Page 26 of The Highlander's Chosen Wife
There’s nay going back now.
The great oak doors of Castle McCallum opened with a low groan, revealing a grand hall that stole Isabelle’s breath away. The air inside carried the faint scent of hearth smoke, and the flickering torches cast golden light across the ancient stone walls.
Tapestries depicted fierce battles and proud Highland clans. Above them, a vaulted ceiling of carved beams arched like the ribs of a great ship, each engraved with the McCallum crest.
Her eyes widened as she stepped further inside, the click of her shoes echoing off the flagstone floor. The castle was alive with quiet strength, every corner whispering of history and power. Heavy iron chandeliers hung above, their arms holding candles that flickered in the draft.
Declan turned toward her, his expression unreadable in the soft light.
“Follow me,” he said gruffly, his voice carrying easily in the great hall. “I’ll show ye to our chambers.”
“Our chambers?” she asked, startled, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Aye,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder. “Ye are me wife, Isabelle. We share our chambers. Ye’ll find it comfortable enough, I reckon.”
“Of course,” she murmured quickly, her heart pounding in her chest. The wordourmade her cheeks flush though she tried to hide it as she followed him up the curving staircase.
She had a notion that perhaps they would have separate chambers, and he would only tend to her bed when needed. That was how her sister’s marriage had been after all.
The climb was long and winding, lit by sconces set into the walls. Isabelle trailed a step behind, her gaze darting to every intricate carving and gilded frame they passed. The castle was magnificent, filled with warmth despite its size. Velvet drapes hung at the windows, catching the glow of the torches, and each turn of the hall revealed something new—a portrait of a McCallum ancestor, a massive stone hearth that blazed with welcoming fire.
When Declan stopped before a pair of tall doors carved with the McCallum crest, Isabelle froze.
“These are our rooms,” he said, pushing the door open. “There’s a sitting room, a small study, and our bedchambers beyond.”
Isabelle stepped inside slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the doorway. The sitting room was warm and inviting with a roaring fire in the hearth and thick rugs spread across the floor. A pair of armchairs sat near the fire, and the scent of cedar and beeswax lingered in the air.
On one wall stood shelves lined with leather-bound books, and on another, a table with maps and papers neatly stacked, clearly Declan’s study space.
Through the open archway, she glimpsed the bedchambers, a massive canopied bed draped in rich burgundy fabric, its posts carved with curling vines and thistles. Furs covered the foot of the bed, soft and white, and beside it stood a chest for linens and a table with a washbasin and pitcher. The whole place felt far grander than she had imagined, far more intimate, too.
“It’s… lovely,” she said softly, her voice barely steady.
Declan turned to face her, his dark eyes glinting. “Good,” he said simply. “I expect ye’ll find everythin’ ye need.”
She hesitated before asking, “And… what will be expected of me as yer wife? As the new Lady McCallum?”
Declan raised an eyebrow at her question, clearly amused by her earnestness.
“Ye can start yer duties tomorrow,” he said after a pause. “It’s late enough tonight that it willnae matter. We’ll speak more in the morn.”
“That’s nae an answer,” she objected, frowning slightly, her voice sharper now. “I want to ken what exactly ye want from me, Laird. I wasnae given a choice in this marriage, but I’ll do me duty. Still, I should ken what it is ye expect.”
He watched her for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. “Ye’ll learn soon enough,” he said finally, his tone low. “For now, get some rest.”
Her lips parted in protest, but before she could speak again, he turned toward the door. “I’ll have yer new maid sent up to help ye prepare for bed,” he added, his voice softening slightly.
Then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a quiet thud.
Isabelle stood alone in the center of the room, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the stillness. The weight of the day settled on her shoulders—the vows, the journey, the strangeness of it all. This was her home now. She was Lady McCallum, wife to a man she barely understood, and though she had tried to stand tall, her heart trembled with uncertainty.
She wandered slowly into the bedchamber, her fingers trailing over the rich fabrics and polished wood. The firelight danced across the walls, making the room seem alive, as though the castle itself were watching her.
This is me official weddin’ night.
It should have been a moment of joy, of tender promises whispered in candlelight, but instead it felt confusing.
Her mind turned to Declan, to his broad shoulders and his cold eyes that sometimes softened when he thought shewasn’t looking. She had already told him she wasn’t ready to consummate the marriage, and he had agreed, but men’s words were easily given and easily broken.
