Page 90 of The Highlander's Chosen Wife
Declan watched them, feeling a swell of pride and longing at the thought of their new bond forming.
“Now,” he said, standing and brushing imaginary dust from his tunic, “I’m going to find Lady Isabelle, and when I do… we’ll all dine together, as a family.”
The girls squealed in unison, their cheers filling the nursery with such joy, it made Declan’s chest ache.
Penelope grabbed his hand and spun around, still giggling, while Beth and Hallie danced about in celebration.
“We’ll be a family, Da! We’ll be a real family!” Penelope cried.
Declan’s eyes softened, his heart full, as he promised himself silently that he would never let a day pass where they didn’t feel the warmth and love of their home.
He straightened, looking down at the three beaming faces before him.
“Now, I’ve work to do, wee bairns,” he said, his voice gentle but commanding. “Ye best keep this nursery safe and ready for Yule; no sneaky mischief while I’m gone, mind ye!”
The girls giggled, bouncing and nodding solemnly, promising to be on their best behavior.
Declan paused at the nursery door, taking one last look at the festive scene, his heart aching to see Isabelle’s absence.
“Ye stay right here,” he said softly, more to himself than to anyone else. “I’ll find her, and we’ll make this a Yule to remember… all together.”
With that, he strode from the nursery, determination in every step, ready to find Isabelle and mend what had been broken between them.
He called out to Isabelle as he entered the bedchambers.
“Isabelle?” he shouted, voice echoing off the stone walls, but there was no answer.
He hurried to the solar, checking every corner, yet she was nowhere to be found. Frustration knotted in his chest.
Without hesitation, Declan strode to the Stone Hearth room to fetch his cloak, the weight of urgency heavy on his shoulders. As he fastened it around him, he paused in reflection, heart tightening with realization. Isabelle was his true wife, his equal in fire and spirit, and he had been a bampot, letting pride and stubbornness blind him.
He darted into the kitchens, where the scent of baking bread and herbs lingered.
“Vera!” he called, his voice both urgent and strained. The cook looked up from her pots, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Vera, have ye seen Lady Isabelle?” he asked, brows furrowed.
“Indeed, me Laird ,” Vera replied softly, setting aside a ladle. “She took herself for a walk toward the loch.”
Declan’s jaw tightened as he ran a hand over his face, eyes narrowing. “The winds are fierce today,” he muttered, a note of worry creeping into his voice, “too strong for a walk, even for a McCallum lass.”
Without another word, he turned on his heel and bolted from the kitchens, cloak flapping behind him. His mind raced with both fear and resolve; he would not let stubborn pride keep him from Isabelle any longer.
The wind cut across the open ground, tugging at his cloak and whipping his hair across his face.
The fear of losing her mingled with a rush of longing, and his heart pounded in his chest.
“Hold fast, Isabelle,” he murmured, “I’m coming to ye, and I’ll nae let ye walk alone this day.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Och, that Laird, he’ll drive a soul mad with his pride,” she hissed, tugging her cloak tighter against the biting wind.
Isabelle trudged along the blustery shore, muttering under her breath about her stubborn husband.
Her eyes caught sight of the small fishing rowboat she had seen days before, pulled up on the sand. There was nothing unusual about it as boats bobbed up and down on the loch most days.
As she approached, two figures emerged from the boat, their movements deliberate and eerily precise.
