Elijah stood there,close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. Close enough to remember the way his lips had felt on hers two nights ago.
“Miss Armstrong.”His voice was formal, but there was tension and uncertainty in his expression. “Are ye… are ye all right?”
“Aye.I’m fine. I was just…”
Thinkin’about ye. About us. About that kiss.
“Lost in thought.”
“I see.”Elijah shifted his weight, and Piper realized he looked uncomfortable. Almost nervous. “I wanted to show ye something. That is, I should?—”
“Should what?”
“Follow me.”The words came out abruptly, almost a command. Then, softer, he said, “Please.”
Piper’s heartkicked against her ribs. “Where?”
“Just follow me. There’s somethin’I want to show ye.”
Before she could questionit further, Elijah was walking away. After a moment’s hesitation, Piper followed.
He ledher through corridors she hadn’t explored yet, up a narrow staircase, and into a wing of the castle that felt older, quieter. Finally, he stopped in front of a door and pushed it open.
The roombeyond was long and narrow, with windows on one side letting in the fading evening light. But what caught Piper’s attention were the portraits.
Dozensof them lined the walls—men and women in fine clothes, their painted eyes watching from frames both ornate and simple. Some looked centuries old, their colors faded. Others were newer, the subjects’ faces still vibrant.
“The portrait gallery,”Elijah said quietly. “Every Laird and Lady McMahon since the castle was built. And some of the more notable family members.”
“It’s beautiful,”Piper breathed, turning slowly to take it all in.
“Aye.”Elijah moved deeper into the room. “I used to come here as a lad. Look at all these faces and try to imagine what their lives were like. What they fought for. What they loved.”
He stoppedin front of a portrait near the center of the wall. “This is what I wanted ye to see.”
Piper approached slowly,her eyes rising to the painting.
And froze.
The womanin the portrait was breathtaking. Dark hair fell in perfect waves around a face that could have been carved by a master sculptor. Gray eyes, lighter than Piper’s, almost silver, gazed out with cool assessment. Her figure was willowy and elegant, draped in silk that hung perfectly on her slender frame.
She looked like Masie,or rather, Masie looked like her. The same bone structure. The same aristocratic nose. The same air of someone who knew exactly how beautiful she was.
“Catherine,”Elijah said quietly. “Me wife.”
Piper’s throat went tight.This was Catherine. This impossibly beautiful woman was the one Elijah had loved. Had married. Had children with.
This waswho Piper could never be.
“She’s beautiful,”Piper managed, though the words felt like glass in her mouth.
“Aye. She was.”
Was.
Past tense.But that didn’t make the comparison any less stark.
Piper looked at the portrait—atCatherine’s perfect face, her perfect figure, her perfect everything—and felt something inside her shrivel.
