Page 32 of Highlander's Escaped Prisoner
Whatever she was going to say next was never uttered as Logan’s big chestnut horse thundered into the courtyard. He leaped from the saddle and immediately went to Nessa and tried to pull her into his embrace, but she resisted and pushed him away as hard as she could. He stumbled backward.
“He has corrupted you!” he cried, pointing at her. “He has twisted your mind so that you believe his lies. He murdered Gerald Guthrie, and you refuse to see it!”
“Indeed, he is a killer!” Roy Guthrie agreed. “And as soon as I find him, he will spend at least a week in my dungeons before he is sent back behind bars where he belongs!” His face was crimson with fury.
Seeing that she could not argue against two powerful men, Nessa took Jo to the stable to settle him down after his ride. When she reemerged into the courtyard, she was just in time to see Bryce’s big gray horse skidding to a halt in the courtyard, sparks shooting from his iron shoes.
He had no sooner dismounted when Logan fell on him, knocking him back to land on the hard flagstones. As soon as Bryce lay on his back, Logan dived on him, taking advantage of the fact that he was dazed and winded. He landed a punch on Bryce’s jaw before he shook his head and came to his senses, then managed to grab Logan’s arm before he could strike again.
Such was Bryce’s strength that he scrambled to his feet while holding Logan’s arm in a grip so tight that he was roaring in pain. Bryce had just drawn his arm back to take a swipe at Logan’s cheek, but just then, four hefty guards moved in and dragged them away from each other.
“Enough!” the laird commanded. Such was the ferocity and hatred of the combatants that the two guards who were holding each man had a hard time keeping them apart. They stood snarling and cursing one another for a long while before Roy Guthrie stepped between them.
“You!” He pointed to Bryce, then jerked his thumb backward in the direction of the dungeons.
Bryce did not waste his energy in resistance as the guards hauled him away, and Logan looked after him with a dark, triumphant smile. “Best place for him,” he observed, laughing.
Nessa strode across the courtyard, bunched her hand into a fist, and struck Logan on the point of his jaw. She knew that the blow had little force compared to that of a man, but it made her feel better to take out her aggression on the man she had begun to hate. She was never going to marry him now.
“Ow!” Logan was more surprised than hurt as he fingered his jawbone. “I did not deserve that!” he complained.
“No,” Nessa responded, dusting her hands off. “You deserved much worse.” She turned and stalked away, then sprinted up to her own room to wash and dress.
“Mistress!” Maudie’s face was transformed with joy as she saw Nessa. For a moment, she seemed rooted to the spot, then she opened her arms and welcomed Nessa into them. “I truly thought ye were deid!” she said, sobbing with relief.
“I am neither dead nor have I been harmed,” Nessa assured her. “But I have a wonderful story to tell you.”
Maudie looked concerned at her gloomy expression. “Ye dinnae look happy, mistress,” she observed.
“I am glad to be back, Maudie,” Nessa said, looking around at her familiar chamber but thinking of Bryce in the dungeon.
“Aye, well, there are two things ye need now!” Maudie said briskly. “A bath an’ yer dinner!” She eyed the filthy gray dress. “An’ that rag is goin’ in the fire!”
18
Nessa refused to eat her midday meal with Logan and her father, so she feigned tiredness and ate in her room with Maudie, having told her the whole story of what had transpired in the last few days.
“Get tae bed,” Maudie ordered, then tucked Nessa firmly under the blankets. “I wilnae let anybody disturb ye, hen. ’Tis so good tae have ye back!” She kissed Nessa’s forehead and tiptoed out.
Nessa waited a few moments before getting out of bed and dressing in a serviceable brown dress. She descended the stairs to the kitchen, where the cook, Fee, saw her and gave a loud shout of surprise and joy.
“Mistress!” she cried. “Where have ye been? We have a been out o’ our minds worryin’ about ye!”
“Fee, I am fine.” Nessa went over to the big woman and laid her hands on her shoulders, smiling at her affectionately. “I have not been in any danger, and no one has hurt me, but I was unable to tell you where I was. I am sorry to have worried you.”
“Mistress Nessa!” One of the gardeners, Fergus McNeill, came in, his weatherbeaten face a mask of relief. “Where have ye been?”
“I will tell you in good time,” Nessa answered. However, in a moment, half a dozen other assorted staff had entered the kitchen, and everyone was talking at once so that Nessa had to shout to make herself heard above the din. “I will tell you all later!” she bawled, laughing. “I am so glad you missed me!”
“That we did, mistress!” Fee said happily, wiping tears from her eyes. “Can I get ye something?”
“Yes, Fee,” Nessa said grimly. “I want to see the prisoner in the cell and to tell the two guards I am back, so I need two cups of hot spiced ale, please.”
“Careful, mistress,” Fee warned as she poured the ale. “I hear he is a very bad man.”
“I am in no danger,” Nessa replied. “Our guards are the best, Fee.” She took the cups and strode down to the dungeons, where she found them sitting relaxing by the gate, having just fed their prisoner.
“How is the big man?” Saunie Reid, one of the jailers, asked, yawning. “Still shoutin’?”
