Page 12 of Highlander’s Escaped Prisoner (Highlands’ Partners in Crime #7)

“ B etrothed?” Bryce almost choked on the word, and for a moment, utterly taken aback, he could think of nothing to say. “How long have you been betrothed to Logan Crosbie?” he asked at last.

“About a year now,” Nessa replied. Her tone was flat and indifferent.

“Do you love him?” Bryce asked curiously. He was finding it impossible to believe that anyone could love Logan Crosbie.

Nessa thought for a moment. “I care for him.” She shrugged. “Lairds’ daughters do not marry for that reason. I love my father, Maudie, and Jo. They are the only people in my life that I can truly say I love.”

“Jo is a person?” Bryce asked, twitching a mischievous smile at her.

Nessa scratched the big horse between his ears, and he tossed his head and whickered.

“He is to me,” she replied. “He is twelve years old now, and I have known him since he was a foal. We grew up together, and he is my best and most faithful friend. As well as that, he never argues with me. He agrees with everything I say.”

They laughed together for a moment, and there was a companionable silence for a while. Neither felt uneasy in the other’s presence anymore, so much so that Nessa had to remind herself who Bryce was and why she was with him.

Presently, a thought occurred to Nessa. “Why does he hate you?” she asked. “Logan, I mean.”

“Because I bested him on the practice field again and again,” Bryce replied.

“And when he realized that he was never going to win by fair means, he resorted to cheating. The last time we fought, he loosened the handle of my sword during a bout, but I managed to twist his weapon out of his hands, and I beat him unconscious with my fists. I had not realized ’til later how much he hated me.

He always laughed off his defeats and said he would beat me next time.

I took him at his word and laughed with him. ”

“And do you hate him?” she asked. “If you are hated, then the normal response is to return the feeling.”

“I hated no one,” Bryce replied. “But that was a long time ago, Nessa. I do not know how I would feel if I saw him now.”

“And my father?” she asked, and her heart began to beat faster.

“I liked your father,” he replied. “He seemed like a fair man to me. But Nessa, I told you only what I heard—rumors. They may be totally untrue.”

“And who did you hear these rumors from?” Her tone was brittle.

“From other prisoners; jailers, mostly.” His words sounded feeble, even to his own ears.

“And you would take the word of people like this over what you know about my own father?” she asked in disbelief.

“I did not say I took their word!” His voice was rough with anger. “Though if I had to believe one of them murdered your uncle, I would believe it of Logan.”

“And if Logan murdered him, what about his father Jamie?” she asked warily. “Would he have taken part?”

“He would protect his son. Any father would.” His voice was bitter.

Nessa lapsed into a thoughtful silence, and after a while, Bryce became uneasy.

“Nessa?” he asked. “Do you believe me?”

“I do not know what to think,” she replied. “First, you cast suspicion on my father, and then my betrothed with very little evidence. If you were me, what would you think?”

Bryce nodded in agreement. “I understand, Nessa, but all I can give you is the truth. I have no way of proving it to you at this moment, but I will—I swear to you. I cannot ask you to trust me yet, but you will trust me eventually. I know it.”

“You sound very sure of yourself,” Nessa replied dryly. “Remember that it is not enough to prove yourself innocent—which you have not done yet. If you are not the killer, then I need to know who is.”

Bryce was enjoying himself, despite the seriousness of the conversation.

He thought back to what his life had been like only a few days previously; endless days of drudgery with the occasional bucket of water poured over his head instead of a wash and hard freezing floors to sleep on.

Although the nature of his work demanded plenty of food, it was often weevil-infested and moldy.

Now he was sitting behind a beautiful woman on a well-bred horse riding through the glorious Highland countryside, and he was clean and free, no matter for how short a time.

“Do we have far to go?” Nessa asked. “We seem to have been riding for hours.”

“Not far now,” Bryce replied. “Just over the hill.”

They climbed up the steep incline where wooly black-faced sheep grazed on the short grass with half-grown spring lambs clinging closely to their mothers’ sides. Nessa had always thought their black faces and black feet rather comical, and she said so now as they reached the top of the hill.

“I always loved running amongst the sheep as a little girl,” she told him, smiling. “I had a sheepdog called Allie who used to round them up for me.”

Her eyes became far away, and Bryce saw two deep dimples appear in her cheeks when she laughed.

She had had a happy childhood, even though her mother had died when she was young.

She had a family who loved her, while he had not heard from his family since his conviction.

He wondered if they even knew he was still alive.

Presently, they came to the top of the hill and looked down into a steep V-shaped valley, at the foot of which was a narrow dark-blue loch fringed with pine trees.

There was a tiny islet in the middle with bullrushes and water grasses growing out of it, in which they could see ducks’ nests, and a solitary heron stood by the shore, as upright as a sentinel.

In the distance, they could see more hills and valleys fading away until they disappeared into the misty horizon. It was a beautiful place.

Halfway down the hill was a thatched cottage, a little bigger and grander than a farmhouse, but not much.

A curl of blue smoke was coming out of the chimney, and they could see a gray-haired man digging in what looked like a kitchen garden, which was contained within a sturdy wooden fence to keep a small herd of goats from raiding it.

As they approached, the man looked up and frowned. He appeared to be trying to recognize them, and as they drew up beside him, his face suddenly brightened with a smile of recognition.

“Nessa?” he asked, his tone uncertain.

“Master Henderson,” she replied, smiling as she dismounted from Jo. “It has been years.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Nessa Guthrie!” he cried, smiling widely. “The last time I saw you, you were playing with dolls!” he laughed.

Nessa still recognized her uncle’s old friend, even though it had been seven years since she had last seen him.

He was almost as tall as Bryce, although much less muscular.

His eyes were an intense bright blue, and although his face was lined, he was still a handsome, upstanding man.

“And you were giving my uncle Gerald a lecture on the evils of too much whiskey!” she laughed.

Suddenly Andrew’s face fell. “Yes, poor Gerald. I still miss him,” he said sadly. “But we must not look to the past, Nessa, not when you have so much to look forward to. How old are you now, lass?”

“I am twenty years old, sir,” she replied.

“Practically in your dotage!” he laughed, his eyes twinkling. Then he appeared to notice Bryce for the first time and turned to him questioningly. “And you, sir? Have we met before?” he asked politely.

Bryce stared at him. “Do you not know me?” he asked, astonished.

The older man frowned and studied him for a moment. “No, sir,” he replied. “I do not.”

Bryce took a deep breath. “I am Bryce Blair, son of Laird Gregor Blair.”

Andrew staggered backward, his eyes wide with shock, and for a second, Bryce thought Andrew was going to fall over. His arm shot out to grasp Andrew’s, but the other man recovered his balance. However, his eyes never left Bryce.

“Are you not supposed to be imprisoned?” he asked, mystified. “Were you released?” He looked terrified.

“It is a long story, Master Henderson,” Nessa said quickly. “And better told sitting down.”

“Of course, of course,” Andrew said hurriedly. “I am sorry. I was just so surprised.”

Once inside, they sat down, and Andrew poured them each a glass of wine. Bryce had the feeling that the older man was watching him; every time he looked up, Andrew was either looking at him or his glance had just slid away.

“You say that you escaped?” Andrew asked as they sat down. “How?”

“I took advantage of a guard’s drunkenness,” Bryce replied. “I saw a chance, and I took it. I ran and ran until I met Nessa.”

“I will tell you the rest.” Nessa interrupted him. “Bryce quite literally ran into me, and I was going to return him to prison, then we thought that perhaps we could help each other, but a few other events took place in between.”

She went on to describe the events of the previous few days, leading up to the present moment, then sat back to watch his reaction.

Andrew stared at her for so long that Nessa thought he had gone into a trance, then abruptly, he shook himself out of it. “I would never have recognized you!” he said heavily to Bryce. “But you should not be in jail. I know you are not the culprit.”

“How do you know?” Bryce asked, frowning. “If you have information that could help me, I need to hear it, Master Henderson. My life may depend on it.”

“Whoever it is, is walking around free,” Nessa pointed out. “And could kill someone else.”

Andrew leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees.

“I do not know, but I have my suspicions, though I have no proof. After Gerald’s death, I was heartbroken, as you know, Nessa,” Andrew began.

He paused to take a sip of wine and to draw in a deep breath.

“I was not convinced of Bryce’s guilt, but everyone seemed determined to convict him because blood was found on his horse’s hooves.

I always thought that he would have to have been a very stupid killer to leave such an obvious piece of damning evidence.

After all, it would have been the work of a few moments to clean the animal’s feet.

“The Blairs and the Guthries had only come together for a few days to parley, as you know, so it was an obvious time to strike. But Bryce, I know that you are not a stupid man, and I know you did not do this.”

“And who do you think did?” Nessa asked. She was as tense as a bowstring, and Bryce could feel her trembling as she sat beside him.

Andrew took a deep breath. “Nessa, this is not going to be easy for you to hear,” he said gently. “My sources tell me that one of the main suspects in your uncle’s murder is your father.”

Nessa was frozen with shock for a moment, then she hurtled across the room and screamed as she began to pummel the older man with her fists. Anger had lent her strength, and Andrew could do nothing more than curl himself up into a ball and wait for her to weaken.

Bryce was stronger than both of them. “Nessa!” he cried as he grasped her upper arms and hauled her backward. “Calm down! It is not his fault.” He kept a firm grip on Nessa’s arms as she struggled against him, but she was no match for the power of Bryce’s hands, and eventually, she gave up.

“I do not understand.” Bryce was baffled. “Why would Nessa's father want to kill his own brother?”

“Because they thought he was a weak laird,” Andrew answered, “and your father wanted the lairdship in his place because he thought he could do a better job. I am sorry, Nessa, but that is the truth.”

“It is not!” she hissed, her hands clenched into fists.

“You are a stinking liar, Andrew Henderson! Others might have wanted to kill my uncle—as lairds have many enemies—but Gerald was the dearest of my father’s brothers, and the man that I know as my father would never have harmed a hair on his head! ”

Then she turned and ran outside, leaving Bryce to glare at Andrew Henderson. “Who are your sources?” he demanded.

“I cannot tell you, or my life will be in danger,” Andrew replied fearfully.

Bryce stood over him threateningly so that his massive shadow fell over the old man.

“I have done seven years of prison that I did not deserve.” His voice was low and throbbing with menace.

“And I have never killed a man in my life. But if I find out who the killer of Gerald Guthrie was, I may just be tempted to commit my first murder. So if you have anything to do with it, old man, beware.”

Then, with one venomous glance behind him, he stormed out, leaving Andrew Henderson to lock and bolt the door behind him.