There were sudden tears rising in her eyes but not spilling through the thick lashes. “I have done nothing wrong except to love a child that is not mine. If you want my help, you will have to promise that nothing touches Ian. Nothing! I have kept silent for his sake. I have tried to protect him, not myself.”

“From what? What is there that could harm him?”

“The people who might take him if they knew he existed. Who would want to punish him for what his mother did. Who would make him suffer because of what she had done.”

“What had she done?”

“She loved someone. Terribly. Deeply. It was wrong, but she—There were reasons why she did. And there was a child of that love. A woman in her position couldn’t go home with an infant in her arms and say ‘Forgive me, I couldn’t help myself. Let me pick up the pieces of my life and go on as if nothing has happened!’ ”

“Why haven’t you told the police this? The fiscal?”

“They’d demand her name to prove that I was telling the truth! And I was given Ian to guard and love and protect. Not to betray!” The tears spilled, running like quicksilver down her cheeks. “I am lost,” she said, “whatever I do. And it is better to hang than it is to fail. At least I would die knowing—knowing I had kept my promise to the end.”

He fumbled for his handkerchief and handed it to her. “Surely she would come forward if she’s alive. And spare you. For the boy’s sake—”

“No, I tell you, she’s dead. It’s her family I fear, not her!” Choking back a sob, she repeated, “I am not afraid of the dead.”

While Hamish argued fiercely in his mind, Rutledge said quietly, “I can see that you might have taken the child and given promises. But what would you have told Hamish MacLeod if he’d come home from the war and found you with a child you claimed to be your own?”

She stared at him, wretched. “He would have loved us both. He would have trusted me and loved us both!”

And for once, to Rutledge’s shame, the truth rang clearly in the little cell.