The Nutcracker Reimagined: A Collection of Christmas Tales

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “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 that he’d buried deep. 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, and he wasn’t sure why he continued to wear shirts with the sleeves to begin with. Perhaps so as not to draw too much attention to the fact that it was missing.

  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 Four

  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, her parents having made certain there was enough for everyone.

  But Bella had no stomach for anything. All she could do was search the crowd for Niall Oliphant. And then she spotted him.

  The man was as big as a mountain, standing at least a head taller than most of the other contestants. His wheat-colored hair had been pulled back in a tight queue. The empty sleeve had been tied off. Studded leather covered his chest, and wrist. That was the only armor and defense he had. His missing arm would have held a targe to block blows as the other warriors had. 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 Sutherland 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.

  “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 did she encourage Niall to do this? Why didn’t she fight her father on it?

  A few of the men smirked in Niall’s direction and she wanted to leap from her perch and pummel them into the dirt. 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? 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, swinging it in a wide arc, before letting it point toward his opponent. The men circled each other, swords raised. Once. Twice. Three times. Eòran lunged forward, but Niall dodged to the right, surprisingly quick for his overly 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 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 then 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 earth. However that didn’t matter, because Niall was right behind him to kick him again, and this time, Eòran did hit the ground with 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 more by saying 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 the 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 generated at the power of the blow. Back and forth, they went, and if she didn’t know that Niall was missing an arm, Bella would have never guessed. He was more than holding his own.

  With a final swing, Niall knocked Eòran’s sword from his grip, sending 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, the whistling of the Highland wind 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 l
eapt to her feet, clapping her hands, the furs falling to the ground, and a cheer on her lips.

  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, blood gushing before 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 thought 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.”

  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 bringing 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, and then 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.

  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 physician had examined her, at age sixteen, he 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 pitied her, until their courses came and then they, too, wished to be barren, if only to stave off the unpleasantness. Every once in awhile, her mother would ask 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 caused her not to want to disappoint anyone again. So, Bella had grown creative. She’d stolen the bowl of cock’s blood from the kitchen, and maybe a wee few times that 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 that knew her secret. And he’d not scorned her. Had not shied away. He’d said he wanted children, but that hadn’t changed his mind about marrying her, because he couldn’t lie with a woman anyway. Princess Elizabeth, and the many rumors Bella had heard, stated as much. 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.

  Bella and Niall 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.

  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 of the men. 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 awhile, they 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 Five

  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 was 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 had both of his arms. Now, Liam would be a tough adversary to beat, though Niall was fairly certain he could if forced.

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

  Niall knew this game. “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 could now be counted as one of those people. “As would I.”

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

  A horn was blown and they both raised their claymores. Niall with one hand and Liam with two.

  “Aye, that’s true, lad, but already she has…” 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 started to train, in his effort 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 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. The 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.