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“The rumors spread to the town by the next day, or so Onora judged. Alastair was in a fouler mood than ever when he dropped off her meal, trudging past with a storm-cloud glower on his face and tossing her the package of food without even pausing. Onora felt a slight pang as she watched him go. No doubt he was wondering what manner of woman he was expected to wed and cursing his own future. Perhaps he was as afraid as she, or more so. Perhaps he had reason to be angry. All the same, he could certainly handle his anger better. Onora shook the thoughts away. If Lord Alastair of Airde revolted at the thought of wedding imposter-Onora, all the better. 'Twould be another nail in the imposter's coffin, and 'twould keep Alastair himself away from the throne.” — Sarah Pennington