Violet smiled. “Indeed, it does. Let me show ye more.”
They continued their exploration, moving through grand chambers and opulent ballrooms, each space filled with history and memories. Keira found herself captivated not only by the architecture but also by Violet’s passionate storytelling.
“Ah, this room,” Violet said as they entered a lavishly decorated chamber. “This was once the favored gathering place for poets and musicians—a center of creativity.”
Keira took in the beauty of the room, imagining the lively gatherings that had taken place within those very walls. “It must have been a wondrous time.”
“It was,” Violet agreed, a fond glint in her eyes. “It’s essential to cherish our history and the moments that shape it.”
As they delved deeper into the castle’s secrets, Violet shared tales of love and loss, triumphs and tribulations, each story adding another layer to the castle’s rich tapestry. Keira found herself opening up to Violet, finding solace in this sweet woman’s understanding and genuine interest.
“And here we are,” Violet said, leading Keira into a quaint study. “This was Lord MacIntyre’s personal sanctuary.”
Keira glanced around the room, taking in the old leather-bound books and the polished wooden desk. It was a place where history had been penned, where decisions had been made.
“It’s a room filled with wisdom,” Keira remarked, admiring the tranquil ambiance.
Violet nodded. “Indeed, wisdom, but also the echoes of lives well-lived and choices well-made.”
As their tour of the castle continued, Violet suddenly stopped. She lifted her index finger and pointed at the chamber right at the end of a long corridor. “That is where the Laird’s private chambers are.”
Keira was immediately bitten by the green-eyed monster, a sensation she had never felt before. She wanted to make sense of this sudden intrusion into her heart, but she couldn’t. The truth was, she couldn’t come to terms with why Violet would be in possession of such information. She herself didn’t know where the Laird’s private chambers were.
Violet had been here before. Perhaps his mother gave her the grand tour, without taking her into every single chamber, just showing her where they were… in case… well, in case of an emergency. Yes, an emergency. That was why.
Keira swallowed heavily, refusing to show how affected she was by this knowledge… emergency or not. Violet lingered for a moment, then she continued, her voice as melodious as before,completely oblivious to the storm she had just awakened in Keira’s mind.
Soon enough, the two ladies found themselves in a gallery that seemed to hold different paintings. They were all women, and this came as a surprise to Keira. She felt as if all the women were placed here, nestled in this chamber, either to be hidden or kept safe. She still wasn’t certain which of those two was the right choice.
In the heart of the gallery, bathed in soft, golden light filtering through elegantly draped curtains, hung a portrait of a pregnant woman. The painting portrayed a serene, ethereal beauty, capturing a tender moment in the life of a woman awaiting the arrival of a new life.
She stood with grace and poise, her hands resting gently on her rounded belly. The delicate swell of her stomach was adorned in a flowing gown of soft pastels, giving the impression of a blossoming flower. Her eyes were alight with hope, joy, and a hint of quiet contemplation. Long, wavy tresses cascaded down her shoulders, framing her face in soft curls.
The artist had skillfully blended light and shadow to accentuate the natural glow of impending motherhood. A soft radiance seemed to embrace her, adding to the overall warmth and tenderness the portrait exuded. In the background, hints of a cozy, lovingly decorated room could be discerned, adding to the sense of comfort and anticipation.
Kiera couldn’t stop staring at this portrait. It was absolutely mesmerizing. Violet walked over to her and stood by her side, both of them gazing at this timeless transition from woman to mother.
“Who was she?” Keira finally managed to ask, her gaze still fixated on the captivating portrait.
Violet hesitated for a moment. “That was Eleanor… Raphael’s late wife. She was a beautiful and kind-hearted woman who did not deserve the hand she had been dealt.”
Keira was stunned into silence. What else would she find out about him? Was there no end to the mystery regarding this man? At the same time, she couldn’t help but remember Winona’s words. Had she not said something of the sort about him? That he was a good man, who did not deserve what had happened to him?
There was so much Keira didn’t know about him. A part of her was afraid, but another part of her—a bigger part—wanted to delve deep into the darkness that comprised the very being of Laird MacCurtney.
She swallowed heavily, feeling her throat dry up. “What happened to her?”
Violet spoke slowly, carefully choosing her words, “The story is a tragic one. The late Lady MacCurtney had an accident. She fell down the stairs. No one really knows what exactly happened because the tragic event took place in the middle of the night,as she apparently woke up and went to fetch a glass of water. It is believed that she slipped and fell. It is one of those terrible tragedies that life is full of.”
“How awful,” Keira gasped silently, pressing her hand to her chest in sympathy. “And the child?”
Violet shook her head. “She was but five months pregnant, and unfortunately, neither she nor the child survived the fall. The butler found them in the wee hours of the morn.”
Keira had no words that could express the depth of sorrow she felt. She couldn’t imagine the pain, the anguish, the torment. “That is so heartbreaking.”
“Indeed,” Violet agreed softly. “And to make matters worse, rumors started goin’ on about a curse. Someone said that a gypsy placed a curse on Raphael when he came here with his clan, predictin’ that any future wife he marries would meet the same fate.”
“A curse?” Keira’s brows furrowed in disbelief. “That seems so… archaic.”
