Declan’s eyes darkened, his hand flexing at his side as though holding himself back from answering too harshly.
“I dinnae shut ye out. It is ye nae speakin’ to me,” he muttered, quieter now but still gruff.
She scoffed softly, moving to the edge of the bed and folding her arms. “Aye, me silence is an answer to yer stubborness.”
Declan exhaled sharply and turned away, muttering something beneath his breath before sinking into the chair near the fire. The distance between them seemed wider than the loch that surrounded the castle.
Isabelle’s heart twisted painfully in her chest, but she held her chin high, determined not to let him see her hurt.
Inside, however, her resolve trembled. It wounded her to stay silent, to ignore the man whose nearness made her heart ache even in anger. Yet her pride, her wounded pride, kept her rooted in defiance. She would not give in, not this time, not when he had made her feel small. If he wanted her words, then he’d have to earn them.
Isabelle sat stiffly at the edge of the bed, her arms folded, determined not to give in first. He had been brooding for what felt like an eternity, pacing by the fire with that same storm in his eyes. Then, with a rough sigh, he stopped, his voice low and strained.
“I’ll tell ye then, lass,” he said at last, his tone weary. “The reason there’s nae Yule in this castle… is because that day took near everythin’ from me.”
Isabelle blinked, her anger faltering. “What do ye mean?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Declan’s gaze drifted to the flames. “Two years past, on Yule morn, me braither Tristan and his wife were ridin’ home. The roads were slick with ice and thick with mud. The carriage tipped, rolled down the ravine. They didnae make it.”
The room fell utterly still. Isabelle’s breath caught, and she felt her throat tighten. The sharp edge of her fury dissolved, leaving only disbelief and a deep, aching pity.
“I… I didnae ken,” she murmured. “The lasses, Penelope, Hallie, Beth, ye mean… they’re nae yers?”
Declan turned to her then, his expression heavy with something between regret and sorrow. “They’re Tristan’s bairns. Me braither’s blood. I took them in when there was nay one left to care for them. They call me Da, for I told them I am their new faither. I have adopted them as me own.”
Isabelle’s heart clenched, realization dawning in painful waves. “I thought…” she whispered. “I thought they were yer own. I didnae wish to pry about their maither . I only thought… perhaps she’d passed long ago.”
Declan nodded slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I should’ve told ye,” he admitted. “Ye deserved to ken the truth. But it’s nae an easy tale to speak of. That day... every Yule since, it feels like livin’ it again.”
Isabelle’s eyes softened, her anger replaced by compassion. “Declan,” she said quietly, stepping closer to him. “I’m sorry. I cannae imagine the pain of losin’ yer own blood like that. But surely ye see, keepin’ Yule locked away willnae bring them back.”
His jaw tightened, and he turned toward the fire again. “It’s nae about bringin’ them back,” he said darkly. “It’s about stoppin’ the hurt. I cannae bear the sight of merriment, the sound of laughter that used to fill this hall at Yule.”
A silence settled again, heavy and raw. Isabelle swallowed hard, her heart aching for both him and the children. “Ye’ve carried that burden all this time,” she said softly. “And all the while, the wee lasses dinnae ken the reason their uncle grows cold when the snow falls.”
Declan’s expression wavered, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I dinnae wish them to suffer the memory of it,” he said, voice rough. “They’re happy now. I’d rather they kept that.”
“But they willnae stay happy if the castle feels so joyless come winter,” Isabelle said gently, stepping closer still. “They’ll feel it, Declan. They already do. Children ken more than we think.”
He looked at her then, his eyes hard but weary, as if the weight of two years hung behind them. “Ye dinnae understand, Isabelle. When I see them smilin’ by the fire, I can still hear Tristan’s laugh. I can still see his wife, holdin’ their hands. I cannae bring myself to pretend it doesnae ache.”
Isabelle’s voice softened, trembling slightly. “Aye, I understand more than ye think. But do ye nae see, me Laird ? Havin’ joy again doesnae dishonor them. It honors the love they gave. It’s what they’d have wanted for ye… and for the lasses.”
Declan’s shoulders tensed, his throat working as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t. “Ye make it sound so easy,” he muttered, bitterness lacing his words. “Ye’ve nae idea how grief can hollow a man from the inside.”
She took another step forward until she was beside him. “Maybe nae, Declan. But I ken what it feels like to lose someone and have the world act as if ye should be fine. If I were gone, I’d want those I loved to find happiness again. To live, nae hide behind sorrow.”
Declan turned sharply, eyes meeting hers. The tension between them shifted, no longer anger but something quieter, fragile,human. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, with a quiet exhale, he said, “Ye’ve a kind heart, Isabelle. Too kind for the likes of me.”
She shook her head, her eyes glistening in the firelight. “Nay, Declan. Ye’re nae the cold man ye try to be. Ye love those bairns more than life itself. I’ve seen it. That kind of love is worth more than all yer pride.”
Declan’s expression softened at last, and he reached out, brushing his thumb over her cheek almost absently. “Ye’ve a way of seein’ through a man’s armor, lass. And damn me, it’s near maddening.”
A small smile tugged at her lips despite the tears threatening to fall. “Then perhaps ye should stop hidin’ behind it,” she said gently.
For a long moment, they stood there in silence, the firelight flickering across their faces. Declan’s gaze lingered on her, his defenses lowering just enough for her to see the pain that had haunted him for years.
Isabelle’s voice was soft but steady as she looked up at Declan, “I understand now,” she said gently. “Ye dinnae want to relive the past, and I wouldnae ask ye to. But maybe… maybe we dinnae need a grand feast for the whole clan. Maybe we could just do a small Yule for the lasses. Give them new memories to replace the pain they carry.”
