Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“Ye’ve ruined everythin’, Isabelle! Everythin’!” Rosaline cried, her hands trembling as she pointed accusingly. “Ye, ye were nothin’ but a lowly pity marriage! Ye think ye deserve him? Ye think ye deserve a Laird?”
Isabelle straightened, still shaking from the ordeal, but she met Rosaline’s wild eyes without flinching.
“I never sought to take anythin’ from ye, Rosaline,” she said evenly, though her voice quavered with emotion. “Ye are the reason I was locked away with Declan in the first place, lest ye forgot. If ye wish to be wed to a laird, then go find one and leave me be.”
Rosaline laughed, a hollow, bitter sound that sent chills down Isabelle’s spine.
“Find one?” Rosaline spat, her eyes flashing like fire. “Do ye nae ken, ye daft woman? There are nae suitors left! Word spread that Laird McCallum cast me aside for me cousin—ye!”
She jabbed a finger toward Isabelle, her expression twisting with hatred.
“Every man in Scotland thinks me cursed, unwanted, a fool!”
Isabelle’s breath caught. For a fleeting moment, she almost pitied her. “Then perhaps ye should look within yerself, Rosaline,” she said softly, though her voice held an edge. “It wasnae Declan’s choice alone that led to this; ye brought it upon yerself with yer cruel tricks.”
Rosaline’s face turned crimson, her fury consuming her reason.
“Ye dare speak to me that way!” she shrieked. “I was born of noble blood, more beautiful, more refined! Ye are nothin’, nothin’ sent here to fill a bed and bear bairns to lock in a bond between Clan Ross and McCallum!”
Isabelle’s eyes hardened, and she stepped closer, no longer trembling.
“Ye’re right, I was sent here,” Isabelle said, her tone quiet but strong. “But I stayed because Declan and I are meant for each other. That’s somethin’ ye’ll never understand.”
Rosaline’s lip curled, her breath heaving as if each word were a knife to her pride.
“Meant for each other?” she hissed. “Ye forget he was meant for me! Ye’ve bewitched him; that’s what ye’ve done! Ye turned him against me, against all reason!”
Isabelle shook her head slowly, pity softening her gaze. “Nay, Rosaline,” she murmured. “He chose me because he saw somethin’ in me that ye never showed him—kindness.”
Rosaline gave a strangled cry, clutching at her tangled hair as if to tear it out.
“Kindness? Bah! What good has kindness ever done me? Everyone’s useless, useless!” she screamed, the sound raw and desperate.
Isabelle stepped back instinctively, sensing the danger in her movements.
Declan tightened his grip on Isabelle’s arm protectively, but Rosaline was already moving.
With a cry of rage, she lunged forward, her hands outstretched, her eyes wild with madness as she drew a dirk from her belt.
“If I cannae have him, then neither will ye!” she shrieked, charging through the snow.
Isabelle barely had time to react before Declan stepped in front of her.
“Enough!” he roared, his voice echoing through the frozen air.
Rosaline didn’t stop; she threw herself at them both.
Declan’s jaw clenched, his eyes filled with cold fury. In one swift motion, he raised his sword hilt and brought it down across the side of Rosaline’s head.
The sound was sickeningly dull, and Rosaline crumpled into the snow like a broken doll.
Isabelle gasped, clutching at Declan’s sleeve as the woman lay still at their feet.
“Ye did what ye had tae,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Declan’s chest heaved, his breath ragged with fury and relief.
“She would’ve killed ye,” he said darkly, staring down at Rosaline’s limp body. He leaned down to check if the lass was breathing. “She isnae dead, just unconscious.”
“I should’ve known she’d stoop to this.” Isabelle looked from him to the fallen woman, her heart aching despite the danger. “She’s lost her way entirely,” she murmured, pity lacing her words.
Declan turned toward her, his hand coming to rest on her cheek, his thumb brushing away the remnants of her tears.
“Aye,” he said quietly. “But ye, ye were brave, lass. Brave and strong.”
Isabelle gave a faint, shaky laugh. “I couldnae let her think she could win,” she whispered, her gaze soft.
Declan’s lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile, the storm between them finally breaking.
“Come, love,” he said, wrapping his cloak around her shoulders. “Let’s get ye home.”
She buried her face in his chest, trembling as the last of her fear broke into tears.
Declan’s breath was unsteady as he held her closer, his voice rough with emotion.
“Och, Isabelle,” he whispered, his lips brushing her hair. “I’m sorry, lass. I’ve been a stubborn fool. I love ye with all me heart.”
She lifted her gaze to his, her eyes glistening. “Aye, ye have,” she said softly, a small, tearful smile tugging at her lips. “But I love ye nonetheless, Declan Cain.”
His jaw tightened as he looked at her, and she saw the torment behind his eyes. “I love ye more than I ken, Isabelle,” he said, his voice deep and raw. “More than I ever thought a man could love. I should’ve said it long ago.”
Her heart swelled at his words, and she reached up to touch his cheek.
“Ye saved me,” she murmured. “I thought I’d never see ye again when they took me.”
He swallowed hard, his hand sliding down her back as if to reassure himself she was truly there.
“I was distant ’cause I was afraid,” he confessed, his voice trembling. “Afraid I’d hurt ye… or any bairn ye might bear.”
Isabelle’s eyes softened, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “Ye’d never hurt me,” she said firmly. “And if we’re blessed with bairns, they’ll ken their faither’s love. Ye’re nae monster, Declan. Ye’ve more kindness in ye than any man I’ve met.”
Declan let out a shuddering breath and pressed his forehead against hers. “I dinnae ken what I’d do if I lost ye,” he whispered, his words breaking.
“Ye won’t,” she promised, her hands cupping his face. “But when they dragged me off, I thought I’d never have the chance to tell ye how sorry I was. I regretted every harsh word we spoke. I couldnae bear the thought that anger would be the last thing between us.”
Declan kissed her then, soft, desperate, and full of all the words they’d left unsaid.
When they broke apart, he rested his hand over her heart.
“Nae more distance between us, Isabelle,” he said quietly. “From this day, ye have all of me: heart, soul, and name.”
She smiled through her tears and leaned into his touch. “And ye have mine, my love,” she whispered. “Always.”
Declan’s face was hard as granite as he bound Rosaline’s wrists to the thick trunk of a pine—she was still out cold.
When the last knot was tight, he turned and strode back to Isabelle, who leaned weakly against a tree, her skirts torn and her hair tangled. He gave her his flask of whiskey ,and she drank from it.
She then searched her own cloak. “Declan, Oh no. I've lost the flask Vera gave me to drink whiskey from on me walk.”
“Dinnae worry, we shall replace it with a very fine flask for Vera,” he smiled.
Without a word, he swept her into his arms, his grip steady and protective, carrying her through the underbrush toward the distant glimmer of the shore.
The waves lapped gently as he lowered her onto the cold snow. Isabelle watched him move, her breath still uneven from the ordeal.
He disappeared into the tree line for a moment, returning with several dry branches in his arms.
“Declan,” she asked softly, her voice thin, “what are ye doin’, love?”
“Sendin’ a signal,” he said, his tone clipped with purpose.
He dragged the fishermen’s small rowboat farther up onto the shore, his muscles flexing as he heaved it into place. Then he laid the tree limbs inside it, arranging them in a careful pile.
Isabelle frowned faintly, confusion mingling with awe as she watched him tear strips from his own cloak, wrapping them tightly around the wood and dousing them in whiskey from his flask before he handed the rest to her.
He crouched low, pulling a small piece of flint from his satchel.
“The tower guards should see the fire through the mist on the loch,” he muttered.
A sharp spark hissed, and a moment later, flames began to lick up the fabric, curling and snapping in the breeze.
Isabelle shivered as the firelight flickered over his face, casting gold and shadow across the strong line of his jaw. He looked every inch the warrior he was—focused, capable, and unshakable even after all they had endured.
She clasped her hands together, watching him in silence for a moment. Inside her, warmth bloomed, pride, love, and gratitude tangled into one.
How could I have doubted he would rescue me?
This was her husband, the man who faced danger without flinching, who fought for her without thought for his own safety.
Declan straightened, brushing ash from his fingers.
“That should do it,” he said, his voice calm now. He turned his gaze toward her, and something in it softened, all the fierceness giving way to tenderness.
“It’s time to go home, Isabelle.”
Her eyes stung, but this time it wasn’t from fear.
“Aye,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I want that more than anythin’, Declan. I want to go home with ye.”
He stepped toward her, and without another word, he bent and lifted her once more into his arms.
The heat of the burning boat warmed their backs as he carried her toward the other small rowboat drawn up on the shore. The water glimmered with reflected firelight, and Isabelle leaned against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“Ye’re a good man,” she murmured, her fingers curling into his tunic. “A strong man. A true laird.”
Declan’s lips curved faintly, and he lowered his head to brush a kiss against her hair.
“Only ‘cause I’ve a good woman at me side,” he said softly. He set her gently into the boat, careful not to jostle her bruised arms, and untied the rope anchoring it to a rock.
Isabelle looked up at him, her eyes shining in the fading light. “Then let’s go to our home, me Laird . And our bedchamber,” she whispered.
Declan gave her a small nod, pushing the boat off with his boot until it glided onto the gentle waves.
He climbed in after her, taking the oars, his movements steady and sure. As the boat drifted from shore, Isabelle looked back once, at the smoldering wreckage, at the quiet woods, and at the fire fading into the distance. Then she turned to Declan, her heart full.
“Castle McCallum. Home,” she said again, her voice a prayer on the wind. “With ye.”