The Highlander’s Gift Sutherland Legacy 1

by Eliza Knight

  Philip looked at Mary, who shrugged. “No different than a tournament, my lady, or any other time ye’ve practiced.”

  “That is true.” Perhaps she was only feeling off because Niall wasn’t here, or because she’d not shot with her arrow in days. With the thought of a challenge in mind, she lined up her arrow again, blew out a breath and fired.

  One inch to the left of her target.

  “Unacceptable,” she murmured to herself while Philip and Mary clapped.

  Bella shook out her arms, blew out several more breaths. She stomped her feet and worked out whatever kinks were in her body and whatever nerves were holding her back. The next dozen shots she hit dead center.

  Philip clapped. “Sir Niall said ye were good, but I’d not realized how good.”

  “He is my equal, Sir Philip.”

  “Not according to him, my lady. He has nothing but praise for ye.”

  Bella blushed. “Well, there have been many years between the match that named me superior. I think we are due for a rematch, and I intend to see it done.”

  Philip was silent, but she could tell by his furrowed brow he did not agree, and since he did not know about her secret bow, she couldn’t blame him. Given his position as her escort, and a warrior in her husband’s army, he would not contradict her out of courtesy and etiquette. No matter, even if he didn’t, she wasn’t going to tell him about the bow. She’d sworn the fletcher to secrecy so it would be a complete surprise for Niall when he returned.

  “Trust me, Philip,” she said, putting her bow tip on the ground. “He will shoot again.”

  Mary nudged him in the ribs and gave him a look she’d seen her mother give her father on many an occasion.

  “I believe ye, my lady.” When Philip said it, there was a conviction in his tone that showed her he actually did believe her.

  “Good.” Bella smiled and returned to her target, firing off another dozen arrows in quick succession and hitting multiple targets beyond the one they’d brought. Just as she would if she were in battle.

  “Impressive.”

  But before she could respond to Philip’s compliment, a stray arrow whizzed past her to land just behind where she stood.

  Bella whirled in confusion, thinking she’d somehow misfired, even though it was impossible. Another arrow and then another landed next to her, until she was standing in the center of six arrows, all with plaids of green and red tied round their middles.

  “MacGregors,” she murmured.

  “My lady!” Philip was shouting, had been shouting, and he ran forward and crushed her to the ground where he lay on top of her. Poor Mary cowered beneath her blanket as though the fabric would make her invisible.

  “We must run, Sir Philip! Lying here will only get us killed.”

  Philip grunted and let her up. Bella ordered Mary to run and slipped and skidded in the snow before catching herself upright.

  Her lungs burned as they charged across the field. The men who’d been training had not been close enough to witness what occurred, but they saw them running and heard Philip’s bellow of attack, they charged forward to form a protective circle around Bella and Mary as they retreated inside the castle walls.

  It was only when they were behind the safety of the twenty-foot high stone barrier that Bella realized no one had run after them. No one had given chase. No one had even revealed themselves after firing the arrows. Whoever it was had watched with sickening pleasure as they’d ducked and then run.

  Like the attack in the woods on the scout, the tactic had been to cause fear. Induce terror.

  “’Twas the MacGregors,” she panted, placing her hands on her knees. “They…they shot at us. Their plaids were tied around their arrows.”

  Philip had had the temerity to take one of the arrows from the ground and showed the men the plaid tied around the middle. The warriors were loud in their disdain and desire to charge the enemy and cut them down.

  Up on the wall, the men called out what they saw—which was nothing. No men approached. Nothing stirred in the trees. The MacGregors were as good as phantoms.

  “My lady, I think it wise ye dinna leave the castle until your husband returns,” Philip said. “’Tis not safe.”

  Bella didn’t argue. Besides, if she were to leave, whoever escorted her would only be in danger. She couldn’t allow that. Nay, she’d stay right here. Dretch, but when would Niall be back? She needed to feel the comfort of his arms around her.

  Philip ordered the men to mount up as he led a charge beneath the portcullis. Bella prayed they caught the MacGregors and that none of the Oliphant men were harmed.

  It took them two days to arrive at Arbroath Abbey, and just as long for the men to come to somewhat of an agreement. Gaining independence was priority number one for the king, and Niall was one-hundred percent behind him. Freedom was something their king had been fighting toward nearly his entire life. A cause the Oliphants had upheld and fought for. Many Scotsmen had fallen, and still they fought. How many battles now? How many lives in total lost?

  The Wars for Scottish Independence had been going on since Niall was a bairn. He could not think of a time when they were not at war with the bloody Sassenachs. When he was a wee lad, he’d pretended to be William Wallace when he played with his mates. They’d mourned his death when the English had beheaded him. Niall and Walter both had begged their father to let them go with him when he fought for the Bruce. That had been the first time Niall had seen battle, and he’d been proud to be a Scot.

  Now, here in this grand abbey, he had the chance to become a part of something even bigger. Grander. To change history and the course of the nation.

  “We’ll petition the Pope. Make him see that excommunicating our king for the past several years was punishment enough. That we as a people want to be free from English tyranny. We will all sign it. He canna excommunicate an entire nation.”

  There was a round of cheers. “Aye! Never surrender!”

  Niall glanced around the room, taking stock of all the men present. He stood between his brother and Magnus Sutherland. Bella’s older brother, Magnus, and his youngest brother Ronan were also present.

  There were perhaps fifty men in all, accounting for the majority of Scotland.

  The doors to the abbey opened with a creak, drawing everyone’s attention to the back of the nave.

  Eòran MacGregor was attempting to sneak in but was seen by everyone present.

  Niall stood straighter, and a thousand prickles stabbed into the back of his neck. MacGregor had not been present the past two days. In fact, Niall hadn’t even expected to see him given the meetings had started and no one else had dared come late. Why was he late? Ice gripped Niall’s spine.

  “I dinna like that he was late,” Niall murmured to Walter.

  Walter’s expression mirrored Niall’s. Lips straightened into a flat line and brows narrowed, assessing. They both were stiff with tension. Nostrils flaring. “Aye. What do ye think he’s been up to?”

  Magnus Sutherland looked their way. “Is something amiss?”

  “We were attacked by MacGregors on the way home from Dunrobin.”

  “Aye, my men told me.” Sutherland flicked his gaze to where MacGregor stood on the opposite side of the chapel.

  “And again less than a sennight ago,” Niall said. “They fled without a trace.”

  “They are known to do that. Ghost tactics.” Magnus shook his head. “Cowards, truly. Did ye kill any of them?”

  “A fair amount when they ambushed us, aye.”

  “Ye want me to speak to MacGregor? Bring the peace?” Magnus asked.

  “Nay, not yet. I…” Niall swallowed around the rising panic. “I need to go.”

  “Where?” Magnus asked.

  “Back to Dupplin. Something doesna feel right. He was two days late. Enough time to have attacked the castle while I was gone.”

  From across the nave, MacGregor stared at them, a dark look on his face as well as something hinting at triumph.
Niall didn’t like that look. It did not bode well.

  “I need to leave now. He’s either done something or is planning to.”

  “I’ll have our horses readied,” Walter said.

  “Nay, ye remain behind. At least our presence will be noted.”

  “Take my oldest son,” Magnus said. “Your brother-by-marriage. Let Strath help.”

  Niall nodded. “Let us go.”

  They quietly left, and within a quarter of an hour were on the icy road. They rode hard for two days, and every time they had to stop, Niall felt the rising panic all the more. How many times was he going to fail Bella?

  Chapter 18

  Niall and Strath crossed into the bailey of Dupplin Castle at dawn two days after leaving the abbey. They were covered in sweat that had frozen and unfrozen on their bodies.

  The men had seen them coming and raised the gate. They cheered his return but then looked oddly at Strath, who was most certainly not Walter. Where the Oliphant lads were golden-haired, Strath took after his father in the nearly black tone of his long hair.

  “Niall!” Bella rushed from the castle and flung herself toward him before he had a good balance on the ground. Luckily, his horse had not moved much, and he was able to steady himself with his back to his mount. When she had kissed him all over his face, she jolted at the sight of her brother. “Strath?”

  “The one and only,” her brother teased, pulling her from Niall’s grasp and into his own embrace with a teasing grin. “I missed ye.”

  “Is that why ye’ve come? Where is Walter?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, nay, he’s gotten married hasna he? Just as he thought he might.”

  “Nay, nay,” Strath answered before Niall could. “We came—”

  “Walter had some other things to attend to.” Niall gave a slight shake of his head. He didn’t want to worry Bella unnecessarily about MacGregor and the reason for their abrupt return.

  “Sir,” Philip approached. “I dinna want to interrupt your homecoming with your wife, but there is something that needs to be brought to your attention.”

  The same prickle that had shuddered its way up Niall’s spine at the abbey did so again. “What is it?”

  Philip nodded to Strath. Bella let go of her brother and went to stand beside Philip. “We were attacked some days ago.”

  Niall’s blood went cold. Hell and damnation, this was exactly what he’d feared. “Casualties?”

  “None, my laird. I had Lady Bella and Mary out by the river while she practiced her archery. Arrows started to fly all around us—with the MacGregor plaid tied to the shafts. They didna hit us. We ran back to the castle with the training men at our backs. No one came out of the woods to show themselves, and when we searched, they seemed to have disappeared again. There’s been no sign of them and no more attacks since.”

  “The same way they attacked the scouts in the woods and killed Hammond, only this time, they didna kill anyone,” Niall mused. “But they did aim to scare my wife.”

  “Aye, sir. We’ve been on heightened alert, continuing the searches that ye tasked us with before ye left, and doubling the guard on the walls. No one has left the castle unless it was absolutely necessary, and the crofters have been warned to remain locked up tight.”

  MacGregor. Ballocks. The man was hiding in plain sight, and showing up at the abbey had given him an alibi. Which meant either he didn’t believe they knew him to be the culprit, or he thought them too stupid to figure it out. But leaving the plaids on the arrows as a way of identifying them was an idiotic move.

  “MacGregor came late to the meeting with the king. Likely because of what he was doing here.” Niall’s hand fisted hard enough he could have crushed stone. He knew he should not have gone to the meeting. But how did a man choose between the orders of his king and protecting his wife?

  The Bruce could have Niall arrested for not following an order, possibly even toss into the dungeon as an example to anyone else. Even if Walter was soon to marry the Bruce’s daughter, he wouldn’t play favorites. Not in this tumultuous time. And with men turning their backs on each other, he wouldn’t blame the king for thinking yet another had betrayed him. Bella was safer with Niall not in a dungeon. Even if that meant he had to be away from her for short periods of time. As soon as he got to his study, he would write a letter to the king. Glancing down where she stood beside him, he said, “I promise ye, lass, I’ll not leave your side again until MacGregor is buried deep in the earth.”

  Bella took his hand in hers. Her fingers were delicate and cold from the winter air. He rubbed his thumb along the calloused pads of her fingers she used in archery. Touching her brought him a sense of calm he didn’t feel otherwise.

  “Is there a chance it could be someone other than MacGregor?” Strath asked.

  “Nay.” Niall relayed the incident on the morning of the tournament and the ambush in the forest, which had been MacGregor without question. The two subsequent attacks had been less defined, but the fact that the arrows had been deliberately tied with MacGregor plaids, and Eòran himself had been missing from the meeting during the time of the latest attack. It seemed like there was no question about who was responsible.

  “I see. Ye’re right. That’s motivation in itself.”

  “Aye.” Niall brushed a kiss on top of Bella’s head.

  “Come and break your fast,” she urged, tugging at his hand.

  “We’ll be along shortly. I want to speak with the men.”

  A flicker of disappointment crossed her features, but she nodded with a slight smile and turned to go back inside.

  “Wow.” Strath watched his sister’s retreating figure with a gaping mouth. “What have ye done to my sister?”

  Niall frowned and flicked his gaze after his wife. She was climbing the stairs, her skirts wishing around her ankles, long blonde hair cascading down her back. Gorgeous as always. “What?”

  “That is not my sister. My Bella would have raged at ye for making her go inside while ye talked with the men.”

  Niall chuckled, fully understanding what he meant now. “No doubt she’ll rage at me later.”

  “Ah, well, if ye know it’s coming, then, aye, she’s the same old Bella. ’Haps she has something else up her sleeve. We’d best be quick about talking with the men and getting inside to breakfast.”

  Niall grinned. Her brother would pummel him into the ground if he knew what Niall was hoping she had up her sleeve.

  “Och, will ye stop looking after her like that,” Strath said with disgust. “Ye’re making my gut rebel.”

  Niall chuckled, slapped Strath on the back and led him toward the gatehouse so he could speak with the men on watch.

  Bella paced the great hall, nervously awaiting Niall and her brother. Set upon the dais table was the bow wrapped in two woolen sacks she’d sewn together for extra measure so that no one would be too curious and take a peek. Would he like it? Would he think she’d overstepped? Would he be angry at her for making the presentation of her gift such a public display?

  Her knuckles were white and her fingers raw from gripping them so tightly. Goodness, if he didn’t come inside soon, she’d wear a path through the rushes and perhaps even the wood plank floor below.

  The servants were all looking at her nervously, seeming uncertain of her mood. No one moved. They eyed her as though she were a rabid dog ready to pounce. Speaking of dogs, the wolfhounds that normally loitered in the great hall and lounged by the hearth were sitting up alert and inching closer to the door. They’d yet to put the morning meal on the table as she’d ordered them to hold off until she’d presented Niall with his bow.

  Fletcher stood in the corner. She’d invited him to watch his master open the carefully made gift as soon as she’d seen the men riding closer. In another corner stood two squires ready to bring out the targets, also covered in woolen sacks, for Niall to give it a try.

  Now she was thinking that was a mistake. He wouldn’t want to be put on the spot. His skill on display. Or lack of s
kill, as he would see it. He hated having attention drawn to his injury, and now she was making a spectacle of him.

  Bella ceased her pacing and was about to tell them all to leave when Niall and Strath came marching through the door. Her brother looked so much like their father, and side by side, her husband and brother looked like night and day. Golden and dark. Just the sight of them together chuckling in camaraderie brought a rush of warmth through her—and a sudden pang of homesickness.

  “What’s this?” Niall paused a few feet away from her, taking in the servants, Fletcher and the lads with what he would perceive as giant woolen sacks very obviously covering something in the corner. “I thought we’d come to break our fast, but it seems ye have something else in mind. What’s under those sacks? What have ye got there, lad?”

  “Not yet,” she rushed. “Ye recall I said I had a surprise for ye.” Licking her lips, she tried to form the words, but her mouth kept opening and closing as though she’d suddenly gained Mary’s affliction. Oh, dretch, why is this so hard?

  Bella stared around the room in mounting horror, not knowing what to say. She’d been so sure of her gift before… Now, every uncertainty washed through her. Everything that could go wrong, including hurting Niall, which was not her intention at all.

  “Sir Niall,” Fletcher said coming forward. “Your gracious wife commissioned me to make a gift.”

  Bella smiled gratefully at the man, inclining her head.

  “A gift.” Niall’s eyes brightened as they danced toward her. “My surprise is a gift, lass? But I have nothing for ye in return.”

  “This was something I wanted to do for ye. I need nothing in return, husband.” Heat flooded her cheeks, and she twisted her hands in front of her. “And perhaps now is not a good time…”

  “My, ye certainly want to keep me in suspense do ye not?” He chuckled. “Will ye let me open it?”

  “Nay, ’tis just, I’m no longer certain—”

  Strath cut her off. “Come on, Bella. Everyone loves your gifts. Let us see it.”

  With her brother there for support, and deciding that if Niall hated it and her for having it made, she could always go home, Bella backed toward the dais. She lifted the large sack with both hands and carefully carried it forward to present it to her husband in one awkward thrust.