The Nutcracker Reimagined: A Collection of Christmas Tales

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Aye, he was quite good-looking, and the way his golden-colored locks pulled free of the queue he’d attempted to tuck them in gave him a wild look. With chiseled features, albeit a slightly crooked nose, he could have been carved from stone. He towered over the princess. Was broad as he was tall. What was not whole about him? He was standing on what appeared to be two legs. Though his arms were hidden beneath a swath of plaid, they certainly looked to be attached from where she was hiding.

  “Are ye calling off the engagement then?” His tone was as bored as his expression, but Bella picked up on the underlying edge of danger, which only sparked her interest more.

  Who was the mysterious warrior that had been engaged to the princess?

  “Of course that’s what I’m saying. I need a man with two arms and—” The princess glanced most improperly, and unexpectedly, in the direction of the warrior’s nether parts. “A man with a working member. I have a duty to my father and this country to reproduce.”

  Heat suffused Bella’s face. Had she heard correctly? Was the princess accusing the warrior of not being able to…? Oh, goodness… To be unable to lie with a woman? To…have children?

  Not having two arms was not a bother for Bella, and not being able to lie with a woman was even better. Was it serendipity that she happened to eavesdrop on this most private conversation? Well, it wasn’t as if they’d chosen to do so behind closed doors. No matter that they were hidden around the side of the castle from the rest of the guests, they were out in the open where anyone might hear.

  If the princess was going to break off her betrothal to this man, then Bella was more than happy to scoop him up. He was perfect! Exactly what she was looking for in a spouse.

  “Ye seem to be forgetting one thing, Princess,” the warrior sneered. “The alliance between my house and yours.”

  The princess scoffed, crossed her arms over her ample bosom and tapped her foot.

  The warrior’s expression lit up and he pushed off the wall, standing taller than he’d appeared before, if possible. He could rivaled the tower of Dunrobin itself. “My brother, Sir Walter, just so happens to be looking for a bride, and I promise ye, he is whole in every way.”

  The princess stopped tapping her foot and glanced up, intrigued. Was it just Bella or did the warrior’s response seem contrived? Bella narrowed her eyes studying him. Aye, he was not at all upset about the breaking of the betrothal, and was all but tossing his brother at the princess.

  Bella frowned. Perhaps he was like her, and did not wish to marry, which meant if she were to propose it to him, he might not be amenable to the idea.

  Well, no bother. Was she not the best matchmaker in all of Sutherland? Perhaps Scotland? She could make a match for herself without issue. And perhaps his desire not to wed would be the perfect angle to go about it. Then again, her father held sway with the king; perhaps she’d not have to say anything at all.

  “Bella?” Speak of the devil…

  “Da!” She whirled around and tossed herself into his massive arms, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent, and then gazed up at him with wide innocent eyes.

  Magnus Sutherland’s dark hair was also pulled back in a queue, and like the warrior who appeared oblivious to the cold, her father wore only his plaid, no cloak, to ward off the winter weather. Dark gray eyes assessed her. He grinned, letting her know she was caught, and that he was amused by it. “Who were ye spying on?”

  Saints, couldn’t she get away with anything? “No one, Da.”

  “Perhaps, I’ll have a look myself.”

  “Nay!” She pressed her hand to his chest and bit her lip, then whispered, “A warrior. He’s just been discarded by Princess Elizabeth.”

  Her father scowled. “Discarded?”

  Seeing as how her father may misconstrue what she meant, Bella was quick to explain, “Her betrothed, nothing nefarious. She’s just now broken off an engagement with him in favor of his brother.”

  Magnus raised a brow, studying Bella’s face. “Oh? ’Tis not one of your stories is it?”

  “Aye, ’tis the truth. And, Da…” She chewed her lip, staring at the pin holding his plaid in place.

  “Ye wish to marry him.” ’Twas not a question but a statement.

  Perhaps Bella was not as inconspicuous as she wanted to be. Though her father always seemed to read her so easily. He claimed it was because she was so much like her Aunt Heather, a hellion in the Sutherland household from the time she was born to this very day.

  She nodded. “Aye.”

  “Do ye even know his name?” Her father sounded skeptical now.

  Drat! She knew there was something she was missing. She shook her head.

  “And why would ye want to marry him?”

  “He is handsome?” She shrugged, winged a brow hoping that would do the trick.

  Magnus only scowled. “I know ye better than that, my sweet.”

  Thinking quick on her toes, since her true reasons the earl would never find valid, Bella said, “If he was good enough for the king’s daughter, then he should be good enough for me.”

  “Och, but she has just discarded him.”

  “She is a fool.” And Bella meant it. The man was handsome, well built and came from a good family it would appear. Just because he was missing an arm and unable to perform… Well, she supposed she could see why Princess Elizabeth might not have wanted to marry him for the latter reason.

  Magnus Sutherland laughed at that, and then tapped her on the nose. “Dinna let anyone hear ye say such.”

  Bella smiled wide. “I promise.”

  “All right, if he is the one ye choose, I shall approach him about forming an alliance.”

  “Aye. Oh, and Da, what is his name?”

  Her father’s gaze shifted over her shoulder then. “Sir Niall Oliphant, just the man I was coming to see.”

  Bella whirled around coming face to face with a mountain of muscle. He was even more striking close up. Hard eyes, the oddest shade of gray, almost like metal, they glinted in the firelight, assessed her briefly and disinterestedly as he looked to her father.

  “My laird.” Niall reached out with his good arm, to grip her father’s.

  ’Twas then she caught sight of the other sleeve that hung empty by his side. She didn’t gasp as some of the vaporous lassies might, but continued to peruse his shape, finding it to please her much. In fact, there was a slight warming in her belly, and her breath caught. Which was odd. She’d never before looked at a man and found him pleasing in the least. She shook that off, taking note of the strength and breadth of him. Despite the missing arm, he looked hale and hearty.

  “Welcome to Dunrobin,” her father was saying. “I’ve something I’d like to discuss with ye. Would ye join me in my study?”

  Niall glanced at her one more time, with a slight narrowing of his eyes as though he couldn’t quite figure her out, and then nodded to her father.

  The two men moved off toward the castle, and while she briefly thought it might be a good idea to mingle with those who were celebrating Yule around the bonfires, she quickly dismissed that thought in favor of returning to her solar and penning out the newest addition to the story she’d been working on—a wounded warrior rejected by a spoiled royal.

  Chapter Two

  “Your daughter—Lady Bella?” Niall glanced toward the door, as though he expected the golden-haired beauty to appear, but it remained firmly closed. And why did that feel like a trap?

  Unquestioningly, Bella was the most beautiful woman Niall had ever encountered, perhaps the most lovely in all of Scotland. Indeed, he’d admired her over the past two days and coming face to face with her had left him momentarily speechless.

  And it wasn’t because when she looked at him she failed to wince like every other woman. Nor was it that she’d glanced at him with as much disinterest as he himself had feigned, when in actuality he had been soaking up the perfect lines of her creamy face, wide violet eyes, soft golden curls and seductive curves. To
be honest, he had no idea why she intrigued him—perhaps it was all of the bits and pieces of her put together.

  Just when Niall had thought himself free of the burden of a wife…

  “She has chosen ye as the man she’d like to wed, Sir Niall.”

  Niall studied the powerful man before him. Tall, and still just as commanding in his middle age as he’d likely been when Niall’s own age, the great earl and chieftain of his clan stood unyielding and firm. One did not contradict Magnus Sutherland. One agreed. How the bloody hell did the Earl of Sutherland know of his betrothal contract being broken already? Quite literally, it had just happened.

  Unless… he and his daughter had spied Elizabeth’s rejection. One might have been mortified to realize that but Niall wasn’t. The princess had been rather ugly in her tantrum, and Niall wasn’t in the least bit upset about not being attached to such a spoiled lass.

  “Have a drink, lad.” Magnus handed him a cup filled with a dram of the strongest smelling whisky he’d ever inhaled. “She overheard the conversation between ye and the princess.”

  Ah, that made sense. Niall resisted the urge to snort at Sutherland having read his mind. Still, he did not answer.

  Niall did not wish to marry. ’Twas why he was so pleased the princess had called off their betrothal. Indeed, he knew how much his disfigurement had disgusted her and had taken every opportunity over the past couple of days to bring it to her attention. Not to mention the rumor he’d passed around which had nothing to do with his arm. On the same note, his brother Walter had been very interested in becoming the son-in-law of the king, not that he had much interest in the princess. But, Walter had been overly willing to take her off Niall’s hands when he’d suggested it just that morning, in order to gain the title of son-in-law, which suited Niall just fine.

  Niall sipped the whisky, then tossed back the contents, reveling in the burn in his throat. But the liquor did not ease his anxiety about just being rid of one bride in order to gain another.

  “My eldest daughter has been reluctant to marry. And I gave her the option of choosing a man during this festival, or I’d choose a man for her.”

  “I am not the man ye would have chosen.” Niall saw no reason to dance around the obvious. “So why did she?”

  Magnus eyed him shrewdly, and then nodded. “Bella is… unique. She needs a man who can… live up to her vigor.” The earl glanced at the empty sleeve on Niall’s left. “A man who can fight for her. Give her children.”

  Niall grunted. Since the battle that had taken his arm a year ago, he’d kept up with his training, but in private, not wanting anyone to witness his lameness. Despite that, he could still kick his brother’s and his trainer’s arse. This, no one knew, as he’d sworn them to secrecy. His trainer had been the same man who taught him how to handle a sword as a lad, and loyal to a fault.

  “I can manage.” A phantom pain twinged in the arm that was no longer there making Niall grit his teeth.

  The past year had been rough. He’d wanted to die. Had hoped he would when they cauterized the stump where his arm had been, when they’d doused him with whisky and herbs to make him sleep. He’d wanted to die when he’d woken and learned all over again that the nightmare of that sword hacking away at his limbs had been real. Wanted to die when he had to relearn to dress himself with only one hand. To feed himself. To climb a ladder. Hold a sword. Piss. Everything had to be relearned. And he’d tried to end it. More than once.

  Even now, he wasn’t certain he wanted to live. Knew he’d be no use to a wife. No use to a beautiful, vibrant lass like Bella Sutherland. Aye, he’d seen her the moment he arrived. Had watched her. Listened to her tell a story to a crowd of children. She’d mesmerized him. So much so, Niall had searched out the man she must certainly call husband and had been surprised to find she was not yet wed.

  “Did ye enter in the tourney?” Magnus’s question pulled Niall from his thoughts.

  On the morrow, men would fight in the snow for placement in the king’s guard. The thought of entering had never even crossed Niall’s mind. “I dinna wish to be a part of the king’s guard.”

  “Why not? Your father is legendary for his service to the crown.”

  “While I am proud of him, I am not my father.”

  “How will ye protect your clan?”

  “The same as ye, my laird. My father is still chieftain, and my brother will follow in his footsteps. With the king as his father-in-law, my clan will be safe.”

  “Enter the tourney.” Magnus refilled his cup.

  Without sipping, Niall answered, “Begging your pardon, my laird, but if I decline?”

  “Then I will find another husband for my daughter. One who will pick up his sword for her.”

  Niall grimaced, feeling the prick to his pride. “I have not agreed to marry her. Nor did I say I’d not pick up my sword if it were to protect her.”

  “After being spurned by the king’s daughter, and by refusing me, do ye think there will be any other offers?”

  “Are ye threatening me, my laird?”

  “Let us call it an advisement.”

  Niall grunted. “’Haps I want to spend my life alone.”

  “Then what are ye doing here?”

  The man had a point. He could have remained at Dupplin Castle in Aberdalgie. He’d known before arriving in Sutherland that he didn’t want to marry Princess Elizabeth. So why had he come? Deep down, he’d known it was because he was searching for a reason to go on. Maybe this was the opportunity, the sign, he was looking for. “And if I prove myself?”

  “Then I will gladly gift ye a future with my beloved eldest daughter.”

  Niall didn’t hesitate this time in drinking down his whisky in one swallow. Was he really going to do this? A tournament? Making a spectacle of himself… That was the last thing he wanted. He’d been happy to lay low, to sink into obscurity. To wallow in the grief of missing his arm. To let the world believe him disabled and weak.

  He could hear his brother now. If that be true, then why do ye keep training?

  Niall didn’t know why, but perhaps he’d soon find the answer.

  He cleared his throat, looked Magnus in the eye and said, “I am honored, my laird.”

  The earl’s eyes sparked with something that looked a little like pride. “I’d verra much enjoy seeing ye prove everyone wrong.”

  Niall was surprised by the words. “Why?”

  Magnus shrugged, and raised his cup, swallowing the spirits. “My daughter sees something in ye that the rest of the world doesna. I want to know what it is.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Niall gave the earl his thanks, then walked out of the study, and followed him into the great hall, where he entered his name into the tournament.

  Needing to feel the cool night air on his overheated skin, and hoping to loosen the tightness in his chest, Niall attempted to make his escape outside.

  But, before he could, the grand double doors swung open and the sound of Princess Elizabeth’s voice came echoing through, sending him backward up the closest flight of stairs to hide. Ballocks! The princess was now ascending, her voice growing closer.

  Mo chreach, but could he not escape her?

  Niall ducked into the first door he found, closing it behind him. Too late, as the floral scent of a woman reached him.

  “Well, this is most inappropriate, sir. Our betrothal has not even been formally announced.”

  Niall whirled around to find Lady Bella, perched on an ornate chair with a thick sheaf of parchment in her hands. Golden candlelight glinted from the glorious golden curls framing her face, and violet eyes taunted him. Her rose-red lips quirked in a teasing grin.

  “My lady.” He bowed, swallowing hard.

  “What are ye doing here, Sir Niall?”

  He glanced toward the door. “Escaping.”

  She winged a brow, and he had a similar response to his blatant honesty. The lass seemed to tear down his defenses without him even realizing it.

&nbs
p; “The princess…” But his throat tightened and he found himself unable to finish his sentence.

  She waved the papers at him. “Say no more. Come and sit. I will tell ye a story.”

  Sit with her? Nay. There was no way in bloody hell he was going to get closer to her. Just being in the same room put him feel witless. “I canna.”

  “Why?”

  Why did her voice have to be so smooth and melodic? “As ye said, my lady, ‘tis most inappropriate.”

  That taunting smile remained. “Did my father speak with ye?”

  “Aye.”

  “And?”

  Niall turned around to fully face her, leaning his back on the door and considering barring it from anyone who might want in. “If I do well in the tourney, we shall wed.”

  She frowned. “Then we shall be wed, so sit.” She tapped the arm of a wooden chair to her left.

  Niall glanced at her, a little surprised at her certainty of his doing well. There appeared to be no doubt in her eyes at all, and he found it unnerving. How could she believe in him when she knew him not at all? “Nothing is guaranteed, my lady.”

  She uncurled her legs from beneath her, tiny slippers touching the bearskin rug before her chair. “Well, there are some things that are guaranteed, such as we all die sometime. And that I will not relent on ye listening to my story.”

  “Ye’re a stubborn lass.” Still he didn’t move, though he did find himself smiling.

  She grinned widely, leapt to her feet and dipped into a mocking curtsy. There was such a vibrancy about her that made him want to laugh. A feeling he’d not had in a long time. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled.

  “Verra well, my lady, what will ye give me if I sit and listen to your story?”