Page 15 of Highlander's Escaped Prisoner
He sighed. “Very, very sore,” he replied. His voice was hoarse and cracked. “But very glad to be lying in a warm bed and not tied to a tree.”
Nessa put her hand over her eyes to avoid looking at him. “I wish I could turn back time and undo that.” She shook her head and sighed. “This whole situation is my doing, and I am so very sorry, Bryce. Can you forgive me?”
To her surprise, he answered at once.“I forgive you, Nessa. May I call you Nessa?”
“Yes, Bryce,” she replied, smiling. “You may call me anything you please, including insults. I deserve them.”
“Can ye eat a wee bit?” Catriona asked. “Then we will see that ye sleep an’ tend tae a’ these bruises.”
“I think I could eat,” Bryce replied. “I could manage some soup if you have it.”
Catriona laughed. “Soup is the one thing that is always in this house,” she told them. “’Tis a sure cure for every sickness!”
When the soup came, it was a fragrant mixture of chicken, carrots, onions, barley, and turnips in a thick brown gravy. Nessa fed it to Bryce on a spoon, and he swallowed it eagerly, then requested more when he had finished.
When he had eaten his fill, he smiled at the healer. “Thank you, mistress,” he said gratefully. “I am sorry, but I have no way to pay you.”
“I will pay,” Nessa said at once. “As I said, this is my doing, and I must mend the wrong I have committed.”
“I never ask tae be paid,” Catriona assured them. “People give me what they can, and the Good Lord looks after me.”
“You are a good person,” Nessa smiled, putting her hands on the other woman’s shoulders. “But I will pay my share.”
“If ye want, mistress.” Catriona smiled. Then she studied Bryce for a moment. “If ye don’t mind me sayin’, sir, yer clothes have seen better days. My husband has passed, but he was a big man an’ a’, so I can help ye out.”
Bryce looked at her as if he would like to kiss her. “Thank you!” he said gratefully. “I owe you a great deal.”
“Pfft!” Catriona flapped her hand at him. “I give what I can spare. Now, let me attend tae yer ills.” She bandaged his wrists with gentle hands, then produced a great jar of white salve and began to smooth it over his bruises, rubbing it in well, and Bryce felt the pain melt away as if by magic. All the while she was doing this, she was reciting prayers, and the rhythmic sound of her lilting voice was lulling him back to sleep. By the time she had rubbed on the last drop of ointment, his eyes had closed, and he was slumbering contentedly.
“I have a bed ye can use, mistress,” Catriona told Nessa as she saw her looking at Bryce.
“No, thank you,” Nessa replied, shaking her head. “I will sleep on the floor beside him.”
Catriona tilted her head on one side to study Nessa. “Is he yer sweetheart, mistress?”
“No,” Nessa answered, sighing. “I have done him great wrong, and I need to make amends.”
“I am sure ye are too hard on yerself,” Catriona observed, as she handed Nessa a cup of hot ale. “Ye love each other, I can see.”
“What?” Nessa cried in disbelief. “We have known each other for only a few days. We hardly know each other!”
Catriona smiled at her calmly. “I can always tell,” she observed. “An’ I am never wrong, mistress.”
“You are this time,” Nessa retorted. “You see the burn marks on his wrists? I tied the ropes that made them. I tied him to a tree, then rode away and left him to be beaten by bandits. What kindof a person does that make me?” Her voice was bitter.
Catriona shrugged. “A sinner, like me, like everybody, mistress. Ask God tae forgive ye, an’ forgive yerself.”
Nessa nodded and sighed. Catriona brought her a thin straw pallet to lie on and a blanket to cover herself with. She laid down on the mattress after taking one last look at Bryce’s sleeping face, with its heavy dark brows, strong aquiline nose, and full lower lip. His thick dark eyelashes cast shadows on his high cheekbones, and she knew that underneath the thick brown beard would be a strong angular jaw.
He looked so tranquil, and Nessa was once more stabbed by an acute feeling of shame and guilt as she looked at his wrists, now bound by clean strips of white linen. She laid her head on the mattress, covered herself with a blanket, and closed her eyes, but not before ensuring that her dagger was tucked into her belt.
“Goodnight, Bryce,” she whispered.
At some point during the night, Bryce heard a voice in his ear, a hissing, cackling sound. He sat up with a jerk and looked around, his heart hammering in his chest. He could see that it was almost dawn from the faint light that was creeping under the door and filtering through the small window, but where on earth was he?
It took him a moment to remember. He was in the healer’s cottage, and Nessa was with him. The first thing he had remembered the previous day was opening his eyes and looking into the stormy blue-gray depths of hers. He had been aching allover, but the sight of those eyes had soothed him almost as much as the salve the healer had applied.
Presently, he heard a little sigh and looked down to see Nessa lying on a pallet beside his bed. He could not see her well, but she was obviously having a disturbing dream, too, since he could hear her movements as she rolled from side to side on her bed. Should he wake her up? He decided to wait for a few moments, but he leaned down to put a hand on her shoulder.
