Cradling it in her hand, she could only say, “It’s his.”
“But it means he was here.” Myrtle squeezed her shoulder. “We’re tracking him. There’s still the sea cave that you mentioned for us to check.”
“There’s blood on his eye patch, M.”
“I know, darling,” Myrtle said. “But Mr.Sinclair’s a tough man. He’s your Viking, remember?”
But Rose had witnessed so many strong men felled by violence. Muscle and sinew could not withstand blades, bullets, and bombs. Rose’s shoulders began to sag, and a soul-deep wail ripped from her chest and started to claw through her throat.
But before she could give in to the encompassing grief, Myrtle roughly tugged on her arm. “Get up, Rose.”
“What if he’s dead?”
“What if he’s alive and trapped in a sea cave? You know how unpredictable the tides are around here. You’re a motoriste, Rose, and youneedto race right now.”
Like a roar of fire through a previously dead furnace, renewed energy shot through Rose. Jerking to attention, she jumped to her feet. “We have to get back to the Raceabout!”
“Yes. Yes, we do,” Myrtle agreed as they both tore from the broch. Percy and Young Thomas were nowhere in sight, but Rose had no time to wait to learn what they had discovered.
Even now as Rose slid into the driver’s seat, her hands shook. But by the time she grabbed the wheel, they were steady.
Then she was off, bouncing over the hills, but Rose felt no thrill in the wild ride. Myrtle had accompanied Rose on enough rough trips that she automatically moved her body to balance the vehicle through the hairpin curves. Rose felt like she was back in France—only this time she was racing to save not a faceless poilu but the man she loved.
In the distance, Rose thought she heard a horse scream, followed by a man’s groan, which she instinctually knew was from Viscount Barbury. She scanned the landscape for supply wagons. Wherewasthat equine? Would its massive hooves send her Tin Lizzie tumbling? How could she save them?
“Rose! The pier!” Myrtle’s shriek miraculously penetrated the nightmarish haze. Rose blinked and slammed on the Raceabout’s brakes. Sea, not road, stretched before them. The car skidded to a stop only inches from the edge of the ancient jetty.
Rose didn’t have time to contemplate that she’d almost driven over the brink. Ignoring her shaking muscles, she jumped from the Mercer before it fully stopped. Pounding over the dock, she leaped into her speedboat. Myrtle bounded in behind her. As Rose sped through the water, Myrtle placed her hand on the butt of her pistol tucked inside her coat’s pocket. Recklessly, Rose tore through the waves as they bashed against Hamarray. She’d always relished the power of the sea, but it had never before threatened to carry away someone she loved. Now ... now she despised each crash, each droplet of spray.
WhippingThe Briartoward the maw of the sea cave, Rose tried to gird herself for the sight of Thorfinn’s lifeless body. But how did one prepare for that?
Pulling back on the throttle, Rose slowedThe Briarto a crawl, even though she wanted to storm the stony tomb. But with the current slamming them forward and the jagged rocks all too ready to greet them, speed wasn’t possible. A mistake now would kill not only her but her best friend and the man who had become vital to her. Creeping through the entrance, Rose frantically began scanning the cavern’s interior.
“There!” shouted Myrtle as she pointed toward the back of the cave, where Rose remembered a sizable rock shelf with stony pillars that the birds had circled through. Instead, she saw nothing but water and the faint glimpse of a flash of pale color.
Thorfinn’s face.
Terror and relief both battered Rose until she was left light headed and nearly gasping herself.
Was he breathing? The anguished question nearly gutted her, but she did not falter.
Instead, she frantically drewThe Briarcloser. Her entire body sagged as she spotted Thorfinn’s neck muscles straining as he defiantly fought to keep his head above the water.
The bastards must have tied Thorfinn to one of the rock formations, planning for him to die a horrible, prolonged death. But still he fought as the unforgiving sea pummeled him. He was every inch the Viking, battling with everything in him to the very end. Her heart seemed to strain along with Thorfinn, as if the mere organ could fly from her chest and lift her man from the waves.
“Thorfinn!” Rose shouted.
The tendons surrounding his throat visibly pulled even more as he somehow forced his chin up even farther.
“Minnstray!” he gasped out before a wave washed over his mouth.
“Just focus on breathing!” Rose said as she tore off her coat and robe and retrieved the knife strapped around her thigh. Her skin felt tight, as if it were straining to contain the urgency pulsating through her. The ropes holding Thorfinn must be underwater.
“Too strong!” Thorfinn protested, but she didn’t heed his warning.
She plunged into the froth. It tried to sweep her back against the wall, and she could feel her body being shoved toward the unforgiving rock. But she fought—her muscles already burning in protest as she defied the power of the sea. Her hands brushed against one of Thorfinn’s arms, and the unnatural chill of his flesh almost made her cry out. But she didn’t. She had no energy to spare on fear or anguish.
“I’ll free you,” she vowed before she sucked in her breath and dived under the cold water. Her fingers found one of the hawsers wrapped around Thorfinn’s body. Using it to anchor herself against the punishing waves, she braced her foot on the rock he was lashed against and began sawing through rope.
