Isabelle gasped, heart hammering, and scrambled to her feet, snow clinging to her cloak and hair.
“Ye think ye can escape us?” one growled, breath misting in the cold air, but she refused to stop.
Her resolve hardened, she would not be taken without a fight, not without a chance to see Declan and the children again.
She flailed her arms as they dragged her up the slippery shore into the shadowed trees, boots crunching over ice-crusted roots and branches.
Isabelle’s breath came in ragged gasps, and the cold bit through her gloves and cloak, but her spirit flared with defiance. The wind howled like a chorus of spirits, whipping the branches above her into a frenzied dance.
And then, barely more than a whisper, she swore she heard it—her name carried on the wind, rough and familiar, curling around her like a balm.
She froze, heart leaping, scanning toward the opposite shore, trying to believe that it could be real.
“Help!” she called into the gale, her voice trembling with hope and fear.
The fishermen cursed, tugging at her arms, but she stood firm, listening for any hint of that voice again. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the wind pausing for a heartbeat as if acknowledging her plea.
Isabelle’s mind raced, torn between panic and hope, each step forward heavy with uncertainty. Her thoughts leapt to the castle, to Declan, to the triplets, and the life she might never see again.
She gritted her teeth, refusing to surrender to despair, refusing to let herself be swallowed by fear. Even as the men dragged her deeper into the shadowed trees, she felt a spark of something larger, a sense that she was not alone.
The snow crunched beneath her boots as they pressed on, yet the memory of the whisper of her name clung to her, warm and insistent. It gave her courage to struggle harder—to kick, twist, and claw for freedom.
“Ye’ll not take me quietly!” she shouted, her voice sharper than the wind around them.
Even as the fishermen pulled her along, Isabelle’s heart refused to yield to despair. She imagined Declan’s strong hands, the warmth of the hearth, and the laughter of the triplets.
She clung to those images, each step through the snow and trees fueling her determination to survive. Somewhere in that cold, wind-lashed forest, she swore she would not let them win, and if fate was kind, she would find a way back to them all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Isabelle!” he bellowed, his voice raw with panic.
Declan’s heart thundered in his chest as his eyes locked on the sight across the loch—two figures dragging a woman through the snow. Even in the dim light, he knew that silhouette, that tumble of hair whipping in the wind.
Without a thought, he sprinted to the nearest rowboat, the cold biting through his boots as fury surged through his veins.
The oars slammed into the icy water, each pull fueled by rage and fear.
“By God, if they’ve laid a hand on ye…” he muttered through gritted teeth, the muscles in his arms straining as the boat cut through the churning loch.
The wind roared, spitting flakes of snow into his face, but he didn’t slow. His jaw tightened with every stroke; no man would take what was his and live to boast of it.
“Isabelle!” he shouted again, his voice carrying across the water.
The echo of her name vanished into the wind and mist, and his gut twisted with dread.
The loch tossed the boat from side to side, but he rowed harder, uncaring of the danger, his breath steaming in the frozen air.
I willnae lose her, nae to fate, nae to other men. I will kill them.
At last, the boat scraped against the opposite shore, the sound sharp against the howl of the wind.
Declan leapt out, boots sinking into the slush, and caught sight of the fishermen’s abandoned craft.
“Cowards,” he growled, unsheathing his sword in one swift motion.
His eyes burned with purpose as he charged into the tree line, following the tracks through the snow.
