered where Ewan had gone but scolded herself for the thought. She didn’t have any right to wonder where he was. She had refused him.

She felt the sting of fresh tears gathering in her eyes and fought against them, losing far too soon. He was a good man. He was agreatman, perhaps. Hot, heavy tears fell from her eyes and down her temples. She had to talk to him. Perhaps his temper would have cooled enough that they could hear one another. Perhaps they might even come to an understanding.

Una rose silently from the chair, wrapped a MacDonald plaid around her shoulders, and slipped from the small chamber and into the hallway. The torches in the wall sconces burned brightly, casting long shadows on the stone floor, as she crept down the hall and knocked on Connor’s door, Ewan’s door for the time being. Her quiet taps were met with silence.

She waited as long as she dared and had just turned away from the door when it creaked open a few inches, revealing Ewan. He was fully dressed except for his bare feet, his hair wild and tousled, as if he’d done nothing but rake his hands through it.

“You’ll snatch your head bald if you keep up like that,” she said, going for a teasing tone but failing.

“What are you doing here, Una?”