Forgotten Secrets (Secrets of the Heart Series Book 4) Read online

  Forgotten Secrets

  Secrets of the Heart Series - Book 4

  Elizabeth Rose

  RoseScribe Media Inc.

  Copyright © 2018 by Elizabeth Rose Krejcik

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual organizations or persons living or deceased is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form whatsoever without the author’s written permission.

  Cover created by Elizabeth Rose Krejcik

  Edited by Scott Moreland

  Contents

  To my readers

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  From the Author

  About Elizabeth

  Also by Elizabeth Rose

  To my readers

  Secrets of the Heart is a series about the daughters of the bastard triplets from the Legendary Bastards of the Crown which is followed by Seasons of Fortitude. This series can be read as standalone books, but if you prefer to read them in chronological order, I have listed the series below.

  Legendary Bastards of the Crown:

  Destiny’s Kiss – Series Prequel

  Restless Sea Lord – Book 1

  Ruthless Knight – Book 2

  Reckless Highlander – Book 3

  Seasons of Fortitude Series:

  Highland Spring – Book 1

  Summer’s Reign – Book 2

  Autumn’s Touch – Book 3

  Winter’s Flame – Book 4

  Secrets of the Heart Series:

  Highland Secrets – Book 1

  Seductive Secrets – Book 2

  Rebellious Secrets – Book 3

  Forgotten Secrets – Book 4

  Enjoy!

  Elizabeth Rose

  Prologue

  England, 1386

  Deserted and overgrown, the secret garden stood forgotten and neglected being naught but a memory of the past.

  Morag Douglas dismounted her horse and gently laid her hand on the old garden gate. Hesitant, yet anxious, she prepared to enter a place that she had always respected and admired. So many experiences had happened within these garden walls. Memories of her life were locked within, but would hopefully never be forgotten.

  This had once been a place where Morag, her sister, Fia, and her cousins, Willow and Maira, came when they wanted to sneak away from the turmoil and trials of life. It was a place of solace to comfort their souls. It was also where the mysterious old woman, Imanie, who used to live here, had mentored the girls. But now, things had changed. Imanie was dead and everyone was gone. Everyone, that is, but Morag.

  “Daughter. Let’s make this a quick visit so we can get back to the castle to collect yer things and head back to Scotland.” Reed Douglas, her father, who was one of the Legendary Bastard triplets of the late King Edward III, slid off his horse to follow her.

  “Nay, Da.” Morag held up a halting hand. “I must enter by myself.”

  “It’s a garden, Fia. What’s the difference if I’m there or no’?”

  “Da! Ye called me Fia!” Morag crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, not liking the fact her own father had referred to her by her older sister’s name. It was as if he couldn’t remember her even though she was standing right next to him.

  “Sorry, Morag, but ye ken what I meant. I guess I was just thinkin’ about hurryin’ back to Scotland to spend time with little Oletha. I’m so excited that Fia gave me my first grandchild.”

  “Aye, so she did.” Morag’s heart sank in her chest. It seemed she had lived in the shadow of her older sister, Fia, for as long as she could remember. Glancing down to the heart brooch pinned to her chest, she reached out and gently ran her fingers over the smooth surface. This was a pin that symbolized the members of the secret group of strong women started by the late Queen Philippa. Morag was not a chosen member of the Followers of the Secret Heart like her sister and cousins. Nay, she was naught but the forgotten daughter of a royal bastard triplet, not important or memorable enough for the queen to choose for this honorable position.

  “If ye’re goin’ to pay one last visit to the secret garden then ye’d better hurry,” instructed Reed. “I want to get back on the road as soon as possible. I’ll wait here. Now go.”

  “Thank ye, Da,” said Morag, pushing open the creaky gate and stepping onto the crumbled stone path that wove through the mysterious garden. She took a moment to scan her surroundings. This place had, at one time, seemed so magical and full of life. Tall, colorful flowers, thick bushes, unique trees, and even a variety of vegetables used to grow here. But now, with the girls’ mentor gone, as well as it being so late in the year, the garden had died. Once a sanctuary, now it had been neglected and forgotten over time. Just like Morag.

  She pondered this thought as she slowly made her way up the winding, overgrown path. The weather had turned for the worse lately, causing all the beautiful, colorful flowers and lush vegetation to dry up, turning brown and brittle.

  Pulling her cloak tighter around her, Morag shivered, not sure if she shook from the cold or from the uneasy feeling that engulfed her as soon as she entered the garden. Focusing on the area up ahead, she walked directly over to Imanie’s grave. The old woman lying beneath the cold earth had, at one time, mentored the other girls. Morag had wanted desperately to be included in this secret group. That is why Imanie had given up her own heart brooch to Morag, making her a member. The action meant the world to Morag at the time. However, now she wished the woman hadn’t given the brooch to her at all.

  Approaching the gravesite, Morag swept away the dead leaves with her foot and knelt on the half-frozen ground. A wooden cross that was made of sticks marked the final resting place of the mysterious and very wise woman.

  “I miss ye, Imanie.” Tears formed in Morag’s eyes. Imanie had been the only one who ever made Morag feel noticed and important. But the old woman had also told her that no one but the queen was supposed to appoint someone as a member of the secret group. Only once before had Imanie done this and, because of it, someone died. It was like a curse and something that never should have been tampered with in the first place.

  “Ye shouldna have given this to me.” Morag unclasped the heart brooch and held it out in her open palm as a regretful form of an offering. “I killed ye,” she whispered, honestly believing that because of her greediness, wanting what her sister and cousins had, she had placed a curse on the old woman that took her life. Nay, it wasn’t Imanie’s bad heart that snuffed out her life, because Imanie had the purest heart of all. “I wish I could return this to ye and bring ye back to life.”

  Morag turned the brooch over in her palm, feeling her heart become very heavy. Hadn’t her sister and cousins always teased her and accused her of being the cause of the death of their mentor? Morag had denied it but, deep in her heart, she couldn’t help won
dering if it were true. Now she was convinced that it was.

  “Hurry up, Morag,” called out her father from the gate. The wind picked up, scattering dried leaves around her. The eerie rustling sound felt like dead souls encircling her, taunting and scolding her for her mistake. It made her shiver. Although there was nothing but death in this garden, the sudden movement of the dried leaves made it seem as if they had a life of their own.

  The sun disappeared, replaced by a threatening, dark sky. It seemed as if it were going to snow. Her father calling out to her again interrupted Morag’s perusal of the heavy, dark clouds looming above her.

  “Branton went ahead to the castle with the wagon to collect yer things,” he told her. “Let’s go, Morag.”

  “Just a minute, Da. I’m no’ finished yet,” she called back over her shoulder. The urgent need to leave this haunting place made her want to flee. Still, something caused her to stay. Her legs felt as heavy as lead as she knelt atop the grave. It was almost as if she were embedded into the ground. A part of her felt as if she belonged here. As she studied the gravesite, the thought of Imanie lying in the frigid earth made her spine stiffen.

  Then, looking back to the brooch in her hand, she decided what she had to do. Her cousins and sister had accomplished outstanding things in secret using their unique skills. Because of their actions, it had changed the lives of others. It was what the Followers of the Secret Heart were expected to do.

  Morag could never do anything like that. She wasn’t able to use a sword like Maira, or to read people’s actions like her sister, Fia. Neither was she any good at flirting or using the power of persuasion like her cousin, Willow. Nay, Morag didn’t have any skill at all. The only thing she excelled at was gossiping. And that, she was sure, was not a trait to be admired.

  “I dinna deserve this brooch and never did.” Morag used a rock to dig into the hard earth, making a hole near the base of the grave marker. Then she brought the pin to her mouth and kissed it quickly before dropping it into the hole and covering it back up. “I have returned yer brooch, Imanie. Ye are the only one who should have ever worn it. Thank ye for noticin’ me when no one else did. Because of ye, I started to believe that I could someday do wonderful things like the others. But I canna, and we both ken it. My sister is married now and has a baby. My cousins are married and pregnant. I will never marry and have bairns, because I am no’ desirable to any man.”

  “That’s not true, Morag. You should have a higher opinion of yourself.”

  Morag’s eyes popped open wide, thinking at first that Imanie was speaking to her from the grave. Then she realized the faint woman’s voice came from the porch of Imanie’s cottage behind her. She jumped to her feet and turned to look, her jaw dropping open when she spied the wispy image of Imanie standing there, clutching her cloak around her tightly.

  “Imanie,” whispered Morag, feeling her heart beating like a drum. Her eyes flashed back to where she’d just buried the brooch, wondering if her wish had come true. Had her action somehow brought the woman back to life?

  “Nay, I’m not Imanie,” said the woman, stepping off the porch and coming toward her. “I am Imanie’s sister, Mazelina.”

  Morag eyed the woman curiously. Beneath the old woman’s hood, she had very similar features to Imanie. But instead of green and yellow eyes like the girls’ late mentor, this woman’s eyes were bright blue. She also stood a head span taller than Imanie.

  “I didna ken Imanie had a sister.” Morag’s gaze fell to the heart brooch pinned on Mazelina’s cloak and she gasped in surprise. “Ye’re a member of the secret group as well.”

  “I am.” The woman smiled and nodded. “Though I wasn’t chosen, my sister declared me a member. I haven’t seen her in years. And now that I’ve returned, I see it is too late.” She pointed a long finger toward Imanie’s grave. “Imanie is dead.”

  “Aye, she is,” admitted Morag, wiping a tear from her eye with the back of her hand, still feeling responsible. “I’m sorry.”

  Mazelina held little expression at all. It was not at all how Morag thought she’d react.

  “My sister will be missed,” said the woman, keeping a stone-like face. Her words and voice were void of emotion of any kind. “How did it happen?”

  “They say it was her heart.” Morag’s eyes traveled back to the ground where she had buried the brooch. Grief overtook her.

  “You don’t believe that’s how she died, do you?”

  “Nay, I dinna,” Morag admitted. “I think she died because she gave me her heart brooch when I wasna worthy of bein’ a member.”

  Mazelina walked over to Morag, studying the ground. Her hand caressed the heart brooch pinned to her cloak. “I understand. But you need to know that if my sister gave you her brooch, it was because she knew you would someday do something of extreme importance. Never belittle yourself, Morag. I’m sure that is what Imanie would tell you. Instead, have confidence that destiny has a plan for you just as it did for Fia, Willow, and Maira.”

  “Do ye really think so?” she asked, feeling a spark of hope ignite deep within her.

  “I know so,” answered the woman with no doubt at all resounding in her voice.

  “Wait,” said Morag, thinking something was a little odd. “If ye just arrived after bein’ gone for years, how do ye ken me or Fia, Willow and Maira?”

  “I don’t know any of you,” answered the woman, smiling at Morag.

  “Did Imanie tell ye about us?”

  “Nay. She didn’t.” Mazelina shook her head. “I heard you talking to Imanie.”

  “Oh, I see.” Morag didn’t believe she had been talking loud enough for the woman to hear her, but didn’t want to call her a liar when they’d just met. “How did ye ken my name?”

  “I heard your father calling you.”

  Morag supposed it could be true, but something in her nature made her remain suspicious. “Do ye have a skill as well?” she asked Mazelina curiously, wanting to know more.

  “We all do, Morag. And you don’t need to be leery of me.”

  Morag’s head snapped up. How did she know? “What do ye mean?”

  “Even if I hadn’t heard you talking about your sister and cousins, I still would have known about them anyway.”

  “I dinna understand,” said Morag. “How could ye? If ye havena seen Imanie in many years, and she did no’ tell ye about us, then how do ye ken?”

  “I have a special skill, my dear. I can hear the thoughts of others.”

  “Like readin’ minds?” Morag asked excitedly. Then she narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Nay. I dinna believe in such witchery.” The idea intrigued her but frightened her at the same time.

  “It’s not witchery,” answered Mazelina with a soft chuckle. “It’s a special . . . skill.”

  “I still dinna believe it,” she answered stubbornly. Her father had always taught her to only believe in what was real. If something couldn’t be explained, then there was no truth to it.

  Mazelina looked over Morag’s head toward the gate, narrowing her eyes as if she were concentrating on something. “Your father,” she mumbled.

  “My da?” Morag was still suspicious. “What about him?”

  “He is thinking about coming in here in a few minutes to get you. He is also irritated that it is taking you so long.”

  “I’m sure ye heard him tellin’ me to hurry.” Morag raised her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. “That is no’ mind readin’. That is common knowledge.”

  “Are you so sure? After all, I was in the house, so how would I know these things?”

  Morag anxiously glanced over at the gate and then back to Mazelina. “I’m surprised my da hasna forgotten I am even here.” Despair gnawed at her heart as she thought over and over again about the fact that her father had called her Fia. “No one seems to ever remember me.” Anger mixed with grief and despair flowed through her like a raging river.

  “They don’t remember you? Is that really what you think?
” asked the woman.

  “I dinna think it, I ken it.”

  Mazelina surveyed Morag, nodding slowly. “If so, then do something that will get you noticed. Then you will never be forgotten.”

  “Like what?” Morag held her palms up and shrugged her shoulders, feeling hopeless. “I have no skills except for gossipin’ and that is no’ a skill at all. No one admires a waggin’ tongue.”

  “Then turn your vice into a virtue,” Mazelina told her with purpose. “Use your meddling for good instead of bad.”

  “Use gossip for guid instead of bad?” Morag pondered the thought. “How? That is no’ possible.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  It seemed to Morag that instead of answering her questions, the woman only asked questions of her own. That irritated Morag.

  “I’ve upset you,” said the woman, as if she knew what Morag were thinking. Either way, Morag needed answers.

  “Can ye teach me how to use my gossipin’ for a guid purpose?” Morag asked, wanting to have a mentor of her own. The things Mazelina said sounded crazy but, at the same time, were like words of salvation to Morag’s ears. Perhaps Mazelina could be the answer to Morag’s problems, granting her deepest wishes as well.

  “Mayhap I can help,” said the old woman. “If you would like me to.”

  “Aye, I do,” Morag answered anxiously.

  Mazelina nodded once again. “All right then. In the spring, return to Castle Rothbury and come here to the secret garden to see me. But you cannot tell anyone about our encounter. This is the only way I will help you.”