“We’re fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction.”
Plutarch
Dearest Maeve,
I am turning to you once again for advice. Fifteen years ago, I wrote to you from Glasgow when I’d fallen in love. Robert had been my world, my reason for smiling, the joy of my life. When I knew I was with child, it was as if the last piece of the puzzle had clicked into place.
How wrong I had been. How naïve. But the young are always optimistic, are they not? But as I soon learned, the last puzzle piece had not been a bairn, but the promise of wedlock. That piece has remained missing until yesterday.
When he had come to me, that fateful morning almost sixteen years ago, I was filled with the promise of our future. But his face had quickly dashed all my foolish dreams. With his eyes swimming in regret, his mouth set firm to tell me the horrid news, I listened as he explained he must marry another. Forced by his family, he’d said, pleading with me to understand. Only an Englishman would cower to his father. A strong Scot would have stood by me.
Was I wrong not to tell Robert he was to be a father? It had been my only revenge, silent though it was. Regardless, I then followed your advice and returned to the Highlands. We told everyone I had married a captain. Later, we lied once more to say he had gone down with his ship. And my son has turned the memory of a dead seafaring father into a hero. An image that no man could live up to.
For fifteen years, I let my boy believe this fantasy. But now, that final piece to my puzzle has been found. Not behind a bed or under a table, but at my doorstep. That fickle man is free and wants to begin again. Shall I continue on this path of retribution and deny him? Deny my son a chance to know his father? My brain wants the man to suffer as I did when he left. But my heart wants what is best for my boy.
Shall I give in to my traitorous soul and tell them both the secret that I’ve hidden for so long? I may find the sweetest happiness. Or I may lose both the men who hold my heart.
Who could have foreseen such a circumstance when we devised this plan so long ago? Robert has inherited some property in the Lowlands and shall return within two weeks. I will need to make a decision by then. Please, as my only confidante, help me.
The easiest choice is to turn my back on Robert, as he once did to me. But revenge, rather than tasting sweet, seems to leave a sour taste in my mouth now. Will he be understanding about the deception? Or will he curse me? But the worst dagger to my heart would be losing my son. I fear he will see it as a betrayal and never forgive me. I would not, could not blame him.
The words of Francis Bacon echo in my head as I close this letter: A man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well.
Your desperate friend,
Annis
Lies, secrets, and betrayal will challenge the fierce love of a steadfast Highlander and a remorseful but determined Englishman. Find out what Annis Craigg decides when Lord Robert Harding returns. She is supported by the entire MacNaughton clan. He is supported by his love for a lass that has only grown stronger over the years. And will young Rabbie reject one or both of them when he learns his mother has lied to him his entire life?