Page 16 of Highlander’s Escaped Prisoner (Highlands’ Partners in Crime #7)

C astle Invermuir was nestled on a low green hill next to the River Ross, a twisting ribbon of water that flowed through the Blair estate and on until it reached the disputed ground between it and the Guthrie lands.

The river did not care whose territory it flowed through but went its own way, regardless of who declared ownership over it.

The disputed lands did likewise, not worrying about who laid claim to them.

The grass still grew there, the sheep still grazed on them, and the sun still shone upon them.

The castle itself was imposing, but it was not a particularly attractive structure, and Bryce laughed as they stopped to look up at it.

“I know what you are thinking,” he said with a sigh.

“Really? Tell me what I am thinking then,” she insisted wickedly. “I have seen castles before, you know.”

“Yes, but it becomes uglier every time you see it,” he said, his deep voice gloomy as he surveyed his family home with deep disgust. “When I think of all the beautiful structures all my friends and my distant family live in, I could go mad.” Then he became somber.

“Still, it is infinitely better than a prison cell.”

“Yes,” Nessa agreed. “You must count your blessings, Bryce.”

They sat studying the building for a while, and Nessa had to agree that as castles went, Invermuir was not pretty.

Unlike her own home, which had layers of crenelated walls leading up to a soaring tower in the center, Invermuir was a long, squat building that took up the entire plateau of the hill.

It was built of massive blocks of dark gray granite and was oblong in shape with a round tower at each corner.

Inside the high outer wall stood a higher, thicker crenelated one, which had obviously been built for defense and strength, with no thought of elegance or architectural beauty.

A guard tower stood on each side of the entrance to the castle manned by two heavily armed guards.

There was a wide dry moat, and the castle could only be reached by crossing a narrow wooden bridge over it.

As she looked down, Nessa could see that instead of water, there were foot-long iron spikes embedded in the ground around the bridge.

She had never seen anything quite like it.

“I would not like to meet my end on one of those,” she remarked, shuddering at the thought.

“No, I believe it is not a pleasant way to die,” Bryce agreed grimly. “But fortunately, we have never had a battle here, so we have never had to use them.”

The portcullis was a thing of both beauty and terror.

It was twenty feet high at its topmost point and was made of stout oak planks more than a foot thick.

The lattices were sturdy, flat bars of iron, with sharp spikes protruding from them every four inches or so.

They were crossed by equally thick and spiky horizontal bars and ended in lethal diamond-shaped points.

The guards at the gate looked at them suspiciously, even though they posed very little threat. Nessa had left the inn in so much haste that she had been unable to take her weapons with her, so she looked like a young, innocent woman being protected by a great hulking man.

The guards crossed their pikes over the entrance to the bridge and scowled at them. “Who goes there?” one of them asked in a hostile tone.

“Bryce Blair,” Bryce replied. “Son of Laird Gregor Blair.”

The man who had addressed them took a step forward, then stood with his mouth open, gazing at Bryce in stupefied disbelief. “Bryce Blair? It’s me, Sandie Gallagher. Dae ye remember me?”

“Indeed I do,” Bryce answered, smiling. “You always told my father about my sinful exploits.”

“But sir, ye were in prison...” He trailed off and looked at the other guard, a dark, stocky man who was also staring at Bryce as if he had appeared from nowhere.

“Aye, sir,” he said. “Alastair Summers at your service.” He looked with open curiosity at Nessa, who stared back at him until he dropped his gaze.

“Well, I am not in prison now,” Bryce pointed out, stating the obvious. “So may I go into my home?”

The two guards hastily lowered their pikes and allowed them to ride over the bridge.

They passed under the intimidating portcullis and into the courtyard, where Bryce dismounted and helped Nessa to do the same.

One of the grooms approached them and took Jo, who seemed a little hesitant to go with the stranger, but after a moment of whispered reassurance from Nessa, allowed himself to be led away.

Nessa turned to Bryce, who was looking a little stunned. “Bryce?” she asked anxiously. “Are you all right?”

He shook his head slowly, looking around himself. “I cannot believe I am here,” he said in disbelief, and Nessa could see tears shining in his eyes. “After all these years… It is a miracle, and you brought me here. Thank you, Nessa.”

Now that she was in the Blair stronghold, Nessa was not so sure. This was, after all, the enemy’s lair, and she was beginning to doubt the wisdom of coming to this place at all.

Bryce read the thoughts that were so clearly written on her face, and he put an arm around her waist. “No harm will come to you here, Nessa,” he said softly. “I will take care of you.”

Nessa looked up into his amber-brown eyes and was comforted. He made her feel so safe.

“Bryce!” A deep male voice echoed through the vaulted space before a man appeared as if from nowhere and threw himself at Bryce, wrapping his arms around him.

Startled, Bryce stumbled backward for a few steps, then laughed as his father turned his face up to him and kissed him.

“I thought I would never see you again! How did you get here?”

Nessa stood beside them, noting the resemblance between father and son.

Laird Gregor Blair was a few inches shorter than Blair, and his deep brown hair had begun to turn gray, but they were undoubtedly father and son since their faces were almost identical.

Both had long, slightly aquiline noses, high cheekbones, and deep-set hazel eyes, but Gregor’s lips were thinner, and the dimple in his chin less pronounced.

They had the same broad shoulders and muscular build, however, and when they smiled, they had identical dimples in their cheeks.

“I cannot believe you are here!” Gregor was shaking his head in disbelief as he pulled Bryce against him.

“I… Tell me how. Did they let you out? I tried to see you so many times, but they would not let me. I was not even allowed to send you a message.” He stared at his son incredulously as if afraid that he would melt into thin air.

“I will tell you everything in a while, Father” he said, pulling himself out of his father’s embrace. “Do you remember Nessa Guthrie?”

Gregor Blair turned to her, but instead of the hostility she expected, he smiled at her. “Nessa! The last time I saw you, you were only sixteen years old.”

Nessa looked at Blair before she addressed the laird, and he gave her a reassuring nod. “It has been a long time since we last met, M’Laird,” she replied with a curtsy. “It is good to see you again.”

“And you have turned into a beautiful woman,” he observed. “There is obviously a long tale to be told here, but perhaps we should begin over a glass of wine.” He took his son’s hand and led them all into a small parlor.

When Bryce sat down, he drew Nessa with him, and it did not escape Gregor’s notice that they were sitting very close together and that Bryce’s hand was resting on top of Nessa’s.

“Tell me how you got here,” he began, “and why you are together. Did they let you out of jail, Son? Why was I not informed?” He was staring at Bryce as if he could not believe he was real.

Bryce took a sip of the fine Bordeaux wine his father had given him before answering. “They did not let me out, Father. I escaped.”

Gregor stared at his son for a moment, transfixed. “Escaped?” His voice was high with disbelief. “How? And how did you two meet?”

Bryce sighed. He was filthy, hungry, and exhausted, and the last thing he needed was an interrogation from his father. “I will tell you all this when we have both had a bath and a meal, Father” he replied, downing his wine and pouring another.

“Of course.” The laird stood up and hugged his son again, and Bryce returned it, feeling a wave of love wash over him.

He had not realized how much he had missed his father until he saw him again.

He looked a little older, but then Bryce supposed that he did too.

“I have missed you so much. I am so glad to be back, Father” he whispered fervently before striding away to his chamber.

When he came out a little while later, washed and wearing clean clothes, he felt like a new man.

Nessa was shown to a bright bedroom overlooking the river, and after having a much-needed bath, she was given a plain gray dress to wear. It was a little loose and had obviously belonged to a servant, but anything was better than the dirty rag she had been wearing.

She was about to enter the dining room when she saw Bryce and stopped on the threshold to look at him.

He took her breath away. It was the first time she had seen him not wearing rags or tattered clothing, and he looked magnificent.

He was completely clean-shaven, and his dark brown hair shone in the light of dozens of candles.

A snow-white shirt stretched across his wide shoulders, and he wore a plaid and kilt of the Blair tartan, which showed off the length of his muscled calves.

He was every inch a man, and her body responded to him in the most primitive way it could. She was immediately hot and wet in her secret place, and a pleasant fluttering began there. When he turned to smile at her, she blushed furiously, imagining that her thoughts must be showing on her face.

“Nessa! Come in,” he said pleasantly, extending an arm in invitation. “We were just talking about you.”

Nessa sat down, and Gregor smiled at her. “Bryce has been telling me how you rescued him from bandits in the forest, Nessa.” His tone was sincere as he said, “Thank you. Thank you for bringing my son back to me.”

Nessa smiled, wondering if Bryce had told Gregor about the tree-tying episode. “I did what anyone else would have done,” she replied, shrugging.

“Not every woman carries her own arsenal with her, though!” the laird said admiringly. “I do not think I have ever met one before. Who taught you to use those weapons?”

“My father,” she laughed. “He always wanted a son, but he only got me, so he decided he would make me as much like a boy as he could.”

Gregor laughed. “I am glad he did not succeed in every way.” He took a sip of his wine and studied her for a moment, then said, “It was a great pity about your uncle, I thought. He was a very good man, but at least his death was quick.”

Nessa frowned, then said indignantly, “Indeed it was not. His back was broken, and he took three days to die. My father was—and is—heartbroken.”

“Oh! I-I am sorry,” Gregor stuttered. “I forgot. I have a terrible memory. Would you like some more wine, Nessa?”

“Thank you, no,” Nessa replied, noting the way he had clumsily changed the subject. “I have a lot to talk about, and it will make me sleepy.” She gave Gregor a brittle smile.

In fact, she was not enjoying either the food or the conversation, but a terrible suspicion had just crawled into her mind, and she wanted to find out more. She needed to find a way to steer the conversation back to the unpleasant subject of her uncle’s death again.

Bryce yawned. “I am already sleepy,” he remarked, and stretched his arms above his head. “So I suppose that one more glass of wine will make no difference.”

Nessa was mesmerized by the play of muscles under Bryce’s shirt, and she had to sip her wine to stop herself from staring at him. She was almost thankful when Gregor interrupted her train of thought.

“How is your father, Nessa?” he asked. “I have not seen him for some time.”

“He is well, but he has never recovered from my uncle’s death,” she sighed. “Even though it has been years. Have you two not been having discussions about our dispute?” She watched Gregor carefully as he spoke.

Gregor shook his head. “Not lately,” he replied sadly.

“We have both been too busy with other matters, and I must admit I sometimes succumb to fits of melancholy when I think of my son behind bars.” He smiled fondly at Bryce.

“Thankfully, that will not be a problem now. You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Son, and I am so grateful to you for bringing him back, Nessa.”

Nessa would have been touched by the little scene had she not been so suspicious of Gregor. There was something he was not telling them.