Prickly numbness tingled Niall’s fingertips, and it took everything he had not to turn around and look behind him.

Bella Sutherland. Bella, Bella, Bella…

He’d known he would run into her. In fact, Walter had practically forced him to Dunrobin Castle. Ever since his brother had mentioned how she’d rejected his proposal in the spring, the lass had never been far from Niall’s mind. He saw her in every golden-haired lass he met. In every arrow. In every tinkle of feminine laughter. In every jest.

Despite his best efforts to put her from his mind, throwing himself whole-heartedly into training like he’d never done before, she surrounded him. Consumed him. And he’d not seen her or spoken to her since he was lad. But he’d built her up in his mind into this mythical, goddess-like creature from that brief glimpse at Stirling several years ago.

Then, there she was, near perfection, the way he’d imagined her. Only better. Beyond. He’d soaked up the perfect lines of her flawless, creamy skin with cheeks and nose reddened from the cold. Bright, amused violet eyes, and hair like soft, spun gold. She was tall, with lush seductive curves, and he imagined legs that went on forever. He’d taken note of the callouses on her fingers when she’d tucked her hair behind her ears. She was still practicing archery. And yet there was something else there, too. Ink stains, and he didn’t know what to think of that. Her smile had been bashful but not shy, and the way she’d looked at him, studied him—hell, no woman had looked at him like that since before the battle. There had been interest, desire in her eyes, which had him wondering if perhaps she was…idealistic.

Och, but seeing her only made his heart drop to his feet, made his tongue grow thick. He held back for fear of being awkward.

No matter if she was a few feathers short of a fletching, Bella Sutherland was… Saints, was there even a word to describe her? Stunning, enchanting. If her father had not been standing between them, Niall might have pulled her flush to him and kissed her, if only to slake a hunger that had been pounding in his veins, demanding to get out for months. Years, if he were honest.

Niall swallowed, dread curdling his belly. He wanted to escape, the familiar tingling panic starting at the back of his neck. He flexed his fingers, cracked his neck, tried to pay attention, tried to ignore the tumult of thoughts running through his mind.

Beside him, the Earl of Sutherland was making idle conversation, and Niall attempted to pay attention, but the blood rushing in his ears caused all the noises around him to sound as though he were under water.

Mouth dry, throat tight, Niall worked on forcing the breath from his closed lungs, on counting the paces from where they were to the front of the castle. One. Two. Three. Four. Five…

Luckily, whatever Magnus was saying didn’t require more than a grunt or two.

A tirade of images and questions tunneled their way through the rush in his head. Why had he not been able to say anything to Bella? To at least make a jest about how the last time they’d met, she’d turned him into a lady. Or to ask if she was still using her bow and arrows? Had she ever been defeated?

From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been consumed with jumbled thoughts that wouldn’t leave him in peace.

He was humiliated at how he appeared now. Maybe he didn’t want her to remember him, the lad who had nearly bested her at archery. The lad whose hand she’d grabbed hold of and held in the air. His left hand. The one that was rotting in some remote forest. Not even a proper burial for the part of his body that was forever dead.

Niall held back a bitter grin at that morbid thought.

At last, they reached the castle and ascended the stone stairs to the arched doorway. Niall choked when he nearly reached to hold the door open with the arm that was no longer present, his shoulder jerking oddly, before his right arm covered his mistake.

It was a good thing he’d not attempted to make any small talk with Bella. As soon as she found out about his disability, she’d turn her cheek just as Elizabeth had. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t fair. Bella and Elizabeth were completely different. Well, at least he thought they were. It was entirely possible Bella could have changed from the child he’d known. Perhaps she was addled as he imagined. Perhaps they could help each other—he’d be the mind, and she’d be the limbs.

Bloody hell, I am mad, aren’t I?

The secret corridor that lined her father’s study was pitch black, but Bella knew it well. She’d been playing in the hidden passageways since she was a bairn.

The two men entered the study and her father poured them both a drink. She watched as Niall tossed back one cup, followed by another in quick succession. How could she blame him? If she had just gone through a humiliating conversation with the princess, she might have grabbed hold of the whole bottle. No matter that he seemed to have been prepared, that he appeared to want out of the marriage, it was still mortifying to hear such disparaging remarks.

Magnus moved to his desk and leaned back against it, sipping his whisky slower and studying Niall as he stared into his empty cup. Bella bit her lip, her heartbeat thudding loudly enough she was certain they would hear it beyond the wall. She pressed her hands to the makeshift wall and breathed out a long, slow breath.

“Have another, lad.” Her father nodded to the sideboard.

Niall set down his cup, took hold of the jug and popped the cork with his thumb. He refilled his cup but didn’t drink it though. Instead, he turned to face her father suddenly enough that she gasped and then clamped her lips closed.

“What did ye wish to speak to me about?”

Her father’s gaze flicked toward where Bella was standing. Dretch! He’d heard her. She bit her lip, praying he didn’t point her out or speak to the wall as he sometimes did. Talk about embarrassing.

A poke at her side brought a screech to the top of her throat before she clamped her hands over her lips.

“Bella, what are ye doing?” The whisper came from her sister Blair, a beautiful lass as dark of hair as their father, and just coming into womanhood.

“Shhh…” Bella warned. “Da is speaking with…a warrior.”

“And why’s that so interesting?”

“Because, ’tis the warrior I wish to marry.”

Blair let out a whoosh of a breath that was probably accompanied by a wide grin. She grabbed hold of Bella and hugged her. Bella squeezed back, smiling into the dark. This was a monumental day. Not only for Bella, but for her sisters, too.

The two of them were silent then, paying attention to what was happening beyond the wall.

“’Tis a simple matter really,” Magnus said, still leaning casually against his desk. “I am prepared to make ye an offer.”

“What sort of offer?” Niall’s shoulders stiffened, causing a ripple effect down his entire body. Bella had the distinct impression he was ready to bolt.

Stay. Listen. Say, aye.

“My eldest daughter’s hand.” Magnus shot a glance at the wall then, a warning look on his countenance. When he started to walk toward them, Blair let out a screech, giving away their position and leaving Bella no choice but to run. “I heard ye, Blair,” Magnus called after them, and Bella breathed a sigh of relief that he’d not mentioned her name.

Startled by the question rather than the spying child behind the wall, for Niall knew Blair to be the youngest daughter of the Earl and Countess of Sutherland, he braced himself, feet planted wide and knees locked. Had he truly heard correctly? Marry Bella?

The lass wanted him for a husband? Or was this something her father had designed and she would yet balk at. Aye, she’d been kind to him in the bailey, but kindness did not equate to aligning herself to him for the rest of her days.

And why would Magnus be stupid enough to think his daughter deserved a poor wretch like him? He felt like waving his empty sleeve in the man’s direction, forcing him to look and see that Niall was not whole, to remind him that as of less than an hour ago, he’d been betrothed to the king’s daughter, but that spoiled lass had broken it off before she tied herself for a lifetime to a man who would never measure up.

“Your daughter—Lady Bella?” Niall glanced toward the door, as though he expected the golden-haired beauty to appear, but it remained firmly closed, making him feel trapped.

Unquestioningly, Bella was the most beautiful, enchanting woman Niall had ever encountered, perhaps the most lovely in all of Scotland. What other woman could claim to have beaten him at archery and then made him into her lady? What other woman would he have bowed down to and done such for? None. She was special, and even as a youth, he’d known it.

Indeed, he’d admired her for over a decade, and yet when coming face-to-face with her after all this time, he’d been left speechless.

And it wasn’t because she hadn’t winced like every other woman when she looked at him. Oh, how she intrigued him—all of the bits and pieces of her put together. And she could possibly be his wife?

Was this a trick? A jest put forth by the princess to humiliate him further? And if it were the truth, how could he possibly go through with it? How could he burden beautiful Bella with him as a husband? How could he ever give her what she needed and deserved when he was only a shell of himself? He had nothing to offer a woman. And yet, the idea of his dream coming true—oh, it was a cruel jest to taunt him with something he couldn’t have.

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

Another blow. She had chosen him. How? Why?

Niall studied the powerful man before him, trying to ascertain if this was some elaborate jest meant to humiliate him. Tall and still just as commanding in his middle age as he’d likely been when he was Niall’s own age, the great earl and chieftain of his clan stood unyielding and firm. One did not contradict Magnus Sutherland. One agreed. The powerful earl was not one to play jests on others. He was revered throughout the country for his intelligence, his mercy, his bravery. Not cruelty.

But how the bloody hell did the Earl of Sutherland know of his betrothal contract being broken already? It had just happened.

Unless…he and his daughter had spied Elizabeth’s rejection. Niall glanced toward the wall then, the way Magnus had openly outed a spying child. It was not outside the realm of possibility that they’d spied him with the princess. Another man might have been mortified to realize that, but oddly enough, Niall wasn’t. The princess had been rather ugly in her tantrum, and Niall wasn’t the least bit upset about not being attached to such a spoiled lass. And if Magnus and Bella had witnessed the quarrel and decided Niall should marry Bella instead, was it out of pity? Shame for him?

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

Ah, well, that was what he’d thought. Niall nodded, resisted the urge to snort at Sutherland having read his mind. Still, he did not answer, wasn’t certain he even could. His tongue not only felt thick, but numb. Any words he formed might come out in a foreign-sounding tongue.

But he would have to speak, for he could not agree, though he was flattered they would think of him in so highly a manner.

The truth was, even though he’d once wished to marry Bella, Niall could not marry her now. He sipped the whisky and then tossed back the contents, reveling in the burn in his throat. But the liquor did not ease his anxiety over 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,” Magnus explained.

Niall gritted his teeth, unhappy with what he was about to do. “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 in private, not wanting anyone to witness his lameness. Only Walter, his trainer and a few select warriors were allowed to work with him. No one knew this as he’d sworn them all to secrecy. His trainer had been the same man who taught him how to handle a sword as a lad, and he was loyal to a fault. Aye, despite his debility, he could still kick his brother’s and his men’s arses. Why should he shout out to all of Scotland that he could still wield a sword?

Magnus’s words echoed in Niall’s mind. A man who can fight for her. Give her children… Pride made the words sting all the more, and a sudden urge to prove the man wrong thrummed in his veins.

“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’d 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 limb had been real. Wanted to die when he’d had to relearn to dress himself with only one hand. To feed himself. To climb a ladder. Hold a sword. Piss. Everything had had to be relearned.

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 wanted her. Aye, he’d seen her the moment he arrived, tried to ignore her but kept feeling his gaze roam back to wherever she was. Listened to her tell a story to a crowd of children that had them all wide-eyed and just as mesmerized as he was. She’d captivated 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. And then mentally kicked himself for wondering.

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

The tourney. The last tourney he’d fought on Sutherland lands was the one where he’d gone up against Bella. The one where he’d told the other lads she should be allowed to fight and then had let her beat him. Well, only halfway let her beat him. The archery she’d done all on her own. She was one hell of a shot. What could she do now? Niall shook himself from the memories, trying to focus on what Magnus was saying.

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,” he answered bluntly.

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

“While I am proud of him, I am not my father.” And I’ve already given up enough for the king. My arm. My future.

Magnus’s dark gaze settled on his, staring him down so hard he thought the man might be able to see straight into his soul. “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?”

Niall straightened. He didn’t care if there were any other offers, but he knew a warning when he heard one. “Are ye threatening me, my laird?”

Magnus raised his glass. “Let us call it a recommendation.”

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. Had he hoped that he’d find some way of breaking it off with her while he was here? Why else had he come? Deep down, he knew it was because he was searching for a reason to go on. Because he’d hoped to see Bella one more time. Hoped to prove to himself she was not the lass he remembered, not the fantasy he’d created. That she was a heathen with horns and no teeth and a voice that could curdle milk. Ballocks!

Maybe the tourney was the opportunity, the sign, he was looking for. The test of whether or not he was worthy of life. Of happiness. “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? Make 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 and 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. This was a chance to prove to everyone that he was worthy, not just to everyone, but to himself. He needed a wife. His father had been begging him, even going so far as to say he wished Niall to marry before he passed on to his great reward. If anything, marrying would dispel his parents’ fears of him being alone forever, and remove suspicion regarding the rumors he’d spread. But he wasn’t certain he was ready to be a husband in more than anything but name, to reveal his wounds to anyone. His true self. Yet the convenience of it would certainly lay to rest many of his current irritations—namely his brother, his parents and any bastard who would dare take Bella from him.

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 to hide the trembling in his hand, 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, can I nae escape her?