Page 9 of Highlander’s Escaped Prisoner (Highlands’ Partners in Crime #7)

“ W e need to have a healer see to you,” Nessa murmured as Bryce’s eyes opened.

Nessa explored his face and head with gentle fingers to assess the damage and found that it was not too serious but obviously very painful.

The scratches on his face were still raw and red, but they had stopped bleeding, but the bruises the bandits had inflicted were beginning to turn purple, and there was a lump on the back of his head the size of a goose egg.

Bryce flinched when she touched it. “Please stop,” he begged. “I will endure it somehow. I have gone through much worse.”

“But why should you when there is a way to ease it?” she asked, puzzled. “The wise woman in Wallaceneuk is a renowned healer around these parts. I am sure she has a salve or a potion to take away your pain.”

Bryce said nothing. The reason he did not want to see the healer was because he had no means to pay her, but he was too proud to point out this rather obvious fact to Nessa.

“No,” he replied. “We need to reach Andrew’s house before nightfall.”

“You are very stubborn,” Nessa grumbled.

Nessa was studying him, examining his frayed jacket, ripped shirt that had more holes than fabric, and threadbare hose.

The soles of his boots were almost worn through, and one toe was beginning to protrude on the right one.

Suddenly it occurred to her that Bryce would not be able to replace his clothes unless Andrew gave him others because he had no money.

If that were the case, he could certainly not afford medicine.

“It was my fault that you were injured,” Nessa pointed out. “I will pay the healer.”

There was no mistaking the flash of gratitude in Bryce’s eyes before he shuttered it and shook his head.

“I will be fine,” he growled, then turned around and took a few paces toward the horse before swaying and sinking to his knees, finally ending up on all fours on the grass, his face screwed up in agony.

Nessa ran over to him and bent down to look into his face. “If you are fine, then I am the king,” she said grimly. She went over to Jo and lengthened his stirrups, then helped Bryce to his feet and onto the horse. Later, she would wonder how she had found the strength.

Bryce’s head was swimming, and he had to cling to the saddle pommel to stay upright. He tried to keep his eyes on Nessa, but she kept drifting in and out of focus, and eventually, he realized that she was walking beside him instead of riding.

Catching his bewildered glance, Nessa said, “You are in no condition to walk, and Wallaceneuk is only half a mile away. Please do not argue with me.”

Bryce knew that she was right, but he felt embarrassed to be so helpless.

Here he was, this big, strapping man allowing a small, willowy woman to lead him along on an equally huge stallion, both of them firmly under her command.

As well as that, she was bristling with weapons.

With a bow slung over her shoulder and a sword and dagger by her side, she was a walking arsenal in her own right, and if Bryce had not been feeling so unwell, he might have laughed out loud at the sight.

Now, however, he merely concentrated on staying in the saddle, swaying with Jo’s gait and gripping the saddle with his legs as tightly as he could.

Nessa glanced at him from time to time, noticing that his eyes were half-closed most of the time. “Bryce, stay awake!” she commanded. “If you fall down, I cannot pick you up.”

Bryce nodded and tightened his grip on the saddle pommel until his knuckles were white. It took all his concentration to stay upright, but he was determined not to humiliate himself even more.

“I am fine,” he said, his words slurring as he spoke.

“Talk to me,” Nessa ordered. She was beginning to panic inside, and her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen as she watched him swaying. She had to keep him talking. “Tell me about your mother, Bryce. Tell me about what happened to her. Is she still alive?”

“No,” he shook his head, and it began to spin again. He felt sick, but he took a deep breath and said, “No, she died a long time ago.”

“I am sorry,” Nessa said sadly. “Do you miss her?”

“I was in prison when she died.” It was a flat statement of fact, delivered without emotion, and Bryce felt nothing as he said it.

“Talk to me, Bryce,” Nessa begged. She strained her eyes into the misty distance and saw the rooftops and the modest church tower of Wallaceneuk ahead. “We are almost there. You only have to stay in the saddle a few moments longer.”

Bryce nodded. Her words seemed to be coming from a long way away; his mind was a swirling fog of confusion, and it was becoming harder and harder to concentrate on the simple task of staying upright.

He was tired—so very, very tired. Then, as if it was happening in slow motion, Bryce began to slide sideways.

For a moment, he resisted, then it became too much of an effort.

The ground was coming up to meet him, and he fell onto it, feeling an agonizing jarring thump as he hit the ground. After that, he remembered no more.

Nessa rushed over to him and drew his head onto her lap. He was not completely unconscious since he was groaning, and his eyes, half-open, were moving under his lids, but he was clutching his elbow and grimacing.

“Bryce! Bryce!” Nessa cried, slapping his cheek as she tried to bring him back. “Please wake up!”

Just then, a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up to see the kind, weatherbeaten face of an old man whose bright blue eyes were fixed on Bryce’s tortured face.

“What happened tae him, mistress?” he asked, concerned.

“Bandits,” Nessa answered grimly, feeling a surge of guilt. “But they will not be giving you any more trouble. I took care of them.”

“How?” the old man asked, puzzled.

“I killed them,” Nessa replied.

The man gaped at her in astonishment, then swallowed and said: “Aye, well, that’s good.

” He nodded. “But this fellow has been beaten badly. Ye will need the healer, an’ he cannae ride.

Can ye go tae the blacksmith? He has a cart an’ we can take him tae see Catriona, the wise woman.

She has herbs tae heal him, an’ I can stay wi’ him. ”

“Thank you,” Nessa said, leaping to her feet. “His name is Bryce, and I am Nessa.” She looked at him inquiringly.

“Gus,” he replied, smiling. “Now hurry, mistress. Your friend is no’ lookin’ too well.”

The old man knelt down beside Bryce while Nessa leaped onto Jo and rode away into the village.

The smithy was easily visible in the main street of the village, and as she leaped off her huge horse armed with her bow, sword, and dagger, most of the villagers stopped to gape at her but kept well back.

They had never seen a woman armed to the teeth before, and especially not one who looked like Nessa.

She rushed into the smithy and approached the sweaty, soot-blackened man who was hammering horseshoes into shape on the anvil of the forge. He looked up as Nessa entered and was about to order her out when she gripped his arm.

“I need the use of your cart, please,” she said urgently. “My friend is hurt, and we must get him to the healer. I will pay you.”

Whether it was the promise of payment, the desperate look on Nessa’s face, or both, it spurred the blacksmith into action.

The cart was promptly produced, then hitched to a horse almost as big as Jo and driven as fast as possible to where Bryce was still lying prone on the muddy path.

He looked no better. In fact, he was now completely unconscious.

“He looks worse,” she said anxiously as she knelt down beside him.

“If anybody can cure him, ‘tis Catriona McClure,” Gus reassured her. “She is the best healer fae here tae Oban, an’ a very devout lady too. Yer friend is in good hands.”

Nessa dropped a coin into Gus’s hand and closed his fingers over it. “Thank you,” she said softly, smiling at him. “You may have saved his life.”

The old man patted her shoulder. “Ye may be given’ me too much credit there, mistress,” he said, “but go on yer way, an’ I will pray for both o’ ye.”

Then he turned away, and Nessa mounted Jo and followed the cart as it crawled up a steep hill to a small thatched cottage at the top. It seemed to Nessa as if a month had passed by the time they got to the summit of the hill and drew up outside the little house.

The healer who came out to meet them was not what Nessa had expected at all.

Unlike the small, fair Scottish women, she looked French or Italian, with her tall, willowy figure and dark, handsome features.

There was an air of quiet confidence about her as she looked over her patient once the men had laid Bryce on the bed, and Nessa was reassured at once.

She judged that this woman was in her middle years and probably had a wealth of experience under her belt.

“Most o’ these bruises arenae serious, mistress,” she observed. “But the bump on his heid...” She frowned. “I dinnae think he has broken anythin’, but we will need tae see when he wakes up.” She frowned at his bloody wrists. “Has he been tied up?”

“Yes, he has.” Nessa looked at the floor and avoided the healer’s eyes.

Catriona gazed at her keenly for a few seconds, and Nessa had the impression that the other woman could see straight into her mind.

“The flesh has been chafed completely down tae the bone,” she observed. “This poor man will be scarred for life.”

Nessa was once more consumed by a surge of guilt.

Scarred for life. How would she make it up to him?

She ran her eyes over the rest of him. Now that a few hours had passed, the blows he had received had begun to swell and turn into ugly purple lumps that covered his chest, ribs, shoulders, and arms. Scratches crisscrossed the bruises, giving Bryce’s body a bizarre lattice pattern.

Nessa felt so ashamed that she could hardly bear to look at him, but she forced herself to stay.

This was her fault, and she would have to shoulder the responsibility for it.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked. “I feel responsible for this.”

“Just keep the fire stoked up, mistress,” the healer replied. “He needs tae stay warm.”

Catriona began to gently clean Bryce with warm water and a sea sponge.

She invited Nessa to pour them both some ale while her skilled hands worked at their task.

“I must wash every part of him,” she said meaningfully.

“I was married, but maybe seein’ a naked man will embarrass ye? ” She raised her eyebrows.

Nessa hastily went to do Catriona’s bidding, taking her time over the task, and when she came back to give the healer her goblet, Catriona had pulled the sheet up to cover Bryce’s nakedness. She had to empty and fill the basin of water four times before she was satisfied that he was clean enough.

“Is he waking up yet?” Nessa asked fearfully. “He has been unconscious for a long time.”

Catriona opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment, Bryce groaned and rolled his head on the pillow. His eyes fluttered open and fixed on Nessa.