Page 7 of Highlander’s Escaped Prisoner (Highlands’ Partners in Crime #7)
B ryce saw the doubt in her eyes and pressed his advantage. “Have you heard the name Andrew Henderson?” he asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice.
Nessa’s eyes widened with shock. “How do you know him?” she asked cautiously.
“He was your uncle’s counselor in clan matters, was he not?” Bryce asked. “I knew him through my father. They were friends from boyhood. I think that he may be able to help us find the real murderer.”
They had been slowly walking back to the hut, and when they reached the door, Nessa stopped to survey the damage. “How did you do this?” she asked in astonishment, picking up one of the splintered halves of the bolt to examine it.
He smiled grimly. “I threw myself against it ’til it gave way. It did not take long since the wood is half-rotten.”
Despite herself, Nessa looked at him admiringly, taking in his shoulders and the bulging muscles of his arms. Even with his hands tied behind his back, he could still do a considerable amount of damage.
She shook her head to clear it, aware that she could become rather distracted looking at Bryce.
“Come and eat,” she said, sitting on the floor as she untied his hands.
She brought out the dagger again. “Do not feel too safe, Bryce Blair.” Her voice was menacing as she looked at him with narrowed eyes.
“I have not decided whether to take your advice or not, and I may still return you to prison.”
Bryce nodded, rubbing his wrists. He was ravenous, and it was all he could do not to dive on the food and stuff it into his mouth in handfuls, but he held himself back with a Herculean effort and managed to eat with restraint, as propriety demanded.
Nessa watched him closely, thinking about what he had said. “Why do you think Andrew can help us?” she asked at last.
Bryce answered her after chewing a mouthful of bread. “Because he knows everyone who was at the castle when your uncle died,” he answered, “and he may be able to give us more of an insight into each of their characters. I trust his judgment. He is a good man.”
Nessa chewed thoughtfully on a piece of black pudding before she spoke again.
“I have always liked him,” she agreed. “We have known him for a very long time, and he has been like a favorite uncle to me. He sees the best in everyone but is not blind to their faults.” She paused for a moment, thinking.
“Very well,” she said at last. “Let us go to see him.”
Bryce smiled at her, thinking how lovely she was and what a dreadful sight he must be.
He hoped, after all this was over, that she would be able to look at him properly and see the man underneath the rags, the filthy beard and hair, and the mud.
He had thought he was passably good-looking, but that had been before seven years of prison had wrought havoc on him.
Besides, it had been so long since he had been able to see his face that he was no longer sure what he looked like.
As he contemplated the fact that his beard was almost down to his chest, he wondered what this lovely woman must think of him.
“You had better wash again before I tie you up,” she told him. “You look bad enough without the mud; now you look like a troll.”
“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “Before I was imprisoned, I was always so fastidious about my appearance.” He shook his head. “Now, well, I will be happy just to be clean again.”
Nessa watched him as he stripped off his upper clothes and washed himself.
She was unable to keep her eyes off the breadth of his shoulders, the bulging muscles of his arms, and the way his torso tapered from his broad chest to his narrow waist. His body was so different from hers.
He was flat where she was curved, hard where she was soft, and hairy where she was smooth.
Even their faces were different; his looked as though they had been carved where hers had been molded.
His eyes looked out from under deep brow ridges, and his cheekbones were long and sloping.
She could not see his jaw and chin, but she could guess that both were firm and square, and his lips.
..she tore her thoughts away from those.
Presently, he dried himself with his shirt, and Nessa felt a stab of pity for him. It was filthy. “We will have to get you some new clothes,” she observed. “Those ones are only fit for the bonfire.”
Bryce looked down at himself. “Andrew will help me,” he said, smiling. “I am sure he will lend me something.” He laughed. “He is the only man I know who is almost as tall as I am. I cannot wait to see him again.”
“At least we have something in common,” Nessa remarked as she bound his hands. She tied them in front and a little more loosely so that they would not chafe his wrists, which were in a pitiful state, the skin having been flayed off in places.
He flinched as Nessa tied the last knot. “Stay still, and you will be fine,” she said warningly. “If you move, I will push you off.” She helped him mount Jo and jumped up in front of him.
They rode in silence for a while, and Bryce was infinitely glad that they were not walking; even now, he was not sure that he could sit straight in the saddle.
They had ridden this way for about two miles when out of nowhere, Nessa asked, “If you are not the murderer, then who is?”
Bryce took so long to answer that Nessa thought he had not heard her. Eventually, he spoke.
“It could be a number of people,” he said slowly and carefully. “Even members of his family could be involved.” Immediately, he knew he had said the wrong thing, as he felt Nessa’s body stiffen against him.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled. “Which members?” she asked, her voice low and tense.
Again, there was a pause before he answered. “Close family,” he replied reluctantly, steeling himself for her response.
“How close?” she asked between gritted teeth.
Bryce took a deep breath. She had left him nowhere to go. “Your father’s name was mentioned,” he said at last. “But it was not I who said it.”
“But do you believe it?” Her voice was deceptively calm, but Bryce detected the anger underlying the evenness of her tone.
“I did not say that,” he replied, exasperated. “I am trying to keep an open mind about it.”
“You did not have to say anything.” Nessa’s tone was bitter.
They rode on again in silence for such a long time that Bryce began to believe that Nessa had forgotten the matter, but when they stopped a short while later, it was obvious that she had not.
They had reached a small stand of trees at the top of a slight rise, and there she reined Jo in and dismounted.
“Off,” she ordered. Her face was thunderous.
Bryce swung his leg over the horse’s back and stumbled as he almost fell onto the ground.
Nessa took hold of his arm and steered him toward the thickest pine tree she could see, then tied his feet together and wrapped another length of rope twice around his body, knotting it behind him.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “I have done nothing to harm you. Why are you treating me this way?”
Nessa moved to within a foot of him and glared into his eyes, touching the point of her dagger to his stomach. “Because you insulted my family and I will not stand for it, so now you can wait here until I see fit to come back and untie you.”
“And how long will that be?” Bryce asked. “Are you going to leave me here to die? I thought we had an agreement. I made a vow—”
“Which you broke!” she reminded him angrily. “I have not decided yet,” she answered grimly as she mounted her horse again. “You will see me when you see me.” Then she turned Jo’s head toward the west and spurred him into a canter.
Bryce was afraid for his life. He was completely immobile and helpless, and he was beginning to think that perhaps it would have been better if he had simply settled for breaking rocks for the rest of his life.
At least he would have had a roof over his head, enough to eat, and people to talk to.
He knew that soon he would be hungry, and worse still, thirsty. How long could he last without water?
He began to writhe and struggle against his restraints, and incredibly, after a few minutes, he felt them loosening a little.
Heartened by his progress, Bryce continued to wriggle, feeling the ropes beginning to give way.
The pain was excruciating, but it would be worth it if he could free himself.
If he could loosen them enough to reach his hands, he reasoned, then he could rub the rope against the tree until it broke, then free his feet. After that…
“Well, what dae we have here?” came a hoarse voice from behind him.
Bryce turned his head as far around as he could since the trunk of the tree was obstructing his view and saw the ugliest face he had ever seen.
It was obviously human since it had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth.
However, the crossed brown eyes were bloodshot and glazed with drunkenness, the nose broken and crooked, the mouth like a slit in the sallow skin of the face.
It had broken yellow teeth, and the odor emanating from it was so foul that Bryce turned away, disgusted.
“What’s your name?” the man asked in his hissing croak of a voice.
“Neil,” Bryce lied. Some instinct told him to keep all information about himself away from this creature, whose intentions were obviously not good. “Can you untie me, please?” He had little hope that the man would help him, but he had to try.
Just then, another man, just as ugly but smaller, appeared from the other side of the tree.
He had beady black eyes that looked like holes in his face, a hooked nose, and a long greasy beard.
Those attributes, together with a pair of bent, bowed legs, made him look like pictures Bryce had seen of goblins.
The two men stood studying him for a while until, eventually, the goblin spoke. “How did ye happen tae find yerself in this pickle, stranger?”
“I was ambushed,” Bryce replied.
“Took yer horse an’ a’ yer money, did they?” the taller one asked.
“Yes, they did,” he answered. He was thinking frantically, trying to work out a means of escape, but when the goblin produced two stout tree branches, gave one to the other man, and began to whack it against his palm, Bryce sagged against the tree.
There was no hope, and he resigned himself to his fate.
“Then ye are no use tae us,” the taller one told him.
Then, with an evil leer, he advanced toward Bryce and raised the branch in the air. The man laughed as he brought it down on his shoulder again and again, and despite gritting his teeth and trying not to show the bandits how much the blows hurt him, Bryce began to scream with pain.