“Aye, I might just do that!” she said, her defiance rising even as her pulse raced. “And ye’ll regret intrudin’!”
Laughter rang faintly from the corridor beyond the locked door, light, mocking, and unmistakable.
Isabelle’s heart sank as she caught the lilting tone of her cousin Rosaline’s voice, followed by the quick patter of retreating footsteps. A cold realization washed over her, draining the color from her face.
“Och, nay…” she whispered under her breath, mortification twisting deep in her chest.
She turned to the man, still standing tall and unyielding, his brown eyes sharp beneath the flicker of candlelight.
“I… I’m sorry,” she stammered, clutching the fabric tighter around her body. “This… this must be one of Rosaline’s foolishpranks. She’s always got some mischief brewin’. I swear to ye, sir, I had nothin’ to do with this.” Her words spilled out in a rush, earnest and desperate.
Damn ye Rosaline, could ye nae leave me in peace for once?
The man’s expression softened just a touch, though suspicion still shadowed his features.
“A prank, ye say?” he repeated, his voice steady but edged with disbelief. He crossed his arms, the movement drawing her eye to the breadth of his shoulders and the faint glint of a scar near his jaw.
“If this is how Clan Ross treats their guests, it’s a poor jest indeed.”
“Nay, nay,” Isabelle insisted quickly, shaking her head. “Clan Ross would never dare to compromise a guest.” She frowned, confusion flickering through her gaze. “Though, I daenae ken who ye are… truly. I only met ye here by chance, and…”
“I am Declan Cain,” he interrupted, his tone low and firm. “Laird McCallum.”
The air seemed to vanish from the room at once. Isabelle stared at him, eyes wide, her breath catching in her throat.
“Laird… McCallum?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “God above…”
A wave of mortified realization struck her full force. This man was Rosaline’s betrothed. Her cousin’s intended husband, the man who had come for the wedding, was the very one she stood before now, half-clad and wrapped in a bolt of ivory cloth.
Isabelle’s stomach twisted painfully, shame flooding her cheeks. “I… I dinnae ken,” she stammered. “Ye’re to wed Rosaline. Och, this looks terrible. I swear to ye, I meant nay harm.”
Declan’s brow furrowed though a flicker of understanding passed through his expression.
“Aye,” he said slowly, his tone more measured now. “That much is clear enough. Still, lass, ye’ll forgive me if I find the situation a bit... questionable. Ye’ve a strange way of greetin’ a man ye’ve never met.”
“I dinnae greet ye!” she protested, her cheeks blazing. “I was ambushed by this whole ridiculous trick!” Her voice trembled between anger and embarrassment. “Rosaline must think it a fine jest to lock me in with ye, but she’s gone too far this time.”
Before Declan could respond, the door flew open with a loud creak. The heavy footsteps of Laird Ross filled the corridor, followed by his booming voice.
“What in God’s name have ye done this time, Isabelle?” His gaze darted between her disheveled state and the imposing man beside her. “Explain yerself at once!”
Isabelle’s heart pounded so loudly she could scarcely hear herself think.
“Father, please, listen to me,” she began, her voice trembling. “It wasnae me! Rosaline, she’s the one who… ”
But her father cut her off with a scowl, his eyes blazing with fury and humiliation. “Rosaline would nae do such a thing! Always with excuses, Isabelle! Always in some mess or another!” His words hit like blows, each one stripping her of the fragile composure she clung to.
Laird Ross’ eyes darted between them, his jaw tight. “Where’s yer dress, Isabelle?” he muttered darkly.
He turned back to Declan, his tone sharp. “Ye dared defile me daughter.”
Isabelle lowered her head, humiliation burning in every vein. “Father…” she whispered, her voice breaking.
I am ruined.
CHAPTER FOUR
Isabelle’s heart thudded painfully in her chest as her father filled the doorway. His face was thunderous, jaw tight, eyes flashing with fury as he took in the sight before him—his daughter, disheveled and half-dressed, standing far too close to a man she did not know.
