Chapter 3
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’s opinion.
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 to let 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 an imaginary 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.
Amanda winced in agony and gave a gasp of pain, which Hamish noticed. A flash of guilt appeared in his eyes for a second, but he said nothing. She thought of him to be a man who could not afford to show weakness. One that hardened his heart every day.
“Everyone else is still asleep. You must go and wash in the burn. You smell awful.”
Amanda was outraged. “If I do, it is your fault!” she cried. “I did not ask to be tied to a tree all night!”
Hamish ignored her and tossed a drying cloth at her, then escorted her down to the shore of the small, fast-flowing river.
“Be careful,” he warned. “It’s deep in the middle.”
“Thank you for telling me,” she replied, then frowned. “Are you sure it is safe to go in?”
“I go in every day,” he replied dryly. “And I am still here. Just try not to slip. I do not want to have to rescue you.”
Amanda nodded and looked around the river.
Shivers run through her body, thinking of the cold water on her skin.
But as she looked around some more, she spotted a profusion of dandelions growing.
She quickly knelt down by the side of the water, and breathed a sigh of relief; she could make a poultice from them to soothe and heal the wounds on her wrists, which stung painfully.
She picked a couple of handfuls, then looked at Hamish, who was watching her carefully.
“What are you doing? What are those for?” he asked suspiciously. He looked like he knew nothing about herbs and flowers, so he had no way of interpreting her actions. She guessed he would be imagining her making the flowers into poison of some kind.
“I am going to make a poultice to help heal my wrists.” She held them out for his inspection, and he flinched as he saw the raw flesh. “I have no other use for them—they are no good for making poison.”
And even if I did, do you think I would be stupid enough to let you see me picking them? she thought scornfully.
She dipped her hands in the cold water and sighed as she felt the immediate relief of her pain. However, she knew that immersing herself in the icy liquid would not be pleasant, but it had to be done.
“I will give you a little while to bathe and dress,” Hamish told her sternly.
“Out of respect for you, I will turn my back, but do not try to run away because my store of kindness has run out. If you try, I’ll catch you in seconds and I won’t be gentle!
” He looked down at his big, firm, masculine body to emphasise his point.
As he had promised, he turned and began to walk away, but he went only a few steps before he stopped, not even ten yards from the bank.
“I am not used to having men around me when I bathe,” Amanda said angrily.
“I assure you, you have nothing I have not seen before, healer,” he drawled, laughing.
Amanda was furious at his lack of respect, but she swiftly put it out of her mind.
After all, what else could she have expected from a man who had seen nothing wrong in kidnapping a woman?
She began to unfasten her dress, glancing back at Hamish every few seconds to make sure that he was looking away from her.
She turned to go into the water, gasping with shock at its icy bite. After a few moments, however, she became somewhat accustomed to it; it was nowhere near as comfortable as a warm bath, but it would do fine on cleaning her.
Amanda scrubbed herself all over with the rough soap Hamish had given her, then emerged from the water and immediately wrapped the cloth around herself just in case Hamish should look round.
He was so disrespectful that it would not have surprised her one bit.
However, he kept his word, and Amanda was faced with only the sight of his broad back until she was fully dressed.
However, instead of him gazing at her, Amanda found herself looking at Hamish’s broad shoulders and powerfully muscled body, and despite the way he had treated her, he was arousing her in a way she had never felt before.
His golden hair was unusual even among Scots, where there were so many redheads she was quite astounded, but Amanda found it incredibly attractive. In fact, she found every bit of him almost too handsome for words, and it saddened her that his character did not match his looks.
He was as hard as flint, and there did not seem to be a single redeeming quality in his nature. She had not seen him smile, except when one of his men had made a remark about mixing a poison with which to kill his brother. What kind of man could contemplate such a thing?
Again she thought about Rose and Claire, and the notion of doing such a thing to them was unbearable. Even the thought of it gave her a physical pain in her belly.
No, Hamish McNeill was a monster.
As they walked back to the camp along the well-worn path, Amanda noticed how dirty her clothes were, and realised that she would have to ask for clean ones.
The thought filled her with dread, since she knew it would probably have to ask Fiona, who was now effectively her keeper, but she could hardly go on looking like a tramp. Her pride would not allow it.
Hamish had promised Amanda that he would not look at her, but as he heard the splash of her finally getting into the river, he could not resist a glance behind him. He saw Amanda’s pale shoulders disappearing under the water.
My god, she is gorgeous, he thought, and felt his traitorous man’s body’s prompt reaction.
Hamish tried to think of something else to distract himself, but when he heard Amanda emerging from the water again, he had to use all his willpower to stop himself from turning to gaze his fill of her.
She was temptation personified!
Fortunately, it took her a very short time to get ready, and by the time Hamish had exhausted his store of self-control she was fully dressed.