Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Fool,” he muttered under his breath, the word scraping in his throat. “Ye’re a damned fool, Declan Cain.”
Declan sat alone in the Stone Hearth Room, the firelight flickering over the rough-hewn walls. The warmth from the flames did little to thaw the chill that had settled inside him.
His thoughts turned the way Isabelle had looked at him in the courtyard, her eyes full of hurt and confusion.
He clenched his jaw, ashamed of his silence, of the cold nod he’d given her when every instinct had urged him to reach out and hold her. He’d wanted to take her hand, to tell her he was sorry, but pride had won again, that cursed pride that had ruled him since his youth.
A sharp knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. He straightened, clearing his throat and forcing his tone into authority.
“Enter,” he barked.
The door creaked open, and Killian stepped inside, snow clinging to his cloak and boots.
“Laird,” Killian said, giving a curt nod, “I’ve just returned from the eastern ridge.”
Declan leaned back, narrowing his eyes. “Tell me what ye found?”
Killian shook his head, his expression grim. “We found the bandits’ camp, but it was deserted. Fire cold, tracks covered by fresh snow. They’d been gone a day, maybe two.”
Declan swore under his breath and pushed to his feet, pacing before the fire.
“So, they’ve slipped through our fingers again.”
“Aye,” Killian replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “But they’re close, I can feel it. They left in haste, food half-eaten, supplies scattered. They ken we’re huntin’ them, I believe.”
Declan stopped pacing and turned toward him. “That means they’ll strike again soon if they left without all their supplies. Desperation makes men reckless.”
Killian nodded. “That’s what worries me. There’s talk in the villages of livestock missin’ and smoke seen in the hills. If they grow bolder, they might take to raidin’ the outposts.”
Declan’s expression hardened. “Over me dead body.”
He moved to the table where a large map was spread, its corners weighted with tankards.
“Show me where ye found the camp.”
Killian stepped closer, pointing to a mark near the forested ridge. “Here. Near the glen by the burn.”
“That’s near the old trade road,” Declan said, tapping the map. “If they mean to move supplies, that’s the route they’ll take. We can intercept them before they reach the river crossing.”
Killian frowned. “That road’s exposed, Laird. No cover for miles.”
“Aye,” Declan said, his tone sharp. “That’s why they’ll nae expect us there.”
Killian crossed his arms, watching him carefully. “Ye plan to send a patrol?”
“Nae,” Declan said, his jaw set. “Scouts to wait and watch. I'm done chasing them. I mean to ken who they are.”
“Let me take the men,” Killian said. “We willnae go under McCallum banners, just lowly merchants.”
Declan’s gaze cut toward him, dark and unyielding. “I willnae sit idle while thieves plunder me lands, Killian. I swore an oath to protect this clan. I should be the one out there.”
“Aye, and ye’ve done it well,” Killian said firmly. “But yer duty’s to lead, nae to die in some frozen ditch. If ye fall, who’ll guide us then? Isabelle?”
Declan froze, the mention of her name hitting him like a blow. “Watch yer tongue,” he warned though his voice lacked true venom.
Killian sighed, shaking his head. “Ye ken I speak truth. Ye’ve enough on yer mind without runnin’ into blades. Let me take ten men and ride at dawn. I’ll wait and watch, nothin’ more.”
Declan turned back to the map, gripping the edge until his knuckles whitened. “I’m tired of these ghosts.”
“Then let us hunt them proper,” Killian urged. “Set traps along the valley road, cut off their escape. If we spread word through the villages, they’ll have nowhere to run.”
Declan exhaled slowly, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Aye… that might do. We’ll draw them out instead of chasin’ their shadows… but we may never ken who sent them in the first place. Nay, we scout only.”
Killian’s stern face softened a little. “There’s the man I ken. Strategy, nae fury. It suits ye better.”
Declan gave a dry chuckle. “Ye always did have a tongue too bold for yer own good.”
Killian grinned. “Aye, but it’s kept ye alive more than once if memory serves.”
The fire crackled between them, the heat rising as the silence settled again. Declan moved back to his chair, running a hand over his face.
“If they’re movin’ camp this often, someone’s warnin’ them. I want every trader, shepherd, and stablehand questioned. Someone’s feedin’ them word of our movements.”
“I’ll see to it,” Killian said. He turned toward the door.
Declan said nothing as the door shut behind him. The room was quiet again save for the crackle of the fire and the wind whispering against the shutters.
He sank back into the chair, his chest tight. He stared into the flames once more, seeing Isabelle’s face in their dance, her laughter, her tears, the way she’d looked at him in the courtyard. His pride warred with his longing until both left him hollow.
“Coward. Ye can lead men into strategy, but ye cannae face yer own wife.”
Declan left his study and wandered the dim corridors of the castle. His mind was far away, tangled in thoughts of duty, guilt, and the hollow ache that had settled in his chest since the argument with Isabelle.
He turned a corner and stopped in the threshold of the great hall, drawn by the sound of girlish giggles.
“Look at this one,” Penelope said.
“Very bonnie,” Isabelle said.
The sight before him struck deep into his heart.
Isabelle knelt beside the great hearth, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, a garland of evergreen and holly draped across her arms. Around her, the triplets darted about like wee faeries, their hair catching the firelight as they proudly held up their handiwork.
The air was full of pine and laughter and the gentle hum of a carol one of the girls must have heard from the maids.
Declan leaned against the doorway, watching in silence. His heart swelled at the sight, Isabelle’s smile as she helped Hallie tie a ribbon, the gentle patience in her movements, the way her laughter mingled with the children’s like it had always belonged there.
For the first time in years, the hall felt alive, the cold stone softened by warmth that had nothing to do with the fire.
She’s their maither now.
He should have turned and walked away before she noticed him, but his feet refused to move.
Then, suddenly, one of the girls, Penelope, spotted him.
“Da!” she cried, running toward him with her arms full of red ribbon. “Da, come see what we’ve made!”
Declan straightened, startled, as all three came rushing toward him.
Beth grabbed his hand, tugging eagerly. “We’re makin’ the hall pretty for Yule!” she announced proudly.
“Aye, Da,” Hallie chimed in, eyes shining. “Look, Auntie Mabel said we could hang our garlands above the hearth, and Lady Isabelle showed us how to twist the vines proper!”
Declan tried to hide the tug in his chest as he crouched down to their level.
“Did she now?” he said with a small smile. “Looks like ye’ve all done fine work. The hall’s never looked so bonnie.”
Penelope beamed and thrust a bunch of greenery into his hands. “Ye can help too, Da! We need someone tall to hang this up there.”
He glanced instinctively toward Isabelle. She was standing now, her hands brushing off her skirts, a faint pink coloring her cheeks.
Their eyes met, just for a moment, and in that heartbeat, all the distance between them seemed to vanish. There was hurt in her gaze still, but also something softer, something that made his chest ache.
Declan cleared his throat and nodded.
“Aye then, I can lend a hand.”
The girls cheered, tugging him toward the hearth as Isabelle stepped aside to make room. Their hands brushed briefly as she passed him a sprig of holly, and the touch sent a jolt through him.
Neither spoke, though her lips parted as if she might then closed again.
“Careful, Da,” Hallie warned as he reached up to hang the garland. “It’s got prickles.”
Declan gave a low chuckle. “Aye, I see that. The holly’s as fierce as yer Aunt Mabel when ye misbehave.”
Beth laughed. “Or like Bren when we’re late for supper.”
That earned a small laugh even from Isabelle, though she quickly turned away to busy herself with arranging ribbons on the mantel.
Declan pretended not to notice the flush that rose on her neck.
“Aye, well,” he said, pretending to sigh, “then I best mind me ways, else I’ll be facin’ both their wrath.”
“Ye always look funny when ye pretend to be scared,” Penelope said, giggling. “But Lady Isabelle says real courage is bein’ kind even when it’s hard.”
Isabelle froze mid-motion, eyes flicking toward him again, clearly startled the child had repeated her words.
Declan’s throat tightened. “Did she now?” he murmured, voice rougher than he meant. “Then she’s a wise woman, lass.”
The girls went back to their decorating, clambering over the chairs and arguing cheerfully about where each ribbon should go. Declan stood nearby, occasionally lifting one of them to reach higher branches, his large hands careful not to crush their work.
Isabelle hovered near the hearth, gathering fallen leaves and bits of twine, every movement graceful, quiet. Their eyes met again and again, glances heavy with all the words neither dared to speak.
Hallie tugged his sleeve again. “Da, look! We made a star for the top!” She held up a star crafted from twigs and gold thread, lopsided but gleaming proudly.
Declan smiled. “It’s perfect,” he said softly, crouching to her level.
Declan held her gaze, his chest tightening. There were no words that could bridge the gulf he’d built, but somehow, her look told him she still wanted to try.
Beth broke the silence with a delighted cry.
“It’s snowin’ again!” She ran to the window, pressing her hands to the frosted glass. “Da, come see!”
Declan followed, resting a hand on her shoulder as they all gathered to watch the gentle flakes fall outside. Isabelle stood beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her arm through her sleeve and smell her scent.
For a long moment, neither moved. The snow swirled softly beyond the glass, the children’s laughter filling the hall like music.
Declan’s hand brushed Isabelle’s as they both leaned forward, and she didn’t pull away this time. Their fingers grazed, a fleeting touch, but it was enough to set his heart pounding.
He wanted to say her name, to tell her he was sorry, to confess every foolish thought that kept him from her bed.
He heard the faint shuffle of boots behind him before the soft cough reached his ears. He turned to see Liam standing near the doorway of the great hall.
“Aye, lassies, I must take me leave,” he said, his tone gentle as his eyes flickered toward Isabelle, lingering a heartbeat longer than they should have.
Hallie’s small hand tugged at his sleeve, her eyes wide and hopeful.
“Ye’ll come see the decorations when they’re all done, Da?” she asked.
Declan’s expression softened despite the weight of duty pressing on him.
“Aye, I’ll nae miss it for the world,” he promised before stepping back, nodding once toward Isabelle, their gaze meeting in a silent exchange that carried both warmth and ache.
Then, with a breath meant to steady himself, he turned and motioned for Liam to follow.
As they walked down the corridor, Liam leaned close and lowered his voice.
“Me Laird, word has just come from the far east of our lands,” he murmured, eyes flicking around to ensure no one else could hear.
“The bandits passed through a village near Glenfaring two nights past. The folk said there was a woman with them—unknown, cloaked, and travel-worn.”
Declan frowned, his steps slowing as his mind worked through the implications.
“A woman?” he echoed, his brow furrowing deeper. “What manner of woman rides with thieves?”
His voice carried suspicion and a hint of unease.
“Was she bound? Did they say if she looked a captive?”
Liam shook his head, uncertainty in his eyes. “Nay, me Laird . Only that she kept her hood low and never spoke a word. Some thought she might be one of them, others swore she looked frightened.”
Declan’s jaw tightened as he absorbed the news.
“Confound it,” he muttered. “If they’ve taken a woman, then they’ve grown bolder than I thought. We cannae let them vanish again.”
His tone sharpened with command as he turned to Liam.
“Fetch Killian. Tell him to meet us in me study, now.”
Liam bowed quickly and strode off down the hall, his cloak flaring behind him as Declan turned toward the western wing.
Moments later, Declan stood in his study, the fire crackling low as shadows danced over the maps strewn across his desk.
The door opened, and both Killian and Liam entered, closing it behind them. Declan motioned for them to come closer, his expression set with grim purpose.
“We’ve news from Glenfaring,” he began, gesturing to the eastern edge of the map. “The bandits were sighted there, and they were nae alone.”
Killian’s brows shot up. “Nae alone?” he repeated. “Who was with them, a laird?”
Declan tapped the map with one finger. “A woman. Unknown. Whether she’s a captive or nae, we cannae say.”
Killian let out a low whistle, crossing his arms. “That complicates things. If she’s a prisoner, we’ll need to move carefully, else we risk harm to her.”
Declan exhaled sharply, frustration lacing his tone. “They’re always one step ahead. I’ll nae let them keep the upper hand.” His gaze shifted between the two men. “We’ll send word to the other lairds. If those bastards move beyond our borders, I’ll ken it quick.”
Killian stepped forward, his tone measured. “I’ll send riders at once.”
Declan shook his head. “Nay. I’ll write the letters meself. Liam will deliver them—quicker that way and less chance of word slipping where it shouldnae.”
Liam inclined his head. “Aye, me Laird . I’ll see it done.”
Declan sat at the desk and took up his quill.
The scratching of ink filled the room as he wrote each letter in his steady, precise hand: one to Laird MacLeod, another to Laird Ross, then to the Dunbar lands, and last to the western keep of Kincraig.
His words were clear and direct, demanding cooperation and swift reply.
When the last letter was sealed in wax, Declan pressed his seal firmly against each one before handing them to Liam.
“These must reach the lairds,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting Liam’s. “No mistakes.”
Liam bowed deeply, tucking the letters into his satchel. “Ye have me word.”