Epilogue
One Week Later
The Castle
The castle had calmed down. For the most part, the dead weren’t acting up, and more important, they were letting the newlyweds do what newlyweds did. They were letting them have a honeymoon.
After everyone had gone back, Graham and Michael settled in, making sure the chores were done, and the animals were taken care of too.
Between that, they were in bed, having the time of their lives.
After all, you only got one honeymoon—unless you were a Blackhawk.
That morning, both Graham and Michael were going to go horseback riding, taking Romeo and Juliet to a different field.
Graham had packed a picnic, and he was hoping to get his sexy husband naked in a field.
Sue him.
He wasn’t letting the hot man think he wasn’t interested in him, and non-stop sex.
Because he was.
They’d had sex just about everywhere—dead person watching or not.
This was the honeymoon where they christened all of the rooms.
The dining room table.
The couch in the library.
Oh, and even in the kitchen pantry.
Michael had pinned him to the pasta and showed him who was boss.
Thank.
God.
For now, though, they wanted to tour the estate, and spend some time learning about the whole place. Since they owned a stake in Ravensmire, why not explore it?
So that was the plan.
As Graham was sipping his tea, his hot husband was staring at him from over the rim of his coffee cup.
Oh, and it gave him an erection.
That sultry look was more than enough to send chills across his flesh, and all the blood in his body to his dick.
“Keep looking at me like that, and we’re doing it on this counter.”
Michael laughed.
“Sorry. You’re like a potato chip. I can’t have just one,” he admitted.
Well, thank God for that.
When someone rang the gate, Michael picked up his phone and checked.
“Delivery,” he said, buzzing them in, as he and Graham headed toward the front door to sign for it. They were expecting a packet from Callen and Chris that they needed to sign to gain their portion of the castle in ownership.
Only, when they opened the door, that wasn’t what was there.
The delivery guy wheeled the box up the stairs and to them.
“Delivery for Ravensmire Castle,” he said.
“It’s the painting,” Graham admitted, having forgotten about it. “Thanks!”
Michael tipped him, and the man nodded and headed away.
“You ordered a painting?”
He refreshed his memory.
“Remember the one I said was coming back from restoration? There was something under the painting of Callum.”
He lifted a brow.
“Was there? Sorry. I’ve been distracted,” he said, landing his hand smartly on Graham’s ass.
Jaysus.
That was distracting.
If he wasn’t curious, he’d jump the man, and they could christen the foyer of the castle next.
“Just let me see what they found,” he said, as they began unpacking the crate. “Then, you have my full attention,” he promised.
That worked for Michael.
Taking the note out, he found it was from the restoration historian.
‘Dear Mr. Lainey,
I’ve done the research as my team restored the painting. It’s an accurate depiction of the lady of the manor, Ceit Granndach on her wedding day. It’s original, and quite valuable. I don’t know what fool would paint over it, but it’s been restored.
Thank you for the business, and if you need anything more, let me know.
Sir William Hartely.’
As he finished the letter, Michael was pulling the painting out.
“Don’t drop it. Apparently, it’s one of the few true paintings of Ceit. She was likely covered up when she died,” he admitted.
He was being careful.
“Well, I’m glad she gets to come home,” Michael said. “I’ve yet to meet her.”
Graham stared at him.
“I hope you meant the painting, and not the ghost. We just calmed down here.”
He laughed.
“I meant the painting.”
As Michael pulled it out, he was caught off guard. Only, he didn’t get to say anything.
There was laughter.
It was feminine, and it floated through the foyer, giving them both goosebumps.
“Oh, shit,” Michael said, seeing the painting.
Graham sighed.
“That’s on you,” he teased. “You said the words and jinxed us.”
Yeah, that wasn’t why he said, ‘oh-shit.’
Not even close.
“Graham?”
When his husband looked over, he turned the painting around.
“Babe, that’s not Ceit,” Michael said, not sure what the hell was going on.
Graham was confused.
Until he saw it.
“What the hell?” he asked, getting closer. As soon as he did, recognition dawned.
Michael went there.
“That’s Elizabeth Blackhawk. How the hell was she under the painting of Callum?” he asked.
And Graham had no idea.
Apparently, the mystery wasn’t solved.
Not.
Quite.
Yet.
Because now they needed to figure this out. Elizabeth had a doppelg?nger.
Or was that Ceit had one?
Oh, this just became more of a mystery at Ravensmire—for everyone.