“Then I’ll wait,” Isabelle said, glancing toward the window where the light danced over the loch outside.
“And in the meantime, I’ll get to know the children. They deserve a maither figure who cares for them.”
Mabel studied her for a long moment then nodded approvingly. “Aye, ye’ve a good heart, Isabelle. I see now why fate brought ye here instead of Rosaline.”
Isabelle’s eyes softened, though a flicker of sadness crossed her face. “Perhaps fate knows what it’s doing better than I do,” she said quietly.
Mabel smiled, rising from her chair. “Aye, lass. It usually does.”
As Isabelle sat there, watching the sunlight glimmer through the stained glass and hearing the distant laughter of the triplets echo down the hall, she felt, for the first time since arriving, a sense of belonging begin to take root in her heart.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“There she is, Woodgreen,” Declan muttered under his breath.
“Aye, ’tis a good sight,” Killian said.
“Ride around the side, and tell me what ye see,” Declan ordered.
“Aye, me Laird ,” Killian said as he rode away.
The ride between Glen Oak and Woodgreen village had been long and steady, the chill of the Highland air nipping at their faces.
Declan led the men down the narrow dirt path bordered by tall pines, the hooves of their horses muffled by the damp earth. The scent of peat smoke drifted through the air as the first thatched rooftops of Woodgreen came into view, huddled close to a bend in the river. Chickens scattered as they entered, anda few villagers paused their work to bow their heads, their eyes cautious but respectful.
The village lay nestled between low hills with stone cottages lining the muddy path that served as the main street. Smoke rose from the blacksmith’s forge, and the rhythmic clang of hammer on iron filled the quiet morning.
A few children peered from doorways, their faces smudged but curious, while a shepherd called out to his dog from the far field.
Declan took in the scene, his keen eyes assessing the sturdy fences and the half-built watchtower near the edge of the forest.
Killian rode up beside him, his dark hair tied back and his expression thoughtful.
“Seems the place is fair holdin’ up well, me Laird . The Woodgreen men in charge, George and Howard, didnae waste their time these past weeks.”
Declan nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the barricade of sharpened logs that marked the village’s western border. “Aye, but we’ll see soon enough if it’s strong as it looks. Bandits ken how to find weakness where honest men cannae.”
They dismounted near the central square where George, the village guard captain, was already waiting with his men. George was a burly fellow with a grizzled beard and weather-worn face,the sort of man who had seen more winters than he cared to count.
“Me Laird,” he greeted with a deep bow. “We’ve been expectin’ ye. The watchtowers are near finished though the south fence took some beatin’ from the last storm.” Declan nodded, his sharp eyes scanning the men behind George—strong, able-bodied, though a few looked too young to bear arms.
“Show me,” Declan said curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
George motioned toward the path leading south, and the group began their round of inspections. The air smelled of damp wood and earth as they approached the damaged fence.
Declan ran a gloved hand along one of the broken posts, testing its sturdiness.
“This’ll nae do,” he murmured. “If bandits strike from the wood, they’ll break through here in less than a minute.”
Howard, the younger of the two guards, stepped forward nervously. “Aye, me Laird , we meant to reinforce it, but the men were stretched thin fixin’ the east side. We’ll see to it straightaway.”
Declan’s gaze flicked to him, sharp but not unkind. “See that ye do, lad. Weak walls bring sorrow faster than winter frost. Take a few of me men to help ye while we are here.”
Killian gave a small grin beside him and lowered his voice to tease him. “Ye always had a way with words, Declan. Makes a man feel the chill of doom when ye talk of defenses.”
Declan shot him a look but smirked faintly. “Then perhaps the words’ll stay with them long enough to make ’em work faster.”
They continued their inspection toward the watchtower overlooking the northern ridge. The structure stood tall but incomplete, its beams sturdy and straight. A young mason hammered away at one of the corner braces while another hoisted timber with a rope pulley.
