Indeed, she was one of them because it looked infinitely more pleasant than the life she had been living with her wastrel of a father. He had sold her because he did not want the responsibility of looking after her and had no money for a dowry so that he could marry her off. Now that he had some gold, he would likely not be happy until he had gambled it all away. How she hated him!
Amanda would have happily settled in a place like this if it were not for Hamish McNeill, who, despite his attractiveness, was one of the coldest people she had ever met.
All looked to be well in the camp, until her eye fell on a young man who was sitting on a boulder cleaning weapons. His face was flushed and he had to constantly pause in his labours to wipe sweat from his forehead. Amanda knew at once what was wrong with him.
“He has a fever,” she told Fiona, who was following her like a dog.
Fiona glanced at the young man. “Pfft!” she scoffed, flapping her hand at him. “There is naethin’ wrong wi’ him. He’s justactin’ the goat. There is a silly lassie that he wants tae marry that willnae have anythin’ tae dae wi’ him, an’ he wants tae look like a hero for her. He’s an eejit. Dinnae bother wi’ him.”
Amanda looked at the young man doubtfully. She knew she was right, but she could not argue with Fiona, who was effectively in charge of her. She stayed silent and continued to wander around the camp, looking for some way to be useful, since she was now a little bored.
Again, she thought of her sisters, and imagined that Claire would fit in here with no trouble at all. She could just see her sister with a sword having a battle with Hamish McNeill, and visualised her giving the big bully a stab in the chest that toppled him to the floor, never to rise again.
Once more, she chastised herself. Was she not the gentle sister, the one who never raised her voice or hand to anyone? The one who comforted others in distress? Where had this savage side of her nature come from? She had never before harboured such aggressive thoughts, and it quite disgusted her; she did not wish to end up like Hamish McNeill or vile, mean-spirited Fiona. Even now, she could feel the woman’s eyes on her as if she had a target on her back.
Amanda did not want to feel such hatred for anyone; it was quite foreign to her nature. She shook her head, as if by doing so she could rid herself of it, then resumed her walk around the encampment. She knew she was being observed, discussed and judged, and wished she had the courage to go and challenge some of the watchers. She could certainly thrash them in a verbal argument, but she was outnumbered, and there were too many sharp weapons around her.
Her eyes kept returning to the young man with the fever, and her conscience nagged her, because she knew that she could and should use her skill and knowledge to help him, but she was simply not in a position to do so.
It hurt her heart to be so helpless.
Just then, she saw a tent that was bigger than the others, and it piqued her curiosity. She went inside to see half-a-dozen women seated around a rough wooden table, each with a mortar and pestle full of dried herbs in front of them. They had been chattering amongst themselves, but their conversation stopped at once as soon as they saw Amanda. Obviously they had heard about the Sassenach.
She smiled at them all, but received only a few nods and doubtful glances in return. The hostility in the room was palpable, but Amanda was determined not to let it worry her.
Just then, Fiona barged into the tent, her face set in a deep frown of annoyance. “Will ye stop bein’ a nuisance an’ get out o’ the way?” she said irritably. “Naebody wants ye here! What does a Sassenach know that they dinnae anyway?”
Amanda was about to turn and walk out, then she noticed that one of the women had her pestle at a strange angle inside the mortar bowl, and was battling to do her part properly.
“Can I help you with that?” she asked politely.
The woman sat back and allowed her to show her how to improve her technique, and when Amanda had finished, she smiled and thanked her timidly.
“My pleasure,” Amanda replied, then she noticed that one of the others was struggling to control a crying baby while continuing to grind her herbs.
“Let me help you,” she said.
Perhaps if she made herself useful, she thought, she could befriend some of these women. If she succeeded in making them trust her, it might be easier for her to escape.
She flicked a quick glance at Fiona, whose face had turned a fiery red with rage, and smiled inwardly. Amanda had succeeded in getting under her skin, which delighted her.
The young woman looked doubtful for a moment, then nodded and stood up, relinquishing her chair to Amanda. The baby, who was perhaps six months old, calmed down at once as he was put to his mother’s breast.
Amanda suddenly felt a little jealous as she thought of baby Barbara, Rose’s daughter, and her sister Claire, who was expecting a baby in a few months. Would she ever be a mother? Would she grow a child in her womb, feed them with her milk, watch them grow? Love them with all her heart?
Or would she be trapped here for months or even years, unable to escape, unable to find anyone to love and father a child?
Amanda shook her head and forced herself back to the task at hand. The next herb she began to grind was lavender, and when she inhaled its sweet fragrance, she felt more at peace than she had since the beginning of the nightmare in which she found herself.
By and by, the conversation among the women started up again, but it was mostly in Gaelic, and the little bit of English she heard was spoken with such a strong Highland accent that Amanda could barely understand it anyway.
She saw the women glancing at her from time to time while conversing, and realised that they were talking about her. Still, from what Rose and Claire had told her, this was something she knew she would have to become accustomed to.
“Pity she’s a Sassenach,” one of them said. “She knows what she’s daein.”
“Aye, but ye cannae trust them,” another replied. “Ye always have tae watch your back.”
Amanda had just opened her mouth to defend herself when suddenly she heard a piercing cry from outside—a howl that spoke of incredible pain. Without thinking twice, Amandajumped to her feet, spilling the bowl of herbs on the floor, and dashed out of the tent.
