Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“Ho there!” Declan shouted, his voice echoing into the night.
His breath came in sharp clouds as he rowed through the thick mist rolling over the loch. The air was bitter and damp, each pull of the oars cutting through the dark water like a heartbeat.
Again he bellowed, louder this time, “Ho there!” until his voice cracked against the wind.
For a long moment, there was only silence and the creak of wood beneath him and Isabelle.
Then, faintly through the haze, came a reply.
“Me Laird! Is that ye?”
Declan’s heart kicked in his chest at the sound—Killian’s voice, sure as the dawn.
“Aye!” he shouted back, his voice filled with fierce relief.
The mist shifted, parting like a curtain as the flicker of torchlight appeared ahead.
Two boats emerged from the fog, cutting swift and straight toward him. In one, Declan saw Killian and Liam, their faces tight with worry. The other followed close behind, armed guards ready, their torches glowing like stars in the gloom.
“Killian!” Declan called as the boats neared.
Killian stood, steady despite the rocking, his expression one of disbelief and fierce concern.
“Aye, ’tis me and Lady Isabelle,” Declan continued, his voice rough from shouting. “There was an attack. They took Isabelle, but she’s here with me now.”
Killian’s shoulders sagged in visible relief.
“Saints above,” he muttered, wiping rain from his brow. “We’d near feared an awful thing, me Laird . We saw the fire and thought the worst.”
Declan nodded grimly, glancing toward Isabelle, who sat huddled in the bow, pale but alive.
“Nay, we’re no ghosts yet,” he said firmly. “But the ones who took her aren’t breathin’.”
Liam leaned over the edge of his boat, eyes wide as he spotted Isabelle.
“Lady Isabelle!” he called. “Are ye hurt, me Lady ? Bandages, cloth needed?”
“I am fine, only shaken.” Isabelle managed a faint shake of her head though her lips trembled.
Declan placed a reassuring hand over hers, his jaw tight. “She’s safe now,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
The boats drew nearer until their hulls nearly grazed, the torches casting flickering gold over the black water. Declan straightened in his seat, his voice ringing clear through the mist.
“Listen well,” he called. “The bandits had Lady Rosaline of Clan Ross with them. She’s the one behind this whole cursed thing.”
Killian’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Lady Rosaline? Yer intended bride?” he repeated, the name coming out like a curse. “By the saints, are ye certain, me Laird ?”
“Aye, ’tis me cousin. She planned it all,” Isabelle said.
Declan gave a curt nod, his jaw tightening. “Aye, I saw her with me own eyes. Commanded those bandits.”
Liam swore under his breath, his oar pausing mid-stroke.
“So, she’s the unknown lady we’d heard whispers of,” he said grimly. “The one leadin’ the bandits from the shadows.”
Declan’s expression hardened, his gaze fixed on the shore behind him.
“Aye,” he said. “I tied her to a tree at their camp. Go, bring her back to the castle dungeon. She’ll answer for what she’s done.”
Killian gave a sharp nod, already turning toward his men. “Aye, me Laird . We’ll find her and make sure she cannae harm another soul.”
Declan leaned forward, his tone firm and commanding. “Liam,” he said, meeting his guard’s eye. “Take some men and scour the woods. Make certain there are nae more of those bastards lurkin’ about.”
Liam tightened his grip on his oar and gave a grim smile. “It will be done, me Laird ,” he said. “We’ll see to it that the loch’s shores are clear before dawn.”
Declan gave one brief nod, the weight of leadership steady on his shoulders.
“Good,” he said quietly, glancing toward Isabelle, who watched from her seat, pale but resolute. “Then let’s finish this and get her home where she belongs.”
Killian’s torchlight glinted across the loch as he and Liam’s boats split off, one turning toward the far shore, the other hugging the misted tree line.
Declan watched them vanish into the fog, his hand resting protectively on Isabelle’s shoulder. The night was far from over, but his purpose burned brighter than the torches around him. At last, he was taking his wife home.
The boat scraped against the snowy shore, the sound harsh against the quiet mist. Declan leapt out, his boots sinking into as he hauled the craft higher.
Two guards hurried forward, torches flaring against the wind.
He turned back, gathering Isabelle carefully into his arms, her body trembling against him.
“Sound the bells!” Declan barked, his tone sharp and commanding. “There’s been an attack on Lady Isabelle! The castle is to be searched, every corridor, every hall. I want a guard posted outside me bedchamber as well.”
One of the men nodded, already sprinting up the slope toward the gatehouse while the other moved to secure the boat. The clang of the first warning bell soon broke across the loch.
Declan strode through the open gate and into the castle courtyard, his arms firm beneath Isabelle’s slight weight. The courtyard erupted into motion, maids gasping, men shouting orders, dogs barking in confusion.
Isabelle’s head nestled against his chest, her breath warm through his tunic despite the cold. Declan glanced down, his jaw softening as he met her weary eyes.
“Yer safe now, mo chridhe,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “I swear to ye, I’ll nae let harm come near ye again.”
Isabelle’s hand rose shakily, brushing along his jaw. “I ken that,” she whispered, her voice faint but sure. “Ye came for me, Declan.”
His heart clenched at her words, heavy with love and regret. “Ye shouldnae have had to suffer even a moment’s fear,” he said, his tone low, guilt threading through it. “I’ll spend the rest of me life makin’ it right, I swear it.”
She smiled weakly, her fingers gripping his cloak. “All I ever wanted was to be in yer arms again.”
He pressed his lips to her brow as they passed through the great hall, the firelight flickering against the stone walls.
“Then that’s where ye’ll stay,” he said softly, his voice thick. “From this night forth, Isabelle, ye’ll nae leave me sight again.”
She sighed, her cheek resting over his heart. And as he carried her toward their chamber, the castle bells still ringing above them, Declan felt, for the first time in years, that he had truly come home.
Declan set Isabelle gently upon the bed, his hands lingering at her shoulders.
She reached out, grasping his sleeve.
“Donae leave me, Declan,” she whispered, eyes wide with fear and relief.
He shook his head, his voice low but firm, “I’m only goin’ to give orders to the maid to bring ye a hot bath. I willnae have ye get sick on me. Ye’ll be safe here.”
The door burst open before he could move, Mabel’s presence filling the chamber like sunlight.
“Declan! The bells are ringin’ and talk of an attack on Isabelle! What has happened to her?” she demanded, breathless and anxious.
Declan straightened, his jaw set. “Lady Isabelle was taken by her cousin, Lady Rosaline of Clan Ross. She is safe now, Mabel. She’s unharmed.”
Mabel crossed swiftly to Isabelle’s side, grasping her frozen hands.
“Ye’re frozen, me dear,” she said, concern lining her voice. “I shall go order the servants. Ye’ll have a hot bath, hot tea, and stew to warm yer bones.”
Isabelle gave a small, grateful nod, her fingers tightening on Mabel’s hand.
Declan’s eyes softened as he watched his sister fuss over Isabelle.
“Thank ye, Mabel,” he said quietly. “I’ll leave ye to it as I’ll stay at Isabelle’s side.”
Mabel smiled though worry still shadowed her features. With a quick nod, she turned and hurried from the room, the sound of her skirts fading as she went to rally the castle staff.
Isabelle sank back against the pillows, her breath coming easier now that she was finally safe. Declan remained standing beside her, one hand brushing her hair from her face, his eyes never leaving hers.
“D’ye ken how foolish I felt, Isabelle?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I swore I’d never let harm come to ye, and it was me avoidin' ye that had ye outside alone without me at yer side. I’ll be damned if ever let ye out of me sight. Not anyone, not any man, dares try that again.”
She gave a faint laugh, shaking her head.
“Ye’ve done enough, Declan. Ye’ve brought me home.”
He knelt beside the bed, taking her hands in his, thumbs brushing over her knuckles. “Home,” he repeated softly, his eyes dark with love, “is wherever ye are, Isabelle Cain, wife.”