Page 14 of Highlander's Escaped Prisoner
“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.
9
“Thank God,” Nessa breathed. She had never felt so relieved in her life. “Bryce, can you hear me?” she asked softly. “Tell me you can hear me.”
“Water,” he croaked. His lips looked dry and chapped, and his words were barely audible.
Catriona placed a goblet of water in Nessa’s hands, then propped Bryce’s head up while she allowed Bryce to sip the liquid gratefully. When he had finished, he lay back and looked up at her with blank eyes.
“How do you feel?” she asked gently.
