Her gasp coincided with the man’s brisk acceleration of pace, and before she could blink, he had maneuvered her out onto the terrace. She suddenly found herself pushed up against the wall, a hand covering her mouth. She stared up at him in open astonishment.
“Are you going to scream?”
She shook her head, and the hand lifted from her mouth, hovering, testing her intentions.
“Alasdair Murray!” Honoria hissed. “What are you doing here? If my brothers catch wind of your presence, they will string you up from your feet!”
“Settle down, lass, if you didn’t see through my disguise, neither did they.”
Honoria narrowed her eyes—it was that or drop her jaw—the alteration was that miraculous. Normally, from what she recalled, he sported a beard, wild hair, and dusty clothes, but Alasdair Murry had been transformed into a posh gentleman.
Her arms settled on her hips. “How did you get your hands on an invitation?”
He bowed before her. “Archibald Ross, at your service, and I managed to slip past your sharp-eyed butler.”
“Archibald? Truly?” She shook her head. “What are you doing here,Archibald Ross?”
“I am looking for Drew, Honoria. He left home more than eighteen months ago.”
“And you thought he’d be here? Are you mad?” She clutched her throat. “Of course you are! You’rehere.”
Drew Murray would not set foot on these lands. He knew what would happen if he did. Her brothers . . . They hadn’t forgiven him for what had happened to Ewan.
“You don’t know?” Alasdair asked.
“Know what?” she asked, the tension of the situation making her irritable.
“My brother has carried a torch for your sister ever since the day she entered the world as a screaming bairn.”
Honoria blinked. “What?”
He nodded. “You might not remember it, but our mothers were inseparable in those times. And the day Isla was born, Drew was right there.”
“I recall he followed her around, but I never suspected . . .”
Alasdair shrugged. “Drew has always been in love with your sister. When he was little, he swore the fairies made her just for him.”
Honoria hadn’t realized. And she had forgotten the Murrays believed in fairies and all sorts of magical folk tales.
“So you believe he is here? To . . . ?”
“To win her heart, no doubt. And I don’t believe he’s here, I know he is.”
Honoria shook her head. “He is not, I assure you. Besides, even if he was, he’s too late. Isla is in love with Patrick Moray, our former gardener. Or was in love. Adair sent him away.”
“Patrick Moray?”
“You are acquainted with him?” Honoria asked.
Alasdair choked out a non-committal response and Honoria forged on, “Yes, well, these days she has formed a friendship with Neill Ross, our head groom, but she might only be punishing my brothers for sending away the man she favored.”
Alasdair’s jaw dropped. “Neill Ross?”
“Yes, that is what I said. Why?”
“You truly do not see it?”
“See what?”
