She sat back down and pursed her lips at him. “I didna realize I had to give ye anything. Is my story not entertainment enough?”
“We shall see,” he teased.
“And if it is not, what will ye demand of me?”
Och, but that was a loaded question, one in which he could not help in answering with a goaded response. “A kiss.”
She frowned, though her eyes held a hint of interest. “It will be verra entertaining then, I assure ye.”
The sound of his laugh was foreign, as though hearing something from a long-lost friend. He even startled himself when he did it. But Niall couldn’t help but chuckle at her certainty, and what it meant—that she didn’t want to kiss him. Curious, considering she had requested her father arrange for them to be wed.
The lass gestured for him to a sit, a stern look on her face, and when he did so, she smiled as though she’d won a battle. Standing this close to her, the floral scent was all the more powerful. In the candlelight, he could see that her creamy skin was perfection.
Saints, when her father said she was unique, he might have also mentioned how bossy she was. Niall wouldn’t quite call her a shrew, because she was charming as she dictated what she wanted.
“Can I get ye a glass of ale or wine?” Lady Bella asked.
“Nay, I thank ye.”
“All right, then so we shall begin.”
“I’m all yours, my lady.”
She raised a brow at that and he winked. Dear god, was he flirting?
A delicate blush crept over her cheeks at his wink. “On a dusky morning, a warrior returned from battle, hardened by the things he’d seen, and wounded by his enemy’s blade.”
Niall frowned, eyes locked on hers as he realized she wasn’t reading from the parchment, but staring straight into his soul. ’Twas unnerving. And yet, he couldn’t tear himself away.
“This warrior’s name was Strength.”
“’Tis not a name but a trait.”
“Shh,” she admonished, “Let me tell the tale.”
“Verra well.”
“Strength had been tested. He’d been pushed to his limits and still he did not falter, not even when his enemies took parts of him that would never heal.”
Was the lady taunting him? Throwing his wounds back in his face? He frowned, moving to cross his arms over his chest, and nearly breaking down when he realized with only one arm the stance was rather awkward. ‘Twas a wound he wished away, a wound he knew would forever make him lame in the eyes of all. In her eyes. Gritting his teeth, he stood and marched to the window, her voice trailing behind him as she spoke of the empty village mirroring the emptiness in the warrior’s heart.
“With all his prospects hanging in the balance, his lost love dead in a siege, Strength was certain he’d not the will to go on.”
Niall wanted to hate her.
“But alas, a fairy came to him, beautiful and golden, she rose majestically from the mist and offered him a different future.”
Niall turned around then, leaning against a tapestry, the thickness of it not hindering the biting chill of the stone beneath it. “Let me guess, the fairy offered him marriage?”
She cocked her head to look at him, interest in her eyes that he’d not seen from any woman since he’d lost his arm. “Nay. She did not offer him marriage, for what marriage could they possibly have? Instead, she offered him a truce.”
“A truce?” he asked mockingly.
“A wish,” she countered.
“A penance,” he growled.
But she only smiled. “The fairy was in need of a protector, and the warrior was in need of—”
“I dinna need anything, lass.”
Lady Bella tsked. “How conceited of ye to think this story is about ye, Sir Niall.” She pushed out her lower lip in a pout.
“Isna it?” He hated the harshness in his tone, and admired her all the more for being seemingly immune to it.
“Nay. Any similarities are merely a coincidence.” Again, that hint of a smile.
He laughed harshly this time, not mirroring at all the joy in the sound earlier. “I am not entertained.”
Lady Bella harrumphed from across the room. “Well, that is indeed a shame. I was trying to be clever.”
“About?”
“A lady never divulges the inner workings of her mind.”
“Humor me.”
“If ye insist.”
“I do.”
“Fine.” She shrugged and set her parchment aside. “I was merely trying to give ye my reasons for wishing a marriage.”
“I’m a warrior not a child, lass. I dinna need fairytales, I need facts.”
She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, and he had the sudden urge to be the one doing so. “Believing in a little magic now and then never hurt anyone.”
“It wouldna have saved me, either.” He glanced down pointedly at his empty shirtsleeve.
“Perhaps it will now.” Her voice was soft, having lost all the sarcasm she dared imbue earlier. A sweetness that drew him in. Made him want to lay his head in her lap and feel her stroke his hair. Och, but he was so weak.
“Tell me why, and be done with it,” he demanded.
She let out a great sigh, and locked her eyes on his. “I am in need of a husband, though I dinna want one. Ye’re in a need of a wife, and given your reaction, or lack thereof, to being rejected by the princess ye dinna want a wife—but whether ye want one or not, ye need one. Ye’re the heir to the Oliphant clan.”
“I’ll pass that title on to my brother and his wife.”
“Fine, then for your own pride.”
Again, that bitter laugh escaped him. “I’ve verra little pride left.”
“I dinna believe ye.”
He ignored that. “Why would ye choose me when ye can have any man ye want?”
She raised a brow and stood. He watched the gentle sway of her hips as she approached him, feeling an ache of desire deep inside.
“Because ye canna be a true husband to me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She gestured to his arm. “With your injury.”
“What has that got to do with being a true husband?” Och, but she had the power to ignite every emotion inside him. Anger. Desire. Compassion. Humor. Fury.
Her face flamed with color and she avoided his gaze. “Ye know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“Dinna toy with me, Sir Niall.”
“I fear I am lost.”
“Then let me save ye.” She glanced up, a slight tremor in her jaw. “Now go ahead and kiss me.”
“Kiss ye?” He stared at her lush lips.
“Aye. I did not entertain ye. Take your prize.”
Niall stared down at her creamy face, her wide blue eyes, and felt his body stir. She was so beautiful. So cunning. So ornery. Lord, but he wanted her. Wanted to fight to prove he could have her. “A kiss from ye is not a prize, but a gift.”
“Then accept your gift,” she whispered.
Niall bent and brushed his lips over hers. At the sudden contact, she sucked in a breath through her nose, and he instinctively tried to retreat, but she leaned into him. Tentatively, he touched her elbows, sliding his hands down to hers, entwining her trembling fingers with his. He breathed in the heady, sweet scent of flowers and herbs. Her lips were soft, warm and pliant. Sweet.
When had he last kissed a woman? He wasn’t certain. A year or more? And the kisses he’d shared had never been as sweet or tender as this. What was it about Bella Sutherland?
Wanting to deepen the kiss and knowing it was too soon, Niall pulled away.
She blinked her eyes open, staring up at him. Dazed. “Will ye fight tomorrow?”
“I will, but not because your father made a marriage between us contingent upon it.”
“I know.”
“What do ye know?”
“I know ye’re a warrior.”
“I was. But I am no long
er.”
“Ye are still. Just because ye’re impaired does not mean ye are weak. If there is one thing I know about men having grown up in a house full of them, ’tis that once a warrior always a warrior.”
Niall grunted. “Why do ye care so much?”
Bella blinked, then flashed him a radiant smile. “Just a little encouragement.”
He shook his head. “I’ve not known ye verra long, my lady, but if I had to guess, I’d say ye dinna do anything only a little.”
She laughed. “In that case, I think we shall get along splendidly.”
Chapter Three
“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 that 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 cause him 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 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 ye.”
With that said, the man faded into the barracks where men had started to wake and dress for the tournament that was to start at first light.
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 looking for his brother, finding Walter at one of the long trestle tables, breaking his fast. The crowd was even louder, if at all possible, than they’d been the day before, the excitement over the tournament causing their volumes 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. Niall supposed a lady as unique as Bella, might need a few extra minutes in the morning to prepare her wicked tongue.
Walter patted the bench beside him, but Niall shook his head. Instead, he reached for a thick slice of brown bread and a slice of cold mutton, 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, bad mood, and flashes of the battlefield, sharp glinting swords hacking at his body threatened to take him down. ’Haps fighting in the tournament was a bad idea. He’d not gone up against anyone but his brother and trainer since the fateful day that took his arm. What if the past came to the front and took over when he was on the list field?
He blew out a frustrated breath and then bit hard into his bread. Aye, he needed to withdraw. What did he care about proving himself to Magnus and the others? He was going to tell Walter that he didn’t want to be laird, and he didn’t need a wife, as sweet and charming as Bella was. She deserved a better man than he—a whole man. One who appreciated her stories and wit. One who could protect her. That man was not 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 mutton. “I see ye’ve already begun to break your fast. Are ye prepared otherwise?”
Niall grimaced. “I’m afraid—”
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 should 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, before it was gone, 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, for 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 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 fell off 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.”
“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. 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.”
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, striking 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 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.”
What game was 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. 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, b
ut 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. ’Twas 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, 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 in the bailey 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 but 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.”
She shrugged. “One person canna change another.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “That comes from within.”
The Nutcracker Reimagined: A Collection of Christmas Tales Page 32