Page 55 of The Highlander's Chosen Wife
By the time she reached the kitchens, the smell of roasting meat and baked bread filled the air.
Servants hurried about, busy with noon preparations, and Vera looked up from a tray of bannocks when Isabelle entered.
“Good day to ye, me Lady ! Has the Laird sent ye for somethin’?”
Isabelle shook her head, her voice measured. “Nay, Vera. I seek him. Have ye seen the man at all this morn?”
Vera frowned and wiped her hands on her apron. “Not since dawn, me Lady . He was here for a bite of bread and off again; didnae say where.”
Isabelle sighed, her shoulders sagging with exasperation. “Of course, he didnae,” she muttered. “The man runs more than the wind itself.”
She turned sharply, the servants parting to let her pass. Her pulse beat faster, not from fear but sheer vexation. He had summoned her, his words carried weight, and now, he’d vanished as though the summons meant naught.
“If he thinks to toy with me patience again,” she muttered under her breath, “he’ll learn soon enough the McCallum castle’s walls cannae hide him forever.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Saints help me, I’m losin’ me wits o’er that woman.”
Declan could not find peace within his own thoughts, for Isabelle lingered there, soft and defiant all at once. Every look she gave him, every word from her lips, made him feel less the warrior and more the man, and that terrified him.
He had spent years mastering control, burying every flicker of tenderness beneath duty and discipline. Yet with her, the walls he’d built began to crumble like sand under tide. The memory of her beneath his hands, her breath against his skin, haunted him even now.
He feared the darkness in himself more than any enemy blade. He feared what might happen if passion twisted to anger, if he ever lost hold of restraint. His father had been such a man, a brute who took what he wanted and left ruin behind. Declan swore he’d never be the same, but the way his body and hearttangled around Isabelle made him doubt the strength of that vow.
He had meant to go to her, yet as he neared the stairwell, boots clattering quick on stone, Liam appeared breathless from the far corridor.
“Me Laird!” the man called, halting with a sharp bow. “We’ve word of the bandits that ambushed us on the road.”
Declan’s brow hardened, the tenderness in his chest shuttering behind command.
“Go on, lad. Speak.”
Liam drew in a deep breath, wiping sweat from his brow. “We tracked them west of the glen but lost the trail by the river’s edge. They’re clever bastards, coverin’ their tracks with branches an’ mud.”
“Aye. They ken the land better than they ought. Likely not mere wanderin’ thieves.” He stepped closer, his tone low but firm. “Tell Killian I’ll have him meet me in the barracks now. Choose ten men to join him. We’ll nae let these vermin strike at McCallum men an’ vanish into the woods.”
Liam straightened, nodding briskly. “Aye, me Laird . I’ll see to it straightaway.” With that, he turned and strode off.
Declan watched him go, a heaviness settling on his shoulders. The talk with Isabelle would have to wait; duty called louder than his heart.
He made his way toward the barracks. The scent of oiled leather and steel met him as he entered.
Killian was there already, sharpening his blade by the hearth, his broad shoulders glinting with sweat. When he looked up, his familiar grin faded at the Laird’s expression.
“Ye sent for me, Laird?” Killian asked, setting the blade aside.
“Aye,” Declan said, stepping nearer. “Liam tells me they lost the trail of the bandits out west.”
Killian nodded grimly. “That they did. They’re nae the usual riffraff—too organized by half I would wager.”
Declan folded his arms across his chest, the firelight catching the hard line of his jaw. “That’s what troubles me. Bandits dinnae move with such cunning unless there’s a greater hand guidin’ them. I want ye to take a few good men an’ ride on a scouting mission. Search the riverbanks, the hills, every cursed cave if ye must. Find out what they’re after.”
Killian’s brows drew together, his tone steady. “Ye think there’s more to this than thievin’, then?”
Declan nodded once. “Aye. They attacked me men as though they kenned we’d pass that road. It felt too well-timed if it be the same bandits.”
Killian rose, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. “I’ll take Gregor an’ Hamish with me. They’re sharp-eyed an’ quiet as foxes.”
