He struggled for breath, desperate to reject the portrait of Emerald Aiden Rain as she’d died in his arms, pistol shot by his own hand at the masquerade. Guilt rankled. Grayson advanced on his brother. The two stood side by side. “What troubles, brother?” Lochlanaire cringed the ship’s brass railing. “At the masquerade, this eve, I was furnished a memory…it was regained from years ago. I remembered standing outside a ballroom, surrounded by a grand British palace where another masquerade occurred in celebration. I peered into a mirror prior to entering the ballroom and situated my disguising mask. I was dressed as a pirate, ironically. Through the ballroom, I stepped, and threaded the crowd who danced and chatted, some supping, others partaking of drink. I saw the hunted and approached the couple who danced. Gently, I tapped the man’s shoulder, requesting a dance with his black-haired woman. She grasped a hand-held mask. It beheld the beauty of peacock feathers, so her face was completely revealed, I knew, therefore, she was the woman I pursued.
