The priest smiled, nodding, and began the tying of their hands, a simple braid of ribbon around their joined palms.
Isabelle could feel the heat of Declan’s hand through hers, firm and calloused, a touch that seemed to anchor her heart in a way she did not understand. Their eyes met as the priest held the ribbons, and she found herself losing herself in his gaze, that dark, smoldering look of possession and authority that left her breathless.
She wanted to pull back, to remind herself she was just stepping into the unknown, yet some part of her, an instinct older than reason, stayed.
“By the power vested in me, I now declare ye man and wife,” the priest intoned, “and may the bonds of marriage bring ye joy, strength, and unity.”
The congregation murmured and shifted, some clapping, some smiling, but Isabelle’s attention was fixed entirely on Declan.
The priest cleared his throat gently, a polite reminder that the ceremony was not yet concluded, and Isabelle realizedhow tightly she was gripping Declan’s hand. She could feel his strength through the skin, his heat radiating into her, and she was acutely aware that the entire chapel might fade away, leaving only the two of them in that suspended moment.
The priest’s voice returned, “Ye may now seal your vows with a kiss, as husband and wife.”
Isabelle closed her eyes instinctively, preparing herself for the moment that would mark the sealing of their union. She felt her heart beat faster, but she couldn’t understand if it was from fear or something else.
He leaned slightly closer, his lips near her ear, and whispered, low and teasing, “Daenae worry, love, I daenae bite.”
She felt her chest tighten at the sound of his voice, the husky timbre sending a shiver down her spine. Her mind screamed that she should step back, yet her body refused, held captive by his closeness.
Instead of his lips claiming hers, though, she felt a soft brush against her cheek, a whisper of warmth that hovered so close it could have been the kiss itself.
Startled, Isabelle opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was Declan’s smirk, a look of arrogant amusement in his intense gaze. He held her eyes for a moment longer than polite, and she felt a strange mixture of anger, embarrassment, and… something unnameable stir within her.
“Ye’re starin’,” she blurted in a soft whisper, her voice higher than she intended, her cheeks flushing crimson.
“I am?” Declan’s voice was teasing, yet controlled, dangerous in its quiet authority. “Aye, I think I’ll be starin’ at ye for many years to come.”
Isabelle wanted to recoil, to tell him that this was improper, that a bride must not be so affected by her groom. And yet, she could not deny the thrill that surged through her at his words, that heat that made her pulse race and her thoughts scatter.
Declan’s eyes softened for a heartbeat, a rare flicker of vulnerability that betrayed just enough for her to notice.
“Ye will get used to me, lass,” he murmured, voice dropping to a private tone that made her heart skip. “Aye, it’ll be a good thing, or so I’ll make it.”
Isabelle’s lips parted slightly, uncertain whether to respond, caught in the clash of dread and a dangerous, electric curiosity.
She could feel his strength through the skin, his heat radiating into her, and she was acutely aware that the entire chapel might fade away, leaving only the two of them in that suspended moment.
The priest nodded, satisfied. “Go in peace, and let love guide ye both.”
Declan straightened, looking down at Isabelle with a possessive gaze that brooked no objection. Isabelle, still trembling, could not help but meet it, the strange mix of terror and exhilaration anchoring her to the man she had just married.
Outside, the chapel doors would open soon, and the clans would cheer, but inside that quiet, candlelit sanctuary, it was just them, bound and beginning a future neither fully understood yet.
Isabelle walked beside Declan, her hand lightly resting in his, the chapel doors swinging wide before them. The crisp winter air hit her cheeks, tinged with the scent of pine and snow, and she tried to steady her thoughts.
While she still resented being forced into this marriage, she admitted quietly to herself that, “at least it is with a man I feel I can get along with.”
She didn’t realize she had spoken her thought aloud until Declan’s smirk drew her attention.
“Aye? Ye speak too freely, lass,” Declan said, his voice low, carrying that dangerous edge she had come to notice.
“I merely… think it’s nae so terrible,” Isabelle replied, cheeks warming at his look.
Declan’s smirk widened, sharp and amused, “Ye speak like ye ken me already though we’ve but just met.”
“Say yer goodbyes at the feast; we’re leavin’ as soon as possible,” Declan added, his tone now colder, his hand tightening ever so slightly around hers.
Isabelle hesitated then lifted her chin with defiance. “That willnae be necessary when the time comes,” she said simply, her voice firm.
