William’s face had hardened and matured, losing all trace of childish softness, and from both ends of the short hall, deep blue Fraser cat-eyes stared out of the bold, solid bones of the MacKenzies. And Willie was old enough to shave on a daily basis; he knew what he looked like. Willie’s mouth worked, soundless with shock. He looked wildly at me, back at Jamie, back at me—and saw the truth in my face. “Who are you?” he said hoarsely, wheeling on Jamie. I saw Jamie draw himself slowly upright, ignoring the noise below. “James Fraser,” he said. His eyes were fixed on William with a burning
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