PROLOGUE
Amanda Tewsbury fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist, as if she could gain comfort from the string of small stones threaded onto a leather strip that her sisters had made for her for a long-ago birthday. They had all been so young and so innocent then, she thought wryly.
It was a far cry from the position she found herself in now, she thought sadly. Her father was taking a pouch full of coins from an ugly old man, then he shook hands with him. “Take care of her,” he said, frowning. “Or I will want to know why.”
As if he cares,Amanda thought bitterly, since she knew that James Tewsbury’s concern was all for show. She had just been sold, as had her other sisters, into servitude. Their stories had both had a happy-ever-after, however, as the two of them had entered into loving marriages with good, worthy men. Amanda knew she wouldn’t be so lucky, though.
She watched as her father came towards her with an expression of sadness on his face which Amanda knew was completely fake. He was incapable of feeling anything for anyone but himself, and his daughters knew it.
“Now it is time for you to go, Amanda,” he said with an air of assumed regret that did not fool her for a moment. “Make me proud.”
She gazed at him with utter contempt, wishing at that moment that she was a man so that she could use her fist to break his nose. The thought alone shocked her, since she was not a violent person—quite the opposite, in fact.
Of her three sisters, she was the quietest and most docile, and her father had taken advantage of that fact. He had made her train as a healer, since she was by nature a very compassionate person. The fact that she was slim and shapely with glossy brown hair, large hazel eyes and the kind of perfectly proportioned features that made other women envious did not help her case. On the contrary, it meant she would be sold more easily.
At first, Amanda had resented it, but it had not taken her long to realize that it was the profession she had been born to do. She loved tending to people’s needs and watching them recover from their illnesses because of her efforts. It was the most rewarding thing she had ever done, although she was careful to keep this fact from her father; she wanted him to take no credit for her skill.
However, what she did resent was being sold like a slave and forced to travel to a country she did not know to work for a man she had never met. Rose and Claire, her sisters, had told her that Scotland, apart from the weather, was a delightful place, but then they were both speaking through a warm haze of love which coloured their perception very favourably.
Amanda was in Scotland now, standing outside a tumbledown tavern called The Highland Cow, waiting to be transported to Inchkeith Castle, where she would take up her position as the resident healer for the castle.
The Laird was a man called Struan McNeill, and Amanda hoped against hope that she would have the same luck as hersisters; that she would find a man of good character, since she had heard horror stories about those who were not. She was not naïve; she knew that men could be predators, especially those with power, so she had studied ways to protect herself.
After he said goodbye to her, James Tewsbury handed Amanda into a battered old carriage with the old man, then walked away without looking back. Amanda saw him straighten his shoulders and let out a long sigh, as if he was immensely relieved about something. It was as though he had thrown away a piece of rubbish that was annoying him, and he was very glad to be rid of it.
The carriage bumped and jolted along the road on its worn springs, and before long, Amanda had a splitting headache. Usually, she would have treated herself with a cup of willow bark tea, but even though she always kept some herbs in her pocket, her supplies were in her trunk—stowed on the back step of the carriage. She would have to wait for the first stop.
She took out a book and began to read to pass the time, but she was aware that the other passenger in the carriage was staring at her with a wicked, hungry look in his eyes. Amanda tried to ignore him, but it was becoming more and more difficult.
Little by little, he was shifting towards her, and although she tried to move away, there was not enough space in the cramped compartment.
“How old are ye, hen?” he asked, screwing the cap on a small flask of what looked like whisky.
Amanda frowned. “That is none of your business, sir!” she snapped. She had been disgusted and a little afraid of the creepy old man, but now she was growing angry with him.
As well as that, she was annoyed with herself for forgetting to bring anything to defend herself with in case it became necessary. Usually, she carried a small knife with her for cutting threads and bandages, but today she seemed to have forgottenit. There had been so much of a rush to meet the carriage that morning that her usually organised schedule had been disrupted, and her possessions were in complete disarray.
“What dae ye know about healin’, hen?” the old man asked, his dark eyes glinting as he smiled at her, showing crooked yellow teeth. He was so close to her now that their thighs were touching, and Amanda instinctively recoiled, her lip curling in disgust.
“I am a healer,” she replied, as calmly as she could. “I know my profession, and I am good at it.”
The man stared at her for a while. He said nothing, but he did not need to. His thoughts were evident in the evil glint of his beady eyes. Amanda had shifted so far along the seat that she was now pressed up against the door, and had absolutely nowhere to go—no possible hope of escape.
“Have ye ever healed a man—properly, I mean?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.
Amanda had treated many men successfully, but clearly that was not what the man meant. No, he had something else in mind, something not connected at all with healing or medicine, and Amanda knew exactly what it was.
He put his wrinkled, bony hand on her knee and began to slide it up her thigh, all the while looking at her with a leering smile pasted on his ugly countenance.
Amanda tensed at once. “Get off me!” she cried, using the only weapon she had—her fist. She smashed it into his chest, but he was stronger than he looked, caught her arm and squeezed her wrist so hard that Amanda winced and screamed in pain.
The man glared at her, his ugly face suffused with rage. “Ye will be sorry for that, ye wee bitch!” he snarled, pushing her even more forcefully against the door of the carriage so that her shoulder was throbbing with pain.
At that moment, the carriage gave an almighty jolt and the man was thrown away from Amanda, landing on the floor as he let out a howl of agony and clutched the shoulder which had taken the impact.
Amanda managed to somehow keep herself upright by clasping the door handle and hanging onto it while the carriage rocked and rattled, then lurched to a stop.
There was complete silence for a moment, then the door opposite Amanda was wrenched open, and she saw the ugly little man look up with an expression of abject terror on his face. The door obscured the figure of the person who had forced them to stop for a moment, and Amanda felt her heart thumping in fear. Then a large masculine hand pulled at the old man’s sore shoulder to haul him out, and he let out an agonised howl.
