Page 3 of Highlander’s Escaped Prisoner (Highlands’ Partners in Crime #7)

N essa wandered around the castle for a while, trying to calm down.

She felt as though her father was trying to wrap her in lambswool, but he could not protect her from everything.

The outside world was a dangerous place whether you were male or female, young or old.

Eventually, having climbed all the way up to the turrets and almost down to the dungeons, she went back to her own room, where she found Maudie sitting by the fire mending one of Nessa’s chemises.

She flopped into a chair and growled in frustration.

Maudie put down her sewing. “What happened?” she asked with a sigh, although she knew the answer already.

“My father,” Nessa grumbled. “He will not let me out of his sight.”

“Well, ye’re out o’ his sight now,” Maudie said reasonably, laughing softly.

“I want to go on patrol with the guards.” Nessa got up and began to pace the room. “What is the use of knowing how to use weapons if I am not allowed to use them?”

“Ye are goin’ tae wear a hole in the carpet, lass,” Maudie remarked.

“There is nay talkin’ tae ye when ye are in a mood like this.

” She shook her head and picked up her sewing again.

“Weapons like swords an’ bows are for big strong men, no’ wee lassies like you.

Come back when ye have somethin’ sensible tae say. ”

Bloody hell! Nessa thought mutinously. What is wrong with everyone today?

She marched downstairs to the section of the courtyard that was reserved for military training and immediately picked out her betrothed, Logan Crosbie.

He was in the middle of a wrestling match; he had pinned an opponent to the ground and was sitting astride him, with his hands on his adversary’s shoulders.

However, the bout was not going all his way since Nessa could see by the massive hands of his opponent, which were gripping Logan’s upper arms, that he was slowly being pushed upward.

After a few more moments, the other man managed to twist suddenly and flip Logan onto his back, reversing their positions.

They were a match in strength and speed, and it was only when Logan managed to butt his head against his opponent’s that he was able to push him away and win the bout.

Both men lay gasping with exertion on the floor for a few moments before Logan stood up and helped the other man to his feet. They grinned at each other.

“Good fight, Robbie,” Logan said in admiration. “I thought you had me beaten for a minute!”

“I will next time!” Robbie McPhail, a big, redheaded stag of a man, clapped him on the back and laughed. “Ye dinnae beat big Robbie twice!”

“Aye, we’ll see about that!” Logan laughed, waving to him as he walked away.

Nessa liked looking at Logan. Like her, he was fair, with reddish-blond hair and light gray eyes.

He was neither tall nor short, but he was well-built, sturdy, and strong, and she had never seen him bested in a wrestling match, except by Bryce Blair.

However, he could not wield a sword as well as she could, and he could certainly not shoot a bow with the same deadly accuracy.

Nessa did not exactly love him, but then she had not been brought up to expect love when she married.

As long as he treated her kindly, and she liked him well enough, she thought that they could have a happy enough life.

His skin was gleaming with sweat as he reached for a towel to wipe himself down, and Nessa gazed at his muscles enviously. Sometimes she wished she were as strong as a man.

“Very impressive,” she observed as she walked toward him. “But I thought for a moment that you were going to lose.”

He puffed out his chest and laughed. “I would never lose when you are watching me, Nessa,” he said fondly. “You inspire me.” His pale eyes crinkled appealingly as he smiled at her. “I must wash. I cannot kiss you smelling like this!” He picked up a bucket of water and poured it over his head.

Nessa knew it would be freezing and that he had only done it to impress her, but she was used to Logan’s ways now. They had long since passed the days when either had to show off to the other, but Maudie had told her it was something men always tried to do anyway.

“They never really grow up, hen,” she had remarked one day as she saw Logan putting his handsome gray stallion through some kind of equestrian ballet.

The horse was rearing and dancing on its hind legs, but Logan was holding on, making it look effortless, as if he was one with the horse.

Presently it came down on its front legs and kicked backward, then went down on its knees before standing up again.

It had been an impressive display of horsemanship, but Nessa knew she would be obliged to tell him so at least fifty times! Logan loved praise.

He came over to her and looped his arms around her waist, then kissed her forehead. “I think I would like a proper kiss,” he said mischievously.

“If you wish,” Nessa replied as she gazed into his pale gray eyes. “But I would rather not be stared at by twenty-odd pairs of male eyes.”

“I see.” He winked at her. “Follow me.”

The castle was enormous, but it had been surprisingly difficult to locate a place where they could be comfortable and private.

It was not hard to locate a vacant room; there were dozens of them.

Slipping away unnoticed to be alone together was the hard part.

However, they had finally found an empty chamber that was far enough away to be secluded and devised a means of getting there undetected.

Now they had met in their secret trysting place and were lying together on a plain unmade bed looking deeply into each other’s eyes.

Maudie had told Nessa not to be afraid of kissing and touching, but as Logan put his hand on her breast and squeezed, she felt deeply uncomfortable.

She was supposed to be enjoying this and wondered if there was something wrong with her.

“Does that feel good?” he asked huskily, as he kissed the side of her neck.

“Yes,” she whispered softly. In fact, she was lying.

“It feels wonderful.” He was pressing too hard and hurting her, but she supposed that this was part of lovemaking.

However, after she was married, they would be doing it for a very long time, especially since they both longed for children, so she was determined that she would make herself enjoy it somehow.

“I wish we could make love properly,” he said huskily. “I long to make you mine.” He was looking at her with such an expression of desire that Nessa experienced a pang of guilt for not feeling the same way.

She put a finger over his mouth. “We will be married soon enough,” she whispered. “Then we can do anything we want.”

He sighed. “Then we had better wed soon, or I will become tired of waiting.” His voice was sullen, and she felt a twinge of annoyance.

This was one of the facets of Logan’s character that she disliked.

If he was denied something he wanted, his mood could change from amiability to surliness in the blink of an eye.

“I am sure you could find another young lady who would marry you tomorrow,” she said mischievously.

“There are many other young ladies out there, but of course, they are not you, my darling.” He smiled, then kissed her.

His lips were wet and clumsy and when he thrust his tongue into her mouth to stroke hers, and Nessa had the urge to push him away, but she had schooled herself to bear it.

She had always wanted to marry for love, but her father had taken the sensible approach and chosen Logan Crosbie for her.

He was not of noble birth, but her Uncle Gerald had assured her father that he was an upstanding young man.

Logan would never be a laird, but her father had assured her that a man could still be good if he were an ordinary man and bad even if he was rich.

When the kiss was over, Nessa drew away from him and studied him for a moment.

Logan was a good man, and she liked him, but she wanted more.

She sensed that he would bore her after a while and that she might grow to resent his constant mood swings, but she told herself again that she could and would cope.

Other women did, after all; very few could marry for love.

“Do you love me?” he asked suddenly.

“Of course I do,” she replied. “You know I do.” Another lie, but it kept him happy. She had never actually said the three words.

“I love you too,” he murmured, grabbing her other breast and squeezing so hard that she felt like striking him.

However, Nessa was well enough versed in women’s wiles to know that now was the moment to strike Logan’s weak points—now when he was most vulnerable, and she was most powerful and likely to get what she wanted.

She had softened him up with long, passionate kisses and a few fumbles at her breasts.

If he desired more, and if he wanted to hold her in his arms and caress her for hours, he would have to accede to her wishes.

“I wanted to go on patrol with you this evening,” she murmured, sighing, “but Father will not allow it. Can you not talk to him for me, Logan?”

There was silence for a moment, then he said: “I agree with the laird, Nessa.” His voice was firm. “When you are with us, you are a target. You would make a fine hostage, and anyway, your strength is only half that of a man’s.”

“But I can wield a sword as well as any man,” she protested. “And I can shoot a bow much better than most of your guards.”

“I know all of this,” he replied patiently, “but you are the laird’s daughter and a great prize for our enemies. If the Blairs laid hands on you, it would put you in great danger as well as giving them a great deal of power.”

Nessa did not become angry often, but when she did, she made a good job of it.

“I see.” Her voice was rough and angry, and her cheeks were crimson with rage.

“I am a woman, and therefore I am useless. In fact, I am less than useless. I am a hindrance.” She tried to stand up, but Logan pulled her back down beside him.

“I did not say that,” he said tenderly, cupping her cheek.

“I think that war is work for men since we are stronger and tougher. Women are gentler and less inclined to fight. You do not have the same urge to kill that we do. That is why God ordained you to bear and nurture children, and I want you to bear and nurture our children—mine and yours. I do not want you to be taken by enemies or lie broken on the ground of a battlefield, so I support your father. If he forbids it, then so do I.”

“You are not yet my husband!” she spat. “Until you are, you may not forbid me anything!”

Nessa stood up again, but this time, when he tried to stop her, she pushed him away violently, turned on her heel, and left the chamber. The room was at the end of a long, deserted corridor, and she marched through it, her nailed boots ringing on the stone flags.

She ate her midday meal alone, then spent the afternoon in the stables amongst the stable hands and the horses. Towards evening, despite the warnings of the guards, she saddled Jo and said goodbye to the grooms.

“Mistress!” the head groom, Davie Ballantyne, called out to Nessa as she mounted the big horse. “It is cold an’ dark. Ye cannae go out now!”

“I can and I will, Davie,” she replied, her voice grim and purposeful.

“But thank you for your concern.” Then she urged Jo out of the castle and began to ride toward the woods that marked the border between the Blair and Guthrie estates.

If her father and her betrothed did not trust her, then so be it. She would have to go on patrol alone.

I will show them, she thought mutinously.

Fortunately, there was a full moon that night, and while it was as bright as day, it gave enough light for her to see the path ahead of her quite clearly, and the man who was running on it.

“Halt!” she shouted as loudly as she could, readying her bow.

The man glanced over his shoulder but did not slow down.

She could see that he was limping, and she was gaining on him with every one of Jo’s long strides.

“Stop, or I will shoot you!” she cried. They were approaching the River Baldoon, and soon the man would be forced to stop or slow down, but she had no wish to be soaked, so she loosed an arrow into the air, and it embedded itself in the ground ten feet in front of him.