“Was she bound? Did they say if she looked a captive?”
Liam shook his head, uncertainty in his eyes. “Nay, me Laird . Only that she kept her hood low and never spoke a word. Some thought she might be one of them, others swore she looked frightened.”
Declan’s jaw tightened as he absorbed the news.
“Confound it,” he muttered. “If they’ve taken a woman, then they’ve grown bolder than I thought. We cannae let them vanish again.”
His tone sharpened with command as he turned to Liam.
“Fetch Killian. Tell him to meet us in me study, now.”
Liam bowed quickly and strode off down the hall, his cloak flaring behind him as Declan turned toward the western wing.
Moments later, Declan stood in his study, the fire crackling low as shadows danced over the maps strewn across his desk.
The door opened, and both Killian and Liam entered, closing it behind them. Declan motioned for them to come closer, his expression set with grim purpose.
“We’ve news from Glenfaring,” he began, gesturing to the eastern edge of the map. “The bandits were sighted there, and they were nae alone.”
Killian’s brows shot up. “Nae alone?” he repeated. “Who was with them, a laird?”
Declan tapped the map with one finger. “A woman. Unknown. Whether she’s a captive or nae, we cannae say.”
Killian let out a low whistle, crossing his arms. “That complicates things. If she’s a prisoner, we’ll need to move carefully, else we risk harm to her.”
Declan exhaled sharply, frustration lacing his tone. “They’re always one step ahead. I’ll nae let them keep the upper hand.” His gaze shifted between the two men. “We’ll send word to the other lairds. If those bastards move beyond our borders, I’ll ken it quick.”
Killian stepped forward, his tone measured. “I’ll send riders at once.”
Declan shook his head. “Nay. I’ll write the letters meself. Liam will deliver them—quicker that way and less chance of word slipping where it shouldnae.”
Liam inclined his head. “Aye, me Laird . I’ll see it done.”
Declan sat at the desk and took up his quill. The scratching of ink filled the room as he wrote each letter in his steady, precise hand: one to Laird MacLeod, another to Laird Ross, then to the Dunbar lands, and last to the western keep of Kincraig. His words were clear and direct, demanding cooperation and swift reply.
When the last letter was sealed in wax, Declan pressed his seal firmly against each one before handing them to Liam.
“These must reach the lairds,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting Liam’s. “No mistakes.”
Liam bowed deeply, tucking the letters into his satchel. “Ye have me word.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Days had crawled by since Isabelle had truly spoken to Declan, and she had reached her limit. Declan’s distant glances and cold silence gnawed at her patience until she could bear it no longer.
She stormed through the corridors, ignoring the startled glances of passing servants. When she reached the heavy oak door of his study, she didn’t bother to knock. She shoved it open with enough force that it struck the wall.
Declan stood behind his desk, bent over a spread of maps, his head snapping up at the intrusion. His dark eyes flashed with surprise then hardened like tempered steel.
“Isabelle,” he said slowly, his voice deep and edged, “ye shouldnae be burstin’ into rooms unannounced.
She crossed the threshold with her chin high, fury giving her courage.
“I dinnae care,” she shot back, closing the door behind her with a sharp thud. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense, Declan.”
His brow furrowed though she saw the faint twitch of his jaw that betrayed unease.
“Ye’ve been skulkin’ about like a ghost, sleepin’ in that cold stone room as though I’ve the plague. I want ye back in our chamber, tonight.”
