It was Hamish’s habit to bathe in the river behind the camp every night. He was a stickler for cleanliness, and it was something he did every evening without fail, even when there was snow on the ground, and he had to break ice in order to step into the water. Now, due to the recent downpours, the water level was high, and the current was fast and powerful.
It was a cloudy autumn evening, so the water was bearable and not excruciatingly cold as he submerged himself up to his shoulders, then ducked his head under the water. When he came up again, he began to wash himself with the rough soap that was made by one of the women in the village.
He liked to support the villagers in any way he could. He hunted deer for them in the forest and gave them fish from the burn, and on his occasional trip into the nearest town of Inverness he bought second-hand clothes for them at the market.
His brother barely cared for his tenants at all. Many of their cottages were in very poor repair, not to mention their empty bellies. That was something else he helped with, although he and his men had to be very cautious about it lest they be caught by Struan’s men. Still, the reward was worth the risk, in Hamish’sopinion. The grateful smiles, hugs, and kisses were enough for him.
While he was washing, he thought about Amanda. She was obviously terrified of him, but then he thought he might feel the same in her shoes. He had treated her abominably, yet there was something about her that attracted him—but no, she was English, and he had no time for them. He could not afford to be seen as sympathetic to them after all the damage they had done to his country.
But if somehow he could make Amanda willing to side with him and get Struan to trust her, he could use her, in spite of the fact that she was English. He had no leverage over her, but he sensed that she was soft-hearted. If he could show her just how harshly his brother was treating his tenants and the villagers, he thought he might be able to win her round.
He stepped out of the water, shivering, then dried himself as best he could with the cloth before he wrapped it around his hips and went back to his tent.
Hamish shrugged on his clean shirt over his shoulders, which were still half-damp, and the moisture seeped through at once, making it transparent enough to see his broad chest muscles underneath.
Then the tent flap rustled suddenly, and he groaned inwardly as he saw Fiona entering, smiling her best seductive smile at him. She put her hand flat on his chest, then she looked up at him coquettishly and licked her lips, but for once, Hamish was not tempted by her too-obvious flirtation.
When she tried to put her arms around his waist, he stepped back and gently pushed her away, frowning and shaking his head. “Not tonight, Fiona,” he said firmly. “I have too much on my mind.” He sighed irritably. “How is the Sassenach?” he asked as he pulled on a pair of loose breeches.
“I didnae ask her, but she looks fine tae me,” Fiona replied, shrugging. It was quite obvious that she cared absolutely nothing for Amanda’s well-being.
Hamish frowned at her for a moment. “Make sure she stays that way,” he said. “From now on, you are responsible for her health and welfare. Take her something to eat and whatever else she needs. And don’t take this lightly. If anything bad happens to her, I will know who is responsible.”
Fiona stood looking up at him for a moment, filled with rage and jealousy. “An’ what use is she tae us?” she asked indignantly. “Can she cook? Can she clean? Sew? Anything?”
“She can heal,” Hamish replied. “And she can help us get into the castle. Why else do you think I brought her here?”
Fiona’s expression told him exactly what she thought the answer to that question was. She gave him one last poisonous glare, then turned on her heel and left with a huff of indignation.
Later, after the evening meal, Hamish was lying in his cot thinking about her. Healers were usually only too glad to go to Inchkeith Castle, since Struan attracted them with good wages, although for some reason they never stayed long. He thought he could guess why.
Yet, Amanda Tewsbury had been sold to Struan, presumably so that he could keep her there as his property. She would never be able to escape, yet now she was in the same situation, but in his hands.
Hamish was exhausted, but he rose from his bed and looked out at the helpless figure sitting beside the tree. Amanda was asleep, her head drooping down over her chest; the position looked extremely uncomfortable, but he could not worry about that now.
He needed her to stay where she was, since she was his only hope of either capturing his brother, or taking his rightful place as the Laird. She might be able to open the door to the castle tolet his rebels inside. A beautiful woman like Amanda had wiles that could undermine the strongest of men without her even trying hard.
But what would that mean for her? This beautiful, innocent young woman deserved some respect and kindness. Yet, he had kidnapped her and treated her like some kind of object—something to be used, and to his shame he admitted to himself that that was her purpose. He could not afford to think of her as a person, but something akin to a tool.
Hamish threw himself onto his cot again, but it was a long time before sleep claimed him. He thought of her eyes staring up at him, pleading for him to let her go, and the way her lips had drooped in disappointment at his refusal.
Despite himself, she had awakened every one of his primal male instincts, something that had not happened for a long, long time.
Twilight was creeping in, the temperature was beginning to fall, and presently Amanda began to shiver with cold. To her surprise, Fiona came and dropped a threadbare blanket over her, scowling as she did so. She gave Fiona another meal that looked like scraps from the kitchen and leftovers from the men’s plates, then said sarcastically, “Sleep well, Sassenach.”
The blanket did not help much, but it took the worst of the chill off, and eventually Amanda drifted off to sleep. Her dreams were all nightmares, of course.
She had been taken into the camp and the men were throwing stones at her, teasing her, and inviting her into their beds. Once, she woke herself up screaming and fighting animaginary foe in the pitch black, only to find that it had all been a very unpleasant dream.
To distract herself, Amanda thought of her sisters, and how they would react to finding her like this. Rose would be furious, but Claire would be so incandescent with rage she would take up arms against her enemy!
She smiled at the thought, and dropped off to sleep again, full of a strange resignation. If anyone was going to harm her during the night, there was nothing she could do about it.
Amanda was awakened the following morning by the nudge of a boot against her thigh, and jerked upright with a start, her eyes flying open. She looked up to see Hamish McNeill staring down at her coldly, and terror flooded her heart. The dagger was back in his hand, and she braced herself as he knelt down beside her, ready for the fatal blow she was sure he was going to give her.
However, the fatal strike Amanda had expected never came. Instead, Hamish cut her bonds with the dagger, and Amanda groaned as the rough rope was suddenly and painfully pulled away from her raw flesh.
Her whole body ached because she had been sitting in such an uncomfortable position all night, her back resting upright against the unyielding bark of the tree, her backside sore from sitting on the hard ground.
