by Eliza Knight
Her mother’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Why ever would you do such a thing?”
“I am not ready to leave.”
“Aye, but a wife’s place is beside her husband. I do not think Sir Niall will be amenable to you staying behind. He will need his wife at the castle. His father is unwell and his mother cares for him, not leaving much time for her duties as mistress. You will be instrumental in helping him there. He needs you.”
Bella waved away that line of thinking, for the Oliphants had managed long enough without her, they could manage a while more. “And if he was amenable? Would ye and Da allow it?”
“Well, I suppose if Niall wished it…” She tapped her lip. “Though that would be very odd. Has he said something about it?”
Bella shook her head. “Nay, nay, nothing like that, but I had thought to bring it up.”
Her mother’s face was clear of any censure, though Bella could tell from the way her eyes were partially widened she had much to say on the subject that she was keeping inside. “Well, my advice would be to bring it up after you wed.”
“Why?”
“Because if he knows before he says his vows that you wish to remain at home, that may sway him to not agree.”
“And so ye think I should lie?” Bella was incredulous. She couldn’t lie to him.
“I did not say that. Obviously, if he asks you about living arrangements, you should be honest. Lying never got anyone anywhere.”
Bella chewed her lip, feeling as though omitting the truth was just as bad as lying. “Perhaps I should discuss it with him. Find out what he expects of me.”
“That is probably a good idea, but try not to be upset if he expects you to go home with him. After all, his castle will be your castle.” Her mother approached and tugged Bella into her arms. “I’ve always believed you to be a clever and kind, lass. I trust in you and I love you very much.”
“I love you, too, Mama.”
Arbella held her at arm’s length. “And he is the one you want? Out of all the men?”
“We share something special.” Bella smiled. “He let me be knight for a day.”
“Oh,” Arbella gasped. “I had not realized he was the lad from the tournament. How romantic.” She sighed and pressed her hands to her heart.
Then her mother began brushing her hair, chattering on about the day, not once bringing up the fact her betrothed was bereft of an arm, never judging, and making Bella feel more excited by the minute. Her sisters returned with breakfast, and they ate excitedly as they pulled ribbons and dresses from the wardrobe, parading around in what they thought Bella should wear.
In the end, she allowed her hair to be styled in something other than a plait. In fact, she left her hair loose around her shoulders save for strands on either side that were braided and looped like a crown around her head. She settled on a practical, warm, and yet still stylish gown of blue wool. When she started to tie on the Sutherland plaid, her mother stopped her.
“If you are to announce your betrothal today, do you think it wise to do so in your father’s colors?”
“I am a Sutherland and proud of it,” Bella answered. “Any man who marries me should be proud of it, too, and know that my family means everything to me. He is not only marrying me, but joining with our entire clan.”
Arbella smiled. “As always, you are the voice of wisdom.”
Behind their mother’s back, her two sisters stuck their fingers into their mouths to imitate gagging and rolled their eyes. Rather than be annoyed at their antics, Bella laughed, flopping back onto the bed in a fit of giggles.
Everything was falling perfectly into place, and the sun had barely risen.
Chapter 8
Get up ye fool.” A sharp kick to the back along with roughly spoken words woke Niall from a deep sleep.
He rolled over and glared up at the ogre standing tall in the barely lit barracks. The man’s face was covered in a scraggly dark beard, his hair looked to have come straight from a thatch of weeds, and the front of his shirt was stained with last night’s supper and Lord only knew what else.
“What the hell was that for?” Niall wished to hell he could pummel the whoreson for stooping to such a low blow. But he had to conserve his energy for the tournament.
“Just a taste of what’s to come.”
Niall’s eyes adjusted enough so he could see the man barking like a rabid beast was, in fact, Eòran MacGregor, another of Princess Elizabeth’s spurned beaus. Though there had never been any chance the man would have been accepted by her father as a contender, that didn’t seem to cause Eòran any less ire toward those who’d been more successful. The man had lost all sense of pride and bodily upkeep since she’d brushed him aside.
Rolling his eyes, Niall nimbly leapt to his feet, coming within an inch or so of the man’s face, showing none of the cowardice he supposed this bastard had expected. “She’s all yours, ye filthy maggot. Kick me while I sleep again, and ye’ll wake without a foot to stand on—if ye wake at all.”
An ugly laugh fell from the lecher’s mouth. “Ye’re amusing, Oliphant, but not amusing enough for me to waste my time on.”
With that said, the man faded into the barracks where men had started to wake and dress for the tournament that was to start after the household had risen and broken their fast.
Niall, too, prepared himself, fully armed, and walked into the dawn light. The bailey of Dunrobin Castle was in full working order with servants and clansmen alike running this way and that. A few chickens chased by a…goat? How odd.
He made his way into the great hall to look for his brother and found Walter breaking his fast at one of the long trestle tables. The crowd was even louder, if at all possible, than they’d been the day before, the excitement over the tournament causing the volume to rise unpleasantly. A cursory glance did not reveal Lady Bella, though her mother sat beside Magnus on the dais. The lady cast him a warm smile, and the earl nodded, his expression unreadable.
Walter patted the bench beside him, but Niall shook his head. Instead, he reached for the bread and a thick slice of bacon, and then walked back outside away from the cacophony. He needed to get right in his head before the tournament began. And that required quiet contemplation. The kick in the arse from Eòran MacGregor had put him in a dark, brooding mood, and flashes of the battlefield, with sharp, glinting swords hacking at his body threatened to take him down. Perhaps fighting in the tournament was a bad idea. He’d not gone up against anyone but his brother, trainer and a few trusted men, since the fateful day that took his arm. What if the past came to the forefront and took over when he was on the list field?
He blew out a frustrated breath and then bit hard into his bread as he marched around the back of the castle to get away from everyone. Aye, he needed to withdraw. What did he care about proving himself to Magnus and the others? He was going to tell Walter he didn’t want to be laird anyway, and he didn’t need a wife, regardless of how sweet and charming Bella was, or how much his parents wanted him to get married. She deserved a better man than he—a whole man. One who always appreciated her stories and wit. One who could protect her. That man was not him. When he wasn’t tucked inside his soul, he was raging on the outside. He ignored the fact that being alone with her last night had brought out some of the old parts of himself he thought dead. That maybe she was good for him.
“Sir Niall.” The voice of an angel—or should he say fairy—broke into his internal diatribe.
Niall turned to see Bella approaching, her cheeks rosy in the morning cold. She was wrapped up in a thick, fur-lined cloak with the hood pulled up over her golden hair. A smile curved her lips, and there was excitement in her eyes.
He swallowed his bread and bowed. “My lady, good morn to ye.”
“Aye, I do believe it will be a good morning.” She glanced at his half-eaten bread and bacon. “I see ye’ve already begun to break your fast. Are ye prepared otherwise?”
Niall grimaced. “I’m afraid—”
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Bella held up her hand. “Dinna say it, warrior. Ye’re going to hold your sword with pride.”
His gut tightened as he took in the determined look on her face. “I dinna understand why ye care so much. Ye can find another husband. I’ve no stake in the tournament. No stake in the king’s guard.”
There was a flicker of something on her face, quickly replaced by that jovial twinkle in her eyes and a smile that said no argument would be accepted. “I dinna care to find another husband. Besides, my father said I had to pick a man—and ye are he. As for a stake in the tournament, well, I think ye’re mistaken. I’ve heard it told Eòran MacGregor has been boasting that even a bairn could beat ye in a fight.”
Niall shook is head in disgust. His appetite fading, he passed the bread and meat to a hovering hound and then turned to face the woman who was starting to become the bane of his existence. He was going to make a fool of himself. Choke up.
Even knowing that whoreson was talking about him behind his back didn’t help, though it made him angry.
“My lady.” He shrugged his left shoulder, showing her the way his sleeve flowed forever vacant. “I must withdraw. I’ll only make a fool of myself, and ye by extension. Ye’ve been verra kind, and I am flattered, but…” His words faded as her face paled.
“I need ye, Sir Niall. Please dinna walk away from me.” The knuckles of her hands whitened in front of her as she clutched them at her middle. “I simply canna marry any of the other fools here. I need ye to be my knight for a day.”
The words lobbed at him were unfair, and she must have known they would affect him. Well, he wasn’t going to play the jester for her. “And I’m just the right fool for ye?”
She shook her head, smiling nervously. “Nay. Ye’re not a fool. And ye’re braver than ye’re allowing for. I, on the other hand, I am not so brave. And any other man will no sooner marry me than turn me out.”
The lass looked ready to collapse, the vibrancy he’d seen in her quickly fading, replaced by vulnerability she had hidden so well before. He didn’t like seeing her like this. This was not who she was. “Why is that?”
She bit her lip and shook her head. What had her so fearful?
“Ye see my affliction, lass, plain as day in this empty sleeve. I wear my weakness in full view of everyone. Tell me yours. Tell me why this means so much to ye.”
Bella glanced from side to side then stepped closer to him, her gaze toward the ground as she whispered, “I’ve never told anyone before.”
“Ye can trust me.”
The lass looked ready to burst into tears, gripping some part of him that wanted to reach forward and comfort her.
She wrung her hands between them, chewing her lip so hard he feared she’d bite it clear off. Then she nodded.
“I do trust ye. I have since we were bairns, and that is why I chose ye. I am…” She sucked in a ragged breath. “I am barren.”
Niall narrowed his eyes. “Ye’ve been wed before?”
Violet-blue eyes flicked to his, wide as the moon and begging for secrecy. “Nay, but trust me in this. I know it.”
What game is she about? “And what makes ye think I would accept a barren wife when another man would not?”
Her gaze jerked up sharply, and she stiffened, growing taller. The redness that touched her cheeks was more than just from the cold. “Because of your…condition.”
Ballocks, did the chit truly think that just because he didn’t have an arm, he couldn’t make love to a woman? He grunted, not wanting to get into the specifics of it with her, as she was obviously very naive. While he’d not made love to a woman in his new condition, he was certain he’d be able to figure it out just fine. Och, but the very thought of bedding her had blood rushing from every limb to his groin. Why did she have to put such thoughts into his mind? He imagined what all that creamy flesh would look like. The way she’d responded to his light kiss in her solar… The lass would be excitable in the bedchamber, bringing all that energy and enthusiasm to the act. Pleasures upon pleasures they’d have. It was enough of an appealing thought to have him marching early to the list field and demanding an opponent.
“I see, my lady. But ye know, as my father’s heir, I must have children.”
The lass blanched. “But…your condition. And ye said ye were giving up leadership to your brother.”
Niall was enjoying watching her squirm. “’Haps I want to keep it.”
She squared her shoulders, and though she tried to hide her disappointment and her fear behind an icy veneer, he could see well beneath it. “Well, that is your choice, Sir Niall.”
What would she do if he continued to goad her? Would that veneer shatter? Would she slice a sharp edge into him? He kind of wanted her to. “Aye, ’tis.”
“And I see ye’ve made it.” She stepped away from him.
Bloody hell, but he wanted her. “I have.”
She cast her gaze to the ground, nodded solemnly and turned to walk away. Niall reached for her, his fingers grazing her elbow before he pulled back. Bella stilled, looking over her shoulder at him, so many questions in her eyes. Those around them had stopped what they were doing to watch the exchange. Hell, he hated being the center of attention—though once he’d loved it.
“Ye didna wait to hear my answer,” he murmured.
“I assume ye’re denying me. Why would I wait to be humiliated?”
The last thing he wanted to do was humiliate the lass. “Five minutes ago, I would have denied ye.”
“And now?”
Ballocks, this was a struggle for him. “Ye’ve sparked something in me.”
“Have I?” She whirled to fully face him, that fire and ice back in her gaze.
“Ye’re different, my lady. I’ve known that from the first time I met ye. And never have I met another like ye in all my life. Ye…ye’re changing me.”
She shrugged. “One person canna change another.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “That comes from within.”
“Aye. But knowing there is someone who believes in me, even if I dinna know why, seems to make a difference.”
“I am just a woman, what does it matter what I believe?”
Niall grinned, heaven help him, but she brought out a side of him he’d buried deep. She made him want to prove to her, to the world, and to himself, that he wasn’t a failure as a man. “It matters, trust me, lass.”
“All right. Then I shall see ye out on the field.” She glanced down at his empty sleeve. “And ye may want to tie that up so it doesna get in the way.”
He nodded, his throat tight that she would have thought of it. When he trained, he always tied it. He wasn’t sure why he continued to wear shirts with two sleeves to begin with. Perhaps so as not to draw too much attention to the fact that one was empty.
Bella stared at him a moment longer, her expression not revealing what was going on behind those wide blue eyes, and then she spun toward the castle. He watched her go, his stomach tightening with nerves.
The next few hours were going to determine the rest of his life. Was he ready for wherever that road led him?
Chapter 9
If her nerves didn’t calm down soon, Bella was going to chew right through her bottom lip. She sat under a tent, warm stones beneath her boots, and thick fur blankets on her lap. To her left was her mother and father, and to her right, her younger sisters. Her brothers stood with the other men, preparing to fight. Her father would be joining the men before the tournament began.
The king and Princess Elizabeth also joined them under the tent.
They all sat in a line, watching the warriors as they warmed up for what would be a rousing few hours of showing off their skills and strengths.
Warm, spiced wine and sweet treats were being passed around the crowd, with the Earl and Countess of Sutherland having made certain there was enough for everyone in attendance.
But Bella had no stomach for anything. All she could do was search the crowd for Niall Oliphant. And then she sp
otted him.
The man was as big as a mountain, standing at least a head taller than most of the other contestants, just as he had as a lad. His wheat-colored hair had been pulled back in a tight queue. The empty sleeve had been tied off. Iron-studded leather covered his chest and wrist. That was the only armor and defense he had. His missing arm would have held a targe like the other warriors had to block blows. Instead, he carried a massive claymore that had to be longer than she was tall, the point in the ground, and the hilt near his shoulder. Strapped to his leather belt were a war hammer and a wickedly curved dagger.
The sudden urge to leap up and demand he put down his weapons, that he withdraw, that she couldn’t chance him getting hurt, pulsed through her. To hell with this rash spectacle of manhood. Had he not been through enough already? How could she force him to do so again? How could her father? Nay. She’d run away with him. Elope. Force her mother and father to see that Niall was the only man for her.
Bella leaned forward, swiveling to face her father, but Magnus reached over her mother and took hold of Bella’s hand.
“He needs this, daughter.” Somehow, her father had read her mind.
Bella shook her head, squeezed her father’s warm, calloused hand. “He’ll get hurt. I canna allow it.”
“All warriors can get hurt, love. Niall Oliphant used to be the best warrior in Scotland—bested even your brothers and me. Losing that arm was like losing his life. He needs to know his life isna over.”
Bella looked at her father with new eyes then. How was it possible her father had been able to glean all that information? She glanced back out toward the list field and the warriors gathered there. Niall was watching her. His expression was guarded, but even from this distance, she could see a fierce spark in his eyes. She raised her hand, inclined her head to him and smiled. He nodded in return. A man approached him, saying something that caused Niall’s grip to tighten on the hilt of his sword. His expression turned deadly, and for a fleeting moment, she could imagine what he must have looked like on the battlefield, and how it must have terrified his opponents.