Chapter 7
Hamish called for the women to bring him whatever blankets and furs they could find and drape them over Amanda.
She was shivering so much that he could feel it against his own skin.
He stripped off her dress, leaving her only in her chemise, and reasoning that there was no time to be concerned about modesty; Amanda needed to be warm straight away.
“Get a hot stone for her feet,” he ordered one of the guards.
The man took one look at Hamish’s face and ran to do his bidding as quickly as he could. Meanwhile, Hamish tucked in the blankets around Amanda, wishing he had some magical power to warm her up. All he could do, however, was to chafe her hands between his, hoping that friction would do the trick.
When the man came back with the blanket-wrapped stone, Hamish placed it at Amanda’s feet and tucked the blankets around her again.
He began to murmur one of the stories his mother had told him when he was a child, which often comforted him in times of stress and trouble.
This was one of the peculiarities which made him special to his men, since it made the big, powerful figure more approachable and less fearsome.
Hamish sank down into a chair beside his cot, then leaned his elbows on his knees and gazed at Amanda. He had seen beautiful women before, of course, many of them, in the years when he had been one of the most eligible bachelors in Scotland.
During that time, it had been easy for him to take the availability of lovely women for granted, since they flocked to him in droves, and he had never been short of female companions to warm his bed.
However, since the fateful day when Struan and his men had invaded his chamber and snatched away his title, birthright and home, there had been a dearth of such eager young beauties.
Hamish had always known that his looks were attractive to women, but it seemed that his medium-height, average-looking brother’s wealth and status were far more so.
There had been a few dalliances with Fiona, of course, but that had been a huge mistake on his part, since she had read too much into them, and wanted far more from him than he could give her. He was not in love with her and never would be.
And now there was Amanda, who had dropped into his life like a tiny spark that had lit an inferno. He watched her as she slept, looking at her full, Cupid’s bow mouth and thinking about what it would be like if she smiled at him and kissed his cheek.
Then he gasped, and his heart skipped a beat. Where on earth had that thought come from? He shoved it away brutally, trying to bring sense and reason back to his mind.
She is useful, he thought. No more than that, but once that usefulness is no longer needed she can go her own way. I have no intention of getting attached.
Hamish took out his hip flask of whisky and took a long sip, trying to calm down a little, but as long as he could see Amanda’s fine, sculpted features he knew he would find it impossible. But he would not care for her. He would not fall for her. He had enough to trouble him without adding more.
Gradually, Hamish’s head began to nod, and he fell asleep, then plunged straight into a dream; a dream about the woman who was lying a few feet away from him.
However, she was not sick, but smiling happily and glowing with health.
She came to sit on his lap and kissed him, and he moaned with pleasure as he felt himself stiffen in response to the pressure of her soft lips.
He woke again, then seeing that Amanda was resting peacefully, he drifted into a gentle, blissful doze. In the morning he would remember nothing of the dream, and despite the discomfort of the chair, he slept lightly until he heard a soft moan which jerked him into wakefulness straight away.
Amanda’s eyes were open, glinting in the light of the single candle that lit the tent with a soft glow. She was looking straight at him, but did not seem to be aware that he was there.
“Water,” she said in a cracked voice as she tried to sit up and look around her, clearly puzzled as to her whereabouts.
Hamish leapt out of his chair and poured some water from a pitcher into a mug for her, then sat on the cot beside Amanda and lifted it to her lips. She drank it in great gulps, it seemed she was incredibly thirsty.
“You have a fever, Amanda,” Hamish said gently, looking down into her glazed eyes. Remembering what she had said earlier and how she had treated Jimmy’s fever, he tucked a piece of willow bark under her tongue and said, “Chew this. It will make you feel better.”
However, contrary to his expectations, Amanda’s body began to tremble and shudder even harder.
“You will be fine,” he said, trying to reassure both of them, praying he was telling the truth.
He was not a healer, and was deeply unsure of whether he was doing the right thing, but he had copied Amanda, so surely he must be right?
When she had finished chewing the willow bark, Hamish climbed into the cot with her. It was a tight squeeze, but not as bad as he had imagined, since she was so small, so vulnerable. He felt a strange feeling of rightness, as if this was exactly where he was meant to be.
Hamish wrapped his arms around Amanda, pulling her close. A great feeling of protectiveness arose within him, and he realised that he could not possibly let her go until she was better. He rubbed her back gently and heard her sigh with satisfaction, then gradually she relaxed.
“You will get through this, Amanda,” he assured her. “I will help you until you are better.”
Hamish kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, my sweet,” he whispered.
He was too exhausted to wonder why he had expressed himself so dearly, and just closed his eyes, letting sleep take him.
Amanda opened her eyes to bright daylight and a feeling that she had been wrapped in a covering of warmth and softness. She lay revelling in it for a long time, drowsy and content, before she felt movement behind her, and realised that a muscular arm was draped around her waist.
“Good morning, lass,” said a deep voice behind her.
Amanda felt a thrill of shock go through her as she realised that she was not alone in the bed. With some difficulty, she turned over in the narrow cot and looked into green eyes—Hamish’s eyes—as he looked at her with careful scrutiny. For a few seconds, she was lost for words.
“What am I doing here? Is this your bed?”
“Yes,” he replied. “You were freezing, and you had developed a fever. I had no idea what else to do, so I brought you here.”
Amanda stared at him—what had he done to her while she was lying helpless in his bed? Had he taken liberties with her? Suddenly, she was terrified and tried to rise from the cot, but she was held back so firmly that she could not move. She began to struggle, but Hamish was unyielding.
“Let me go!” she cried, “I do not want to be here! What have you been doing while I was asleep?”
“Wait,” he said softly, loosening his hold a little.
“Lass, I did nothing apart from keeping you warm. You were soaked and freezing, and I took your wet dress off and put you here in my bed, but I never touched you in any way that was inappropriate. I swear on my honour as a man and a Laird. I cannot make you believe me, but it’s true. ”
He let her go suddenly, then shifted backwards on the bed. To Amanda’s surprise, she did believe him. After the initial shock of finding herself in a man’s bed, her rational thinking took over.
They stared at each other for a long time, his eyes did not flicker away from hers once, and eventually, she dropped her gaze from his. Despite what she had thought of him at first, he was a man of integrity, and she knew that he would not have done anything to dishonour her.
She nodded slowly. “Your word is enough,” she said, then looked down at herself. She was still decently covered, but only in her chemise, and her dress was lying on the ground, still wet and absolutely filthy.
Hamish followed her gaze. “I will get you something to wear,” he said. He got up, took his cloak from where he had left it and handed it to her. “Use this in the meantime,” he said, then turned and walked out.
Amanda slowly rose from the bed and wrapped the cloak around her.
It had been hung up on a peg, and was cold from the morning air, and although she could smell his manly scent on it, she felt suddenly bereft of the warmth of his body.
She relived the moment when she had woken up, comfortable and safe in his arms, and sighed in self-reproach.
He had been so kind to her, and she had not only been ungrateful, but she had accused him of something reprehensible.
She went over to the bucket of water standing by the wall of the tent. She looked at him hesitantly.
“May I?” she said, nodding to the bucket.
He simply nodded, and she went ahead and rinsed her mouth out, since the bitter taste of willow bark still lingered inside it. She washed her face and dried it on Hamish’s cloak, then sat on the bed to wait for him, covering her face with her hands.
Amanda desperately wanted to weep, but knew that once she started she would likely be unable to stop, so she screwed her eyes up and tried to think about happy things.
She wondered how baby Barbara, Rose’s daughter, was faring now that she was all of six months old and probably crawling. She knew that Rose and her husband, Cormac, were very loving parents who adored their daughter.
Her other sister Claire, who had married Laird Iain Ross, was due to give birth soon, and it broke Amanda’s heart to think that she might never meet the baby. She could even have helped with the delivery.
Meanwhile, Hamish found Fiona, who was sitting chatting and sewing with some other women. He tapped her on the shoulder, and she looked up, startled, then her expression became sullen. She guessed that he would be asking her a favour—probably on Amanda’s behalf, and she was right.
“Amanda needs a dress,” he told her. “Let her borrow one of yours.”
Fiona’s glare would have floored a stronger man. She said nothing, but stood up and flounced away to her tent, then returned with a worn and patched garment that looked as though it had seen many years of wear.
“This is a’ I have,” she told him, thrusting it into his grasp. Then she said spitefully, “Tell her she can keep it. I was only goin’ tae tear it up for cleanin’ rags anyway.”
Hamish opened his mouth to reply then decided not to waste his breath; when Fiona was in a mood like this, there was no reasoning with her, and he decided to let the matter drop.
He strode back to his tent and found Amanda sitting on his bed wearing the saddest expression he had ever seen on her face. She stood up when she saw him.
“I am sorry, sir,” she said quietly. “I should never have said those things to you… I’m ashamed of myself. Thank you for all your help.”
“Thank you for your apology,” Hamish replied, bowing his head as he gave her Fiona’s worn and patched dress.
“But there is no need for it. Some men are animals, and you are right to be scared of them, but thankfully I am not one of them. I’m sorry about the state of this dress. I will have yours cleaned.”
His tone was regretful.
“It will do, thank you.” Amanda smiled at him, and, suddenly, it seemed as though the whole day had brightened. “Now, I must tend to my patient.”
“I will see you later,” Hamish replied. “Oh, and by the way, call me Hamish.”
He was reluctant to leave, but he knew he had to. As soon as he left Amanda, he felt bereft and utterly confused by the tangle of emotions that assailed him all at once. Desire, of course, but also fear of how Amanda was making him feel.
Damn her—she was turning him into her plaything.