Chapter 10 #2
Isabelle’s posture stiffened instantly, and he could feel the flutter of fear, or perhaps anticipation, against him. There was a sharpness in her glance as she turned toward him, one that made him smirk despite himself though he kept the expression fleeting.
“Ye should be ready to perform yer wifely duties,” he said, the words rolling off his tongue with a casual authority that he knew would provoke her.
Isabelle’s eyes widened in shock, and she blinked rapidly. “I… I… daenae ken if I’m ready for that yet,” she stammered, her voice trembling though there was fire in it still.
Declan’s gaze locked on her, hard and unwavering, and he felt the heat of offense flare in his chest. He believed she meant what he feared, that she had yet to trust him, that she thought him a monster, and that she withheld herself because she hated him.
“Ye’ll hae to prepare yerself,” he said. “The castle… is ready. And so will ye be.”
Isabelle’s cheeks flushed, her defiance clear even in that fleeting moment of embarrassment. “I… I daenae ken if I can,” she admitted, her voice low but not without strength.
He let out a slow, measured breath, resisting the urge to reach for her hand, to ease the tension that threatened to choke them both.
“Ye will,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We have obligations, and ye’ll learn soon enough that this union… is no choice for either of us. But daenae mistake me meanin’; I daenae demand more than ye can give willingly.”
“To consummate the marriage? I need time,” she pleaded.
He didn’t speak of his thoughts, letting them burn inside like coals. Instead, he replied flatly, his voice smooth but heavy with authority, “Daenae think that’s what I meant.”
She looked at him, confusion mingling with the flush on her cheeks. “Then… what did ye mean, Laird McCallum?” she asked, the question hesitant but pointed.
Declan allowed himself a slow exhale, leaning back just slightly in the seat, letting the tension simmer between them.
“Ye’ll see soon enough,” he murmured, his dark eyes holding hers for a heartbeat too long.
Declan felt his chest tighten, a cold heat spreading through him.
He knew the coming days would be a battle of wills, a test of patience and fire, yet a part of him, a deep, buried part, looked forward to the challenge.
He tightened his fist on the edge of the seat, resisting the pull of temptation as the carriage rolled forward toward Castle McCallum where their life together would begin.
Declan tugged gently at Isabelle’s hand, helping her out of the carriage, the cold wind whipping her hair around her face.
She blinked against the brightness, her eyes widening as they took in the sight before her, a magnificent castle perched atop a hill, its towers and battlements crowned with snow that glittered in the morning sun.
A closed gate stood between them and the castle.
He could see the awe in her gaze, the mixture of surprise and admiration, though he tried not to let it soften him. This was his home, his fortress, and soon, it would be their home together, whether she liked it or not.
She stepped back slightly, glancing down at the distance between them and the castle.
“I… I daenae understand,” she said, her brow furrowed, voice tight with confusion. “Why did we stop so far from the castle?”
Declan’s jaw tightened, and he allowed himself a small smirk. “There is nay way for the carriage to pass through there,” he replied, his tone firm but not unkind.
“The gates are built right at the edge of the lake; ye’d have to be a fool to try and drive through.”
Isabelle blinked, still puzzled. “A lake? I… I dinnae realise. I mean… it’s beautiful, but… I am confused.”
He gestured toward the gates as they opened.
“Aye, it’s the lake. McCallum castle sits on its own isle in the middle. It keeps folk out who have ill intentions and keeps us safe. Ye’ll see soon enough; it’s a good defence.”
She took a hesitant step closer to the edge, peering down at the glistening water. “I’ve never seen anythin’ like it… It’s… magnificent. But I… I daenae ken how I feel about crossin’ it in a boat.”
Declan caught the edge of her hand again, steadying her. “Ye’ll be fine,” he said, his voice low, brooking no argument. “The boat’s sturdy, and the crossing’s short. We’ll be across before ye ken it.”
She let out a nervous laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I am nae a confident swimmer, Laird McCallum,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “I ken how to swim, aye, but if I fell… I dinnae think I’d manage it in this cold water.”
He studied her, noticing the slight flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. His pulse quickened at the vulnerability, and he had to remind himself to keep his composure.
“Ye willnae fall,” he said sharply, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “The boat is perfectly safe, and even if ye did, I’d save ye. I'd have ye before ye touched the water.”
Isabelle huffed, a tiny smirk breaking through her nervous expression. “I suppose… I can trust ye,” she agreed reluctantly, her tone sharp as ever. “But I warn ye, Laird McCallum, if ye steer us into the lake, ye’ll regret it.”
“Dinnae worry,” he said, giving her hand a firm squeeze. “I have crossed this lake a thousand times and never lost a man… or a bride.”
He helped her into the small boat, steadying her as she lowered herself carefully onto the bench. The oarsmen, skilled and silent, took their positions, and the boat began to glide through the icy waters of the lake.
Declan stood behind her, his hand still lightly resting on her back, his gaze scanning the castle across the water. He could feel the tension in her shoulders, the tight grip she had on the edge of the boat, and yet he admired her fire, the way she refused to appear weak even in her unease.
The castle grew larger with each stroke, its stone walls gleaming and snow-dusted towers rising like the teeth of some ancient beast guarding the isle.
Declan could hear the faint creak of the oars, the gentle lapping of water against the boat’s hull, and the quickened rhythm of Isabelle’s breath beside him.
He didn’t speak again, letting her take in the view and letting the silence between them thrum with unspoken tension.
Soon, they would step onto McCallum soil, and the next chapter of their lives would begin, whether they liked it or not.
A wave rolled the boat, rocking it gently.
Isabelle’s voice finally cut through the quiet, trembling slightly but firm. “I… I hope ye’re right about this, Laird McCallum,” she murmured, eyes still fixed on the castle.
Declan leaned close enough for her to hear his low growl. “I’m all right, lass. And ye’ll see… ye’ll survive the lake just fine, and nay harm will come to ye while I stand guard.”
She shot him a glance, both defiant and uncertain, and he felt the stirrings of desire and frustration mix within him.
God help me.