Page 82 of The Highlander's Chosen Wife
“I’ll see to it,” Killian said. He turned toward the door.
Declan said nothing as the door shut behind him. The room was quiet again save for the crackle of the fire and the wind whispering against the shutters.
He sank back into the chair, his chest tight. He stared into the flames once more, seeing Isabelle’s face in their dance, her laughter, her tears, the way she’d looked at him in the courtyard. His pride warred with his longing until both left him hollow.
“Coward. Ye can lead men into strategy, but ye cannae face yer own wife.”
Declan left his study and wandered the dim corridors of the castle. His mind was far away, tangled in thoughts of duty, guilt, and the hollow ache that had settled in his chest since the argument with Isabelle.
He turned a corner and stopped in the threshold of the great hall, drawn by the sound of girlish giggles.
“Look at this one,” Penelope said.
“Very bonnie,” Isabelle said.
The sight before him struck deep into his heart. Isabelle knelt beside the great hearth, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, a garland of evergreen and holly draped across her arms. Around her, the triplets darted about like wee faeries, their hair catching the firelight as they proudly held up their handiwork. The air was full of pine and laughter and the gentle hum of a carol one of the girls must have heard from the maids.
Declan leaned against the doorway, watching in silence. His heart swelled at the sight, Isabelle’s smile as she helped Hallie tie a ribbon, the gentle patience in her movements, the way her laughter mingled with the children’s like it had always belonged there.
For the first time in years, the hall felt alive, the cold stone softened by warmth that had nothing to do with the fire.
She’s their maithernow.
He should have turned and walked away before she noticed him, but his feet refused to move.
Then, suddenly, one of the girls, Penelope, spotted him.
“Da!” she cried, running toward him with her arms full of red ribbon. “Da, come see what we’ve made!”
Declan straightened, startled, as all three came rushing toward him.
Beth grabbed his hand, tugging eagerly. “We’re makin’ the hall pretty for Yule!” she announced proudly.
“Aye, Da,” Hallie chimed in, eyes shining. “Look, Auntie Mabel said we could hang our garlands above the hearth, and Lady Isabelle showed us how to twist the vines proper!”
Declan tried to hide the tug in his chest as he crouched down to their level.
“Did she now?” he said with a small smile. “Looks like ye’ve all done fine work. The hall’s never looked so bonnie.”
Penelope beamed and thrust a bunch of greenery into his hands. “Ye can help too, Da! We need someone tall to hang this up there.”
He glanced instinctively toward Isabelle. She was standing now, her hands brushing off her skirts, a faint pink coloring her cheeks.
Their eyes met, just for a moment, and in that heartbeat, all the distance between them seemed to vanish. There was hurt in her gaze still, but also something softer, something that made his chest ache.
Declan cleared his throat and nodded.
“Aye then, I can lend a hand.”
The girls cheered, tugging him toward the hearth as Isabelle stepped aside to make room. Their hands brushed briefly as she passed him a sprig of holly, and the touch sent a jolt through him.
Neither spoke, though her lips parted as if she might then closed again.
“Careful, Da,” Hallie warned as he reached up to hang the garland. “It’s got prickles.”
Declan gave a low chuckle. “Aye, I see that. The holly’s as fierce as yer Aunt Mabel when ye misbehave.”
Beth laughed. “Or like Bren when we’re late for supper.”
