Page 12 of Highlander's Escaped Prisoner
“He’s no’ payin’ attention!” the goblin man said indignantly.
“Try this,” the other man said, cackling as he turned the narrow end of the bough around and began to work on Bryce’s stomach. He laughed gleefully, but it was the last sound he made.
Bryce had ceased to feel the battering that was being inflicted on him as his vision blurred and darkened, then, just as he was about to surrender to merciful oblivion, the blows stopped, and he opened his eyes. Nessa was kneeling beside him, and there were tears streaming down her lovely face.
As soon as she leaped out of the saddle, Nessa took in the horrifying scene before her and began to weep even as she ran toward Bryce, calling out his name. The body of one of the thugs was pinned to the trunk of the tree beside him, with the shaft of an arrow protruding from his back. The other was screaming for mercy as his arm, fixed as neatly to the rough tree trunk as a nail in a plank, was bleeding profusely, staining the bark red.
“Mistress! Help me!” the man cried as he tried in vain to loosen the knife blade.
Nessa ignored him and knelt down to concentrate on Bryce. He had slumped downward, and the ropes around his chest were the only things keeping him up. His face was covered in scratches from the splinters on the branches that had been used to torture him, but Nessa could see at least one deep cut at his jawline that she was sure would leave a scar. However, it was the least of her worries at the moment. She had thought him unconscious at first, but then his eyelids fluttered open as he raised his head.
“Bryce?” she said softly. “Wake up. Say something.”
Bryce struggled to focus on her at first, not quite knowing if she was real. He felt the pressure of the ropes being lifted from his chest; then, his feet began to tingle as Nessa untied the bonds from his ankles, letting the blood flow again. Finally, he let out a sigh of utter relief as she removed the ropes from his wrists.
Nessa undid them very carefully, appalled by the damage they had inflicted on his flesh. It was as raw as uncooked meat and obviously so painful that he flinched and gasped as she touched it with her fingertip. She felt a wave of shame wash over her.
“What have I done?” she whispered. “God forgive me; I do not know what came over me. I should never have left you like this. I am so sorry.”
Bryce was slumped against the tree; he felt numb inside, and even the agony of his injuries seemed less acute all of a sudden, almost as if they had happened to someone else. He looked at the dead bandit to his left and felt nothing—not hatred, or anger, or a desire for revenge. Even the squeals of the man impaled onthe tree beside him failed to stir his emotions, and he was quiet because he could not speak. For a while he sat, unmoving and silent while Nessa fussed around him; he could not even find it in himself to condemn her for being the cause of his injuries. He did nothing. He felt nothing.
Nessa brought some ale from her saddlebags and carefully tipped some into Bryce’s mouth. He coughed, and she stopped, but a moment later, he opened his mouth wider to ask for more. “I am so sorry,” she murmured again. “This is all my fault, and I will do everything I can to make sure that you become well again. What a monster I have become.”
Bryce did not reply but closed his eyes as Nessa gave him more ale, then leaned forward to rub his ankles, which had been chafed by the coarse rope, but nowhere near as bad as his hands.
“We will find a healer before we go to see Andrew,” Nessa told him. She wanted to wipe the sadness from his face, give him new clothes, and wash him in a hot bath with fragrant soap. She wanted to erase his suffering and wipe away his memories of it. However, she could do none of these things at that moment, so she concentrated on the task at hand.
Nessa stood up, put her hands on her hips, and studied the bandit who was still pinned to the tree. “Well,” she drawled. “What shall I do with you?”
“Mistress, let me go,” the man pleaded, his beady eyes wide with terror. “I promise I wilnae dae any more harm tae anybody.”
“No, you will not,” Nessa agreed, “because as soon as I pull my knife out of your arm, you will bleed to death.” She glared at his ugly face, which had begun to turn an unattractive shade of gray, then sighed. “So I have a choice. Either I can take the dagger outand let your lifeblood drain away slowly, or I can finish you off quickly with a stab in the heart, or the back, as I did with your friend. I think you might enjoy the first more since it is more painful, and pain is something you enjoy. Or perhaps the giving is more pleasant than the receiving?” She raised her eyebrows in inquiry.
The bandit stared at her, his eyes full of naked fear, but Nessa could find no pity within herself. It would be no loss to the world if this repulsive creature died. She was tempted to ask Bryce for his opinion, but he looked dazed, and she doubted if he would understand her.
“I could leave you here,” she observed. “But there are wolves in these parts, and I am sure you have no wish to end up as a wolf’s dinner, so...” She reached over and tugged the knife out of the tree, then, as a spurt of blood jetted out of the wound, she threw him the rag with which she polished her saddle. “I will be merciful. Staunch the blood with that. I am sure you will feel a healer near here. Go.” She gave him a push, then turned her back on him and went back to Bryce.
“Do you want to eat?” she asked gently.
He shook his head. “Sleep,” he replied, in a faint, slurred voice. He had begun to shiver, and suddenly Nessa realized that he was chilled to the bone.
She was terrified. She had heard of men suffering strange things after battle, and this had been a battle of sorts. Bryce was obviously in shock after the horrible experience he had just undergone; she had heard that the best thing for him now was rest and warmth. She wrapped him in the blanket she had brought from her bedroom and settled him on the ground, then lit a fire a few feet away, hoping that she was doing the rightthing.
After a while, he began to toss and turn restlessly, muttering and sometimes shouting in his sleep. Nessa settled his head on her lap and sat with her back against a tree, watching his face. He was grimacing in pain, and his lips were drawn back from his teeth in a silent snarl.
Nessa shook his shoulder gently. “Bryce,” she whispered. “Whoever you can see, they are only the demons of your nightmares. They only live in your worst dreams, so be at peace.”
Bryce was having a nightmare in which he was being beaten by two goblins with evil, devilish faces, and as hard as he tried, he could not escape from them. However, when the soft sound of a woman’s voice spoke to him, he opened his eyes.
“I am here, Bryce,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “Go back to sleep.”
He was lying on the soft, warm pillow of Nessa’s lap, and even though he was aching and stinging from dozens of wounds, he felt comforted. She was bending over him, saying his name.
I must be dreaming,he thought.
“Nessa? Are you real?” he asked, and heard his voice emerging as a croak.
“I am quite real,” she answered, smiling. “I have my bow, my sword, and my dagger, and I will let no harm come to you. Sleep.” She began to sing a lilting lullaby that he remembered his mother singing when he was a child, and a feeling of peace stole over him. Bryce closed his eyes and was asleep in seconds, and there were no more nightmares.
