“Patrick Moray. Neill Ross.”
“What about them?”
Alasdair sighed. “Honestly, Honoria. Drew’s full name is Drew Patrick Neill Murray.”
Honoria narrowed her eyes. “Surely that is but a coincidence.”
Alasdair shook his head.
The man had gone mad. “Our groom’s family name isRoss.”
“Our mother’s maiden name,” Alasdair said.
Honoria shook her head. “I’d have known if Drew was masquerading as a servant.Islawould have known.” Honoria paused, her brows furrowing as she inspected Alasdair, who himself proved utterly unrecognizable.
Patrick had always worn a cap and spectacles with a dark stubbled jaw. Mr. Ross wore his hair longer with an even thicker, red beard. She had never seen either man cleanly shaven, which Drew had always been. And he’d worn his hair shortly cropped.
Honoria felt the color drain from her face.
If Isla discovered the truth . . .
Wait. What if Isla hadknown. . .
Nay. Her sister would have told her. Which meant that she didn’t know and—
“Merciful heavens,” Honoria breathed.
“I must find him, Honoria. It is time for him to come home. And I’d prefer to remove him before he is discovered.” Alasdair stepped away from her.
Honoria hadn’t even realized she’d still been pushed up against the wall. “He keeps quarters in the stable loft,” she admitted in a daze.
Alasdair suddenly grabbed her face between his hands and gave her a smack on the lips.
“What was that for?” Honoria protested.
“For speaking to me, for not calling your brothers and having me strung up by my feet, and for telling me where to find my brother.”
“Alasdair,” Honoria called when he turned and walked away. He stopped, looking back at her and she said, “I do not blame Drew for what happened to Ewan. It was an accident, but my brothers . . . they . . .”
“I know, lass. Had the tables been turned, I’d have felt the same. I never blamed them for hating us.”
Honoria nodded and watched him disappear into the night. Her mind numb from his revelation. A Murray had been in their midst for months and they had not been the wiser. Drew Murray was Patrick Moray, was Neill Ross. Her brothers would scale the walls if they ever found out.
And Isla . . .
“Oh, Isla,” Honoria muttered. She had to find her sister. Had to warn her. She turned to head back inside, but her retreat was halted by a steady hand clamping over her mouth.
Alasdair Murray!
This time she was going to give him a piece of her mind. He nearly scared her to death—again!
A mouth pressed against her ear and growled, “I’ve not been gone for three days, and already you moved on to another man.”
Honoria’s breath caught in her throat.Lash.
She began to struggle in his arms and he let her go. She twisted around to glare at him but found herself too dumbstruck to say anything. Dressed in full Scottish tartan—her clan’s colors, it disoriented her senses for a second, and Honoria could do nothing but blink. Then her arms settled over her chest, mostly in fear her heart would explode out of it. And that she was dreaming.
“What are you doing here?” Honoria demanded, finding her voice. “You nearly scared me to death.”
