The words hung in the air between them, bold and unyielding.
Declan straightened, his hands braced on the edge of the table.
“It’s for yer safety,” he said firmly.
Isabelle let out a scoff, stepping closer until the firelight glinted in her eyes.
“Safety? I’m safer with ye in me bed than anywhere else. Dinnae stand there tellin’ me ye’re protectin’ me while ye hide away like some sulking bairn.”
He glared at her then, the tension snapping taut. “Ye dinnae ken what ye speak of,” he growled. “I’m nae hidin’. I’m sparin’ ye from what I am.”
Isabelle tilted her head, lips curving with defiance. “Och aye, and what is it ye think ye are, then? A bampot? A laird too proud to share a room with his own wife?”
Her tone dripped with sarcasm, and he let out a sharp exhale, nostrils flaring.
“I’m a man ye shouldnae want near ye,” he bit out. “A man with blood on his hands and ghosts that dae nae rest.” His voice was low, dangerous, the words cracking with something deeper than anger. “Ye’d do well to keep yer distance, Isabelle. I cannae give ye what ye want. I am a monster.”
She took another step closer, refusing to be cowed.
“I dinnae see a monster, Declan,” she said softly though her chin remained high. “I see a man who loves his bairns. A man who keeps his people safe. If ye were half the monster ye claim, I’d ken it by now.”
“Ye ken nothin’ about me,” he said roughly, his back still to her. “Ye’ve seen only what I’ve let ye see.”
Isabelle’s eyes narrowed. “Then show me more,” she challenged. “Show me the man ye truly are instead of hidin’ behind this cold mask.” Her voice trembled with both anger and longing, her heart pounding so hard it hurt.
Declan turned then, his expression shadowed and fierce. “Dinnae tempt me, lass,” he warned, his voice a low rumble thatseemed to vibrate through the room. “Ye’ve nay idea the fire ye’re stokin’.”
Isabelle met his gaze, unflinching. “Maybe I do,” she whispered. “And maybe I dae nae care.”
He moved toward her then, each step deliberate, until the distance between them vanished. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension so thick it was almost unbearable.
“Ye should,” he said, his voice roughened, almost pained. “Because once I start, I cannae promise I’ll stop.”
Her breath caught, but her chin tilted up, defiant to the last.
“I’m nae afraid of ye, Declan,” she murmured. “Ye can keep sayin’ ye’re a beast, but I ken better. A beast wouldnae kneel before his daughters, mend their ribbons, or teach them to laugh again.”
He turned away again, pacing toward the fire, his voice harsh with conflict.
“Ye make me weak, Isabelle,” he said, half to himself. “And weakness gets folk killed.”
Isabelle shook her head, stepping after him, her hand brushing his sleeve.
“Weakness?” she echoed. “Nay, it’s love that keeps ye strong. It’s what makes ye fight for them, for me.” Her voice broke on the last word, but she didn’t back away.
Declan froze at her touch, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he looked down at where her fingers rested against his arm. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
“If ye stay close to me, ye’ll regret it.”
Isabelle’s grip tightened. “Then I’ll regret it beside ye,” she said fiercely. “Because I’m done waitin’ for ye to see what’s plain to everyone else—that ye’re nae the monster ye think ye are.”
He turned toward her, his eyes dark with battle between desire, fear, and something rawer still.
“Go back to the chambers, Isabelle,” he said hoarsely. “Before I forget what’s wise.”
She saw it then. N o matter what she said, no matter how she reached for him, he had built walls so high even she couldn't climb them. Her chest ached as she exhaled sharply, anger and heartbreak warring inside her.
“Fine then,” she said, her voice trembling though she forced it to sound strong. “Stay with yer maps and yer cold bed, me Laird . I’ll nae waste another breath tryin’ to warm the heart of a man who insists on livin’ like an ice block.”
