Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
“Who… who are ye?” Isabelle stammered.
Isabelle froze in the dim light of the storeroom, her heart hammering in her chest as the figure of a man stepped from the shadows.
He was the most striking man she had ever seen, tall, broad-shouldered, with long brown hair tied back and eyes like burnished earth.
Her cheeks flamed crimson as she realized he had caught her in nothing but her shift and her hair was in disarray.
She grabbed a large bolt of ivory cloth, wrapping it hastily around herself.
Her slender frame trembled with embarrassment.
A pin pricked her skin. She must have forgotten to remove one of the pins from the gown she had been pinning material on.
She clutched the material tightly. She barely dared breathe as she kept her gaze fixed on him, unsure whether to flee or strike. Every instinct in her body screamed that this encounter was far from ordinary.
The man’s brow furrowed, his voice low but sharp, carrying a weight that made her flinch.
“And what’s this, then? Is this some elaborate way for Clan Ross to insult me?”
His hands rested on his hips, stance solid and unyielding, as though the air itself bent to his will. His tone was equal parts accusation and challenge, and Isabelle felt the warmth of her embarrassment deepen.
“I… I daenae ken what ye mean,” she said, her voice cautious, laced with confusion.
She held the cloth tighter, shielding herself while trying to meet his gaze. “I am nae insultin’ anyone. I… I daenae understand.” Her words came fast, earnest, her pulse still racing.
He stepped closer, the scrape of his boots echoing in the stone room. “Do ye take me for a fool?” he asked sharply. “Or is this how Clan Ross welcomes guests? By exposin’ themselves to strangers in the storerooms?” His eyes narrowed, scanning her with intensity that made her knees weak.
“I’m nae…” she began, shaking her head then stopped herself. “I ken nothin’ of which ye speak! I… I am nae playin’ a game!” Isabelle’s voice rose, a mix of indignation and panic. “Ye’ve come upon me by accident! I’m… ”
“Accident?” he interrupted, voice rising with incredulity. “Ye call this an accident? Only a fool, or a liar, would stand half-naked in a storeroom and call it an accident! This is a trick.” His expression hardened, jaw set, though a spark of amusement danced behind his eyes.
“I am nae a fool!” she snapped, stepping forward, bolstering her courage. “I’ve been workin’! Tryin’ to fix the weddin’ dress as best I can! And now, ye come burstin’ in as if the world’s ended!” Her brown curls bounced as she gestured wildly with the bolt of fabric.
“And ye expect me to believe that?” he countered, folding his arms across his chest. “That all this, this chaos, this… this spectacle, is simply work? I think nae.” His deep voice was steady, almost teasing now, but laced with challenge.
“Perhaps ye enjoy watchin’ the reaction of men, aye?”
“I daenae!” she shot back, her cheeks aflame with fury and embarrassment. “I am tryin’ to save a weddin’, nae entertain some stranger who… who barges in unannounced!” Isabelle’s eyes narrowed, daring him to argue further. “Ye’ve nay right to… ”
“And ye’ve nay right to be standin’ here, half-draped in cloth, accusin’ me of things I ken nothing of,” he replied calmly as his eyes flashed dangerously.
“I’ve nay time for riddles nor threats, stranger! Now leave me to me work, or I swear…”
He raised a brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Or ye swear what, eh? That ye’ll throw fabric at me?” His voice was teasing, but the power in his presence made it impossible to ignore.
Isabelle’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she glared, fierce and unyielding.
“Aye, I might just do that!” she said, her defiance rising even as her pulse raced. “And ye’ll regret intrudin’!”
Laughter rang faintly from the corridor beyond the locked door, light, mocking, and unmistakable.
Isabelle’s heart sank as she caught the lilting tone of her cousin Rosaline’s voice, followed by the quick patter of retreating footsteps. A cold realization washed over her, draining the color from her face.
“Och, nay…” she whispered under her breath, mortification twisting deep in her chest.
She turned to the man, still standing tall and unyielding, his brown eyes sharp beneath the flicker of candlelight.
“I… I’m sorry,” she stammered, clutching the fabric tighter around her body. “This… this must be one of Rosaline’s foolish pranks. She’s always got some mischief brewin’. I swear to ye, sir, I had nothin’ to do with this.” Her words spilled out in a rush, earnest and desperate.
Damn ye Rosaline, could ye nae leave me in peace for once?
The man’s expression softened just a touch, though suspicion still shadowed his features.
“A prank, ye say?” he repeated, his voice steady but edged with disbelief. He crossed his arms, the movement drawing her eye to the breadth of his shoulders and the faint glint of a scar near his jaw.
“If this is how Clan Ross treats their guests, it’s a poor jest indeed.”
“Nay, nay,” Isabelle insisted quickly, shaking her head. “Clan Ross would never dare to compromise a guest.” She frowned, confusion flickering through her gaze. “Though, I daenae ken who ye are… truly. I only met ye here by chance, and…”
“I am Declan Cain,” he interrupted, his tone low and firm. “Laird McCallum.”
The air seemed to vanish from the room at once. Isabelle stared at him, eyes wide, her breath catching in her throat.
“Laird… McCallum?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “God above…”
A wave of mortified realization struck her full force. This man was Rosaline’s betrothed. Her cousin’s intended husband, the man who had come for the wedding, was the very one she stood before now, half-clad and wrapped in a bolt of ivory cloth.
Isabelle’s stomach twisted painfully, shame flooding her cheeks. “I… I dinnae ken,” she stammered. “Ye’re to wed Rosaline. Och, this looks terrible. I swear to ye, I meant nay harm.”
Declan’s brow furrowed though a flicker of understanding passed through his expression.
“Aye,” he said slowly, his tone more measured now. “That much is clear enough. Still, lass, ye’ll forgive me if I find the situation a bit... questionable. Ye’ve a strange way of greetin’ a man ye’ve never met.”
“I dinnae greet ye!” she protested, her cheeks blazing. “I was ambushed by this whole ridiculous trick!” Her voice trembled between anger and embarrassment. “Rosaline must think it a fine jest to lock me in with ye, but she’s gone too far this time.”
Before Declan could respond, the door flew open with a loud creak. The heavy footsteps of Laird Ross filled the corridor, followed by his booming voice.
“What in God’s name have ye done this time, Isabelle?” His gaze darted between her disheveled state and the imposing man beside her. “Explain yerself at once!”
Isabelle’s heart pounded so loudly she could scarcely hear herself think.
“Father, please, listen to me,” she began, her voice trembling. “It wasnae me! Rosaline, she’s the one who… ”
But her father cut her off with a scowl, his eyes blazing with fury and humiliation. “Rosaline would nae do such a thing! Always with excuses, Isabelle! Always in some mess or another!” His words hit like blows, each one stripping her of the fragile composure she clung to.
Laird Ross’ eyes darted between them, his jaw tight. “Where’s yer dress, Isabelle?” he muttered darkly.
He turned back to Declan, his tone sharp. “Ye dared defile me daughter.”
Isabelle lowered her head, humiliation burning in every vein. “Father…” she whispered, her voice breaking.
I am ruined.