As Amanda heard Hamish speaking and saw the determined look on his face, her doubts ebbed away. She was no longer fearful—this was her chance to get justice for those who had been grievously wronged, and nothing was going to stop her.
“I am ready,” she stated firmly. “And I promise not to let you down.”
17
Amanda was sitting in the rickety, rattling carriage, twisting the stones of the villagers’ bracelet between her fingers. It had begun to rain, and the weather matched her mood of leaden depression and fear. She tried to conjure up pictures of Struan McNeill in her mind. Would he look like Hamish? Or would he favour his mother, whom the elder laird had sent away with a generous allowance? Whoever he looked like did not matter, of course. It was his evil, despicable actions that defined him; he was a monster, but she knew that evil often hid behind beauty.
She gripped the little bracelet more tightly, as if by doing so, she could pour her fear into it and receive some security in return.
Word of her presence had been sent by one of the village boys, who had been dispatched to the castle to beg for food. Amanda was there to attend to the villagers’ ills that morning, and he had casually, but deliberately, mentioned her presence to the guards.
Within the hour, another ramshackle carriage similar to the one in which she had arrived had come to pick her up. Amanda put up a token show of gladness for the sake of the castleguards and thanked them for rescuing her, then she collected her medications and allowed herself to be led away.
As they approached the castle, her heart began to hammer with terror; at last the moment had come when she would have to face the monster everyone had talked about, and she felt as though she was walking into hell itself.
Inchkeith Castle was an imposing structure, a huge square building with crenellated walls and a round tower at each corner. It had no moat, but was surrounded by a deep trench out of which wooden spikes protruded. It would be almost impossible for horsemen to cross it, Amanda thought, panic-stricken at the notion.
The curtain walls were massive, too high to be climbed by any man, even if he could get past the impressive defences. Amanda’s only consolation was that Hamish knew exactly what to expect and would be fully prepared.
At last, they pulled up outside the castle gates, and the driver gave her a meaningful look and said, “Good luck tae ye, hen.”
Amanda nodded and gave him an uncertain smile, then began to walk towards the entrance to the castle, accompanied by a guard on either side. This was the moment she had been dreading, but she would not let herself be intimidated. She was strong, she told herself—stronger than anyone else she knew, and if she faltered she would remember the faces of Hamish and the villagers whose fate depended on her.
“Welcome, healer,” said one of the guards as he raked her from head to foot with a leering smile. “Nice tae see the Laird is gettin’ the help he needs.”
“Aye,” said the other one. “If ye need tae lay your hands on him tae make him better, I might just hurt myself so ye can treat me an’ a’!”
His gaze slithered down her body like a snake, and as the two men laughed, Amanda felt dirty at the very thought of these creatures touching her.
Presently, she was led inside to the freezing and cheerless entry hall. Amanda imagined that at one time it might have been warm and welcoming, but not any more. Now, many of the torches around the wall that should have been lit to brighten the place and point the way to various chambers inside the castle were merely empty sconces on the wall. As she advanced into the interior of the castle, she saw more evidence that the so-called Laird had been scrimping and saving in every way possible.
The stairs that led up to the Laird’s chamber were sunken and worn in the middle of each step, and clearly should have been repaired years before. Instead, they had been allowed to wear down and had become dangerous to use because there was so little light to see by that it was easy to take a misstep.
There were very few paintings on the walls, and those that hung there were dirty and cheap, with chipped frames, and the occasional piece of furniture she passed looked as though it had not been dusted or polished for years. Everything Amanda saw spoke of someone who cared little for the welfare, both physical and mental, of those living under his roof.
At last, she stood in front of the Laird’s chamber, trying to control the trembling that had suddenly seized her at the thought of meeting the man who had committed so much evil against the man she loved.
“The Laird is no’ at his best,” the first man said.
“Aye, but dinnae worry, hen,” the second guard said, winking. “If he throws ye across the room, it will be my pleasure tae catch ye!”
He gave her a lewd wink and the two of them cackled.
The first man went in front of her and knocked on the door loudly. Then a voice bid them to enter. Amanda took a deepbreath, tilted her chin, squared her shoulders, stepped into the room and was immediately shocked at what she saw.
The chamber was palatial. The mahogany furniture was intricately carved and gilded, dominated by a huge four-poster bed with dark red silken drapes and a quilted coverlet of the same colour. The brocade curtains were made of velvet and silk in shades of red and gold, and even the rugs on the floor were crafted from the same costly fabric.
Struan McNeill had no care for the well-being of those who served him, but he was very concerned with his own comfort. Nothing in the room was cheap or of poor quality. Clearly, Struan McNeill had spared no expense on his own needs.
Amanda’s eyes fell on the man who sat in a beautifully upholstered chair beside the roaring fire, his bandaged right leg propped up on a table in front of him, and she almost choked with revulsion. Struan looked like Hamish, although his eyes were blue and smaller and his cheeks a little leaner. However, whereas Hamish was tall and broad, this man was much shorter, although it was not possible to judge exactly how much because of his seated posture.
His face was sallow, and Amanda doubted that he spent much time in the daylight. Although he looked well-fed, there was something shrunken about him, but she could not quite put her finger on it. Then she realised that it was the same impression she got when she looked at other men who were quite tall, but appeared shorter, at least to her, because of their small, mean nature.
Struan smiled at her, a smile which did not reach his eyes and was more of a twisted leer. His teeth were straight but yellow, and his shoulder-length hair, which was much darker than Hamish’s, looked as though it was already beginning to thin towards baldness.
Keep calm,Amanda told herself as she advanced towards him and stopped a respectable distance away. She did not wish to be within arm’s length of Struan McNeill, whom she found totally repulsive.
She pasted on a smile and made a deep curtsy. “Forgive my lateness, My Laird,” she said in a tone that was both deferential and insincere. However, it seemed to be making a good impression on Struan, whose smile widened. “It is an honour to meet you. I hope I have not offended you by my delay. I was ambushed by some bandits, who held me hostage for a few days.”
