The Highlander’s Gift: Book One: The Sutherland Legacy

by Eliza Knight

  She just wanted to be left alone.

  Chapter 3

  Sweat dripped from Niall’s bare back and chest. Muscles burned from the exertion of training, and yet he still didn’t stop. He had to fight twice as hard as any other man, and in the months since his brother convinced him to get off his arse and do something with himself, he’d come back nearly to his full strength—though he’d had to learn some new techniques.

  Inside his own mind, things were definitely not the same.

  Not that he was willing to reveal that to anyone else.

  He still planned to resign his position as heir in favor of his brother whenever the time came, and he wasn’t willing to listen to anyone tell him otherwise.

  Though he could knock every one of the warriors on their arses, that didn’t mean he was capable of leading them any longer. Besides that, there was a part of him, a niggling in the back of his brain, that said the men that once followed him into battle weren’t fighting as hard as they should when put up against him. That they were giving him favor. Backing down at the last minute, missing a block when they were perfectly capable of avoiding it, and not using their full strength when it came to attacking him. How else could he explain why they were losing to him—a one-armed cripple. The muscles in his shoulder and arm grew exponentially as he trained himself to be able to wield a massive two-handed claymore with only one hand.

  With his arm having been removed just below the shoulder socket, Niall wasn’t able to hold a targe to protect himself. In battle, this would mean he’d have to be even more aware of oncoming attacks in order to block with his weapon, to dodge any blows, or use his feet and legs in ways he’d not done so before.

  As the months went on, he’d gotten quite good at using any means necessary. But he still didn’t think his men were bringing the full force of their power down on him.

  And he was about to prove it now. Niall let out a snarl. “The three of ye. Stand and fight.”

  The three warriors he pointed his sword at glanced at each other where they sat on the practice field resting after a hectic morning of training. “Sir…”

  “I said stand and fight,” Niall burst out in a fit of rage that they would even attempt to argue against his command. “A warrior does not counter a direct order.”

  The three men nodded wearily. But then Walter appeared as if he’d felt the tension brewing from across the field. His brother had barely been home a day from wherever it was he’d gone before he was breathing down Niall’s neck again, constantly worried he might escape into the darkness again.

  “What’s this? Only three?” Walter teased, rolling his eyes. “Allow me to join in, make it an even four against one.”

  What was he playing at? Niall shrugged as though he didn’t care, hiding his surprise. He’d thought his brother would argue against him, tell him to calm down, placate him as he had been doing these last few months. Well, if this was another bluff, Niall wasn’t going to let him get off easily this time. Niall lifted his sword. “Let’s do this.”

  Walter eagerly jumped into the fray. The four of them circled Niall, jabbing forward with their swords and kicking out with their feet, thrusting their targes into his back to shove him toward one another. This was exactly what he’d wanted. It reminded him of many a bailey fight he’d witnessed among the lads, picking on one not as tough as they. Well, to him, this was finally a fair fight.

  Niall could no longer block the blows. He had to duck and dodge, to roll out of the way, only to leap up and kick his opponent in the arse from behind.

  “Sir Niall wants to be knight for a day,” Walter taunted.

  Niall was immediately alert to the words. His mind anchored back to the day he’d heard an obstinate mini-wench shout the very same thing. He grinned, always having fond memories of her. In fact, before his father had settled on his betrothal to Princess Elizabeth, Niall had fancied he’d one day come across Lady Bella Sutherland all grown, still just as full of fire, and that he’d beat her at archery.

  All the air left his lungs when he realized even if he ever did meet her now, he’d never be able to do that.

  That made him falter in his steps, earning him a hard punch from his brother on the jaw. Niall stumbled backward. Strong hands shoved him forward, and he stabbed his sword into the earth, letting go in favor of taking a swing at his brother—who allowed him to connect.

  They tumbled to the ground, fists flailing.

  “Hit me harder,” Walter demanded. “As hard as ye can.”

  Niall shoved his knee into Walter’s chest and wrenched his arm back, prepared to do as his brother requested.

  He suddenly paused. “Why did ye say that?”

  “Say what?” Walter raised a brow and gave Niall a look as though he’d gone mad.

  “About wanting to be knight for a day.”

  Walter smirked. “No reason.”

  Niall narrowed his eyes. “Ye’re lying.”

  Walter shrugged. “If ye’re not going to hit me, then get off. I’m not used to being ridden by a man.”

  Niall snorted, smacked his brother on the cheek and leapt back to his feet. The men had pressed the tips of their swords into the ground, seeming to have decided that the fight had ended, and Niall didn’t press them to continue.

  “Where were ye?” Niall asked suspiciously.

  “I had business up north.”

  “Where up north?”

  “Sutherland.” Walter picked up Niall’s sword and tossed it to him. “Want to go another round, or are ye ready to wash the stench off in the trough?”

  Niall wanted to laugh at his brother’s jibe, but he was too busy losing his mind over the fact that Walter had just said. “Ye were in Sutherland?”

  “Aye. Have ye lost your hearing as well as your arm?”

  “What were ye doing up there?”

  “I had some business at Dunrobin.”

  Dunrobin. Lady Bella’s home. Niall’s mouth went dry. He licked his lips, his tongue getting stuck for half a second, before he drew in a long breath. “Ye’re skirting round my questions like a lad at his mother’s gown.”

  Walter grinned. “What difference does it make to ye?”

  Why was his brother toying with him? “I dinna know, ye havena told me a damn thing.” Niall waved the men away and picked up his shirt, wiped his sweaty face on it and tugged it over his head. “What’s the big secret?”

  Walter wiped his brow on his sleeve, eyeing his brother in a way that gave Niall the impression he was trying to decide how much to tell him, if anything at all. “Well, if ye must know, I was there attempting to fetch a bride.”

  Niall’s blood chilled. “A bride? How come I didna know about this?”

  Walter shrugged. “I guess father didna tell ye.”

  “Why did ye not tell me?”

  “I…” Walter ran a hand through his hair, giving a great sigh. “Father asked me not to.”

  Niall frowned again. “I dinna understand. Why would he ask that of ye?”

  Walter shook his head and picked up a discarded waterskin, draining the contents. “Ye’ll have to take that up with him. I merely did as he asked.”

  “And are ye now a betrothed man?”

  “Nay. She rejected me.”

  “She?” Ballocks, why was his brother being so close-lipped? Couldn’t he see the torment in Niall’s face?

  “Lady Bella Sutherland, the earl’s daughter.”

  The words hit Niall like an arrow through the heart. His Bella. The urge to punch his brother was strong.

  “She said nay? To ye?”

  “Aye. Odd, isna it? I am one of the most eligible bachelors, am I not? I’ve a powerful father. A brother about to wed a princess.” At this, Walter gave Niall a questioning look, as though he knew exactly why Niall was so concerned. “A string of satisfied women behind me. Why should she not want me?”

  Niall cleared his throat, forcing his fisted hand at his side to relax. “I’m not certain the latter actually stan
ds in your favor brother. Most women dinna prefer a man with a sordid past, especially if that past can return to haunt them and bring with it their bastards.”

  Walter shrugged. “Nay matter. She said nay.”

  “Did she say why?”

  Walter looked away. “She said she was in love with another.”

  “I see.” Niall ground his teeth, feeling foolish for even asking. Of course she loved another. They’d not interacted with each other since they were children. Why, she probably barely remembered him.

  “Speaking of betrothed, where is your lucky princess and her lovely entourage?” Walter’s voice was cheerful, but he stepped away, perhaps expecting Niall to lash out at him. His brother had developed a lust for at least three of Princess Elizabeth’s ladies in waiting, and Niall had caught him on more than one occasion in a less-than-prudent position with those same three women. Not all at the same time, though he wouldn’t put it past him.

  “Dinna be afeared brother, I willna beat ye to a bloody pulp for asking, even if ye could use it.” Niall nodded toward the gate. “They went out riding.”

  “And ye didna accompany them?”

  Niall ignored the accusation in his brother’s tone. The last thing he wanted to do was accompany the ladies. For one thing, his betrothed, a spoiled princess with a head the size of a hay bale and an ego that could have filled all of Scotland, was not someone he particularly wanted to spend time with.

  Though she was pretty enough, she’d never measure up to the image of Bella Sutherland. He’d seen her a few years ago at a court gathering, but the moment he’d gone to speak with her and ask for a dance, she’d excused herself and not shown herself again.

  But what were a woman’s looks to him, a one-armed man? Aye, he would be lucky if the hag at the market would have him. Nay, his dislike of the princess was not because of her looks. But rather the attitude she had. The better-than-thou smirk she had permanently plastered on her face. The snide comments she made whenever she got the chance about tasks she thought he might not be able to accomplish.

  If there was one thing that was certain—his betrothed did not like him any more than he liked her. Their feelings were a mutual combination of distrust and dislike. Add to that her obvious disgust and his disdain, and it was an all around disappointment.

  Unfortunately, neither of them had any choice in who they could wed. Her father was king, and as such, had decreed she should marry Niall.

  “I was not needed,” Niall said. “She had all of her ladies and a full contingent of men.”

  “What is going on between the two of ye?” Walter asked.

  “I went away to war one way and returned quite another. I suppose I offend her tender sensibilities.”

  Walter frowned. “She’d best learn to push it aside.”

  Niall shrugged. “I’ll do my duty by her, by the king.” Not wanting to discuss it anymore, Niall left his brother to go in search of a cold bucket to wash the sweat from his skin—and hoped it would also cool the frenzied path his mind was taking in regards to a certain lady.

  Just who the hell was Bella Sutherland in love with?

  Later that evening, when Niall entered the great hall, his heart dropped to his toes. Across the hall, Walter was standing with a golden-haired lady. She was tall and curvy in all the right places. Her back was to him, but the tinkle of her laughter sounded across the distance between them as she lifted a bow and pretended to aim her arrow at the boar’s head on the wall.

  Walter moved to stand behind her, shifted her position and whispered in her ear. And all Niall could think was how dare his brother taunt him. How dare his brother bring Bella Sutherland to Dupplin? She’d denied him. She loved another, so why was she here?

  This was an outrage. Niall whirled on his heel, prepared to find the nearest jug of whisky and take it to his room for the night. It had been months since the darkness beckoned, but perhaps it would be best for everyone if just this once he agreed to it. Else he’d march across the great hall and beat Walter to a bloody pulp. Which he couldn’t do. How could he begrudge his brother’s appeal to women?

  No one would stop him if he tried to leave. They were used to him leaving the great hall unexpectedly, as he was often disturbed by something, anything, everything. Though he’d worked hard to recover over the past several months, there was never any clue as to when he might have a sudden attack of rage, of sorrow, or even a phantom pain that drove him to madness.

  “Niall.” Their father’s voice cut into his retreating figure. If he was feeling well enough to get out of bed and go to the great hall, Niall could not abandon him. Laird Oliphant had been ill for the better part of a year. An affliction of the lungs that often gave him pains in his heart.

  Swallowing down his anger and frustration, Niall turned to face his father, who managed to hobble forward and press a mug of ale into his hand.

  “I’m glad ye could join us.”

  Niall nodded, believing if he attempted to speak, it would only come out an inaudible snarl.

  “Princess Elizabeth’s cousin has arrived just this afternoon.” His father nodded toward the woman Walter was flirting outrageously with. “Walter, of course, has taken a liking to her. Too bad for him she’s already wed to another. One of the king’s generals, I think.”

  More like Walter’s lucky day. He loved when a lass was wed. They were the most experienced, he said. And if any bastards were born of their union, he didn’t have to worry over it. Niall shook his head.

  Just then, the woman turned and laughed at something one of the other ladies said, allowing Niall to see her face. She looked nothing like the Bella he remembered. Her nose was a little too long. Eyes brown rather than blue. Lips thinner, and neck longer. Now that he could see her, he was surprised he’d even thought she could be his Bella at all.

  Och, not my Bella.

  His father murmured something about needing to sit and lumbered off toward a chair by the hearth where Niall’s mother sat chatting with a few of the princess’s ladies.

  “Sir Niall.” Princess Elizabeth approached, the impatience in her eyes brilliant. She reached forward and offered her hand for him to kiss, knowing that with him holding his ale, he’d not be able to do so without either setting it down, or bending over to kiss her hand without taking hold of it.

  Well, he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. “Princess,” he murmured and ignored her outstretched hand. He took a long swallow of his ale, watching her over the rim of his mug as her face grew red with rage.

  The rage subtly changed, transforming into something mean and ugly. “The men have been proposing a tournament. Archery and hand-to-hand combat. But I supposed ye willna be able to join in, given your…unfortunate condition.” Her hateful gaze roved over the empty sleeve at his side. “I’ll have to choose another champion.”

  Niall’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a menacing smile. “By all means, princess, dinna let me stand in the way of your wanton desires.”

  Her mouth fell open in shock. Though Niall couldn’t be certain if she was more shocked she’d not managed to stir him into a painful rage at her hurtful words, or that he’d dare hint at her being a whore.

  Lips drawn and thin, menace in her eyes, Elizabeth looked ready to have an apoplectic fit. “I will speak to my father about this,” she hissed. “I refuse to be connected to a man like ye.”

  Niall could care less. If the good king decided to marry his daughter to another, Niall would drop to his knees and praise the Lord above for answering his prayers. “I hope your conversation goes better than mine did.”

  Her eyes widened, again seeming shocked at his output. Niall sighed, hating the way he was treating her. Even if she was being a total bitch. Women needed to be coddled. Tended to. Well, most women. This one made it particularly hard. She’d been dragging him down with her insults for days. How much more could a man take?

  Again, his mind went to Bella. He couldn’t imagine her putting down a wounded man. Was she
the type of woman that needed to be coddled?

  From the way she’d wailed on him with her fists all those years ago, he was certain the only coddling she’d need was to clean up her bloodied knuckles. But what fun it would be…

  The princess, seeing she was getting nowhere with him, stomped off.

  Niall found his father by the hearth and begged to be excused. When his father refused, Niall managed to get through the rest of the evening without killing anyone. He sat silently on the dais, managing to swallow a few bites of meat while his betrothed giggled beside him with her ladies, making side-long glances at him. He didn’t care what they were saying. In fact, he leaned back to catch his brother’s eye around their father’s back.

  Walter stood and came toward him. “Is everything all right?”

  “Ye need a wife. And I need to get rid of one,” Niall muttered.

  “What?” Walter narrowed his eyes.

  “Ye take the princess.”

  His brother squeezed his shoulder. “I’d never do that to ye.”

  “Bloody hell, Walter, ye’d be saving me. Ye need a wife, and ye’d be son-in-law to the king.”

  “I dinna think so.” Walter escaped back to his chair and made a point of calling for music and announcing that Niall and Princess Elizabeth would dance.

  The clansmen and women leapt from their tables and pushed them to the side, the benches too, making room in the center of the great hall for a rousing night of dancing.

  With an irritated huff, Niall pushed back his chair, stood and offered his arm to the princess.

  Thrusting her nose in the air, she delicately stood and brushed past him, down the stairs of the dais and to the center of the floor with her ladies. Taking note of the cut she’d just given Niall, Walter somehow convinced her ladies to usher the princess toward Niall, where she stood rigid, lips pursed in distaste.

  “One dance,” he muttered from the side of his mouth to her. “Then ye can be done with me for the night.”