Havana 1559

"Let me get this straight," Annie began in her thick Scottish accent. "The English bastard begged ye to marry him, to make an honest woman outta ye, and ye said no? Saints preserve me, lass, what the hell were ye thinking?"

"I don'f fit into that world, Annie." Isabella simply replied.

"Neither does he! He's a bloody pirate! He's been promised title and land as a reward for his plundering!"

"He'll change," Isabella said, "and once he does, he'll expect me to do the same. I am not a woman of silk and lace, Annie. I am not made for parlors and polite society."

"Do we even know the same Captain?" Annie asked. "That man will never be a true nobleman. He'll never bow and scrape like some perfumed courtier. He doesn't give a damn about rules, and he sure as hell doesn't care about pleasing anyone. He wants a title and land, aye, but not for respectability. He wants power. Influence. Control. And I'd wager every coin I've stolen that his plan is for the two of ye to live happily ever after."

"I thought you didn't believe in happily ever after," Isabella said.

"Of course I don't," Anne shot back.

"And you also don't trust the English." Isabella said.

"Of course I don't." Anne said. "Ye only see yer Captain. But I've seen plenty more. Englishmen take what they want. And if they don't take it with ink and quill, they do it with fire and steel."

"And now you want me to find my happily ever after with an Englishman?"

"I want ye to be honest—first with yerself, then with me."

"What haven't I been honest about?"

"From the start, ye've been feedin' me shite, lass. A woman in love would burn the whole world down for it—nevermind some stiff life in some stiff England. I've never seen two people more tangled up in each other than ye and Roxton. So no, I dinna think ye've told yerself—or me—the real reason ye said no."

Isabella suddenly looked very said. "Ah, querida mía…"

"Don't querida me… tell me the truth!"

"I have told you the truth, Annie. The truth is never just one thing. It is a hundred different pieces." She swallowed, throat tightening. "And if you really must know, one of them is a sad realization that I cannot ever have children."

Annie blinked. "What are ye talkin' about?"

"It happened a long time ago. A midwife in Santo Domingo examined me. She looked at me, touched me, and then told me I was barren. She said I would never bear a child, that something within me was not as it should be. At the time, I refused to believe her. I was young. What did she know? She was just an old crone with too many opinions. But time has only proven her right, hasn't it?"

Annie stared at her, eyes wide, mouth open. She gave a small shrug, trying to shake off the weight of what she'd just heard, but no words came.

So Isabella went on. "We've been lovers for over a year, Annie. If everything was right with me, I would have conceived by now."

"Lass, sometimes these things take time—"

"No." Isabella shook her head. "I know my body. I know. Month after month, hope rises, then fades. I've waited. I've wondered. And now I've stopped wondering. I already know the answer. Do you know what he dreams of, Annie? A title. An estate. A legacy to pass down. A bloodline. He fights for it, he risks his life for it. And I... I won't be the woman who takes it all from him. I won't be the one who watches him build a future only to see it passed to strangers when he is gone."

A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn't wipe it away.

"And does he not get a say in this?" Annie asked, her own voice breaking as well.

"He would say it doesn't matter, of course. He would say love is enough. And maybe for a time, he would believe it. But one day, Annie, he would see other men with their sons—see what he could never have—and he would hate me for it. He would hate himself for hating me."

"Ye're not givin' him a choice, Isabella. Ye're makin' it for him."

"Because I love him," Isabella sobbed. "Oh, Annie, I love him. I love him so much. And that's why I have to let him go."

"Ye cannae just let go. Ye cannae! Ye hear me? Ye cannae!"

"Annie, you don't even believe in love. You've said it a thousand times... that romance is for foolish people. That it's a story made up to keep women docile and men distracted."

"Aye, I've said it. But I'm a fool. D'ye not see? I'm a bloody fool. Never listen to me when it comes to love, not ever—except now."

"Oh, my dearest Annie... Some stories are not meant to be forever. Some stories are not meant to grow old and settle into the quiet. They are meant to be fierce and fleeting, to carve themselves into the world like a flash of lightning. And I am going to let ours be what it was always meant to be—a story with an ending."

She took Annie's and squeezed it gently. "So, don't mourn for me, Annie. This isn't a tragedy. This is a love story. I have loved, I have fought, I have taken every breath knowing exactly why I lived. Annie... With him... I have touched the stars. And if I have to break my own heart to set him free, then so be it. I would do it a thousand times over."

Annie couldn't stop the tears. She was sobbing now. Isabella's words had struck her somewhere deep.

Isabella laughed bittersweetly. With infinite tenderness, she reached out and brushed tears from Annie's cheek. "Wipe them away, wipe them away, no more tears on that face."

"Would ye look at that?" Annie sniffled. "Ye're the one breakin' yer own heart, yet here ye are comfortin' me."

"Ah, querida mia… what kind of friend would I be if I let you cry?"