The Highlander’s Gift Sutherland Legacy 1

by Eliza Knight

  “I trust ye, father,” Bella said quietly.

  “He’ll be fine, love. Better than fine if I’ve read him right.” Her father stood and approached the field, speaking to the men about the rules of the matches. She couldn’t have heard even if she wanted to with the buzzing in her ears. Why had she encouraged Niall to do this? Why hadn’t she fought her father on it? Why hadn’t she volunteered to take his place?

  A few of the men smirked in Niall’s direction, and she wanted to leap from her perch and pummel them into the dirt. To show them they were not indestructible. Though some smirked, just as many nodded to him with respect.

  Niall was called first against one of the men who’d been smirking at him, the one who’d said something irksome to him just a few moments ago. Eòran MacGregor. The one who’d been attempting to assassinate Niall’s reputation all morning. Had her father seen the exchange and wanted to start Niall off with a man who angered him? Didn’t he always say that fighting angry left a man weak?

  Oh, God…

  Bella sat forward in her chair, glad she’d not eaten anything, as she was certain to toss it all up now if she had. Her heart pounded, the buzzing in her ears seemed to have gotten louder, perhaps stemming from the horde of butterflies in her belly.

  Back straight, head held high, Niall entered the center of the list, dragging his claymore through the snow, giving off the impression that he could not lift it. And for a moment, she feared he might not be able to, even heard a few men call out to him to take up a smaller sword. But then a horn was blown, and he lifted the claymore and swung it in a wide arc before letting it point toward his opponent, to the excitement of the crowd. Not every man could do such with a sword that large. The men circled each other, swords raised. Once. Twice. Three times. Eòran lunged forward, but Niall dodged to the right, surprisingly quick for his large size. This exchange happened half a dozen times. Eòran growled like a beast, but something miraculous had happened to Niall—he was grinning. Confidence oozed from his stance, from his eyes. He was toying with Eòran. Bella found herself grinning, too.

  The crowd was starting to cheer for Niall. Not once had he swung his sword or had to block a blow, but he appeared to be taking Eòran on a merry chase. His opponent looked to be tiring as he lunged, swung and missed every time. Sweat wet Eòran’s brow and hair, but Niall did not look winded in the least as he dodged this way and that.

  At Eòran’s next lunge, Niall twisted to the right and kicked out his foot, tripping the warrior. Though Eòran was just as surprised as the crowd, he did catch himself on his hands and knees before his face hit the cold earth. However, that didn’t matter, because Niall was right behind him to kick him again, and this time, Eòran did hit the ground and got a mouthful of snow and dirt.

  The warrior rolled over quickly, sword swinging and vulgar words spilling from behind his grimace.

  Niall laughed and taunted the man by asking who was getting a kick in the arse now, which seemed to make Eòran rage all the more.

  When he’d regained his footing, Eòran started swinging his sword wildly. Niall didn’t try to duck. Instead, he attacked, arcing his sword and bringing it down with a powerful force. Eòran blocked at the last minute, the sound of steel hitting steel resounding in the quiet. Sparks were generated at the power of the blow. Back and forth they went, and if Bella didn’t know that Niall was missing an arm, she would have never guessed. He was more than holding his own.

  With a final swing, Niall knocked Eòran’s sword from his grip and sent it flying toward the rowdy crowd. Then Niall kicked him to the ground and held his blade at the man’s throat. The crowd grew silent, and the whistling of the Highland wind was the only sound besides the beating of Bella’s heart.

  “Surrender.” Niall’s voice was surprisingly strong—and eerily calm.

  Eòran held up his hands and bared his teeth, letting out a little growl.

  “Say it. Say, I surrender,” Niall demanded.

  “I surrender.”

  Niall removed his sword from the bloke’s neck and took a step back. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Bella leapt to her feet, and the furs fell to the ground. There was a cheer on her lips, and she clapped her hands.

  Niall slammed the tip of his sword blade into the frozen earth and marched purposefully toward her, making her heart flip with the look of determination on his face. Oh dear… What was he going to do? He had every right to claim her now, didn’t he? Was that not the agreement between him and her father?

  Behind him, Eòran came to his feet and made a lunge for Niall’s sword in the ground.

  “Niall! Behind ye!” Bella shouted, her warning drowned out by the rest of the crowd also calling out their own caution.

  Niall jerked around in time to witness Eòran gripping the hilt tight and yanking, but it was stuck. And it didn’t matter besides. Niall was on him in a second, pulling his arm back and plowing his fist into Eòran’s nose. The crunch of bone filled the air. The warrior stumbled backward and blood gushed as he fell to the ground unconscious.

  Bella didn’t stop then, she clambered out of the furs tangling around her feet and leapt into the snow, rushing toward Niall in the center of the field. A crowd of warriors had gathered around him, slapping him on the back and gripping his arm with respect. Her father cleared his throat, and the men parted.

  “Ye’ve proven ye’re still a worthy adversary. And a worthy man for my daughter.”

  The crowd began to murmur at that, looking in confusion toward the Bruce, who sat in the stands with his daughter, Princess Elizabeth.

  Tears sparked in Bella’s eyes. “Sir Niall,” she said softly from behind him.

  He turned around slowly, a renewed light in his eyes. “My lady.”

  “I shall soon be proud to call ye husband.”

  A low murmuring sounded in the crowd, but no one moved to correct them or question it.

  He grinned down at her. “And I call myself a lucky man.”

  Bella’s smile crinkled her eyes, and she forced her belly to calm. “Ye did well.”

  He looked ready to argue with her but then seemed to think better of it and said, “Thank ye, my lady. Your praise is well received.”

  She stifled a chuckle at how formal they were being when she knew she could speak more candidly with him than anyone else. “Come and sit with me in the tent to watch the rest?”

  “I should remain with the men,” he started, his gaze flicking toward the tent where Princess Elizabeth and the king sat.

  “Nonsense,” her father cut in. “Go and sit with your betrothed. Ye’ll not be needed until the second round.”

  But Bella had seen the line of his gaze going toward Princess Elizabeth and knew why Niall hesitated. “I dinna mind joining ye with the men if ye prefer. With your permission, Da.” Perhaps she’d even tease a few by declaring that she’d decided to join in the fight.

  Magnus narrowed his eyes, then seemed to understand her meaning and nodded. “Of course.” He turned and shouted orders, and the servants immediately snapped to attention and brought her chair, a chair for Niall, and the furs and warm stones to the other side of the field where the men waited their turn to prove themselves.

  Niall bowed low to Bella, making her heart skip a beat. When he rose, he held out his hand to her. “My lady.”

  “Sir Niall, when will ye call me Bella?”

  “When ye call me Niall.”

  She slipped her hand in his and smiled. “All right then, Niall. Lead the way.”

  “My pleasure, Bella.”

  Oh, if she thought his bow would make her heart skip a beat, hearing her name on his lips was another story. She found herself staring up at him—at his lips. They looked warm and soft, yet firm. And she knew they would be, from that simple kiss he’d given her in the lady’s solar. And for the first time in her life, she found herself wanting a kiss. But not just any kiss. Niall’s kiss. This was the yearning she spoke about in her stories. What had kept her up all night.


  But kissing, touching, all of those things led to lying with a man for the sole purpose of procreating.

  And she couldn’t have children. She’d not been lying when she told Niall she was barren, for it was the truth. Her woman’s courses had never come. And when the midwife her mother called had examined her at age sixteen, he’d found nothing wrong with her physically but warned her mother that Bella was indeed barren. Had explained that it happened to some women and not to be overly upset about it.

  Her younger sisters had pitied her, until their courses came, and then they, wished to be barren, too, if only to stave off the unpleasantness. Every once in a while, her mother had asked if there’d been any change.

  By the time six months had passed from the physician’s barren sentence, Bella had grown tired of the questions, the embarrassment.

  So to keep everyone from asking, she’d pricked her finger and smeared it on the bed. The excitement that had ensued had caused her to not want to disappoint anyone again. So Bella had grown creative. She’d stolen the bowl of cock’s blood from the kitchen, and a few times, she’d done the unthinkable and stolen her sister’s rags before they made it to the laundress.

  A woman who was barren was broken. Reviled.

  She didn’t want to be ridiculed.

  Glancing up at Niall as he led her toward the chairs, she was suddenly struck with the knowledge that she’d confessed her limitation to him—that he was the only one in all of Scotland who knew her secret. And he’d not scorned her. Had not shied away. He’d said he wanted children, but it hadn’t changed his mind about marrying her, because he couldn’t lie with a woman anyway. Though he’d not confessed the latter, she suspected he’d been trying to save face by not mentioning it. Princess Elizabeth and the many rumors Bella had heard stated as much though. He’d not been with a woman since he’d lost his arm, and when prodded by the men, he’d told them he couldn’t. At least that was what she’d heard.

  They were perfect for each other, in her estimation.

  “I hope ye dinna mind, my lady, but I will stand beside ye.” Niall’s voice broke through her thoughts as her father’s men set up places for them to sit.

  Bella nodded, knowing that for him to sit would put him on a different playing field than the other men, and she’d never ask him to do that. “I’d be proud to have ye stand beside me.”

  Sitting down, she pulled the furs over her legs, already feeling the biting cold. She blew on her hands and glanced up at Niall, who was watching the next battle taking place on the field. He was so still, only his eyes moved with every exchange. He stood to her left, his right hand resting gently on the back of her chair, silently claiming ownership.

  The men did not smirk in his direction anymore, but every once in a while, they would cast approving glances his way.

  When it came time for Niall to prove himself in the second round, he was paired against Bella’s youngest brother Liam, and the smile left her face.

  Chapter 10

  The walk out onto the list field seemed longer than the one Niall had taken when he left the sanctuary of the dark at Dupplin Castle.

  Bella’s brother Liam grinned at him, but it was a tense smile that didn’t quite reach the lad’s eyes. They’d gone up against each other before, though it had been prior to Niall’s injury. The lad had far more talent than Eòran. Even still, Niall feared hurting him.

  Sir Liam was well built, resembling his father’s dark looks and size. Though Niall was a few inches taller, they were roughly the same strength—well, they were when he’d had both of his arms. Now, Liam would be a tough adversary to beat, though Niall was fairly certain he could win if forced.

  “Want me to go easy on ye?” Liam smirked.

  Niall knew this game. Cocksure talk to hide nerves. “And get your arse annihilated?”

  “For Bella, I would take a sword or axe to the chest.” Liam was serious. Niall knew this, because he, too, would do whatever it took to keep those who depended on him safe.

  Bella was one of those people—had been since the day he’d taken up her cause at the children’s tournament. “As would I.”

  “Ye barely know her.” Liam spoke the truth.

  “’Haps, but I know her strength. She’s been with me since the day she named me her lady.”

  Liam looked at him oddly, perhaps he’d been too young to remember. A horn was blown, and they both raised their claymores. Niall with one hand, and Liam with two.

  “We fought against each other in a children’s tournament some years ago. I’ve thought of her ever since.” His words faded, and he wasn’t certain how to admit that she’d touched him in some way.

  Liam nodded. “Ye need say no more. She has that affect on people.”

  Niall raised a brow, circling the lad. “She’ll kill me if I hurt ye.”

  “Likewise.”

  The crowd was shouting for one of them to make a move. Bloodthirsty bastards. Niall tuned them out. The only sound was that of his deep breathing. He focused on Liam, watching the subtle change in the muscles of his face, and the twitch of his fingers on the hilt of his claymore. The muscles of Niall’s right arm had almost doubled since he’d started to train to handle the massive sword without the use of his left arm.

  When he’d been a whole man, he’d fought with both arms, just like Liam. Usually with a claymore and targe, or two broadswords. Maybe a battle-axe and a war hammer. Whatever would bring maximum damage to his enemies. Claymores were massive and meant to be used with two hands. But one of the challenges Niall had put to himself was the ability to use the massive weapon with only one arm. A challenge he’d met head on. Fighting the whoreson who’d woken him up with a kick to the back that morning had been easy. That bastard was too full of fury and self-importance to strategize. He’d underestimated Niall, and as a result had been easy to beat.

  But Liam was smart. Niall could see it in the lad’s eyes. Besides that, he’d been trained by one of the best warriors in Scotland. Magnus Sutherland had fought beside William Wallace. Robert the Bruce had many a battle to thank the Sutherlands for. And Liam was nearly as accomplished, if not more so, than his father.

  Suddenly, Liam dropped to his knees, held his sword over his heart and loudly proclaimed, “I concede to Sir Niall Oliphant, my beautiful sister Lady Bella’s betrothed. After watching the way he kicked that bloke’s arse, pardon my language ladies, I’d rather keep my pride intact.”

  Niall grunted, letting the tip of his sword fall to the snow. This was probably for the best. He didn’t have to lay hands on his newly betrothed’s brother, nor did he have to lose face if Liam beat him. Likewise, Liam wouldn’t suffer his sister’s wrath, or a few new scars from fighting a one-armed warrior.

  Niall returned his sword to the baldric on his back and held out his hand to Liam. “I accept.”

  He hauled Liam to his feet, grinning when the lad was surprised at his strength. The crowd let out a raucous cheer, and the two men embraced, pounding each other on the back.

  When he turned around, Bella was beaming at them both.

  “Thank ye,” he murmured to Liam. If he was really going to marry the lass, then it was best they not start out with any animosity between them.

  “Dinna thank me. Make her happy, else I will call ye out, and next time, I willna concede.”

  “Ye have my word.” And Niall hoped he could keep it.

  When Niall reached Bella, he knelt before her, took the hand she offered and pressed his lips lightly to her knuckles. They were cold, and so he breathed on them to make them warm and was rewarded with the slight tremble of her fingers. “My lady.”

  “Well met,” she whispered.

  When Niall glanced up into her eyes, something inside him shifted. She smiled down at him, blue eyes twinkling, and he realized in that moment, that to him, she was a guardian angel. His savior. Before meeting her, he’d been perfectly happy to return to Dupplin Castle and spend the rest of his days in a darkened room drinking away his unhappines
s. But she’d given him something to live for. His heart warmed, and a sensation flowed through him that he’d never felt before. It was quite unsettling.

  Niall stood, not able to take his gaze off her as he did so.

  “Walk with me?” she asked.

  Niall nodded. “’Twould be an honor.” He still held her hand, and she slid her palm up his arm to clasp his elbow.

  The heat of Bella’s touch, the possessive grip of her hand on his elbow, nearly had him undone.

  Once upon a time, he’d taken his position as a bachelor to the extreme. Training hard and cavorting even harder with his comrades and any willing female. Nearly a year ago to the day, he’d been left broken and wishing he’d died in the battle that took his arm. There hadn’t been a day that went by when he didn’t feel the pain of losing his limb, or the unsettling feeling that he couldn’t go on. Until he’d found her again, he realized with a start. Not once today had he had those dark, disturbing thoughts, that doubt that he could succeed or should even at least try at life, any life.

  As they walked away from the list field, snowflakes fell from the sky and melted on his cheeks, forming pretty white diamonds on Bella’s lashes.

  “Ye look beautiful,” he found himself saying. There was something profound about complimenting a woman and truly meaning it.

  “Thank ye.” Her creamy cheeks blushed rose-red, and lips twitched into a soft smile. “Ye were most impressive on the field. I thought ye strong before, but seeing the way ye took down Eòran, I must say, it rivals the strength of my brother and father.”

  Niall grinned, pleased she’d noticed. His chest puffed a little with pride. “Ye flatter me, lass.”

  “I suspect that is why my brother did not wish to fight ye.”

  “I have ye to thank.”

  “Me?” She stopped walking and glanced up at him with surprise. “I did not train ye.”

  “But ye encouraged me to go out on the field. Before ye, it is not something I would have done.”