I want to be knight for the day.” A petulant lass with golden locks crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at the line of grubby lads with their wooden swords tucked into the corded belts of their plaids. For the first time in her short life, she had the chance to prove something.

“Ye canna. Ye’re a lass. Go back to the keep and help the maids with their chores.” Several of them snickered and rubbed elbows at that.

Snorting, another added, “Aye, go and milk a cow.”

“Or knead the bread.”

The list of chores typically delegated to females continued on for several minutes. All the while, the young lass’s face grew redder and redder, her fists tighter and tighter, until one particular lad stepped forward.

He opened his mouth to say something, but she didn’t let him get further than that. She tugged her arm back as she’d seen her brothers do, and let her tiny fist fly, landing hard on his chin.

Zounds, that hurt.

Her knuckles were instantly red and stinging. She thought the whole point of hitting a lad would be to hurt him, not herself.

Surprised, the lad stumbled back a few paces, eyes wide. “What the hell did ye go and do that for? I was going to tell these raven-gut idiots to give ye a shot.”

She was immediately contrite, but being as stubborn as she was, and feeling more than mildly embarrassed, she pursed her lips in a frown and refused to say anything at all.

The other lads were laughing, doubled over as they slapped their knees and rolled around on the ground, clearly not taking her seriously.

“Ye’re on your own then, wee chicken,” the lad said, backing away and rubbing his reddened jaw.

“Wait,” she whispered, stepping forward and looking at him nervously. “Ye’ll really let me try?”

He smirked, green eyes flashing with some emotion she couldn’t understand. “I’m not so sure anymore after the way ye just walloped me.”

The lass stiffened her spine, knowing exactly what mocking was when directed at her. “Why’s that? Ye think I fight like a lass?”

“Nay, just the opposite.”

Most of the lads had stopped laughing long enough to listen, surprised perhaps that the older lad had just admitted her blow had hurt.

“What do ye say, lads, are we scared to have her join in our tournament?”

“Scared?” They laughed. “Not on her life.”

“All right then,” the one she’d given a good smack to said. “We’ll let ye join us.”

She’d not planned for them to actually allow her. Och, she had all sorts of plans involving revenge and sneaking in dressed as a lad, but not once had she thought they’d welcome her. “And if I win?”

His smirk widened. “We’ll let ye be knight for the day.”

Thrusting her chin forward, she gave him a righteous smile. The other lads balked, because it wouldn’t be right for a lass to be the knight for the day, given that she was…well, a lass.

The lad, a little taller than his friends, raised his hand for their silence. “But laddies, ye recall what happens to the knight for a day?”

They narrowed their eyes, unsure what to say, for there was an ominous tone to his voice.

The lass wasn’t certain of what he spoke, either. She only wanted to prove she was good enough, show her da she could beat the lads at their own game, that sewing and wearing dresses wasn’t all she was good at. To prove that her brothers weren’t the only ones who could help defend their castle. But…what else happened?

“The knight has to choose his lady. Who will be your lady?” the lad asked her, his grin growing wider.

Well, she wasn’t going to be sucked into whatever trick he was trying to lay on her. Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked at him confidently. “Why ye of course.”

At that, the other lads fell to laughing once more.

But the older lad she’d addressed only smiled. “If ye can be a knight, then I supposed I shall honor ye with being your lady for the day.”

Even the lass had to giggle at that. “Ye’re jesting with me.”

“Mayhap.”

“All right.” She beamed a smile at him. “Agreed.”

She sauntered away, a skip in her step. Those lads were going to rue the day…

An hour later, she arrived on the makeshift list field. The lads were all covered in iron-studded armor, their wooden weapons thwacking together as they practiced. With the permission of her ma and da, she’d trained with weapons since she could toddle around. And by nine summers, she was skilled with a bow, a sword and hand-to-hand combat. But she’d never been allowed to go up against anyone other than her father, uncles and brothers.

Even still, she was certain these lads didn’t stand a chance. Their size didn’t matter to her. She trained with grown men who’d taught her how to go up against someone bigger.

The lads snickered at her approach, but she didn’t let that bother her. Soon they would see that laughing was foolish.

The children lined up, facing the target that had been erected for the first of the tournament rounds—archery.

In the stands, all the parents and those of the clan sat and cheered the children on. Upon seeing the laird and lady’s daughter, a rush of chatter went up. The lass met her father and mother’s gaze unwaveringly, half expecting them to rush from their place of honor and physically remove her. But her mother placed her hand on her father’s arm, and the two of them simply nodded. With both of her brothers gone off with their uncle for two weeks of training, she was the only one representing their house. And she wasn’t going to lose.

“Ready!” The warrior in charge of the event stood to the side, giving only a few seconds for the children to load their arrows. “Sight your mark!”

She blew out a breath, feeling her pulse beat in her fingertips on the strings. The horn sounded for them to let their arrows fly, and she didn’t hesitate, watching as her handmade arrow flew through the air, the feather fletching fluttering in the wind. Hers sank home, dead center. Only one other was close. She turned to see whose smile was the broadest, only to realize it was the lad she’d whacked in the face that morning.

He winked at her. Something she’d seen her father do with her mother, and she wasn’t certain how to react. So she stuck out her tongue at him, which only made him snicker more. Was this why he’d said she could join him? Because he didn’t think he would lose?

“Ye two,” the warrior called. “Ready your bows.”

She wasted no time in setting hers up, lining it with the target that had been moved at least fifty feet back.

“Sight your mark!”

Again, she blew out her breath and let the sounds all around her disappear.

The horn blew, and she let go, staring without blinking as her arrow and the lad’s sailed side by side, fighting for air.

They landed with a thunk, both of them dead center, battling for space.

With breath held, the crowd leaned closer, their murmuring like bees buzzing around her head.

“Tie!” shouted the warrior in charge.

A tie. Och, but this was not going her way. She wanted to be the champion.

“Seems I should have let the lads have their way,” he muttered beside her, nudging her arm. “Else I’d be champion.”

She glowered at him. “And yet here we are, with me kicking your arse.”

The target was moved another fifty feet back, and before he could comment, they were told to ready their bows once more.

This time, when the warrior called for them to shoot, she waited less than half a second behind her opponent. There was only one way to beat the arrogant lad. And that was to split him in half. Just as his arrow landed in the center of the target, hers came crushing behind it, obliterating the shaft, and sinking into the hole where his arrow had been.

“We have a winner!”

This time it was her turn to smirk at him. “Better luck in the next set.”

In the next round, the warrior called for everyone to prepare for hand-to-hand combat. And she could not wait. Her mother had taught her a specific move she’d used on her father early in their marriage—a simple strike at a place on the neck that took a person’s breath, and if successful, had them dropping to the ground in a dead faint. The lass smiled wide, for she’d used this move on each of her brothers with success. And she was going to take these rowdy pigs down. They grinned like fools, certain they would be able to take her out of the game now.

Silly lads.

She went through half the other competitors quickly. Many of them were too afraid to fight back, fearing her parents’ wrath should they strike her. After that, she taunted the lads into at least taking a swing before she ducked and brought the side of her palm down flat on the fleshy part where their necks and shoulders met. Another one flat on the ground.

Finally, it came down to her and the lad she’d bested at archery. He had a smirk on his face that made her nervous. He’d been watching with interest every time she’d made her move, and she could see now he’d been figuring out a way to stop her, because with each arch of her hand, he blocked her.

Sweat beaded on her upper lip. If she couldn’t hit him the way she needed to, there was a possibility he would win this round. And then they would be tied for first place.

She let out a frustrated growl, her arms growing tired.

The lad’s smile grew, but he said nothing, just continued to let her swing. Slowly, she started to tire, muscles growing weak. Frustrated, she grew silent. She leapt forward in hopes of shocking him.

The move worked, as he’d been expecting her to keep going, but instead of taking a step back, he stumbled forward, tripping over her feet. He came down hard on his knees beside her, and she thought quickly, kicking out until he rolled onto his back. She rolled over onto him, even though she knew that doing such a thing would mortify her parents.

Too stunned to move, he watched with wide eyes as she brought the flat side of her hand down on the side of his neck. And his eyes closed.

Huzzah! She’d beaten him again.

They would not do a third round—weapons, as she was already the majority winner.

She was tugged up by the cheering warriors to be carted around in the air, and as everyone shouted her name, she saw the lad peek beneath his lashes up at her.

Her mouth fell open in shock. Her move hadn’t worked on him. The little rascal had outwitted her! Tricked her. But why?

She started to sputter, but he squeezed his eyes shut. Why was he doing that? Why was he pretending she’d bested him?

They started to put the winning garland around her neck, but the lass refused. “Nay, this belongs to us both.”

“Both?”

“The lad. The one over there.” She pointed to where he was getting up off the ground.

“Nay, lass, ye beat him fair and square, both times.”

“Nay, he—”

They cut her off, with another shout of joy.

But the lass was nothing if not stubborn. She struggled out of their grasp and ran toward him. Hands on her hips, she stared up into his clear eyes the color of grass in spring.

“Why’d ye do that?”

“Fall? Ye hit me.” He shrugged. “Ye won.”

“I won at archery. But ye let me win just now.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Ye canna prove that.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I wanted to win. I wanted to be knight for a day, but I canna accept if I know ’twas not me who truly won.”

“I dinna know what that has to do with me.”

“Everything.” She stomped her foot.

He chuckled. “Did your mother never tell ye that stomping your foot will get ye nowhere?”

She rolled her eyes. “Dinna bring my mama into this.”

“My lady?” The warrior in charge of the event appeared at her side with the garland.

She took the garland from him, and with both hands wrapped around the loops, she tugged until she broke it into two pieces and then handed one to the lad. “For ye, ye sorry winner.”

The lad’s face reddened, and he shoved it back at her. “This is not mine.”

“The lass insists ye are tied.”

“There canna be two knights for the day.”

“Then ’haps there should be a knight and lady?” the warrior suggested.

The lass pursed her lips in a frown, uncertain if she wanted to agree with that, either.

The lad bent low and gallant. “Sir Niall Oliphant at your service, my lady.”

She curtsied and tossed the garland at him. “Lady Bella Sutherland. And according to our bet this morning, ye’re to be the lady.”