Page 99 of The Highlander's Chosen Wife
“Aye,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I want that more than anythin’, Declan. I want to go home with ye.”
He stepped toward her, and without another word, he bent and lifted her once more into his arms.
The heat of the burning boat warmed their backs as he carried her toward the other small rowboat drawn up on the shore. The water glimmered with reflected firelight, and Isabelle leaned against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“Ye’re a good man,” she murmured, her fingers curling into his tunic. “A strong man. A true laird.”
Declan’s lips curved faintly, and he lowered his head to brush a kiss against her hair.
“Only ‘cause I’ve a good woman at me side,” he said softly. He set her gently into the boat, careful not to jostle her bruised arms, and untied the rope anchoring it to a rock.
Isabelle looked up at him, her eyes shining in the fading light. “Then let’s go toourhome, me Laird . Andourbedchamber,” she whispered.
Declan gave her a small nod, pushing the boat off with his boot until it glided onto the gentle waves.
He climbed in after her, taking the oars, his movements steady and sure. As the boat drifted from shore, Isabelle looked back once, at the smoldering wreckage, at the quiet woods, and at the fire fading into the distance. Then she turned to Declan, her heart full.
“Castle McCallum. Home,” she said again, her voice a prayer on the wind. “With ye.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“Ho there!” Declan shouted, his voice echoing into the night.
His breath came in sharp clouds as he rowed through the thick mist rolling over the loch. The air was bitter and damp, each pull of the oars cutting through the dark water like a heartbeat.
Again he bellowed, louder this time, “Ho there!” until his voice cracked against the wind.
For a long moment, there was only silence and the creak of wood beneath him and Isabelle.
Then, faintly through the haze, came a reply.
“Me Laird! Is that ye?”
Declan’s heart kicked in his chest at the sound—Killian’s voice, sure as the dawn.
“Aye!” he shouted back, his voice filled with fierce relief.
The mist shifted, parting like a curtain as the flicker of torchlight appeared ahead.
Two boats emerged from the fog, cutting swift and straight toward him. In one, Declan saw Killian and Liam, their faces tight with worry. The other followed close behind, armed guards ready, their torches glowing like stars in the gloom.
“Killian!” Declan called as the boats neared.
Killian stood, steady despite the rocking, his expression one of disbelief and fierce concern.
“Aye, ’tis me and Lady Isabelle,” Declan continued, his voice rough from shouting. “There was an attack. They took Isabelle, but she’s here with me now.”
Killian’s shoulders sagged in visible relief.
“Saints above,” he muttered, wiping rain from his brow. “We’d near feared an awful thing, me Laird . We saw the fire and thought the worst.”
Declan nodded grimly, glancing toward Isabelle, who sat huddled in the bow, pale but alive.
“Nay, we’re no ghosts yet,” he said firmly. “But the ones who took her aren’t breathin’.”
Liam leaned over the edge of his boat, eyes wide as he spotted Isabelle.
“Lady Isabelle!” he called. “Are ye hurt, me Lady ? Bandages, cloth needed?”
