Page 21 of The Highlander's Chosen Wife
Without another word to her father, she allowed Declan to lead her through the courtyard, stepping into the snow-laden path beyond the chapel.
The sun caught the frost on the stone walls, glinting like a promise she wasn’t certain she wanted to keep.
She thought fleetingly of her sister, Norah, wishing her presence could balance the strangeness of the day. But Norah had been absent because this was supposed to be Rosaline’s wedding, leaving Isabelle without the comfort of family she truly trusted.
Once they were alone, Declan paused, letting the bustle of the departing guests fade behind them. Isabelle drew a breath and looked at him, eyes narrowing with curiosity and a hint of frustration.
“Why did ye nae kiss me back inside?” she asked, unable to keep the question from slipping out.
Declan’s brows rose in mock offense. “A kiss? In front of the clan? Daenae think I’m one for public performance, lass.”
Isabelle’s lips twitched with incredulity. “It’s important, Declan! The first kiss signals our beginnin’ together. It’s… tradition! It seals the marriage vows.”
Declan smirked, dark and amused, “Tradition, eh? Ye’re obsessed with it, are ye? I thought ye’d appreciate me discretion.”
“I would, if ye’d shown me some… ye ken… acknowledgment!” Isabelle snapped, crossing her arms.
He tilted his head, gaze assessing her with that infuriating, calculating smirk.
“Acknowledgment, ye say? Aye… so the poor lass wants the man to make a show for her? I daenae like being coerced, Isabelle.”
“Coerced?” she echoed, voice sharp. “It’s nae a coercion; it’s… a sign! A sign that this marriage… this life we’re startin’ is… real!”
Declan’s lips quirked in humor. “A sign, eh? Ye think a simple brush of lips makes it real? I daenae need theatrics to ken ye’re mine.”
Isabelle scowled, heat rising to her cheeks, “It’s nae theatrics; it’s… it’s meaningful! Ye should ken that!”
“Fine, fine,” Declan said, throwing up his hands mockingly, “since ye crave the kiss so badly, I’ll give ye what ye want.”
Isabelle blinked, startled. “I daenae…”
Before she could finish, he pulled her close, their bodies pressed together in a bruising, demanding kiss. She caught her breath, startled at the force, and then instinctively responded, pressing back with equal fervor.
His hand moved to the small of her back, holding her tight, yet there was a careful balance, a claim but not cruelty.
When he finally pulled away, Isabelle’s chest heaved, her eyes wide and dazed, lips tingling with the fire of the kiss. Declan’s smirk was smug, satisfied, as though he had claimed victory in some silent duel.
“Ye see, lass,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, “sometimes ye need to take what ye ask for, else ye’d complain endlessly.”
Isabelle’s fingers trembled as they brushed against his tunic, unsure whether to push him away or lean in once more.
“That… that’s nae exactly what I meant,” she said breathlessly, voice soft, betraying a flutter of excitement she hadn’t expected to feel.
He raised an eyebrow, smirk unyielding, “Aye, but it’s what ye got, and I daenae apologize for providin’ it.”
Her lips parted again, indecision battling with the rush of adrenaline. She had wanted acknowledgment, yes, but theintensity of this, this possessiveness and closeness was far beyond what she had imagined.
Declan’s eyes softened ever so slightly, just for a heartbeat, and Isabelle caught a glimpse of something unreadable behind the dark brown depths. It made her heart quicken and her thoughts scatter further—fear, intrigue, and a strange thrill all rolled into one.
She let out a shaky laugh, partly from relief and partly from the absurdity of it all.
“Ye’re unbearable,” she said, breathless, attempting to step back but finding his hand still firm around hers.
“And ye,” he replied, voice low, smoldering, “are intriguin’. Daenae think ye can walk away from me, even if ye tried.”
CHAPTER TEN
Isabelle allowed herself a final glance toward the chapel, the crowd, her father, and the remnants of her old life before letting Declan lead her forward.
