Chapter 17
Amanda was sitting in the rickety, rattling carriage, twisting the stones of the villagers’ bracelet between her fingers.
It had begun to rain, and the weather matched her mood of leaden depression and fear.
She tried to conjure up pictures of Struan McNeill in her mind.
Would he look like Hamish? Or would he favour his mother, whom the elder laird had sent away with a generous allowance?
Whoever he looked like did not matter, of course.
It was his evil, despicable actions that defined him; he was a monster, but she knew that evil often hid behind beauty.
She gripped the little bracelet more tightly, as if by doing so, she could pour her fear into it and receive some security in return.
Word of her presence had been sent by one of the village boys, who had been dispatched to the castle to beg for food. Amanda was there to attend to the villagers’ ills that morning, and he had casually, but deliberately, mentioned her presence to the guards.
Within the hour, another ramshackle carriage similar to the one in which she had arrived had come to pick her up. Amanda put up a token show of gladness for the sake of the castle guards and thanked them for rescuing her, then she collected her medications and allowed herself to be led away.
As they approached the castle, her heart began to hammer with terror; at last the moment had come when she would have to face the monster everyone had talked about, and she felt as though she was walking into hell itself.
Inchkeith Castle was an imposing structure, a huge square building with crenellated walls and a round tower at each corner.
It had no moat, but was surrounded by a deep trench out of which wooden spikes protruded.
It would be almost impossible for horsemen to cross it, Amanda thought, panic-stricken at the notion.
The curtain walls were massive, too high to be climbed by any man, even if he could get past the impressive defences. Amanda’s only consolation was that Hamish knew exactly what to expect and would be fully prepared.
At last, they pulled up outside the castle gates, and the driver gave her a meaningful look and said, “Good luck tae ye, hen.”
Amanda nodded and gave him an uncertain smile, then began to walk towards the entrance to the castle, accompanied by a guard on either side.
This was the moment she had been dreading, but she would not let herself be intimidated.
She was strong, she told herself—stronger than anyone else she knew, and if she faltered she would remember the faces of Hamish and the villagers whose fate depended on her.
“Welcome, healer,” said one of the guards as he raked her from head to foot with a leering smile. “Nice tae see the Laird is gettin’ the help he needs.”
“Aye,” said the other one. “If ye need tae lay your hands on him tae make him better, I might just hurt myself so ye can treat me an’ a’!”
His gaze slithered down her body like a snake, and as the two men laughed, Amanda felt dirty at the very thought of these creatures touching her.
Presently, she was led inside to the freezing and cheerless entry hall.
Amanda imagined that at one time it might have been warm and welcoming, but not any more.
Now, many of the torches around the wall that should have been lit to brighten the place and point the way to various chambers inside the castle were merely empty sconces on the wall.
As she advanced into the interior of the castle, she saw more evidence that the so-called Laird had been scrimping and saving in every way possible.
The stairs that led up to the Laird’s chamber were sunken and worn in the middle of each step, and clearly should have been repaired years before.
Instead, they had been allowed to wear down and had become dangerous to use because there was so little light to see by that it was easy to take a misstep.
There were very few paintings on the walls, and those that hung there were dirty and cheap, with chipped frames, and the occasional piece of furniture she passed looked as though it had not been dusted or polished for years.
Everything Amanda saw spoke of someone who cared little for the welfare, both physical and mental, of those living under his roof.
At last, she stood in front of the Laird’s chamber, trying to control the trembling that had suddenly seized her at the thought of meeting the man who had committed so much evil against the man she loved.
“The Laird is no’ at his best,” the first man said.
“Aye, but dinnae worry, hen,” the second guard said, winking. “If he throws ye across the room, it will be my pleasure tae catch ye!”
He gave her a lewd wink and the two of them cackled.
The first man went in front of her and knocked on the door loudly. Then a voice bid them to enter. Amanda took a deep breath, tilted her chin, squared her shoulders, stepped into the room and was immediately shocked at what she saw.
The chamber was palatial. The mahogany furniture was intricately carved and gilded, dominated by a huge four-poster bed with dark red silken drapes and a quilted coverlet of the same colour.
The brocade curtains were made of velvet and silk in shades of red and gold, and even the rugs on the floor were crafted from the same costly fabric.
Struan McNeill had no care for the well-being of those who served him, but he was very concerned with his own comfort. Nothing in the room was cheap or of poor quality. Clearly, Struan McNeill had spared no expense on his own needs.
Amanda’s eyes fell on the man who sat in a beautifully upholstered chair beside the roaring fire, his bandaged right leg propped up on a table in front of him, and she almost choked with revulsion.
Struan looked like Hamish, although his eyes were blue and smaller and his cheeks a little leaner.
However, whereas Hamish was tall and broad, this man was much shorter, although it was not possible to judge exactly how much because of his seated posture.
His face was sallow, and Amanda doubted that he spent much time in the daylight.
Although he looked well-fed, there was something shrunken about him, but she could not quite put her finger on it.
Then she realised that it was the same impression she got when she looked at other men who were quite tall, but appeared shorter, at least to her, because of their small, mean nature.
Struan smiled at her, a smile which did not reach his eyes and was more of a twisted leer. His teeth were straight but yellow, and his shoulder-length hair, which was much darker than Hamish’s, looked as though it was already beginning to thin towards baldness.
Keep calm, Amanda told herself as she advanced towards him and stopped a respectable distance away. She did not wish to be within arm’s length of Struan McNeill, whom she found totally repulsive.
She pasted on a smile and made a deep curtsy.
“Forgive my lateness, My Laird,” she said in a tone that was both deferential and insincere.
However, it seemed to be making a good impression on Struan, whose smile widened.
“It is an honour to meet you. I hope I have not offended you by my delay. I was ambushed by some bandits, who held me hostage for a few days.”
The Laird almost preened himself with pride, and Amanda felt sickened by his vanity.
“Your father would have saved you,” Struan observed. “He would have given his life for you.”
If Amanda had not felt so furious, she would have burst out laughing. As it was, she dropped her gaze to the floor and nodded slowly. “Of course,” she agreed, then she looked up again. “I believe you have some need of my services, My Laird.”
“Not in my chamber,” Struan said. “I have a special room put aside for you, healer.
He had not even bothered to learn her name, Amanda realised.
The guards helped him rise, then they were led to a freezing cold chamber with stone walls and a tiny barred window high up on the wall which gave practically no light.
A few shelves lined the walls, on which stood bottles of the medications that she often used, but most of them were nearly empty and Amanda was glad she had had the foresight to bring her own supplies.
The guards laid Struan McNeill down on a wooden table in the middle of the room and Amanda unpacked her chest of medicines, then removed the bandage from the wound on his leg.
It was a long, deep wound that was oozing pus, but a clumsy attempt had been made to keep it clean, so it was not as bad as it might have been; nevertheless, it needed urgent treatment.
“How did this happen?” she asked as she threw away the bandage.
“That swine of a brother did this to me,” he replied bitterly, gritting his teeth.
“He is a piece of vermin! I have been suffering for years, and one healer after another has tried to cure me, but nothing works. But the filthy dog could have killed me, yet I was too strong for him!” He took a moment to smile, a disgusting, triumphant leer.
“He tried to assassinate me, but I’m still here, and I am quite sure he’s beside himself with rage about that.
He hates me as much as I hate him.” His voice was a growl and his face was flushed with rage and savage satisfaction.
“Hamish would try anything to kill me. The bastard hates me so much.”
What a pity he didn’t succeed, Amanda thought angrily, then gave an inward laugh at the use of the word bastard.
Struan himself was one, not Hamish. Yet, she was surprised that Hamish had not succeeded. Perhaps Struan was tougher than he looked, but she was glad that he had been suffering, since wounds like this were painful in the extreme.
Aloud, she said, “I must warn you that this will probably hurt a bit, so I will have to administer some milk of the poppy to put you to sleep.”
Struan looked indecisive for a moment, as if he thought Amanda might try to poison him, then he nodded. “Do it,” he said, “but beware if I come to any harm, my men will make you pay for it.”
Amanda was terrified, but not surprised. Struan McNeill had ice in his veins, and absolutely no conscience; there was not a shred of goodness in him.
“I will be careful, My Laird,” she assured him, as calmly as she could.
She administered the poppy milk, then, when Struan was asleep, Amanda tended to his wound, stitched it up and applied another bandage to it. When she was finished, the guards lifted him and took him back to his palatial chamber.
Amanda went with him to see that he was properly taken care of, then, as Hamish had predicted, she was shown to the guest room; a chamber that was not unlike the sick room where she had just treated her patient.
It was cold and damp, with a single cot in the corner covered by one thin blanket, and Amanda realised she would have to put on all her clothes to stay warm.
By this time darkness was falling, but Amanda waited until midnight to make sure there was absolutely no light in the sky before she lit her candle, just like Hamish had instructed her.
She began to pace the room, wondering what would happen when Hamish’s men came, or what would happen if they missed the signal.
She had never been in such a situation before and had no idea what to expect, but she knew that the whole experience would likely be brutal. She only hoped that Hamish would emerge in one piece, relatively unscathed.
Not a moment later, she heard the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs. They were so heavy and thunderous that Amanda realised that they belonged to the guards, who wore heavy, hob-nailed boots.
Hastily, she took out her book of medical mixtures and pretended to be studying them by the light of the candle when the door crashed open and a ferocious, heavy-set guard stood on the threshold.
“Come wi’ me, healer,” he barked, then leapt forward and grabbed her by the arm before dragging her towards the door.
Amanda gave a scream of fright and began to struggle, but of course, she was no match for a strong, well-trained soldier with a powerful physique, especially when he held up his large fist.
“Nae fightin’, healer, or I will have tae spoil that pretty face o’ yours!”
Amanda submitted at once and allowed herself to be led away, knowing she had no choice.
One of Struan’s men stayed behind, however, and seeing the candle at the window, he laughed and snuffed it out.