8. Piper in the Observatory
Chapter eight
Piper in the Observatory
“Let’s see just a bit more before we get you settled for the night, lass,” Tristan says, gesturing me to follow. The corridor bends gently to the left before widening beneath another arched ceiling.
Portraits continue to watch us from the walls. I slow in front of one.
"That's you!"
"No."
"It absolutely is."
The gentleman in the portrait looks exactly like him. Perhaps thirty. Dark hair. Grey eyes with flecks of silver. The same impossible posture. The same infuriatingly composed expression. The same beauty. Only his clothing and the background belong in another century.
I glance between the painting and Tristan.
"Well, your family resemblance is ridiculous, then."
"So I've been told."
Ridiculous... and oddly touching. Whatever this family had been, Glenhaven had held onto them. Generation after generation. I step closer to the painting. The brass plaque beneath it catches the lantern light.
Lord Alasdair Sinclair1632
"See? Different name."
"It is. But..." I look back at him, "...exactly the same face."
Stairs are ahead. “There’s one more place I’d like to show you on our short tour,” he murmurs.
We climb. The staircase narrows as it spirals upward through the oldest part of the castle. It’s one of the towers. The air changes. It’s cooler and quieter and somehow older.
"These steps, they're original, Piper. They've been worn down over many years."
I stop halfway up.
"You've walked these stairs hundreds or thousands of times."
"Aye, more than that."
At the top, another heavy oak door waits. Unlike the others, this one bears no carving, only smooth wood polished by age. Tristan rests one hand on the latch. Then pauses.
"You should know, I seldom bring anyone up here."
"Oh?"
"It's..." he searches for the word, "...quiet."
I smile. "I like quiet."
"I rather thought you might."
He opens the door. Cold evening air slips inside. I step through and stop.
"Wow..."
The room is circular. Windows surround us on every side.
The Scottish Highlands stretch endlessly beneath the night sky lit by the moon and stars. Rolling hills. Dark forests. Silver ribbons of water catching the last traces of sunset. Far below, tiny lights appear in the village. The lights look like stars deciding to settle on earth.
A large brass telescope stands near one window. Beside it sits a worn leather chair, a small table and a stack of books.
“Is this your favorite room?” I whisper.
“This and the library,” he says simply.
"It’s absolutely beautiful. You come here often."
"I do."
"When you can't sleep?"
"Something like that."
The silence settles around us in a peaceful way. Wind and raindrops brush softly against the ancient glass. Far below, sheep move like scattered clouds across the hills.
"I've never grown tired of it."
I look out across the Scottish landscape.
"I don't think I would either."
For several minutes, neither of us speaks. It’s a shared silence. It's the kind of silence that only happens when neither person feels the need to perform. It's nice, unexpectedly so. I rest my forearms on the stone windowsill.
"I should probably tell you something."
He waits for my confession.
"People think I love construction. I don’t."
"No?"
"No. I hate construction."
"Then why restore properties, Piper?"
"When I was twelve..." The memory appears as clearly as if it happened yesterday. "...my grandparents' house was demolished."
He says nothing. The wind fills the silence instead.
"It wasn't anything special. Just an old farmhouse. But it was theirs. My grandmother planted every rose herself. My grandfather built bookshelves that leaned a little because he insisted the floor wasn't level. They lived their whole lives there."
"What happened?"
"A developer bought the land. Forced a sale." I look out toward the distant hills. "They tore it down in three days."
The words still hurt. After all these years.
"I remember standing across the road thinking how could something that held an entire family's life disappear in three days?" My throat tightens.
Tristan doesn't interrupt. He simply listens.
"I suppose I've been arguing with bulldozers and trying to save that farmhouse ever since." I take a breath. “When I buy, it’s to save a place, not destroy it. Coax it back or help it start anew. Every old property needs its chance to be revived.”
When I finally look at him, he isn't watching the landscape anymore. He's watching me. Not with sympathy but with understanding.
“You’re exhausted, lass, let’s get you to your suite.”