“Yes, me Laird .” Vera turned at once to scullery maids, her voice trembling slightly as she began barking orders of her own.
“Get ye to the solar and prepare the room for the ladies to dine,” Vera said.
Declan stood there a moment longer, watching her shuffle about in flustered haste, before turning to leave. The heavy door swung shut behind him with a dull thud that echoed down the corridor.
He paused just outside the kitchen, the sound of his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears.
“A fool, that’s what I am.”
The anger that had carried him through the morning was beginning to fade, leaving behind a hollow ache that no amount of command or noise could fill.
He could still see Isabelle’s face in his mind, the softness in her eyes when she looked at him, the way her lips had parted when she whispered his name. The memory burned like the touch of fire.
She had trusted him, allowed him to make love to her, reached for him with no understanding of the war he fought within himself.
And what have I done? I’ve retreated to the farthest corner of me castle, like a coward hiding from the very thing I desire most. I am nae worthy of her or our heir.
Declan straightened, forcing the emotion from his expression before anyone saw. He was Laird after all. The clan depended on him for strength, not weakness. But somewhere up there,Isabelle had been waiting for him, only for him to not warm her bed the previous night and now another.
When the sun dipped behind the western ridge, Declan went to retire in the Stone Hearth room. It was comfortable, welcoming even, yet when he stepped inside, the room felt like exile.
He shrugged off his cloak and tossed it onto the chair, standing before the fire with his hands clasped behind his back.
“This is for her own good,” he groaned.
But in truth, it was his own fear that drove him here—fear of breaking what was pure, fear of becoming the man he despised.
Declan let out a weary sigh and lowered himself into the chair by the hearth with a glass of whiskey.
The heavy door burst open with a slam that rattled the hinges. Isabelle stormed in, her cheeks flushed, her eyes blazing with fury.
“Declan Cain!” she cried, her voice sharp as a whip. “What is the meanin’ of this? Why are ye nae sleepin’ in our chamber?”
Declan straightened, his hand tightening around a glass of whiskey.
“Isabelle,” he said slowly, his tone warning, “this is nae a matter for ye to shout about. I told the maid to ready this room, aye, but it’s for me own peace of mind.”
“Peace of mind?” she repeated, incredulous. “Ye think leavin’ me alone in our bed will give ye peace? Ye used me to warm yer bed for one night, and now, ye wish to forget I exist!”
Her words struck him like a blade, but he kept his face hard.
“Ye’ve it all wrong, lass,” he said gruffly. “There’s nae insult meant. Many a man and wife sleep apart. I’ve work that keeps me late into the night. I cannae be wakin’ ye each time I rise.”
She took a step closer, her fists clenched at her sides. “Do ye take me for a fool? I ken well enough what this is! Ye’ve changed yer mind about me, Declan. Ye willnae even look me in the eye. What have I done to drive ye from me?”
Declan rose to his feet, his towering presence filling the room. “Ye’ve done nothin’ wrong,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I’ll nae have this conversation like a pair of quarrelsome bairns. Go back to our chamber, Isabelle. I’ll join ye when I see fit.”
Her eyes glistened, her voice breaking as she said, “Ye willnae join me. Ye’ve nae the heart for it. Ye’d rather sleep in this cold room than beside yer wife!”
“That’s enough!” Declan’s voice boomed, echoing off the stone walls. “Ye’ll nae question me decisions. I am Laird of this castle, and if I choose to sleep here, then here I’ll stay.”
Her breath hitched, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Laird or no Laird, ye’re still me husband,” she said, her tone trembling. “And I’m yer wife, one who deserves to ken why ye’re shuttin’ me out… again!”
Declan turned away, staring into the flames. His throat tightened with words he couldn’t say.
Because I’m afraid, lass. Afraid I’ll bring ye pain, the same as me faither brought to me.
But aloud he only muttered, “Ye wouldnae understand, Isabelle. It’s better this way.”
