Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Declan strode through the long corridors of Castle McCallum. Servants pressed themselves against the walls as he passed, bowing their heads quickly, too afraid to meet his gaze.
He could not shake the image of Isabelle’s wide eyes nor the defiant tilt of her chin when she’d spoken of Castle Ross being no home to her.
I ken her faither and cousin were rude to her at our weddin’, but what must have they done to make her so unhappy? And why does the thought of her being sad upset me so?
As he stepped out into the courtyard, the morning wind bit against his face.
Declan’s fists clenched at his sides as he crossed toward the guard barracks.
The cold air did little to cool the fire building in him.
He told himself it was not jealousy, it was duty, nothing more.
Yet deep down, he knew it was more than that.
The idea of anyone having hurt Isabelle made something fierce awaken inside him, a protective rage he hadn’t felt in years.
The heavy doors of the barracks swung open, revealing the scent of oiled leather, smoke, and steel. The vast stone hall was alive with the sounds of men, laughter, sharpening blades, and the scrape of armor being buckled into place.
Weapon racks lined the walls, and banners bearing the McCallum crest hung proudly from the rafters.
At the sight of him, a roar of cheers went up that shook the room.
“Hah! There’s our laird!” Killian Gibson shouted, his grin as broad as his shoulders. “The newly wedded man himself!”
The men cheered again, raising their flasks and tankards in celebration. Declan allowed himself a brief smirk, inclining his head to acknowledge them as he stepped inside.
Killian pushed through the crowd, clapping Declan firmly on the shoulder.
“In honor of our laird and his bonnie new bride,” he said loudly, lifting his flask high. “We wish ye both all the blessings this world has to give, and a marriage that lasts long!”
The barracks erupted into applause, followed by a round of whistles and good-natured hoots.
Declan raised a hand.
“Aye, aye, that’s enough of that,” he said though a faint smile lingered on his lips. “I’m honored by yer words, lads, but there’s much work to be done. We’ll drink to the marriage later, after our duties are seen to.”
The laughter died down, replaced with nods of respect and murmurs of agreement as they went back to work.
Killian grinned, leaning against a table piled with maps and gear. “Ah, ye never change, Declan. Straight to business, even after weddin’ vows. Yer poor wife’ll have her hands full.”
Declan gave him a warning glance though his tone stayed measured. “That’s none of yer concern, Killian. I married her, aye, but the clan’s matters come first. Always have, always will.”
“Aye,” Killian said with mock solemnity, taking a swig from his flask. “Spoken like a true laird. Ye ken, I’ll never understand the need for marriage. Too many chains for me likin’. I’ll keep to me freedom and the warmth of a lass when it suits.”
Declan’s brow furrowed though he didn’t argue. “Aye, and that’s why ye’re still a fool after all these years,” he said dryly, earning a few laughs from the men nearby.
The air settled again, shifting back to the rhythm of routine as Declan surveyed his men. He moved among them with quiet authority, nodding approvingly at their discipline and readiness.
“We’ve an inspection to make,” he said, his tone steady and commanding as he moved through. “The boats must be readied to reach the mainland.”
Killian straightened, his expression sharpening with focus.
“Already done, me Laird ,” he said proudly. “The boats are loaded with supplies, and the horses’ll be fed and waiting by the time we reach shore on the other side. The men are prepared.”
Declan’s gaze softened slightly with approval. “Good,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I expected no less from ye. We leave within the hour.”
The room erupted into motion. Men scrambled to gather their weapons and provisions, their laughter replaced by the clatter of steel and barked commands.
Declan stood in the doorway for a moment, watching them with quiet pride.
These men were his brothers, his responsibility, and yet his thoughts drifted once more to the woman waiting in his chambers.
As the noise of the barracks swelled, Declan turned his gaze toward the horizon beyond the loch. The wind tugged at his cloak, and his expression hardened.
Whoever or whatever had made Isabelle feel trapped would answer for it, he vowed silently. He didn’t yet know why it mattered so much, but he knew one thing for certain.
No one will ever make her feel caged again.
Killian dropped a leather satchel before Declan with a satisfying thud, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“There ye are, me Laird ,” he said, rolling his shoulders as he glanced over the map spread before them. “Packed with the usual, charts, rations, and a flask or two for the long ride ahead.”
Declan grunted in approval, adjusting the strap and checking the satchel’s contents.
Killian began fastening his own pack beside him, humming an old Highland tune under his breath.
“Tell me somethin’, Declan,” he said, the humor already lighting his voice. “How fares yer new bride, eh? Rosaline, was it?”
Declan froze for half a second before lifting his gaze to his man-at-arms, his expression sharp and unreadable. The silence stretched long enough for Killian to glance up in mild confusion.
“I did nae marry Rosaline,” Declan said flatly, his voice carrying through the barracks like a blade slicing air. “I married Isabelle Connelly, daughter of the Laird Ross himself.”
The words struck like thunder. Killian’s hand slipped, and the metal buckles he’d been tightening clattered loudly to the floor. He blinked, his mouth slightly ajar as he straightened and turned toward Declan.
“Is this so, me Laird ?” Killian finally managed, his tone hovering between disbelief and awe. “Ye cast aside Rosaline and took the Laird’s daughter instead?” His brows furrowed as though he couldn’t quite make sense of it.
Declan only nodded once, steady and sure, his jaw tight with purpose.
“It is,” Declan said simply. “Rosaline proved to be… less than I’d hoped.
She’s naught but a spoiled bairn with more temper than sense.
An incident made it plain that Isabelle was the stronger of the two, steady, willful, and better suited to raise the triplets.
” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as though he were reliving the decision. “It was the right choice.”
Killian stared at him for a long moment then broke into a booming laugh that echoed across the stone walls. “By Saint Andrew, ye never fail to surprise me, Laird,” he said, slapping his knee. “May the saints have mercy on the poor lass if she’s to match yer temper.”
Declan’s lips twitched in something that might’ve been a smirk. “She’s stubborn, aye,” he admitted quietly. “But she’s got a brave heart. She’ll fit here better than Rosaline ever would.”
Killian grinned wide, his flask already half uncorked. “Then here’s to the new Lady McCallum,” he said, raising it high. “May she keep ye humble or at least entertained.”
Declan nodded once, accepting the toast with a curt dip of his head.
Before Killian could add another word, the sound of approaching footsteps drew their attention. Liam, the first guard, entered briskly and bowed his head in respect.
“Me Laird,” he said, his voice firm. “The boats are ready, supplies loaded, and the men await yer orders.”
Declan straightened immediately, pulling on his gloves with quiet precision.
“Well done,” Declan said. “But ye’ll nae be comin’ with us this time, Liam. I’m leavin’ ye in charge of the castle while I’m gone.”
Liam’s brows shot up though he quickly masked his surprise.
Declan stepped closer, his tone low and commanding. “Above all, do nae let the new Lady McCallum leave the island. She’s to remain safe within the walls and on the island. Guard her with yer life.”
Liam bowed deeply, his voice steady. “Aye, me Laird . Ye have me word.”
The air in the room seemed to thicken with the weight of the command. Declan gave a curt nod of satisfaction then turned sharply on his heel.
“Move out the rest,” he barked. “We leave now.”
Killian slung his satchel over his shoulder. The men scrambled into motion, the sound of boots and shouted orders filling the courtyard beyond.
Declan strode out into the crisp morning air, the wind off the loch biting cold against his face.
At the shore, the small fleet of boats rocked gently against the wooden dock.
The water glinted silver beneath the morning sun.
Declan stepped aboard first, the oarsmen standing at attention as Killian joined him, the rest of the guards filing into the other vessels.
“To the mainland,” Declan ordered, his voice carrying over the loch.
The men bent to their oars, and the boats began to glide smoothly across the water.
The rhythmic splash of the oars echoed through the mist, the castle slowly fading into the distance behind them.
Declan stood tall at the bow, his gaze fixed ahead but his thoughts drifting back to the woman he’d left behind as he turned his gaze to the castle.
He told himself it was caution that made him leave such strict orders for her protection. Yet, he could not ignore the faint, unspoken truth stirring deep within his chest—he simply couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to her.
The mist lifted slowly from the moors as the men reached the mainland. Declan stepped from the boat, boots sinking into the damp earth, his gaze sweeping over the line of men hauling gear and supplies from the vessels.
“Mind yer step, lads,” he called. “We’ve work to see done before the sun’s at its height.”
Killian leapt from the boat behind him, landing sure-footed, a grin tugging at his lips despite the cold.
“The lads move quick, me Laird . I’d say they ken better than to dawdle under yer eye.”
Declan grunted in response, tightening the strap across his chest as he turned toward the wagons.
“Get the wagons loaded,” Declan ordered, his tone leaving no room for debate. “We’ll nae waste daylight.”
He moved with deliberate purpose, inspecting each cart and mount, his brow furrowed in concentration. His men worked in silence but for the sound of hooves and creaking wheels, each well used to their laird’s quiet demands.
A few moments later, Killian approached once more, brushing the mud from his plaid.
“We’re set, Declan. The wagons’ll follow yer lead.” He gave a short nod toward the trail that wound into the highland hills. “Ye’ll be wantin’ to start with the lower village first?”
Declan swung up onto his horse, gripping the reins tight.
“Aye,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We’ll start with Glen Oak. Bandits have been sighted in them parts. I’ll nae have another attack on me folk.”
His jaw tightened as he cast his gaze eastward where the faint path disappeared into the forest.
Killian mounted his own steed beside him, the leather creaking under his weight.
“Aye,” he said, adjusting the strap of his sword. “Seems these thieves grow bolder by the week.”
“Then we’ll remind them whose lands they trespass upon,” Declan muttered. “I’ll nae have me name made a jest among vermin that hide behind trees.”
His horse stamped, eager to move, and Declan gave a sharp whistle. The column of riders began to move forward, hooves striking hard against the frozen ground.
For a time, the only sound was the rhythm of horses and the whisper of wind through heather.
“I mean to inspect three villages a week,” Declan said.
Killian finally spoke again, his tone thoughtful.
“Inspecting three villages a week, ye will push yerself too hard, me Laird . The men speak of it. Say ye’ve nae given yerself true rest since yer return from yer weddin’ journey.
” He cast Declan a sidelong glance, his grin returning faintly.
“Ye tryin’ to escape the new Lady McCallum already? ”
Declan’s brow darkened. “Watch yer tongue, Killian,” he said sharply.
“Ye’d do well nae to jest about what’s mine.
” He tugged the reins, keeping his horse steady, but his irritation was clear in the taut set of his shoulders.
“I ride because I must. There’s work to be done, and I’ll nae sit idle while others bear the weight simply because I married. ”
Killian raised a brow, undeterred. “Aye, aye, as ye say, me Laird . But still, I am curious how the lady fares. Seems quite the tale, ye ken? One bride spurned and another claimed in her stead. Ye dae nae make dull choices.”
Declan gave a short snort. “Ye’d do best to keep yer curiosity quiet. The lady’s temper matches the storm, but she’ll learn her place soon enough.”
He shot Killian a grim look. “Rosaline was a spoiled bairn, fit for naught but tantrums. Isabelle’s a woman of spirit, though the lass seems determined to test me patience.”
Killian laughed, shaking his head. “Ah, so it’s the spirit ye admire then, even while it vexes ye. Gods help ye, Declan, ye’ve wed a flame and then wonder why it burns.”
His tone softened slightly as they crested a hill and looked down upon the distant village. “Still, I wish ye well with her. The name McCallum could use a woman’s warmth again.”
Declan’s expression eased, though pride lingered in his eyes. “Aye,” he said quietly. “Mayhap ye’re right. But she’ll need time to ken her duty and to ken me.”
They reached the outskirts of Glen Oak village. Declan paused, his eyes surveying the land before them.
“The defenses in Glen Oak are weak. We’ll strengthen the fences, reinforce the watch posts, and make sure every man’s armed proper.”
Killian nodded. “Aye, I’ll see to that. I’ll speak with their reeve and take count of the men fit to serve guard duty.”
They descended into the valley where smoke from hearth fires drifted lazily upward, and villagers paused to bow as their laird rode past. Declan’s gaze swept across the settlement, fences mended, thatch replaced, guards stationed where he’d ordered weeks before. It was progress but not enough.
“See that the patrols double their rounds,” Declan commanded. “I’ll nae have one soul taken by thieves on me land.” He dismounted, boots hitting the frozen ground with purpose. “If the men grow weary, remind them who they serve and what’s at stake if they fail.”
Killian followed, smirking as he glanced toward the cottages. “Aye, Laird McCallum.”
Declan turned, eyes narrowing on the horizon where dark clouds gathered once more. “There’s a storm comin’, and I’ll be damned if I’m nae ready fer it.”