“Obedience?” Isabelle’s laugh was short, bitter, and defiant. “Ye think I was given the choice, and yet ye claim obedience? I’ll nae bend so easily, Laird McCallum. Do ye hear me?”
A flicker of admiration sparked in him though he hated admitting it even to himself. She was fiery, unbroken, and that infuriated him all the more.
“Aye, I hear ye, but mark me words, daenae test me, Isabelle. I’ve nay patience for foolishness, and I’ll nae tolerate backtalk in me household.”
She turned to him fully, her brown eyes blazing. “Then perhaps ye should have chosen someone meek and timid, for I am nae for men who think a title gives them dominion over another.”
Declan’s muscles tensed as the words hit him like a slap. He wanted to roar, to lean close and demand she submit, but the carriage walls kept their space intimate yet confining, forcing a simmering restraint.
“Ye think ye’ve spirit, lass, but ye’ll learn quickly that I do nae suffer fools lightly. Disobedience in me household, aye, in me presence, has consequences.”
“And what consequences might those be?” Isabelle asked, her voice teasing, daring him yet laced with a fury that matched his own. “Will ye scowl at me until I break or think shoutin’ frightens me into silence? I’ve faced worse than men like ye.”
Declan’s nostrils flared. “Men like me?” he spat. “Ye’ll learn soon enough, Isabelle, that I am nae just any man. I command respect and daenae mistake me patience for weakness.”
“And I command respect,” she countered, leaning forward in her seat, unafraid. “Aye, perhaps more than ye think, Laird McCallum. I will nae kneel to any man, nay matter how many scars he carries or how many nieces he wants to impress.”
He leaned back, glaring, trying to steady the heat coursing through his body. There was a dark thrill in her defiance, a pull he couldnae deny even as it enraged him.
“Ye are bold,” he muttered, almost to himself, as the carriage rattled beneath the horses’ steps, echoing the tension between them.
“And ye are arrogant,” she snapped, the sharpness in her tone making it impossible for him to ignore. “Ye married me as if ownership could be claimed by law, but daenae think for a second that I will yield like a frightened girl.”
Declan’s hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles white. “Yield?” he growled. “I command ye, Isabelle. Obedience is expected. I will nae have defiance shadow every word I speak in me own home.”
She laughed again, bitter and light all at once. “Then prepare for many shadows, Laird McCallum, for I will nae be tamed so easily. If ye seek compliance, ye’ll find none in me. Ye have married a woman, nae a puppet.”
A silence fell over the carriage for a few moments, broken only by the creaking of leather and the snort of the horses. Declan’s chest heaved, his anger a scorching heat, yet beneath it, something else stirred—admiration, even desire, for the woman who dared challenge him.
He knew the path ahead would be a battle, a constant clash of wills, and the thought ignited a fire he had never expected from marriage.
Finally, he leaned close, his voice low, dangerous, and filled with promise.
“Mark me, Isabelle. I will tame ye but nae with threats alone. Ye’ll learn the weight of me will, whether ye like it or nae, and if ye resist, I will enjoy the struggle.”
Declan leaned back against the leather of the carriage seat, the rhythmic clop of the horses’ hooves echoing in his ears, and his gaze kept straying to Isabelle beside him. He thought of the kiss after the wedding, the one he hadn’t intended to give. Her lips had been too tempting, soft, and warm, and he’d felt that monster inside him stir, the one that thrived on possession and dominance. He gritted his teeth, telling himself,I cannae get any closer; I will nae give her cause to despise me further than she already may.
She had every right to hate him. He knew he had strong-armed their union, forced the marriage to secure the alliance between their clans, and Isabelle had made no secret that she felt trapped. A pang of guilt cut through him though he tried to ignore it, a strange mix of arrogance and self-loathing twisting in his chest.
She surely saw him as a monster, a man who had robbed her of choice, and perhaps she would forever blame him for this, even if he had meant to protect her in his own harsh way.
Hours passed in near silence, the tension thick between them. Declan’s mind wandered to her hands, resting in her lap, fingers twitching ever so slightly, betraying her nerves. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to claim her lips once more, but he held back, fearing that any gesture might provoke a fury of hatred instead of passion. Her brown eyes, focused out the carriage window, avoided his gaze, and he could see the faint trembling of her lips, as though she were barely holding herself together.
Finally, he spoke, his voice cutting through the quiet like steel. “We’re about to arrive,” he said, low and deliberate, his words meant to warn her that the journey’s end was near.
Isabelle’s posture stiffened instantly, and he could feel the flutter of fear, or perhaps anticipation, against him. There was a sharpness in her glance as she turned toward him, one that made him smirk despite himself though he kept the expression fleeting.
“Ye should be ready to perform yer wifely duties,” he said, the words rolling off his tongue with a casual authority that he knew would provoke her.
Isabelle’s eyes widened in shock, and she blinked rapidly. “I… I… daenae ken if I’m ready for that yet,” she stammered, her voice trembling though there was fire in it still.
Declan’s gaze locked on her, hard and unwavering, and he felt the heat of offense flare in his chest. He believed she meant what he feared, that she had yet to trust him, that she thought him a monster, and that she withheld herself because she hated him.
“Ye’ll hae to prepare yerself,” he said. “The castle… is ready. And so will ye be.”
Isabelle’s cheeks flushed, her defiance clear even in that fleeting moment of embarrassment. “I… I daenae ken if I can,” she admitted, her voice low but not without strength.
He let out a slow, measured breath, resisting the urge to reach for her hand, to ease the tension that threatened to choke them both.
