Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
“Do ye, Declan Cain, Laird McCallum, take Maid Isabelle of Clan Ross, here present to be your wedded wife, to love, cherish, and protect from this day forth?”
Declan’s voice, deep and unwavering, echoed back, “Aye, I do.”
The priest’s voice rolled through the chapel, solemn and melodic.
Isabelle stood rigid, her hands trembling slightly as they rested in Declan’s.
She couldn’t help the whirl of thoughts spinning through her mind. Why had Laird McCallum chosen her, a simple Ross daughter, over her fair cousin?
Everything felt surreal, as if the stone walls of the chapel had shifted into a dreamscape where she was both guest and prize. Her pulse thudded in her ears.
“And do ye, Isabelle Connelly of clan Ross, take Declan Cain, Laird McCallum, to be yer wedded husband, to love, honor, and obey, to the end of yer days?”
Isabelle’s voice trembled, but she found strength in the simple act of speaking, “Aye, I do.”
The priest smiled, nodding, and began the tying of their hands, a simple braid of ribbon around their joined palms.
Isabelle could feel the heat of Declan’s hand through hers, firm and calloused, a touch that seemed to anchor her heart in a way she did not understand.
Their eyes met as the priest held the ribbons, and she found herself losing herself in his gaze, that dark, smoldering look of possession and authority that left her breathless.
She wanted to pull back, to remind herself she was just stepping into the unknown, yet some part of her, an instinct older than reason, stayed.
“By the power vested in me, I now declare ye man and wife,” the priest intoned, “and may the bonds of marriage bring ye joy, strength, and unity.”
The congregation murmured and shifted, some clapping, some smiling, but Isabelle’s attention was fixed entirely on Declan.
The priest cleared his throat gently, a polite reminder that the ceremony was not yet concluded, and Isabelle realized how tightly she was gripping Declan’s hand.
She could feel his strength through the skin, his heat radiating into her, and she was acutely aware that the entire chapel might fade away, leaving only the two of them in that suspended moment.
The priest’s voice returned, “Ye may now seal your vows with a kiss, as husband and wife.”
Isabelle closed her eyes instinctively, preparing herself for the moment that would mark the sealing of their union. She felt her heart beat faster, but she couldn’t understand if it was from fear or something else.
He leaned slightly closer, his lips near her ear, and whispered, low and teasing, “Daenae worry, love, I daenae bite.”
She felt her chest tighten at the sound of his voice, the husky timbre sending a shiver down her spine. Her mind screamed that she should step back, yet her body refused, held captive by his closeness.
Instead of his lips claiming hers, though, she felt a soft brush against her cheek, a whisper of warmth that hovered so close it could have been the kiss itself.
Startled, Isabelle opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was Declan’s smirk, a look of arrogant amusement in his intense gaze. He held her eyes for a moment longer than polite, and she felt a strange mixture of anger, embarrassment, and… something unnameable stir within her.
“Ye’re starin’,” she blurted in a soft whisper, her voice higher than she intended, her cheeks flushing crimson.
“I am?” Declan’s voice was teasing, yet controlled, dangerous in its quiet authority. “Aye, I think I’ll be starin’ at ye for many years to come.”
Isabelle wanted to recoil, to tell him that this was improper, that a bride must not be so affected by her groom. And yet, she could not deny the thrill that surged through her at his words, that heat that made her pulse race and her thoughts scatter.
Declan’s eyes softened for a heartbeat, a rare flicker of vulnerability that betrayed just enough for her to notice.
“Ye will get used to me, lass,” he murmured, voice dropping to a private tone that made her heart skip. “Aye, it’ll be a good thing, or so I’ll make it.”
Isabelle’s lips parted slightly, uncertain whether to respond, caught in the clash of dread and a dangerous, electric curiosity.
She could feel his strength through the skin, his heat radiating into her, and she was acutely aware that the entire chapel might fade away, leaving only the two of them in that suspended moment.
The priest nodded, satisfied. “Go in peace, and let love guide ye both.”
Declan straightened, looking down at Isabelle with a possessive gaze that brooked no objection. Isabelle, still trembling, could not help but meet it, the strange mix of terror and exhilaration anchoring her to the man she had just married.
Outside, the chapel doors would open soon, and the clans would cheer, but inside that quiet, candlelit sanctuary, it was just them, bound and beginning a future neither fully understood yet.
Isabelle walked beside Declan, her hand lightly resting in his, the chapel doors swinging wide before them. The crisp winter air hit her cheeks, tinged with the scent of pine and snow, and she tried to steady her thoughts.
While she still resented being forced into this marriage, she admitted quietly to herself that, “at least it is with a man I feel I can get along with.”
She didn’t realize she had spoken her thought aloud until Declan’s smirk drew her attention.
“Aye? Ye speak too freely, lass,” Declan said, his voice low, carrying that dangerous edge she had come to notice.
“I merely… think it’s nae so terrible,” Isabelle replied, cheeks warming at his look.
Declan’s smirk widened, sharp and amused, “Ye speak like ye ken me already though we’ve but just met.”
“Say yer goodbyes at the feast; we’re leavin’ as soon as possible,” Declan added, his tone now colder, his hand tightening ever so slightly around hers.
Isabelle hesitated then lifted her chin with defiance. “That willnae be necessary when the time comes,” she said simply, her voice firm.
Without another word to her father, she allowed Declan to lead her through the courtyard, stepping into the snow-laden path beyond the chapel.
The sun caught the frost on the stone walls, glinting like a promise she wasn’t certain she wanted to keep.
She thought fleetingly of her sister, Norah, wishing her presence could balance the strangeness of the day. But Norah had been absent because this was supposed to be Rosaline’s wedding, leaving Isabelle without the comfort of family she truly trusted.
Once they were alone, Declan paused, letting the bustle of the departing guests fade behind them. Isabelle drew a breath and looked at him, eyes narrowing with curiosity and a hint of frustration.
“Why did ye nae kiss me back inside?” she asked, unable to keep the question from slipping out.
Declan’s brows rose in mock offense. “A kiss? In front of the clan? Daenae think I’m one for public performance, lass.”
Isabelle’s lips twitched with incredulity. “It’s important, Declan! The first kiss signals our beginnin’ together. It’s… tradition! It seals the marriage vows.”
Declan smirked, dark and amused, “Tradition, eh? Ye’re obsessed with it, are ye? I thought ye’d appreciate me discretion.”
“I would, if ye’d shown me some… ye ken… acknowledgment!” Isabelle snapped, crossing her arms.
He tilted his head, gaze assessing her with that infuriating, calculating smirk.
“Acknowledgment, ye say? Aye… so the poor lass wants the man to make a show for her? I daenae like being coerced, Isabelle.”
“Coerced?” she echoed, voice sharp. “It’s nae a coercion; it’s… a sign! A sign that this marriage… this life we’re startin’ is… real!”
Declan’s lips quirked in humor. “A sign, eh? Ye think a simple brush of lips makes it real? I daenae need theatrics to ken ye’re mine.”
Isabelle scowled, heat rising to her cheeks, “It’s nae theatrics; it’s… it’s meaningful! Ye should ken that!”
“Fine, fine,” Declan said, throwing up his hands mockingly, “since ye crave the kiss so badly, I’ll give ye what ye want.”
Isabelle blinked, startled. “I daenae…”
Before she could finish, he pulled her close, their bodies pressed together in a bruising, demanding kiss. She caught her breath, startled at the force, and then instinctively responded, pressing back with equal fervor.
His hand moved to the small of her back, holding her tight, yet there was a careful balance, a claim but not cruelty.
When he finally pulled away, Isabelle’s chest heaved, her eyes wide and dazed, lips tingling with the fire of the kiss. Declan’s smirk was smug, satisfied, as though he had claimed victory in some silent duel.
“Ye see, lass,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, “sometimes ye need to take what ye ask for, else ye’d complain endlessly.”
Isabelle’s fingers trembled as they brushed against his tunic, unsure whether to push him away or lean in once more.
“That… that’s nae exactly what I meant,” she said breathlessly, voice soft, betraying a flutter of excitement she hadn’t expected to feel.
He raised an eyebrow, smirk unyielding, “Aye, but it’s what ye got, and I daenae apologize for providin’ it.”
Her lips parted again, indecision battling with the rush of adrenaline. She had wanted acknowledgment, yes, but the intensity of this, this possessiveness and closeness was far beyond what she had imagined.
Declan’s eyes softened ever so slightly, just for a heartbeat, and Isabelle caught a glimpse of something unreadable behind the dark brown depths. It made her heart quicken and her thoughts scatter further—fear, intrigue, and a strange thrill all rolled into one.
She let out a shaky laugh, partly from relief and partly from the absurdity of it all.
“Ye’re unbearable,” she said, breathless, attempting to step back but finding his hand still firm around hers.
“And ye,” he replied, voice low, smoldering, “are intriguin’. Daenae think ye can walk away from me, even if ye tried.”