Chapter 10
“Good mornin’, dear! I hope ye slept well?”
Piper jerked awake at the cheerful voice, her heart racing. For a disorienting moment, she didn’t know where she was—the bed was too soft, the room too bright, and someone was knocking on her door with far too much enthusiasm for whatever ungodly hour it was.
Then memory crashed over her like a wave.
Castle McMahon. The governess position. Masie climbing through the window. And the Laird—
Oh God. The Laird.
Piper’s hand flew to her lips, which still felt swollen from his kiss. Heat flooded her face as she remembered the way he’d touched her. The way she’d let him touch her. The way she’d wanted him to keep going, even when she knew she should stop him.
And then he ran away as if I were diseased.
The knock came again, more insistent this time. “Piper? Are ye awake, lass?”
Amara. It was Amara’s voice.
“Aye!” Piper called out, scrambling out of bed. “Just… just give me a moment!”
She looked down at herself and flushed even hotter. She was still wearing the thin nightgown, the same one the Laird had seen her in last night. The same one that had apparently driven him to kiss her senseless before fleeing like his life depended on it.
Piper grabbed the robe draped over the chair—thick wool, thankfully, far less revealing than the nightgown—and wrapped it around herself before hurrying to the door.
Amara stood in the corridor, already dressed in a beautiful gown of deep green. Her silver hair was elegantly styled, and her warm brown eyes sparkled with what looked suspiciously like mischief.
“There ye are! I was beginnin’ to worry ye’d sleep the whole day away.
” Amara swept into the room without waiting for an invitation, her gaze taking in everything with sharp efficiency.
“How did ye sleep? Were the chambers comfortable? I had the maids put extra blankets on the bed in case ye got cold, but if ye need more, just say the word.”
“I… The chambers are lovely, thank ye.” Piper’s voice came out hoarse. She cleared her throat. “I slept… fine.”
That was a lie. She’d barely slept at all. Had spent most of the night replaying those few minutes with the Laird over and over, trying to understand what had happened. Trying to figure out why he’d kissed her. Why he’d stopped. Why he’d looked at her with such want before running away.
“Good, good.” Amara moved to the wardrobe and began pulling out dresses.
“Now, we need to get ye ready for breakfast. The whole household eats together in the great hall; it’s one of Elijah’s rules, has been since he became Laird.
He believes a clan that eats together stays strong together, or some such nonsense.
Personally, I think he just likes to ken where everyone is. ”
Piper watched as Amara laid out several dresses on the bed. They were all beautiful, far nicer than anything she’d ever owned. But they were also clearly made for someone smaller. Someone thinner.
“I daenae think those will fit me,” Piper said quietly.
“Nonsense. We’ll make them fit.” Amara held up a dress in soft blue wool. “This one should work. It has laces at the back so that we can adjust it. And if it’s still nae quite right, well, the seamstress will be here in a few days to make ye some proper gowns.”
“Ye really daenae have to.”
“I absolutely do have to.” Amara turned to face her, and her expression had softened. “Now come, let’s get ye dressed. Breakfast will be served soon, and ye’ll want to meet the children properly before ye start yer lessons.”
The mention of the children, and by extension, their father, made Piper’s stomach clench with anxiety.
Piper’s curiosity, which she’d been trying to suppress since yesterday, suddenly surged forward.
“Can I ask…” She hesitated. “What was she like? The Laird’s late wife?”
Amara’s expression shifted, and for a moment, Piper saw something complicated flash across her face. Sadness, maybe. Or regret. But then it was gone, replaced by a gentle smile.
“Catherine was… very beautiful,” Amara said slowly, moving to help Piper out of her robe. “Absolutely stunnin’. Dark hair, gray eyes, a figure that made other women weep with envy. She could have had any man in the Highlands.”
Something cold settled in Piper’s stomach.
Of course, she was beautiful. Of course, she was thin and slender and tall.
“He was young when they married,” Amara continued, helping Piper into the blue dress. “—only nineteen—but from the moment he saw her, he was besotted. Would have done anything for her. Given her anything she wanted.”
Piper stood still as Amara began lacing up the back of the dress, each word feeling like a small knife to her chest.
“What happened to her?” Piper asked, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“They were ambushed.” Amara’s voice dropped, becoming softer.
Sadder. “On their way back from a visit to a neighborin’ clan.
Bandits attacked their carriage and killed the guards.
Elijah fought them off, killed most of them, actually, but he was too late.
One of the bandits had already gotten to Catherine. ”
“That’s terrible,” Piper whispered.
“It was.” Amara’s hands stilled on the laces. “She died in his arms. And Elijah… He’s never forgiven himself for nae bein’ fast enough. Strong enough. For failin’ to protect her.”
That’s why he’s so obsessed with protection. He thinks if he lets himself care, he’ll fail again.
“He’s never been the same since,” Amara continued, resuming her work on the laces.
“Before Catherine died, he was different. Warmer. He smiled more, laughed more. But after, it was like somethin’ in him died with her.
He threw himself into bein’ Laird, into his duties, and pushed everyone else away.
Even his own children.” Amara’s voice was higher than normal while talking about Catherine, but Piper ignored it.
It must have been because she didn’t like talking about the woman her son loved and lost.
Piper felt that irrational jealousy surge again, hot and sharp. The image of Elijah smiling at a beautiful woman—holding her, loving her, being besotted with her—made something twist painfully in her chest.
What am I doin’? Why do I care?
But she did care. That was the problem. Despite knowing him for only a few days, despite the obvious reasons she should keep her distance, she cared what Elijah thought. Cared that he’d loved someone else so completely. Cared that he’d looked at another woman the way he’d never look at her.
“There.” Amara tied off the laces and stepped back. “Let’s see how it looks.”
Piper turned to face her, and Amara clapped her hands together with obvious delight.
“Perfect! Well, nearly perfect. It’s a bit loose in the bodice, but that’s easily fixed. Ye look lovely, dear. Truly lovely.”
Piper moved to the small mirror, and what she saw surprised her. The dress did fit—well enough, at least. The blue color brought out her eyes, and Amara had somehow managed to make the garment hang properly despite Piper’s curves.
But when she looked at herself, all she could see was the ways she didn’t measure up. Her face was too round. Her body too soft. She would never be the kind of woman who made men besotted. Would never be a Catherine.
Stop it, ye’re here to teach his children, nae to compete with a dead woman.
“Come,” Amara said, linking her arm through Piper’s. “Let’s get ye down to breakfast before everything gets cold. And I can introduce ye properly to Connor; he’s much more agreeable than his sister, I promise.”
They left the chambers and made their way through the castle’s corridors.
In the morning light, Piper could see details she’d missed last night—the tapestries depicting the clan’s history, the weapons mounted on walls, the way the stone itself seemed to breathe with age and strength.
“The children havenae had a woman’s presence in their lives for so long,” Amara said as they walked.
“Well, except for me, of course, but I’m their grandmaither.
It’s nae the same as havin’ a young woman around.
Someone who can teach them, guide them, show them that there’s more to life than just duty and responsibility. ”
“I’ll do me best,” Piper said with more confidence than she felt. “I signed a contract. I gave me word. I’m nae the kind of person who breaks her promises.”
“Good.” Amara squeezed her arm. “Because I have a feelin’ ye’re exactly what this family needs.”
They descended a wide staircase and turned down another corridor. Piper could hear voices now, the clatter of dishes, the sounds of a household gathered for a meal.
Her stomach churned with nerves.
Ye can do this. It’s just breakfast. Just meetin’ the children properly. Just facin’ the man who kissed ye senseless last night and then—
“Stop that,” Amara said suddenly.
“Stop what?”
“Whatever ye’re thinkin’ that’s makin’ ye look like ye’re about to face a firin’ squad.” Amara’s eyes twinkled. “It’s just breakfast, dear. The children will love ye, I’m sure of it. And Elijah, well, Elijah will just have to deal with havin’ a bonnie lass at his table.”
Before Piper could respond to that, or to the knowing look in Amara’s eyes, they reached a set of large doors. Amara pushed them open, and they entered the great hall.
It was massive. Long tables stretched the length of the room, already filled with people eating and talking.
Servants moved between the tables with platters of food. The walls were hung with more tapestries and clan banners, and a huge fireplace at one end crackled with flames.
At the head of the room sat a raised table, the high table, Piper assumed, where the Laird and his family would eat.
Masie sat there, looking sullen and picking at her food. Next to her sat a young boy—Connor, it had to be—who was enthusiastically shoveling porridge into his mouth. And next to him—
Empty. Elijah’s seat was empty.