Chapter 1
Amanda had no time to think of what to do next as the stranger pulled her along behind him.
She followed him because she had no choice, since his grip was fierce.
They passed the old man, who was howling and moaning in pain from his shoulder and another wound on his thigh that he had sustained in falling from the carriage.
Then, abruptly, the noise stopped. Amanda wanted to look behind her to see what had happened to him, since all her instincts as a healer told her to help him, but she could not break free of the mysterious man’s grip.
She stumbled along behind him, trying not to trip and fall over, since the ground was muddy and her shoes were old and not suitable for the slippery surface.
She had no idea why they were in such haste, since no-one else seemed to be following them, but she had no choice but to keep going because her chance of escaping from the big man seemed nigh on impossible.
However, her chance came a moment later when the tall stranger almost bumped into the low branch of a tree and stumbled, giving Amanda the opportunity to wrench her hand away.
Holding her breath, she ran in the opposite direction, making her way into a thick copse of trees, in which she hoped and prayed to lose him.
After all, this man was tall and strong enough to overpower her and do whatever he wished to her—take advantage of her without consent, or even kill her.
Amanda managed to pull ahead a little, since the stranger was finding it difficult to dodge under the low-hanging branches, but a particularly treacherous patch of ground slowed her down.
Then her feet slid from under her as she stepped into a puddle of water and cried out in fright. However, she was stopped from falling, as a pair of strong arms came around her before she hit the ground.
Instinctively, Amanda struggled to escape, even reaching up to claw at his face, but it was fruitless, since she was battling against someone who was twice as strong as she was.
“Do not fight me, lass,” said a deep, husky voice that was so close to her ear that Amanda could feel his breath on her face. “You will only hurt yourself.”
With that, he let her stand up and face him.
He was big, well-built, with blond hair that reminded her of the descriptions of the Norsemen from Scandinavia who had raided Scotland and Northern England centuries before.
Like them, he was fierce and intimidating, but that was not what struck her first. No, it was the bright-green eyes that dominated his high-boned, square-jawed face. He was magnificent.
But if he looked so much like a Viking, perhaps he would have no trouble behaving like one! Amanda thought.
Amanda looked into his bright-green eyes, which were as cold as ice as they regarded her. Nevertheless, she knew she had to appeal to him. “Please let me go,” she begged. “I will not tell anyone what happened here.”
The stranger ran a hand backwards through his golden hair and gave a cynical laugh.
“No, you will not,” he replied, “because you will not get the chance. You are coming with me whether you like it or not, and if you try to escape again, the consequences will be dire for you.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Do you understand?”
Amanda began to tremble uncontrollably. What would this giant of a man do to her if she disobeyed him? Having no choice, she nodded and began to follow him again, but this time he moved a little more slowly, no doubt to avoid any more delays, she thought.
They moved along, and Amanda thought she heard the big man talking to himself very quietly in his low, rumbling voice.
Was he making plans, rehearsing a speech, or was he simply mad?
The latter possibility seemed the most likely, she thought, as she trudged along beside him, filled with even more fear than she had been before.
From time to time she looked up at him, wondering how a man who had done such a heinous deed as kidnapping a woman could look so handsome. But then, did evil not hide behind beauty in many cases?
Amanda sighed. She was tired to the bone, although it was only midday.
The stranger heard it and looked down at her, and Amanda thought she saw a flicker of doubt on his face. Perhaps he was regretting what he had done. But then the expression was gone and his mask of cold indifference went up again.
It seemed like years before they reached an extremely thick copse of fir trees, and stopped abruptly. Amanda bent over, out of breath from trying to keep up with the big man’s long stride. She straightened up, then froze.
As she watched, dozens of men approached them out of the cover of the trees, each one looking fiercer than the last. They were all armed with swords and daggers.
Every one of them was dressed in clothing that had seen much better days, in shades of brown, green, and grey which blended in with the colours of the forest. It took Amanda a few moments to figure out the reason for this.
Could they be bandits? Their clothing no doubt gave them the advantage of surprise in an ambush.
She could not be sure, of course, but it was a terrifying thought.
If she had been frightened before, Amanda was now almost paralysed with terror. What kind of hell had she landed in?
The blond man was still gripping her hand, and instinctively, she moved closer to him as if for protection. Later, she would laugh at herself for doing this. What kind of shielding could she expect from a kidnapper?
However, the man noticed her terror and shouted to the men, “Back off, you lot! She is not going to do us any harm, and you’re scaring her.”
Amanda, listening to his commanding tone and watching the way the men responded to him, realised that he was their leader.
Most of the others were older, and the big man, whom she now thought of as the Viking, was by far the youngest. Even so, he had an air of authority about him that marked him out as the chief of the band.
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. “That bloody 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 the hostility 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.