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 so 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 seem to cause Eòran 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 had 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.”

With that said, the man faded into the barracks where men had started to wake and dress for the tournament that was to start after the household had risen and broken their fast.

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 to look for his brother and found Walter breaking his fast at one of the long trestle tables. The crowd was even louder, if at all possible, than they’d been the day before, the excitement over the tournament causing the volume 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.

Walter patted the bench beside him, but Niall shook his head. Instead, he reached for the bread and a thick slice of bacon, 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, brooding mood, and flashes of the battlefield, with sharp, glinting swords hacking at his body threatened to take him down. Perhaps fighting in the tournament was a bad idea. He’d not gone up against anyone but his brother, trainer and a few trusted men, since the fateful day that took his arm. What if the past came to the forefront and took over when he was on the list field?

He blew out a frustrated breath and then bit hard into his bread as he marched around the back of the castle to get away from everyone. Aye, he needed to withdraw. What did he care about proving himself to Magnus and the others? He was going to tell Walter he didn’t want to be laird anyway, and he didn’t need a wife, regardless of how sweet and charming Bella was, or how much his parents wanted him to get married. She deserved a better man than he—a whole man. One who always appreciated her stories and wit. One who could protect her. That man was not him. When he wasn’t tucked inside his soul, he was raging on the outside. He ignored the fact that being alone with her last night had brought out some of the old parts of himself he thought dead. That maybe she was good for 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 bacon. “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 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, quickly 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. 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 left 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 faded 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. I need ye to be my knight for a day.”

The words lobbed at him were unfair, and she must have known they would affect him. Well, he wasn’t going to play the jester for her. “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, replaced by vulnerability she had hidden so well before. 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. Tell me why this means so much to ye.”

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, gripping 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 do trust ye. I have since we were bairns, and that is why I chose ye. 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. I know it.”

What game is 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, as she was obviously very naive. 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, but 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. It was 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 and 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 around them 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, 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. I’ve known that from the first time I met ye. And never have I met another like ye in all my life. Ye…ye’re changing me.”

She shrugged. “One person canna change another.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “That comes from within.”

“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 he’d buried deep. She 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. He wasn’t sure why he continued to wear shirts with two sleeves to begin with. Perhaps so as not to draw too much attention to the fact that one was empty.

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?