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“I should not be surprised that you would choose to hide me in the shadows.”

He wanted to turn around and leave—the bitterness of this moment, all of the moments since she’d left, threatened to choke him. But he had one question he would not leave without asking.

“Why?”

He refused to be moved by the tears that formed in her eyes and threatened to spill onto her cheeks.

“Since my husband died—”

“Which one,” he asked, not caring that his voice sounded cruel to his own ears.

“My English husband,” she replied, wiping a tear from her face with a small white strip of cloth from her pocket. “I wanted nothing more than to come to you. To all of you. And explain. But his son. . . and your hatred of me. I should have come, but—”

“Why—” he ground his teeth together, “—did you leave?”

“What is the only acceptable reason for a mother to abandon her children? Her grieving children who just lost their father?”

“Acceptable? Surely you jest, there is no—”

“Is there not?”

The resolve in her voice startled him. It was the same tone Catrina used when she knew she was right. He’d forgotten that about their mother. When she set her mind to something, she was immovable.

“Alex, before I met your father, I was already betrothed.”

“Betrothed? To whom? Did Father know?”

Her wistful smile almost appeared genuine.

“Of course. ’Twas the reason we married in secret, the reason we never visited my family in England. My parents never forgave me. Sir Godfrey, the man I was supposed to marry, was so angry that he refused to meet with your father. Refused to discuss compensation.”

“How could we not have known this?”

She shrugged. “It was easier to pretend your father hated all things English, which was very nearly true. Though he would certainly have visited had my parents welcomed me home.”

“What does this have to do with—”

She ignored his interruption. “Sir Godfrey never forgave me. He was old enough to be my father, and though his holdings are not large—” she looked up at the keep near which they stood, “—he was well-connected.”

“You left four children behind.” He ground out his words. “Why?” He did not care about the circumstances around his parents’ marriage or his mother’s second marriage to this Sir Godfrey. He wanted an answer so he could get the hell out of—

“He found me. And threatened my life. Or, more importantly, yours.”

Alex looked into his mother’s tired eyes, trying to understand her words.

“He learned of the battle, of your father’s death. Somehow, he gained entrance to Brockburg. I woke one morn to a knife at my throat and a threat that could not be ignored. I could either leave, return to England as his wife, or he would kill every one of my children.”

Alex laughed. “You expect me to believe—”

“He was cunning enough to be there, in my chamber, alone. The bastard vowed to find a way to do the same, whether that day or months, even years, later to you. And Toren, Catrina, and Reid. I believed him.” She swallowed. “And knowing him as I did later, as his wife, I believe him still.”

He shook his head. “You had three sons, any of whom could have—”

“Defended me? Defended themselves? You were so young. And the man found his way into my private chambers and held a knife to my throat. He was evil and cunning, a dangerous combination. I would not take that chance.” She stood a bit straighter. “And I would make the same decision all over again.”

He stared at her, unsure of what to say.

“So you left to save us,” he said mockingly. “Married this monster. And then he dies. You could have come to us then. Told us—”