“Aye, she’ll hate ye pure and proper. Dinnae ken how long it will last. A year, mayhap. Two. Annie is a lass of strong sentiment.” Angus braced his hand on John’s shoulder. “But better she has yer name first, eh? Then, even if she kills ye, her reputation is safe.”
John groaned and rubbed his jaw.
“I recommend gifts, lad. Cannae go wrong with gifts.”
“Bloody disaster,” John muttered.
“Aye. But take heart.” The older man gave him a reassuring pat. “What ye’ve done for this family is no small thing. My son would be dead—dead—if ye hadnae intervened.” Angus’s dark eyes flashed first with grief then with gratitude. “I’ll nae soon forget that. And neither will she. Once she kens, of course.”
John nodded an acknowledgment of the man’s thanks. His efforts hadn’t been for Angus’s sake or even Broderick’s. Everything he’d done had been for Annie. “I am truly heartened at how Broderick has improved. All that remains is to discover who may be held responsible for the atrocities he suffered.”
“Have ye heard aught from yer kin?”
“Not yet. Dunston has promised he will send word soon.”
Angus grunted and gave John’s shoulder a squeeze before shifting to gaze out at the wildflower-strewn pasture. “I’m grateful to ye, son. ’Tis a fair spot of luck ye came here. I kenned an earl’s whelp would have connections. I didnae think ye’d be related to the entire bluidy aristocracy.”
John chuckled. “I admit, being an earl’s son does have its advantages.”
Bees hummed amidst the wildflowers. In the distance, a trio of cows mooed and munched. Warm, lazy wind picked up speed. Suddenly, a sharp breeze burst forth, swirling through willow leaves. It carried the scent of … honey.
He froze.
“Earl’s … s-son?”
Slowly, he turned.
“English?” Her face was cloud-white. “Tell me ye were speakin’ of somebody else.”
“Annie.” He reached her in three strides.
She didn’t try to stop him. Just begged with those wounded blue eyes as if she simply did not understand why he would hurt her.
His hat plopped in the grass as he took her limp hands. “I intended to tell you; I swear it.” He stroked her knuckles, alarmed by her pallor. Her silence. “Love, nothing has changed.”
“Nothin’.” The word was a whisper.
“My father is an earl, yes.”
“An earl.”
“The Earl of Berne. But I am John Huxley. Merely a man. The man who loves you.”
“Ye’re his son.”
“Yes.”
“Ye’ve only sisters.” Her voice was faint, her breathing shallow. “That makes ye his heir, English. Ye’re his heir.”
He nodded. “We’ve many years before—”
“So, ye’re a lord.”
He tightened his jaw. “I have a courtesy title.”
“Do ye, now?”
He might as well have it all out. “Viscount Huxley. I haven’t used it in some years.”
Several breaths passed. “Lord Huxley.”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he gritted.
Her fingernails dug into his hands until his palms stung. “Do ye have any idea what I had to sacrifice to marry ye, John Huxley?” She ripped her hands away. Stumbled back. Tripped and stumbled again.
He reached for her, and she veered toward the house.
Then she spun and screamed, “Do ye?”
His throat tightened until he couldn’t bloody breathe. Her pain was pouring out of her, and he was flattened amidst the gale of it.
“Nah!” she shouted. “Because ye never. Bluidy. Believed me!”
She could only be referencing her absurd tale about a ghost boy. What had been his name? Fraser? No. Finlay. That was it. He’d assumed she invented the story. But what if she hadn’t?
What if the boy had been real—at least to her? Then, by agreeing to marry John, she would have believed she was abandoning a friend, cutting herself off from any hope of seeing her “laddie” again.
He went cold. Sick. “Annie.”
She shook her head. Covered her eyes. Her throat rippled with the effort to stifle her gasps. But a few of them emerged as tiny whimpers.
The sounds cleaved him in two.
“Naebody believes me,” she rasped finally, dropping her hand. Her face was wet, her nose the only spot of color. “I’m daft to expect it. I ken that.” Grief-stricken blue eyes locked upon him. “But I thought I could trust ye to tell me who ye are. At least that.”
Out of pure instinct, he moved toward her. “I am entirely the man you know. I promise you, Annie.”
She flinched away as he reached her. “Dinnae touch me.”
“I am sorry. Please listen. I am bloody sorry.”
Her face crumpled. Her hands came up to cover it again, and he couldn’t bear the distance between them.
He wrapped her in his arms. Held her while she sobbed against him. “You can have him back, love,” he whispered. “We’ll marry, and you’ll have him back. Everything will be as you wanted.”
She tore away and retreated toward the house.
“Annie!”
She didn’t answer. Rather, she disappeared inside, leaving him hollow and desperate.
He whispered her name again.
“Go home, lad,” said Angus from behind him. “I’ll speak to her when she’s calmed a wee bit.”
He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to chase her inside, demand that she keep her word and marry him.
He wanted to hold her until she stopped hurting.
Instead, he nodded.
Angus laid a hand on his shoulder before following his daughter into the house.
And John could only stand there and listen to the bees and the cows and the leaves and the wind. And the silence that was now his punishment.
Chapter Eighteen
TlU
Annie had a bath. A hot one in a deep tub, which she rarely had time for. Then, she drank two cups of wine and a full dram of whisky. Then, she dressed in a clean shift, wrapped herself in her plaid, curled up in her bed, and wondered what she was going to do. Apart from weeping and carrying on like one of Grisel MacDonnell’s poor bairns, that was.
He’d lied to her for months. Years, even.
She could understand hiding his parentage when he’d first arrived in Scotland. Englishmen weren’t particularly well received in the Highlands. An English title would only add to his trouble.
But he hadn’t told her the truth when she’d fed him dinner. He hadn’t told her when she’d visited his castle or bargained for Lady Lessons or trained him to grip his caber. He hadn’t told her on the long journey from Inverness when they’d spoken about his family. His sisters. His best friend. His papa and mama, who made him smile with such affection, she’d wanted to kiss him to feel his happiness curving against her.