Page 39 of The Highlander's Chosen Wife
Isabelle gave a nervous laugh. “Well, then I best prove I’m worthy of that soft heart.”
Declan’s sister. The thought made her pulse race. What if Mabel disapproved of her? Surely, she must have expected Rosaline, beautiful, confident Rosaline, to become Declan’s wife. Isabelle felt small by comparison, a woman caught up in a whirlwind of circumstance. Still, as her shoes clicked against the stone floors, she drew in a deep breath and resolved quietly to herself, she would be the best wife she could and above all, a mother to the children who had lost theirs.
They reached the great hall. The rib-caged ceiling arched high like the hull of a ship turned upside down, iron chandeliers hanging down like clusters of stars. The long wooden tables gleamed under the soft light, already set with fresh bread, cheese, and steaming tea.
As Isabelle turned, four pairs of eyes turned toward her. Three small ones, curious, wide, and watchful, and one calm and knowing.
The young woman rose from her chair and smiled warmly. Her habit was dark gray, her veil simple, yet her eyes sparkled with lively intelligence.
“Ye must be Isabelle,” she said in a lilting voice. “I’m Mabel, Declan’s sister. Welcome to Castle McCallum, m e Lady.”
Isabelle felt her heart unclench slightly at the woman’s kindness. “It’s an honor to meet ye,” she replied softly, stepping forward to accept the hug Mabel offered. The warmth of it surprised her, gentle yet firm, as if Mabel already accepted her without question.
Mabel drew back with a bright grin. “Ye must be starving. Come, sit with us.”
As Isabelle took her seat, three identical little girls stared at her with matching blue eyes and soft brown curls. “This is Penelope, Hallie, and Beth,” Mabel said proudly. “Triplets, seven years old this past spring.”
Penelope smiled shyly, Hallie waved enthusiastically, and Beth gave a tiny nod before returning to her porridge. Isabelle’s lips curved into a genuine smile. “They’re lovely,” she said softly. “Truly lovely.”
Mabel chuckled. “Lovely when they arenae covered in mud or chasing each other through the corridors,” she said, making the girls giggle. “They’ve spirit, just like their faither.”
The servants moved quietly, their soft steps echoing against the stone floors as they set platters upon the long oak table. Steam curled from trenchers of barley broth rich with turnip and onion while roasted fish, oat bannocks, and wedges of soft cheese followed.
A silver pot of heather honey gleamed beside bowls of berries and cream, the simple fare carrying a warmth that felt almost homely.
As Isabelle and Mabel dined, sipping their tea brewed strong with mint and sweet herbs, the scent of hearth smoke and baked oats lingered in the air, wrapping the moment in a rare, comforting peace. The children running amok darted to the table for a berry or bannock every now and then.
"Tell me of yer family and life at Castle Ross?"
Isabelle answered carefully, avoiding mention of her father and focusing instead on her sister Norah.
“Norah’s me sister and also me closest friend all me life,” Isabelle said, her eyes softening. “She married and has two fine lads. I miss them something fierce.”
Mabel’s eyes brightened. “Two nephews, ye say?”
“Aye,” Isabelle said, smiling as she saw the girls’ faces light up. “Perhaps I’ll ask if they might visit for Yule. It’d be grand for them all to meet.”
The girls gasped in excitement, Hallie clapping her hands together. “Ye mean we’d have other bairns to play with?” she exclaimed.
“Aye,” Isabelle said warmly. “If yer faither allows it.”
Mabel’s smile faltered a touch, and she waited until the nanny, Bren, entered to gather the children. “Girls,” she said softly, “run along now; ye’ve lessons to get to.”
Once the children were gone, the hall fell quiet save for the crackling fire. Mabel’s tone shifted slightly, more cautious now.
“Ye should ken, me Lady … Declan hasnae allowed Yule celebrations these past two years.”
Isabelle blinked in surprise. “He hasnae? Why?”
Mabel sighed, her hands folding neatly on the table. “I dinnae ken. The whole castle’s been somber during the season. I dinnae think he’ll change his mind easily.”
Isabelle’s brows furrowed in determination. “Then I shall talk to him when he returns,” she said gently but firmly. “The children deserve some joy. Surely he’ll see that.”
Mabel smiled faintly though her eyes were touched with sadness. “Perhaps, he will, but he’s stubborn as a mule, that one. When he’s set in his ways, it takes more than charm to move him.”
“Then I’ll use more than charm,” Isabelle said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll use reason… and perhaps, a bit of kindness.”
Mabel chuckled, shaking her head fondly. “Ye might be the first to manage both with him. But dinnae get yer hopes too high, me Lady . His inspections run long. Sometimes he’s gone a day or two before returning.”
