Chapter 6
“Sweet Lord.”
The words left Piper’s mouth before she could stop them.
They’d crested the final hill just as the sun began its descent toward the horizon, and there—rising from the landscape like something out of a legend—was Castle McMahon.
It wasn’t just large. It was massive.
Grey stone towers reached toward the sky, their peaks crowned with crenellations that caught the golden light.
The main keep stood four stories high at least, with smaller buildings clustered around it like children gathered at their mother’s skirts.
A thick curtain wall surrounded the entire complex, and Piper could see guards walking the ramparts.
Beyond the castle, she glimpsed gardens and orchards, a large loch glittering in the distance, and rolling green hills that seemed to stretch on forever.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Elijah’s voice held a note of pride.
“Impressive?” Piper twisted to look at him. “It’s… it’s… I’ve never seen anythin’ like it.”
“Most people havenae.” He guided the horse down the hill toward the castle gates. “Castle McMahon has stood for over two hundred years. Me great-great-grandfaither built the original keep, and each generation has added to it.”
Piper stared at the approaching walls, her heart hammering. She’d known Elijah was a laird, known he must have wealth and power, but this was beyond anything she’d imagined. This wasn’t just a home. This was a fortress. A statement of power.
And she was about to live here.
As a governess. With a contract. Ye’re nae a prisoner. Ye’re nae a slave. Ye have a position.
But the castle was so grand, so far removed from anything she’d ever known, that she felt suddenly, acutely aware of how out of place she was. A baker’s assistant from a tiny village, now somehow employed by one of the most powerful lairds in the Highlands.
“Ye’ve gone quiet,” Elijah observed.
“I’m just… takin’ it all in.”
“Overwhelmed?”
“Terrified,” Piper admitted.
She felt rather than saw Elijah’s smile. “Daenae be. It’s just stone and wood. And the people inside are just people.”
“People who live in a castle.”
“Aye, well. There is that.”
As they approached the gates, guards straightened to attention. One of them, a large man with a scar across his cheek, stepped forward.
“Me laird! Ye’re back!” His gaze shifted to Piper, and his eyes widened slightly. “And ye’ve brought… company.”
“This is Miss Piper Armstrong,” Elijah said, his voice taking on the commanding tone of a laird addressing his men. “She’s to be me children’s new governess. See that everyone kens she’s under me protection.”
The guard’s expression shifted from curiosity to understanding. “Aye, me laird. Welcome to Castle McMahon, Miss Armstrong.”
Piper managed a nod, her throat too tight to speak.
They rode through the gates into a large courtyard bustling with activity. Servants hurried about their tasks, their eyes following the Laird’s horse with open curiosity.
Piper could feel their stares, could practically hear the whispers that would start the moment Elijah’s back was turned.
‘Who’s that lass with the Laird? Where did she come from? Why does she look half-starved?’
“Easy, lass,” Elijah murmured in her ear. “Ye’re safe here.”
“They’re all starin’ at me.”
“Because ye’re new. Give it a few days, and they’ll lose interest.” He dismounted, then reached up to help her down. “Come on. Let’s get ye inside and sort out that contract.”
Piper let him lift her down, and the moment her feet touched the cobblestones, her legs nearly gave out. Two days on horseback had left her sore and exhausted, and the reality of where she was finally hit her full force.
Castle McMahon. She was at Castle McMahon. About to become a governess to a laird’s children.
This cannae be real. Any moment now, I’m goin’ to wake up back in that cell.
“This way.” Elijah’s hand settled on the small of her back, guiding her toward the main keep. Not pushing, just… there. Present.
Piper forced her legs to move, forced herself to keep her chin up as they crossed the courtyard. The servants’ stares followed them, but Elijah seemed completely unbothered by it.
Of course he was. This was his home. His domain.
They entered through massive oak doors into an entrance hall that made Piper’s breath catch.
Tapestries hung on the stone walls, their colors rich and vibrant even in the fading light. Torches burned in iron sconces, casting dancing shadows. A wide staircase led to the upper floors, its banister carved with intricate designs.
“The main hall is through there,” Elijah said, gesturing to a set of doors on the right. “The kitchens are below stairs. The family chambers are on the second floor, and—” he paused. “Are ye listenin’, or are ye too busy gawkin’?”
“I’m listenin’,” Piper said, tearing her gaze away from a particularly beautiful tapestry depicting a hunt scene. “And I’m nae gawkin’. I’m… observin’.”
“Hmm.” But she heard the amusement in his voice.
He led her down a corridor to a heavy wooden door.
When he pushed it open, Piper found herself in what was clearly a laird’s study.
Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and scrolls.
A large desk dominated the center of the room, its surface covered with papers and maps.
A fire burned in the hearth, warming the space.
“Sit,” Elijah said, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of the desk. “I’ll draft up the contract.”
Piper sat, her hands folded in her lap. She watched as Elijah moved behind the desk, pulling out a piece of parchment and an inkwell. He wrote quickly, efficiently, his brow furrowed in concentration.
It was strange, seeing him like this. For two days, she’d known him only as the man on horseback, the warrior who’d fought for her, the enigma who’d made her vows and promises.
But now, watching him work in his own study, she saw him as something else: a laird, a leader, a man with responsibilities that extended far beyond one lost lass he’d rescued.
“There.” Elijah pushed the parchment across the desk toward her. “Read it carefully. Make sure ye agree to all the terms before ye sign.”
Piper leaned forward, her eyes scanning the neat script. The contract was straightforward:
Miss Piper Armstrong agrees to serve as governess to Masie Quinn and Connor Quinn, children of Laird Elijah Quinn of Clan McMahon.
In exchange, she will receive a wage of twenty pounds per month, room and board within Castle McMahon, and the protection of Clan McMahon for as long as she resides within its walls.
Miss Armstrong is free to terminate this arrangement at any time, for any reason, with no penalty or restriction.
Twenty pounds per month. That was more than she’d made in three months at the bakery. More than she’d ever imagined earning.
“This is…” Piper looked up at Elijah, unable to hide her shock. “This is too much.”
“It’s the standard wage for a governess in a laird’s household,” Elijah said. “Actually, it’s slightly less than standard, but I figured ye’d argue if I offered ye more.”
“But I… I’ve never been a governess before. I daenae have experience or references.”
“Ye can read, write, speak French, and do figures. That’s more education than most governesses have.” Elijah leaned back in his chair. “And more importantly, I trust ye.”
“Ye barely ken me.”
“I ken enough.” His green eyes held hers. “Do ye agree to the terms, Piper? Or do ye want to negotiate somethin’?”
She looked back down at the contract. It was real. Solid. Written proof that she wasn’t a slave or a prisoner, but a governess with rights, wages, and freedom.
“I agree,” she whispered.
Elijah pushed the inkwell and quill toward her. “Then sign.”
Piper picked up the quill with trembling hands. She’d signed her name before—on receipts at the bakery, on the occasional letter to Alexandra before she’d died. But this felt different. This felt like she was signing her way into a new life.
From a certain slave to a governess. How did this happen?
She dipped the quill in ink and carefully signed her name at the bottom of the contract: Piper Armstrong.
The moment she set down the quill, Elijah took the parchment and signed his own name below hers: Elijah Quinn, Laird McMahon.
“There.” He looked up at her, something unreadable in his expression. “Ye’re officially employed, Miss Armstrong. Welcome to Castle McMahon.”
Before Piper could respond, the study door flew open with enough force to make her jump.
A woman swept into the room, and Piper’s first thought was that she was beautiful.
The woman was perhaps sixty years old, with silver hair elegantly styled and warm brown eyes that immediately fixed on Piper. She wore a fine gown in deep blue and moved with the grace of someone accustomed to authority.
“Elijah! Ye’re back! I heard the commotion in the courtyard and—” the woman stopped abruptly, her gaze darting between Elijah and Piper. Her eyes widened, and then a smile, brilliant and delighted, spread across her face. “Oh! Oh, me dear boy, ye brought home a lass!”
“Maither—” Elijah started, but the woman was already moving toward Piper.
“It’s so lovely to meet ye! I’m Amara Quinn, Elijah’s maither, and ye must be—oh, ye must be exhausted from yer journey! Come, come, let me look at ye.”
“Maither,” Elijah said, louder this time. His voice had taken on a warning tone. “This is Miss Piper Armstrong. She’s Masie and Connor’s new governess.”
Amara froze. The brilliant smile faltered, then dimmed like a candle being snuffed out. “Governess?”
“Aye. Governess.” Elijah stood, his jaw tight. “We just signed the contract. She’ll be teachin’ the bairns startin’ tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Amara’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Of course. A governess. How… practical.”
Piper watched this exchange with growing confusion. Why did Elijah’s mother look so disappointed? And why was Elijah looking at her with such exasperation?
Then it clicked. Amara had thought—she’d assumed…
Oh God. She thought I was Elijah’s betrothed.
Heat flooded Piper’s cheeks. Of course, that’s what any mother would think, seeing her son arrive home with a strange woman. And Amara had probably been hoping for exactly that, a new wife for her widowed son.
“I’m sorry to disappoint ye, Lady McMahon,” Piper said quietly. “I’m just the governess.”
Amara’s attention snapped back to her, and suddenly the older woman’s eyes sharpened, taking in details Piper hadn’t realized were visible: the dark circles under her eyes, the way her dress hung loose on her frame, the faint bruises on her wrists.
“Ye’re exhausted,” Amara said, her voice shifting from disappointed to concerned in an instant. “And ye look half-starved, poor dear. When did ye last eat a proper meal?”
“I… I daenae—”
“Never mind, daenae answer that. I can see it’s been too long.
” Amara took Piper’s hand, pulling her to her feet with surprising strength.
“Come with me. We’ll get ye settled in proper chambers, and I’ll have the servants prepare ye a bath.
Ye’ll feel much better once ye’ve had a chance to rest and clean up. ”
“Maither, she just traveled for two days—” Elijah started.
“Which is exactly why she needs attendin’ to immediately!” Amara shot her son a look that was pure maternal exasperation. “Honestly, Elijah. Did ye even think to stop and let the poor lass rest properly?”
“We stopped.”
“I’m sure ye did. For all of ten minutes, knowin’ ye.” Amara was already pulling Piper toward the door. “Come along, dear. Let’s get ye taken care of. Where’s yer luggage, lass?”
“I daenae have any…” Piper looked back at Elijah helplessly. “I lost me luggage.”
She couldn’t tell them the truth, that she’d never had luggage to begin with. That she’d been dragged from her home with nothing but the clothes on her back and the necklace around her neck.
Her hand went to that necklace now, fingers touching the familiar weight of it. The only thing she had left of Alexandra. The only thing that had survived.
“That’s nae a problem at all,” Amara said warmly. “I’ll have the servants find ye some proper clothes. We keep a few things on hand for guests, and I’m sure we can alter somethin’ to fit ye. And in a few days, we’ll have the seamstress come and make ye some gowns of yer own. How does that sound?”
Piper’s throat tightened. “Ye daenae have to! That’s too much—”
“Nonsense. Ye’re part of the household now, and the household takes care of its own.” Amara patted her hand. “Now, let’s get ye settled before ye collapse from exhaustion. Ye look ready to fall over.”
She wasn’t wrong. Piper’s legs felt like water, and the warmth of the castle after two days of riding was making her realize just how cold and tired she actually was.
“Go on, lass,” Elijah said from behind his desk. His expression was unreadable. “Me maither will take good care of ye.”
Piper let herself be led from the study, with Amara keeping up a steady stream of cheerful chatter about the castle, the staff, and how wonderful it was to finally have a governess for the children again.
But as they walked through the corridors, Piper’s mind was spinning.
This was real. The castle was real. The contract was real. The position was real.
She’d gone from prisoner to governess in the span of two days. From having nothing to having chambers, wages, and protection.
It was too much. Too good.
And some part of her, the part that had learned through pain that nothing good ever lasted, was waiting for it all to come crashing down.