Page 29 of Highlander's Escaped Prisoner
She was almost sorry as he donned his robe since she had been admiring the sheer powerful masculinity of his body and enjoying the now-familiar effect it had on her. There was a triangle of dark hair showing just above the opening of his robe, and she desperately wanted to go and run her fingers through it.
“Would you like some wine?” Bryce asked, jerking her thoughts back to reality. “My father says that he bought a special vintage from Languedoc a few months ago, feeling that he might need it soon.” He laughed. “Somehow, I do not think my father has the Sight, but at least we can enjoy good wine!”
He turned away to fetch the decanter and glasses from a small mahogany table beside the large window, and she spent a few seconds admiring his height and the breadth of his shoulders. She had never seen any man quite like him.
When he handed her the glass, Nessa took a sip, then asked, “Do you know the difference between a good wine and a bad one?”
Bryce took a mouthful of the deep red liquid and swirled it around his mouth, then closed his eyes, savoring it. When he opened them again, he smiled at her.
“Excellent vintage,” he said appreciatively. “It has notes of honey, blackberries, and just a soupçon of roses.” He raised the glass to his eyes for a few seconds. “Beautiful color too. My father chose well.”
“I am very impressed by your knowledge,” Nessa said in admiration. “It just tastes like wine to me.”
Bryce took another sip, then burst out laughing, almost spraying her with his father’s precious Languedoc. “It tastes like wine to me too,” he chuckled. “I am afraid I know as much about wine as I do about bathwater, Nessa, but I did impress you, did I not?”
“You rogue!” she exclaimed, giggling. “I should punish you for that.”
“Oh, please do,” he said wickedly. “I should love you to punish me.” He lay back in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankles so that Nessa could see the whole length of his body.
“You are so tall,” she said in wonder.
“So I have been told,” he agreed. “It can be a curse, as I told you before. Many people see danger where there is none, especially men. I was always being challenged to fights as a boy, and I never wanted to fight anyone. The only person who has ever made me really angry is Logan Crosbie.”
Nessa was intrigued. “Why do you say that?” she asked, alarmed. It seemed that the more she heard about her betrothed, the less she liked him.
Bryce stood up and gave an exasperated sigh before beginning to pace about the room. “Nessa, you will not like what I have to say,” he answered, raking his big hands through his hair in agitation. “Ever since we were boys, he taunted me. I was tall, and he was shorter. He was wiry, and I was muscular. I could lift heavier weights than he could. I could run faster. He made everything into a competition, and then one day he made it into a battle.”
“In what way?” Nessa asked.
“I was walking in the woods outside the castle,” Bryce began. “I was going fishing, and I had my rod and net with me. I knew as soon as I saw him that he was spoiling for a fight, so I ducked behind a tree to avoid him, but he had seen me. He called me a coward. He had called me that many times before, and I had never reacted, but this time something inside me snapped.”
He went to the window and looked out. It was a bleak night, one which matched his mood, then turned back to look at Nessa.
“To cut a long story short, Nessa, I thrashed him.” He sat down again and threw back the rest of his wine. “I was not proud of myself, and I said sorry, but he said he would get his revenge. Eventually, he succeeded, hence my stay in prison.”
“You are telling the truth as you see it,” Nessa replied. “And I am beginning to believe that it is the real truth.” She took a deep breath. “Bryce, what your father said about the way my uncle died...how could he forget an important matter like that? It put you in prison, for heaven’s sake!”
“My father is a strange man,” he answered. “He loves me, and he loves my sister too—she is married and lives in France now—but he loves himself more. I have learned to live with that over the years, but now that I am free, I am not sure that I can do so again. His memory has always been dreadful, but I also wondered how he could forget something like that, and I must confess that it troubles me.” He looked into the fire, his eyes sad, and Nessa put her hand over his to comfort him.
Bryce clasped it, then looked down at their joined hands and raised them to kiss hers.
The softness of his lips sent a thrill through her, and she gave a little gasp of pleasure, causing him to look into her eyes.
“Nessa,” he whispered, as he lowered his head to kiss her.
As his mouth came down on hers, Nessa thought that she would die of pleasure. She moaned and arched herself toward him, then he wound his arm around her waist to pull her even closer. She could feel his hardness against his thigh, and her own body responded with a flood of moisture and a sweet fluttering between her legs.
Bryce brushed his hand over her breast, then, with a great effort, he tore his mouth away from hers. “Stop me,” he groaned. “God help me, Nessa, because, in a minute, I won’t be able to stop myself.”
Nessa opened her mouth to answer, but just then, there was a commanding knock at the door.
“Bryce? Are you awake?” called Gregor Blair.
“I am now,” Bryce answered irritably. “Let me get dressed, Father.”
Nessa looked around for a place to hide, but Bryce drew her away to a small door beside the window and handed her a candle.
“My dressing room,” he whispered. “Stay here, and I will try to get rid of him as fast as I can.”
