Once more, Amanda was dragged under the water, but this time she found it almost impossible to surface. Her arms were aching from trying to keep herself afloat, and her chest felt as though it was on fire as she coughed convulsively, trying to empty her lungs of the invading river water.
She was weakening, she knew, but she would not give up without a fight. She had never been taught how to swim, but perhaps if she tried to stay afloat long enough someone would come to rescue her.
“Help!” she yelled. “Help! I’m drowning!”
Her next words were cut off as the water sucked her under again. She felt a stab of despair shoot through her. These were her last moments. She was going to die.
Amanda could not speak, for her lungs were full of water, but she conjured up a picture of her sisters in her mind, both of them smiling, both happy with their adoring husbands, Rose with her baby. She was sorry, however, that she would never see Claire’s child, or have one of her own. She was glad for both of them, and she had the comfort of knowing that their lives would be full of love, even if hers never could be.
Then, suddenly, she found herself kicking up to the surface again as the will to survive took over, and with her last ounce of strength she yelled, “Help me!”
She gave one final kick and felt the strength in her legs and arms ebb away, then it was all over.
Hamish had ridden hard through the forest, his jaw clenched in anger after what he had seen in the village of Inchkeith. It was not yet sunset, and it was not his custom to return to the camp before nightfall, but he could not shake Amanda Tewsbury out of his mind. He needed to speak to her urgently and tell her what was on his mind—and most of all, he needed her to agree to work with him to end the feud with his brother once and for all. If it could be done peacefully, well and good. If not, then he would do whatever it took, even if it meant killing Struan.
That was not his aim, however, since he would much rather see the heartless wretch condemned to a life of imprisonment until the day he died. He needed Amanda’s help to do it, but for that to happen they had to work out a plan.
The plight of the old people and the children that he had seen that day was breaking his heart. He did as much as he could for them, hunting, fishing, fixing their tumbledown cottages, but it was never enough.
“What’s wrong wi’ ye?” the man riding beside him asked, frowning. “We never go back before it’s dark. Somethin’s got intae ye. Tell me what it is.”
Hamish sighed and ran his hand back through his hair in a gesture of great agitation. Gregor was a tall, dark man, older than Hamish, but more immature than his age would suggest. Nevertheless, he was the finest and most trustworthy warrior Hamish had.
As Hamish’s second, Gregor knew that look, and it did not bode well for any of them. Hamish had something on his mind, and when that happened, it usually ended in violence of some sort. But as he looked at his friend’s face, he suddenly suspected that something else was troubling him—something of an entirely different nature.
Gregor could see how difficult it was for him to come out and say it, and Hamish was rarely lost for words, so he grinned and asked mischievously,“Is it the Sassenach?”
Hamish whipped around to look at his friend, annoyed by his flippant tone.
“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning deeply.
“I mean, why are ye keepin’ her here?” Gregor asked. “Dae ye have a plan for her?”
Hamish nodded. “She is expected at the castle, and Struan will let her in,” he replied. “The old bastard who was sent to gether is dead, and we have the coach driver in our custody, so my brother is none the wiser. We have to look after her properly.”
Hamish looked at him keenly. “But that isnae a’ that is worryin’ ye.”
“No,” Hamish admitted. “Something is wrong. I feel it in my bones, but I have no idea what it is.”
He urged his horse into a canter and a few moments later they entered the camp. Fiona came out to meet them, wearing a wide, welcoming grin as she saw Hamish. As he dismounted, she went up to reach out to him, but he took a firm step backwards, frowning at her.
“Ye’re early in the day!” she remarked, looking up at the sky, which was just beginning to darken. “In a hurry tae see yer Sassenach?” Her voice was scornful, as was her expression.
“Not in a hurry, no, Fiona,” he replied, looking around for Amanda. “I did want to talk to her about something, though.”
Fiona pointed to the tent where the fevered patient was lying, and Hamish peeped inside. He was horrified by the sight of the young man, who was lying, flushed and bathed in sweat, writhing and moaning in distress.
“What happened to Jimmy?”
“He had a wound that got infected. The Sassenach went tae get willow bark for him,” Fiona told him. “But that was a while ago. She should have been back long before now.”
Hamish stared at her in disbelief. “And you never thought to go and look for her? You never thought to get it yourself and let Amanda—a trained healer—look after him? My god, Fiona. I thought you were better than that!”
Fiona’s mouth dropped open, and she was utterly unable to speak for a moment, then she asked, “Dae ye think she might have run away? Well, I hope she has! She is probably a spy anyway.”
Hamish could listen to her no more, and he turned and sprinted towards the river, wondering if Fiona was right. Amanda could have swum across the water and disappeared into the woodlands on the other side. Nobody would find her there. He would have to bring out his hunting dogs to sniff her out, and even then, it would likely be impossible, since her scent would have been washed away.
Damn it! Why did I leave her untied?he thought furiously.Hamish, you are such a fool!
