Page 11 of The Highlander's Chosen Wife
He crossed the space between them and offered it to Isabelle, his voice low and edged with arrogance.
“To our new bond, Lady Ross,” he said, the words laced with mockery and finality.
Isabelle’s hand trembled slightly as she took the glass, her eyes never leaving his, her silence louder than any protest.
He watched the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, her indignation plain as day. She was furious, that much he knew, and the knowledge only deepened his smirk.
The lass had fire beneath her gentleness, and he liked it more than he should. As he drank again, Declan thought coldly that this marriage, unwanted though it began, might prove far more interesting than he had ever imagined.
CHAPTER SIX
“How dare ye!” Rosaline shrieked, stepping toward Declan, her eyes burning with indignation. “Ye cannae choose her over me! I am yer betrothed, nae her!”
Her words came fast and wild, her voice shaking with fury and disbelief.
Declan merely turned his head and looked upon her with cool disdain, his expression dark and unmoved.
He felt insulted, deeply so. Wasthisthe woman they’d meant for him to wed? The spoiled Ross lass was stamping her foot like a child denied a sweet, her anger a spectacle before them.
Declan’s jaw tightened as his thoughts darkened: she had neither the composure nor the strength to stand at his side as Lady McCallum.
“Enough, Rosaline,” Laird Ross said, his face pale and his voice trembling as he tried to calm her. “Ye’ll do yerself nay favor by shoutin’ in front of guests.”
But Rosaline spun on him, her fury turning toward her uncle now. Her golden curls bounced as she pointed a shaking hand toward Isabelle, who stood silent near the hearth.
“She cannae marry him!” Rosaline cried, her voice sharp as breaking glass. “She’s nae fit for a laird’s wife; she’s ruined me own life by existin’!” Her voice cracked as tears pooled in her eyes, though Declan suspected they were born of rage, not heartbreak. “Ye cannae let this happen!”
Laird Ross stepped closer, his hands raised in an attempt to pacify her.
“Rosaline, lass,” he began gently, “ye must understand… Isabelle has nay choice now. The whole castle knows what’s happened. If she doesnae marry him, her reputation will be gone forever.” His voice was weary, his eyes darting nervously toward Declan, who stood towering near the table, arms folded across his chest.
“I daenae care what happens to her!” Rosaline shouted back, her tears spilling over her cheeks. “She’s always been in me shadow, always tryin’ to take what’s mine!” Her words were venomous, and the air in the room grew heavy with the weight of her spite.
Declan saw Isabelle flinch slightly, but she said nothing, her silence only making Rosaline’s fury seem smaller, more desperate.
Declan watched the exchange, his face unreadable though his patience was wearing thin. The woman’s selfishness disgusted him, her tantrum confirming what he already knew; she was no fit bride for any man of worth.
He had seen better composure from warriors dying on the field. If she’d been born into his clan, she’d have been married off quietly to someone far away before she could embarrass the McCallum name.
“Rosaline,” Laird Ross said with a sigh, rubbing his temples, “ye’ll calm yerself this instant. What’s done is done. Isabelle will wed Laird McCallum; that’s the only way to mend what’s been broken this day.” His tone was firm now, but his eyes betrayed his unease, flicking again toward Declan as though pleading for approval.
Rosaline stomped her foot hard enough that the echo bounced off the stone walls. “But today was me weddin’ day!” she wailed, her voice cracking in despair. “Ye cannae take that from me; ye cannae!” Her cries grew louder, but Declan only stared at her as though she were a stranger speaking nonsense.
He had no sympathy left for her. Turning his gaze to the Laird, Declan’s voice came low and cold, cutting through the chaos like steel.
“I’m satisfied with the match as it stands,” he said. “Lady Isabelle will be me wife, and that’s the end of it. I will consider it an insult if the matter is otherwise.”
Rosaline gasped, a sound between outrage and heartbreak.
"There will be other matches for ye to choose from," Laird Ross assured Rosaline.
Declan allowed his eyes to roam over Isabelle.
Aye, Isabelle Ross is a fair sight more beautiful than her cousin—soft curls framin’ her delicate face, those eyes holdin’ a quiet fire.
But he quickly cast the thought aside. He was not here to be distracted by beauty; he needed a wife, a mother for his nieces, and that was all.
Rosaline’s shrill voice broke through his thoughts like a knife through silk.
