Page 13 of Highlander's Escaped Prisoner
Nessa sat and stroked his hair, then his beard, and ran a thumb over his full lower lip, thinking how wonderful it would be to see his whole face. Then her heart skipped a beat as she realized that at some time during the turbulent events of the last few hours, her anger had disappeared.
8
“We 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.
