Then he turned to her, frowning, scrutinising her with his apple-green eyes for a few seconds, and Amanda once more began to tremble. She dropped her gaze to the leaf-strewn ground to avoid looking at him, but he tilted her chin up so that their eyes met again.
“You are the healer who is going to serve the McNeills, are you not?” he asked.
Amanda swallowed nervously. “Yes,” she replied, her voice trembling. “I was bought by the Laird there.”
“Struan McNeill!” The man spat out the name as if it repulsed him.
One of the other men, a short, sturdy bald fellow, stepped forward and looked at the blond man, shaking his head. “Thatbloody monster is buyin’ people now,” he said disgustedly. “Can he stoop any lower? Every time I think he cannae get any worse, he somehow manages!”
Another man stepped up and looked Amanda up and down, making no secret of the fact that he liked what he saw. She looked around desperately to see if there was any escape, but again she could only see more men and more trees. It was hopeless.
Amanda resigned herself to the fact that the only way she was going to escape was by using her wits. She would have to submit to whatever treatment she was about to receive in the meantime and slip away when the chance presented itself.
Now that she had made her decision, Amanda felt a little calmer. She looked around herself, trying to see if there was a single other woman in the crowd around her, but saw only half a dozen or so. She was one of the few females in a sea of males, and although this was terrifying, she knew that she was equal to the task of rescuing herself. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more her determination hardened.
Another man stepped forward and walked up to Amanda to stare at her in an intimidating fashion. “Well,” he said, glaring at her, “what dae we dae wi’ her now? She has seen us, she knows we are here an’ nae doubt will tell on us if she manages tae get away.”
“An’ listen tae how she talks,” said a voice from behind them. “She is a Sassenach, an’ it will nae doubt gie her a lot o’ pleasure tae betray us an’ tell your brother where she met us. What are we goin’ tae dae wi’ her?”
Amanda looked around at the circle of faces, but could not see a speck of warmth or kindness in any of them. She was English, and even though peace had been reached between their nations years before, many Scots still bore a passionate hatred for the “Sassenachs,” as they were known. She could see thehostility in their faces as they looked at her, and although she was desperately afraid, she schooled her face into an impassive expression.
Several of the men advanced towards her, but the tall blond man stepped in front of Amanda. “Nobody touches her,” he growled. “She could be of use to us.”
There were some nods and grunts of reluctant agreement before the tall blond stranger turned to Amanda again. For the first time, she noticed the three bloody and angry lines under his eyes where she had gouged her fingernails into his skin. She felt like giggling in satisfaction, but restrained herself; this was decidedly not the time to crow over minor triumphs.
The man stood looking at her for a long time, and Amanda could practically hear his thoughts. She had a gift for reading people’s faces and the language of their bodies. In fact, it had often been said that she could read minds. That was not the case, however, but Amanda definitely had a sixth sense that neither of her other sisters possessed.
She could see by the concentration in his expression that he was wondering what to do with her, and his frown had darkened. Then she knew her fate had been decided, and it did not look good.
Abruptly, he said, “Tie her hands, but be careful. She likes to scratch. Look at my face.” He indicated the scratch marks under his eyes, and saw some of his men laughing.
Amanda opened her mouth to protest, but it was too late. Her hands were already being bound, and tightly. She squealed in pain, but it did no good. The man who was knotting the rope was either deaf or not listening, and Amanda wept quietly as the rough fibre abraded her skin. She knew that she would have to keep her limbs moving to avoid her circulation being cut off, and that would mean chafing her skin, which would bleed.
The man who had captured Amanda was watching her closely, his eyes scrutinising every inch of her. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he jumped, startled, when he heard her voice calling him.
“And who are you? I may as well know my captor’s identity.” The thrill of fear was obvious in her voice.
“The name is Hamish McNeill,” he answered, with a sarcastic, theatrical bow.
He strode over to her and took her elbow, and once more Amanda was obliged to go along with him, although she had no idea where she was being taken.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice trembling.
However, Hamish McNeill did not answer, but marched on while Amanda did her best to keep pace with him. She hoped that their journey would not be too far because her strength was rapidly giving out, and she was not sure what would happen to her if she tripped and fell. One of the men had said that she had seen too much. Would they kill her if she hurt herself and became useless to them?
She thought of Rose and Claire and wished with all her heart that her sisters were there with her because she had never needed them more than she needed them at that moment.
2
Hamish McNeill was very conscious of the young woman beside him; in fact, the very first time he saw her, he had been quite amazed. Finding such loveliness in a decrepit carriage in the middle of nowhere was the stuff of fantasy, but the cynical side of him soon took over.
She was certainly a beautiful woman, with glossy brown hair and eyes the colour of autumn heather, but he could not allow himself to be distracted by that.
She looked helpless now, but he knew what she was capable of as he touched the tender spot on his face. At first, he had thought she was a pale and frightened creature, but now he knew better.
Yet, she was a healer, so she obviously had some compassion. What angered him was that her special skills and empathy for others were going to be wasted on the monstrous creature who lived in Inchkeith Castle. He had no heart, no feelings for anyone except himself.
Now, however, the Laird of Inchkeith Castle would have something to worry about because his days of lording over the castle and the village of Inchkeith were almost over.
