Page 35 of The Highlander's Chosen Wife
“Aye,” Killian said with mock solemnity, taking a swig from his flask. “Spoken like a true laird. Ye ken, I’ll never understand the need for marriage. Too many chains for me likin’. I’ll keep to me freedom and the warmth of a lass when it suits.”
Declan’s brow furrowed though he didn’t argue. “Aye, and that’s why ye’re still a fool after all these years,” he said dryly, earning a few laughs from the men nearby.
The air settled again, shifting back to the rhythm of routine as Declan surveyed his men. He moved among them with quiet authority, nodding approvingly at their discipline and readiness.
“We’ve an inspection to make,” he said, his tone steady and commanding as he moved through. “The boats must be readied to reach the mainland.”
Killian straightened, his expression sharpening with focus.
“Already done, me Laird ,” he said proudly. “The boats are loaded with supplies, and the horses’ll be fed and waiting by the time we reach shore on the other side. The men are prepared.”
Declan’s gaze softened slightly with approval. “Good,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I expected no less from ye. We leave within the hour.”
The room erupted into motion. Men scrambled to gather their weapons and provisions, their laughter replaced by the clatter of steel and barked commands. Declan stood in the doorway for a moment, watching them with quiet pride. These men were his brothers, his responsibility, and yet his thoughts drifted once more to the woman waiting in his chambers.
As the noise of the barracks swelled, Declan turned his gaze toward the horizon beyond the loch. The wind tugged at his cloak, and his expression hardened.
Whoever or whatever had made Isabelle feel trapped would answer for it, he vowed silently. He didn’t yet know why it mattered so much, but he knew one thing for certain.
No one willever make her feel caged again.
Killian dropped a leather satchel before Declan with a satisfying thud, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“There ye are, me Laird ,” he said, rolling his shoulders as he glanced over the map spread before them. “Packed with the usual, charts, rations, and a flask or two for the long ride ahead.”
Declan grunted in approval, adjusting the strap and checking the satchel’s contents.
Killian began fastening his own pack beside him, humming an old Highland tune under his breath.
“Tell me somethin’, Declan,” he said, the humor already lighting his voice. “How fares yer new bride, eh? Rosaline, was it?”
Declan froze for half a second before lifting his gaze to his man-at-arms, his expression sharp and unreadable. The silence stretched long enough for Killian to glance up in mild confusion.
“I did nae marry Rosaline,” Declan said flatly, his voice carrying through the barracks like a blade slicing air. “I married Isabelle Connelly, daughter of the Laird Ross himself.”
The words struck like thunder. Killian’s hand slipped, and the metal buckles he’d been tightening clattered loudly to the floor. He blinked, his mouth slightly ajar as he straightened and turned toward Declan.
“Is this so, me Laird ?” Killian finally managed, his tone hovering between disbelief and awe. “Ye cast aside Rosaline and took the Laird’s daughter instead?” His brows furrowed as though he couldn’t quite make sense of it.
Declan only nodded once, steady and sure, his jaw tight with purpose.
“It is,” Declan said simply. “Rosaline proved to be… less than I’d hoped. She’s naught but a spoiled bairn with more temper than sense. An incident made it plain that Isabelle was the stronger of the two, steady, willful, and better suited to raise the triplets.” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as though he were reliving the decision. “It was the right choice.”
Killian stared at him for a long moment then broke into a booming laugh that echoed across the stone walls. “By Saint Andrew, ye never fail to surprise me, Laird,” he said, slapping his knee. “May the saints have mercy on the poor lass if she’s to match yer temper.”
Declan’s lips twitched in something that might’ve been a smirk. “She’s stubborn, aye,” he admitted quietly. “But she’s got a brave heart. She’ll fit here better than Rosaline ever would.”
Killian grinned wide, his flask already half uncorked. “Then here’s to the new Lady McCallum,” he said, raising it high. “May she keep ye humble or at least entertained.”
Declan nodded once, accepting the toast with a curt dip of his head.
Before Killian could add another word, the sound of approaching footsteps drew their attention. Liam, the first guard, entered briskly and bowed his head in respect.
“Me Laird,” he said, his voice firm. “The boats are ready, supplies loaded, and the men await yer orders.”
Declan straightened immediately, pulling on his gloves with quiet precision.
“Well done,” Declan said. “But ye’ll nae be comin’ with us this time, Liam. I’m leavin’ ye in charge of the castle while I’m gone.”
