Page 68 of Brigand

Ned blinked as the conversation veered in a startlingdirection. “W-what?”

“Oh yes.” Edward’s voice rose just a notch. “We were workingfor the Home Office during the war, Transom and I—”

Ned’s throat worked. “Transom?” And then, “I didn’t know youworked for the Home Office.”

“Ah yes. During the war. The frogs caught us and tossed usinto a dark hellhole.” He turned to Ewan. “Miserable, wasn’t it?”

Ewan’s heart tightened as he realized what Edward was doing.He’d told very few people about that time, hated talking about it. But Nedshould know. He nodded, looked down at his feet.

“You were there too?”

Edward raised his glass. “Saved my life, boy.”

Ewan forced a smile. “I beg to differ. I remember more thanone instance when the roles were reversed.”

“So,” Edward clinked their glasses together, “we saved eachother.” He shot Ned a meaningful glance and indeed, the boy seemed chastened.Although there was still the hint of a mutinous expression on his face.

The men standing near all crowded around to ask one questionand then another and before long Ewan was surrounded by a coterie of noblemen,all of whom hung on his every word.

Edward, of course, slipped away to pour himself anotherdrink, leaving Ewan to suffer all this attention alone.

The bastard.

On a high note, he took Ned with him.

* * * * *

Upon prompting from his companions, Ewan was in the midst ofthe tale of their brash escape from their prison, when he chanced to look up.Words stalled in his throat as he set eyes upon the man who had just joinedtheir circle.

Because his face was shockingly familiar. It was the one hesaw every morning when he peered in the glass. He was shorter than Ewan but notby much, and while he lacked the brawn Ewan had gained through hard years ofmanual labor, he was hardly a sprig.

And he was gaping at Ewan as well. “I say,” he said. “Havewe met?”

“I don’t believe so.”

William stepped forward. “Allow me to make introductions.Robert Granger, Ewan St. Andrews.” They had agreed to use his given name ratherthan the moniker he had adopted, as the mere whisper of the name McCloud mightcause the ladies of the ton to faint dead away.

“Granger.” A familiar name. Where had he… Ah yes. No wonderHortense had mistaken him for this man. The resemblance was striking. Indeed,even as he pondered the thought, the men in their circle were murmuring amongstthemselves.

“St. Andrews.” They shook hands. Granger’s grip was firm.Ewan liked that in a man. “I take it from your accent you hail from Scotland.”

“I do.”

“Odd that.” Granger grinned. “Our family has a hunting lodgein St. Andrews.”

“Is that so? I’m from Dundee. I have my home now in Perth.”

“Ah. Perth.” They both took a sip of their drinks.“Beautiful area.”

“Indeed.”

Silence riffled and then William broke it. “Well, do go on.You were saying you slipped through the woods…”

“Yes. So. Met by the privateers, we made our way through thewoods…” He continued the telling as though he had shared the tale a hundredtimes before. But his mind reeled.

He had no idea who this Granger was to him, no idea whatkind of connection there could be between them, but his gut told him it was asignificant one.

And his gut was never wrong.