Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ye’ll learn obedience, boy, or ye’ll learn pain.
Declan’s father’s voice haunted the back of his mind, cruel and cold as the stone walls of his childhood chamber.
Two days had passed since his last proper sleep because Isabelle had decided not to speak to him. The silence of the castle pressed heavy upon him. He stared at the half-empty bottle of whiskey on his desk, his mind wandering to places he wished he could forget.
Declan’s jaw tightened as he poured another glass, his hand steady despite the heaviness in his chest. He had sworn long ago that he’d never be that kind of man, but lately, with Isabelle, he felt the edge of that same darkness clawing at him.
He threw back the drink and stared into the fire, watching the flames flicker and twist like ghosts of memory. The walls of the study felt too small.
He remembered the iron bars that had covered his chamber window when he was ten years old, the same ones his father had called “protection” but were truly a cage.
“Damn it all,” Declan let out a low curse, gripping the edge of the desk until his knuckles whitened.
A knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts.
“Enter,” he growled, his voice roughened from both drink and memory.
Liam stepped in, his hair damp from the mist that clung to the air outside, his expression cautious as always.
“Me Laird,” Liam said, bowing slightly. “The boats have been spotted crossin’ the loch. Killian and the men have returned.”
Declan exhaled, setting the glass down with a dull clink.
“Good,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Tell Killian I want him here in me study the moment he steps off that boat. No delay.”
“Aye, me Laird ,” Liam said, giving a curt nod before slipping back out the door.
Declan stared at the closed door for a long while after, the silence creeping in once more. He rubbed a hand over his face, forcing his thoughts away from his past. Duty was a safer thing to focus on—the clan, the land, the ever-present threat of bandits.
It was easier than thinking of the look in Isabelle’s eyes when she defied him or how her softness chipped away at the armor he’d built around his heart.
By the time Killian arrived with a knock, Declan had poured himself another drink but had not touched it.
The door opened without ceremony, and his man at arms stepped in, mud clinging to his boots and cloak.
“Ye sent for me, me Laird ,” Killian said, bowing his head before approaching the desk.
“Aye,” Declan said, motioning for him to sit. “Tell me what ye found.”
Killian sank into the chair opposite him, resting his hands on his knees. “We found signs of settlement near the western ridges—bandits, just as ye feared. A few huts, makeshift fires, and thievin’ tools. They were gatherin’ there, hopin’ to make it permanent.”
Declan’s brow furrowed. “And ye dealt with them?”
“Aye. We ran them off with steel and fire. Those that didnae flee are buried in the earth.”
Declan nodded, his expression hard. “Good work. But I dinnae like how bold they’ve become to try and settle on McCallum land. They’re growin’ desperate, or they’re bein’ led by someone smarter than most.”
Killian leaned forward slightly, his tone thoughtful. “Aye, I was thinkin’ the same, me Laird . I reckon we’re dealin’ with more than just wanderin’ thieves.”
Declan stood and moved to the large table near the window where maps of the region were spread across the surface. He gestured for Killian to follow as he traced a finger over the parchment.
“They were here,” he said, pointing to a mark west of the loch. “That leaves the eastern lands unchecked. The woodlands near the ridge are wild and deep. If I were hidin’ from a Laird’s patrol, that’s where I’d go.”
Killian nodded, his brow furrowed. “Aye, it’s rough country out there. Few paths and plenty of places to set traps. Ye think that’s where they’re gatherin’ next?”
Declan narrowed his eyes at the map, his thoughts heavy and precise. “Could be. If they’re organized, they’ll need cover and access to the trade routes. That ridge overlooks the road to Dunross. They could rob the merchants that pass through there.”
Killian exhaled. “Then we’ll need to send scouts east. I’ll take a few men and…”
Declan shook his head sharply. “Aye, soon but nae this moment.”
Declan poured a measure of amber whisky into a heavy glass, setting it before Killian with a grunt.
“Ye did good on that mission,” he said, his tone rough but approving. “No one can fault the McCallum name for lack of action while ye’re at me side.”
Killian inclined his head, accepting the praise with the barest hint of a smile.
“Aye, me Laird ,” Killian replied, taking the glass. “And word spreads faster than a Highland fire. I’ve heard whispers across the lands that ye’ve returned with a bride most unexpected.”
Declan grunted, the corner of his mouth twitching. “They wanted a vapid girl, full of ribbons and airs,” he muttered. “I chose better. Isabelle Cain is no empty-headed maiden.”
Killian chuckled, shaking his head at the Laird’s sharp tone.
“So, how fares this new lady of yers?” Killian asked, leaning back against the table. “Is she… manageable?”
Declan’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Insufferable,” he said shortly. “She speaks of Yule celebrations, demanding merriment when there’s work to be done.”
Killian smirked, taking a slow sip of his whisky. “Aye,” he said, “that sounds exactly like what ye need, me Laird . Someone to challenge ye, stir the fire within. Perhaps it’s time to bring Yule back to Castle McCallum, eh? A bit of joy might do us all good.”
Declan’s glare cut across the room, sharp as a blade.
Killian’s smirk faltered, and he lifted his hands slightly in retreat. “Aye, aye, I see,” Killian muttered, choosing his words carefully.
Declan waved a hand, dismissing the notion for now. “Go eat something, Killian. Get yerself rested.”
Killian inclined his head obediently, draining the whisky before rising. “Aye, me Laird ,” he said, moving toward the door, his loyalty unwavering despite the Laird’s sharp temper.
Declan watched him leave, the quiet of the study settling back in. He set his own glass aside, thinking of Isabelle and the fire she brought to the castle, and he knew, begrudgingly, that life with her would never be dull.
Declan left his study, the weight of maps and reports still lingering in his mind, yet it was soon forgotten as he passed a window and caught sight of Isabelle outside.
The sunlight glinted off the loch beyond the castle walls, casting a golden shimmer over her and the three girls, Penelope, Hallie, and Beth, as they laughed and chased one another through the dew-specked grass.
His chest tightened, a warmth spreading through him that was unfamiliar yet welcome, seeing how naturally she moved among the children.
Every shout of laughter, every playful tumble in the mud, told him she was patient, kind, and already a mother in spirit, ready to care for the triplets as if they were her own.
Declan lingered, watching her gather a small bundle of stones the girls had found, her eyes soft and joyful, bending to each child in turn with gentle words.
He could feel a swelling pride, not in his own achievements or lands, but in this woman who had so effortlessly begun to fill a role he had feared none could manage.
His fingers twitched as if to reach out, to touch, to tell her silently that he saw her, appreciated her.
And yet, there remained a cold distance between them that his stubbornness had built, two days of silence from Isabelle, a wall he both despised and understood.
Mabel approached, her nun’s habit whispering against the stone corridor as she came to stand beside him.
“Ye look at her with a soft heart, Declan,” Mabel said, her voice warm and knowing. “’Tis a good sight to see her laughin’ with the bairns.”
“Aye,” Declan admitted, his jaw tight. “But she hasnae spoken a word to me in two days. Silence, all because I refused her talk of Yule.”
Mabel’s gaze softened as she followed his line of sight, taking in the scene before them. “Aye, I see. But maybe she deserves to ken why, braither . Aye, she has a right to hear it.”
Declan’s lips pressed into a thin line, his pride rising. “I shouldnae have to speak of such things. She is me wife; she will obey as a wife should.”
Mabel’s eyes flicked toward him, sharp beneath the calm. “Ah, Declan. Ye expected to marry and for life to continue as before? ’Tis a fool’s outlook. Marriage is nae chains, and a wife is nae a subject; she is a partner in all things, even if she challenges ye.”
He let out a low grunt, a mixture of irritation and admiration. “Ye speak wisdom, as always, Mabel. Ye are clever with words that cut through pride like a blade.”
“Then hear me well, braither ,” she said, stepping closer. “Do ye wish to be married to a woman who fears ye or one who loves ye for all that ye are, both the harsh and the tender? Ye cannae have both, and she willnae be moved by silence alone.”
Declan ran a hand through his hair, feeling a strange restlessness in his chest.
“Aye… she has her fire, that one. Bold as any McCallum before her. And I find meself not wishing to dampen it, but to see it bend to me wouldnae be natural either.”
Mabel gave a small smile, her gaze steady. “Then speak, Declan. Speak honestly. Let her know why ye cannot celebrate Yule as she wishes. Give her the truth, even if ’tis hard, and the silence will break.”
He glanced back toward the window where Isabelle was now crouched to tie a boot for one of the girls, her hair loose in the wind. His chest tightened again, and he allowed himself a quiet breath.
“Aye,” he said finally, his voice low, a grudging acknowledgment. “Ye are right. I will speak. ’Tis a matter of honor… and perhaps… ’tis time I show her the man I am, not only the Laird.”
Mabel’s smile widened, gentle and approving. “Good, braither . ’Tis a brave thing, to speak. And brave hearts are what she deserves. Now, go. Speak to her before the day slips by, lest the silence grow into a wall neither of ye can scale.”
Declan nodded once, sharply, as if sealing a silent promise. The pride in him warred with the need to be soft, to reach across the distance he had built with his own hands.
Yet even as he moved from the window, he felt the courage Mabel had inspired, and the thought of Isabelle waiting, her fire, her heart, her unspoken needs, spurred him forward with a determination he could not ignore.
Outside, the triplets’ laughter still rang across the loch, sweet and careless, tugging at the edges of his heart.
Declan allowed himself a fleeting smile, remembering how he had once feared children and how he had once feared women.
But now, with Isabelle in his sights and the girls’ voices in his ears, he realized that life could indeed be both fierce and gentle, and he would face it, proud laird and husband alike.