Page 19 of Highlander's Escaped Prisoner
“You sound very sure of yourself,” Nessa replied dryly. “Remember that it is not enough to prove yourself innocent—which you have not done yet. If you are not the killer, then I need to know who is.”
Bryce was enjoying himself, despite the seriousness of the conversation. He thought back to what his life had been likeonly a few days previously; endless days of drudgery with the occasional bucket of water poured over his head instead of a wash and hard freezing floors to sleep on. Although the nature of his work demanded plenty of food, it was often weevil-infested and moldy. Now he was sitting behind a beautiful woman on a well-bred horse riding through the glorious Highland countryside, and he was clean and free, no matter for how short a time.
“Do we have far to go?” Nessa asked. “We seem to have been riding for hours.”
“Not far now,” Bryce replied. “Just over the hill.”
They climbed up the steep incline where wooly black-faced sheep grazed on the short grass with half-grown spring lambs clinging closely to their mothers’ sides. Nessa had always thought their black faces and black feet rather comical, and she said so now as they reached the top of the hill.
“I always loved running amongst the sheep as a little girl,” she told him, smiling. “I had a sheepdog called Allie who used to round them up for me.”
Her eyes became far away, and Bryce saw two deep dimples appear in her cheeks when she laughed. She had had a happy childhood, even though her mother had died when she was young. She had a family who loved her, while he had not heard from his family since his conviction. He wondered if they even knew he was still alive.
Presently, they came to the top of the hill and looked down into a steep V-shaped valley, at the foot of which was a narrow dark-blue loch fringed with pine trees. There was a tiny islet in the middle with bullrushes and water grasses growing out of it, inwhich they could see ducks’ nests, and a solitary heron stood by the shore, as upright as a sentinel. In the distance, they could see more hills and valleys fading away until they disappeared into the misty horizon. It was a beautiful place.
Halfway down the hill was a thatched cottage, a little bigger and grander than a farmhouse, but not much.
A curl of blue smoke was coming out of the chimney, and they could see a gray-haired man digging in what looked like a kitchen garden, which was contained within a sturdy wooden fence to keep a small herd of goats from raiding it.
As they approached, the man looked up and frowned. He appeared to be trying to recognize them, and as they drew up beside him, his face suddenly brightened with a smile of recognition.
“Nessa?” he asked, his tone uncertain.
“Master Henderson,” she replied, smiling as she dismounted from Jo. “It has been years.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Nessa Guthrie!” he cried, smiling widely. “The last time I saw you, you were playing with dolls!” he laughed.
Nessa still recognized her uncle’s old friend, even though it had been seven years since she had last seen him. He was almost as tall as Bryce, although much less muscular. His eyes were an intense bright blue, and although his face was lined, he was still a handsome, upstanding man. “And you were giving my uncle Gerald a lecture on the evils of too much whiskey!” she laughed.
Suddenly Andrew’s face fell. “Yes, poor Gerald. I still miss him,” he said sadly. “But we must not look to the past, Nessa, not whenyou have so much to look forward to. How old are you now, lass?”
“I am twenty years old, sir,” she replied.
“Practically in your dotage!” he laughed, his eyes twinkling. Then he appeared to notice Bryce for the first time and turned to him questioningly. “And you, sir? Have we met before?” he asked politely.
Bryce stared at him. “Do you not know me?” he asked, astonished.
The older man frowned and studied him for a moment. “No, sir,” he replied. “I do not.”
Bryce took a deep breath. “I am Bryce Blair, son of Laird Gregor Blair.”
Andrew staggered backward, his eyes wide with shock, and for a second, Bryce thought Andrew was going to fall over. His arm shot out to grasp Andrew’s, but the other man recovered his balance. However, his eyes never left Bryce.
“Are you not supposed to be imprisoned?” he asked, mystified. “Were you released?” He looked terrified.
“It is a long story, Master Henderson,” Nessa said quickly. “And better told sitting down.”
“Of course, of course,” Andrew said hurriedly. “I am sorry. I was just so surprised.”
Once inside, they sat down, and Andrew poured them each a glass of wine. Bryce had the feeling that the older man was watching him; every time he looked up, Andrew was either looking at him or his glance had just slid away.
“You say that you escaped?” Andrew asked as they sat down. “How?”
“I took advantage of a guard’s drunkenness,” Bryce replied. “I saw a chance, and I took it. I ran and ran until I met Nessa.”
“I will tell you the rest.” Nessa interrupted him. “Bryce quite literally ran into me, and I was going to return him to prison, then we thought that perhaps we could help each other, but a few other events took place in between.”
She went on to describe the events of the previous few days, leading up to the present moment, then sat back to watch his reaction.
