Branches whipped at his face as he ran, his breath coming in sharp bursts. The storm muffled every sound, turning the forest into a blur of white and shadow.
“Isabelle!” he called again, louder, his voice breaking with desperation. For a heartbeat, there was nothing, only the wind and his pounding heartbeat.
Then it came. A cry, faint but unmistakable.
“Help!” Her voice. Isabelle’s voice.
Declan’s pulse surged, and he broke into a sprint, the snow dragging at his boots as he tore through the undergrowth.
“Hold fast, lass! I’m comin’!” he roared, his sword gleaming in the dim light as he pushed toward the sound.
The fury within him burned hotter than the cold ever could. He would find her, no matter the cost, no matter who stood in his path.
Every step drew him closer, the shouts ahead growing clearer. Declan’s mind was a storm of fear and resolve, his love for Isabelle thundering louder than the wind itself. Somewhere beyond the trees, she was fighting, and he swore to himself,By blood and by God, I'll reach her before they dare to harm her.
Declan slowed his pace, his pulse pounding in his ears as Isabelle’s cries cut through the wind. He crouched low, sword in hand, his boots silent against the snow.
The trees thickened, and he moved with the stealth of a hunter, following the desperate sound of her voice. Each step broughthim closer, every shout pulling him deeper into the dark woods where danger waited.
Through the tangle of pines, a faint orange glow flickered ahead. Declan dropped lower, edging closer until he saw them: a small campfire, two men, and Isabelle bound beside them.
His jaw clenched as he counted three figures… then his blood ran cold. A woman stepped into the firelight, her hood falling back to reveal a smile that twisted his stomach—Rosaline.
He stayed hidden behind a fallen log, the shadows cloaking him so that he could better assess how many men there were or if more were on the way.
Isabelle’s chin was lifted high though fear trembled in her voice.
“What is it ye want from me?” she demanded.
Rosaline stepped closer, her laughter sharp as glass. “Ye? I dinna want ye, lass. I want what ye stole.”
Isabelle frowned, confusion flickering in her eyes.
“I’ve stolen nothin’.”
Rosaline’s smile widened, bitter and cruel. “Ye stole Declan, the Laird McCallum. He was meant to be mine before ye came along,flutterin’ yer lashes and pretendin’ to be some sweet, helpless thing.”
“I did nae pretend,” Isabelle said, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “Declan chose me of his own accord.”
Rosaline’s eyes blazed. “He wouldnae have if it weren’t for yer cursed face and soft words. Ye bewitched him, made him forget his duty, his promises, me!”
Declan’s grip on his sword tightened, rage boiling in his chest, but he forced himself to stay hidden so he could move around the backside of the camp.
Isabelle’s breath came quick, but she didn’t look away from Rosaline.
“If Declan wanted ye truly, ye wouldnae have to steal me away like a thief in the night,” she said sharply. “He’s no man to be won by deceit.”
Rosaline’s lip curled, her voice dripping venom. “Ye think he truly loves ye? Och, he pities ye, that’s all. A soft-hearted fool playin’ protector. Once he tires of ye, he’ll see ye for what ye are, nothin’ but an ugly woman wrapped in silk.”
Isabelle’s eyes flashed, her back straightening. “I am Lady McCallum, his wife in name and heart both. Ye can sneer all ye like, but it’ll nae change that truth.”
The fire cracked between them, the wind howling through the branches above. Rosaline took a step forward, her voice lowering to a hiss.
“We’ll see how proud ye are once he’s buried ye.”
Isabelle flinched, shock flickering across her face. “What did ye say?”
Rosaline’s smile turned feral.
