Page 57 of The Highlander's Chosen Wife
Color rose to her cheeks, half from anger, half from memory. “Ye twist everything I say!” she cried, though her voice faltered under his piercing gaze. “All I ask is honesty. Ye summoned me, yet ye vanish like a shadow, leavin’ me to chase after ye!”
Declan exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. “Isabelle, ye dinnae ken the weight I carry. There are matters I cannae speak of, matters of danger. If I keep things from ye, it’s for yer protection.”
Her tone softened for but a heartbeat before flaring again. “Protection? Is that what ye call ignorance? Ye keep me on an island like a caged bird, an’ then tell me it’s for me own good!”
Declan’s eyes narrowed, his patience thinning. “Better caged than buried,” he said harshly. “There are things out there that’d take more than yer pride, lass, they’d take yer life.” He regretted his words almost as soon as he said them. He had vowed she would never feel caged again, and here he was, rationalizing why it was fine to restrict her.
He watched Isabelle look away, her lips pressed tight, hurt flickering in her gaze. Declan felt the regret almost instantly, but pride held his tongue in check. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close and make her understand, but the wall betweenthem was built too high, made of both stubborn hearts and unspoken fear.
At last, she turned to the door, her voice trembling but steady. “If ye cannae speak to me plain, Declan, then dinnae summon me at all.”
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with that stubborn spark that both amused and unsettled him. It struck him how easily she could rattle his composure, how one glare from her could set his pulse hammering faster than a sword fight ever had. The lass had him wrapped in knots, and he could scarcely tell whether he wanted to pull her close or send her away before he lost what little sense remained.
“Why did ye summon me, Declan? I’m here, yet ye’ve not even said why.” Her words came sharp and quick, but there was a softness beneath them that betrayed hurt more than anger.
Declan exhaled slowly, his voice low but steady. “I wanted to speak with ye about somethin’ ye said before, back when ye told me ye never felt at home in yer faither’s keep. I’ve been thinkin’ on that, lass. Tell me what ye meant by it.” His gaze softened, the edge in his tone giving way to genuine curiosity.
Isabelle looked away for a long moment, her hands clasped in front of her gown as if to keep them from trembling. “There’s no grand tale to tell,” she murmured. “I never did belong there, not truly. Me faither’s love was a thing to be earned, and I never could reach it no matter how I tried.”
Declan frowned, his jaw tightening. “How could a faither nae cherish his own daughter? He must be blind as a bat if he couldnae see the worth in ye. Go on, lass. I want to hear the rest.”
She hesitated then continued, her voice a whisper tinged with bitterness. “The only one who ever made me feel at home was me sister, Norah. She’d sit with me when Faither scolded me, tellin’ me I was good enough just as I was. But she married and left for another clan, and after that, the walls of Castle Ross never felt like home again.” Isabelle’s eyes glistened though she held her chin high.
“Rosaline, me cousin. She’s perfect in his eyes. Beautiful, and every word from her lips sweet as honey. It was always ‘Why cannae ye be more like Rosaline, Isabelle?’” She gave a soft, humorless laugh. “That’s why it was she they chose for ye, Declan. Not me.”
Declan’s brow furrowed deeply, his hands curling into fists. “Rosaline is nae half the woman ye are. I dinnae give a damn. Yer faither’s a bampot for ever thinkin’ ye less than anyone. I married a woman with fire in her blood, and I’ll nae have ye doubtin’ yer worth.” His tone was fierce, but his gaze carried the warmth of conviction.
“Ye dinnae ken what it was like,” she said softly. “He never looked at me without seein’ what he’d lost. Me maither died bringin’ me into this world, and he’s ne’er forgiven me for it. Every word he ever spoke was a reminder that I took her place.” Her voice cracked at the end, raw and trembling.
Declan’s blood burned in his veins, fury rising sharp and hot. “By the saints,” he muttered, pacing a step before turning back to her.
“He blamedye?” His voice thundered though it was tempered with a deep sorrow for her pain and his own, for his father had given him the same blame.
Isabelle’s eyes filled with tears, but she brushed them away quickly.
“It matters no more,” she said with forced calm. “I’m far from Castle Ross now. His words cannae touch me here.” Still, her voice wavered, betraying the ache beneath her composure.
Declan stepped closer, his expression dark with purpose. “It may nae matter toye, lass, but it does to me.”
His voice dropped lower, dangerous in its resolve. “I’ll find a way to make that man pay for what he’s done. Mark me words, Isabelle, Laird Ross will answer for every slight he’s cast upon ye.”
Her eyes widened, alarm flickering across her features. “Declan, ye mustnae; he’s still me faither,” she said quickly, though her tone held both fear and an odd warmth at his protectiveness. “I dinnae wish for blood between clans. Let it rest.”
He shook his head, his voice a low growl. “I’ll nae spill his blood if I can help it, but I’ll nae let him think he can shame ye withoutconsequence. A man’s pride can be broken in more ways than one. Ye’ve carried his cruelty long enough. Ye’ll carry it no more while I draw breath.”
“Ye’re a stubborn man, Declan,” she murmured with a small, weary smile. “But I thank ye all the same.” Her voice softened into something almost tender.
Declan’s mouth curved in a faint smirk, his tone lightening. “Aye, stubborn I may be, but I’ll always stand for what’s mine. And ye, Isabelle, are mine to protect, whether ye like it or nae ,” he said, the promise in his words running deep as steel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Isabelle felt a strange warmth bloom in her chest at Declan’s vow to defend her, even as a small, cruel voice whispered that she wasn’t worth such loyalty.
It was the same voice that had haunted her since girlhood, her father’s voice, sharp as a blade, reminding her she was a burden. She clenched her hands, forcing herself to breathe, to quiet that echo from the past. She needed to think of something else, anything to break the sudden heaviness in the air.
Her gaze drifted toward the hearth where a faint fire glowed, chasing the chill from the stone walls.
“Tell me somethin’, Declan,” she said gently, turning her eyes back to him. “Why is it ye dinnae celebrate Yule here at Castle McCallum? It seems a shame with such a grand hall and all these folk who’d love a feast.”
