Page 32 of The Highlander's Chosen Wife
Declan turned fully then, his dark gaze fierce as it met hers. “Right?” he repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. “Aye, I suppose bein’ wed gives ye claim to every wound, does it? Every dark memory a man would rather bury?”
She crossed her arms, her chin lifting in defiance. “It gives me the right to care,” she shot back. “Ye act as if I asked to marry ye,but I didnae. Still, here I am, tryin’ to understand ye, and ye push me away.”
His expression hardened, his jaw tightening until the muscle jumped.
“Aye, yey leave nae doubt of yer disgust ye were forced to wed me. Ye will never understand me?” he scoffed. “Ye’d do best not to try. There’s nothin’ to understand but that I’m a man ye should keep yer distance from.”
Her eyes flashed with indignation. “Distance? We share a bed, Declan. How am I meant to keep distance when ye’re the first thing I see every mornin’?”
His eyes darkened further, a dangerous gleam flickering there. “Then look away,” he growled.
But Isabelle didn’t back down. Her heart was racing, her pulse loud in her ears, yet she held her ground.
“Nay,” she whispered, her voice shaking but fierce. “I won’t look away. Ye can growl and bark all ye wish, but I see ye. I see the pain ye’re hidin’, and it makes me ache to think of what, or who, did this to ye.”
Declan’s nostrils flared as he stared down at her. She was so close now that the fabric of her nightshift brushed against him.
The scent of him, earth, leather, and faint smoke, surrounded her, dizzying and intimate.
“Ye ken nothin’ about me, Isabelle,” he said roughly. “And ye’d be wise not to pry where ye’re not wanted.”
She glared up at him, refusing to be cowed. “Aye, and ye’d be wise to stop actin’ like a brute every time someone shows ye kindness.”
For a heartbeat, silence hung thick between them, broken only by the sound of their breathing. She watched Declan’s eyes drop to her lips then lower to the curve of her throat, the pale linen clinging to her form.
“Ye daenae ken the kind of man I am,” he murmured darkly. “If ye did, ye’d nae be so close.”
Her heart pounded, but she refused to retreat. “Maybe I’m nae afraid,” she said softly.
His gaze snapped back to hers, stormy and fierce. “Ye should be,” he said though the words sounded more like a plea than a threat.
“Then tell me,” she said, her voice breaking with both anger and something softer. “Tell me what makes ye so dangerous. Tell me why ye’ve so many scars. Tell me somethin’, Declan, anything that makes sense of the man I’ve married!”
He took a slow breath, his fists curling at his sides. “There’s nothin’ to tell that wouldnae make ye hate me,” he said finally, his tone low and raw.
“Hate ye?” she repeated, her voice trembling. “Ye think that’s what this is?”
“I think that’s what it’ll become,” he said, his eyes burning into hers. “It always does.”
Her throat tightened at the quiet despair behind his words. “Maybe ye’re wrong,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Declan gave a short, humorless laugh. “Lass, I’ve lived long enough to ken I’m nae wrong about this.”
She met his gaze, unflinching. “And I’ve lived long enough to ken that fear’s a liar.”
That made him pause. For the first time, something in his expression softened, just barely, a flicker of vulnerability before the walls came crashing back down.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Ye’re stubborn, woman. More stubborn than I’ve patience for this mornin’.”
“Aye,” she said with a defiant little tilt of her chin. “And ye’ll find I’ve plenty of stubbornness yet to spare.”
Isabelle’s chest rose and fell sharply, her cheeks flushed with equal parts anger and confusion.
She held Declan’s eyes, his jaw tight as he stared her down.
Declan’s voice came low and edged. “Ye ken naught of what ye do, lass. Best keep yer distance before ye stir a beast ye cannae tame.”
Isabelle refused to flinch though her heart thundered in her chest. “I’ll nae be silenced, Declan. I’m yer wife, whether ye like it or nae ’, and I’ve a right to ken what haunts the man I wed.”
