Page 10 of Highlander's Escaped Prisoner
“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.
