“Reggie taught me.” Thorfinn took the weapon and inspected it with the air of someone accustomed to firearms.
“Which direction did you say we should head?” Rose asked Thorfinn. Despite the risk, they had decided that it would be best to disarm the spies themselves rather than taking precious time to try to explain the situation to the guards on Minnstray. Even with Percy by their side, she doubted they would readily believe a duo of femaleAmericans in their nighties, two local crofters, and a man in silk pajamas claiming to be a duke.
“A group of us should head north, to the closest oil stores,” Thorfinn said, his strong jaw clenched. “The second should go south, where the farther reserves are.”
“Percy and Thomas should go south,” Rose decided, since the two men hadn’t used up their energy fighting currents in a sea cave and could move faster. “Myrtle should come with us—she’s the best shot.”
“She is,” Percy agreed as he checked his Webley. His perpetual smile was still in place but pulled tight at the edges. “I’ve lost a dismal amount of money betting that I could outshoot her.”
“According to what the spies said after my stepda left, the men are supposed to signal with a light when they are ready to set their timers to make sure that every one of them has the chance to return to their boats before the blaze incinerates the island,” Thorfinn said grimly. “Make sure not just to stop them from setting the explosives but from sending out the message.”
A new chill spread through Rose at the unspoken reason for Thorfinn’s warning. If the signal was transmitted and the fuses were lit—even by just one set of the oil reserves—they all would likely burn alive along with the British naval personnel stationed on Minnstray.
“We should move,” Thorfinn said, his expression as gruff as his voice.
They all nodded sharply. Young Thomas squared his shoulders like the soldier he’d been, his facial muscles tight with concentration. Percy’s grin had faded, replaced by a look more solemn than any Rose had ever witnessed on his normally irreverent visage. Silently, the two of them disappeared first, and Thorfinn led Rose and a determined-looking Myrtle over the rocky terrain.
The harsh landscape seemed to echo the dark, unforgiving tension inside Rose. Unlike the other, more fertile islands, this small swath ofland seemed to be made of nothing but stones held together with bits of gorse.
Rose gripped the mother-of-pearl handle of her Bull Dog, surprised by how sweaty her palm had once again become. Her already abused lungs seemed to compress in her chest as they stalked through the desolate heaps of rock. Memories of another wasteland started to crowd into her mind—black chair stumps, smoky remains of century-old villages, a burned-out vehicle, the skeleton of a horse.
Men’s voices sounded in the distance—one with a German accent, and one with a British inflection. The shock reoriented her.
Sheknewthose voices.
The sea breeze might be heavy with different floral scents and the ground rocky instead of sandy, but Rose felt as if she’d returned to Daytona Beach. These were the men who’d ambushed and then stalked her. They’d even trapped her inside of Fornhowe, seeking to bury her with the ancient dead.
Reawakened terror rippled through Rose. But she would not allow these men—thesespies—to cow her. This time if someone ran, it was going to be the German agents and not her, even if her heart was pounding so hard that she could barely hear.
Staying low to the ground, Thorfinn, Myrtle, and Rose used the landscape and the shadows to obscure their movements. Rose’s blood thrummed through her, filling her ears with a fast tattoo. Like a Celtic fighting song, it urged her forward past her fear—not recklessly but steadily. With purpose.
Big circular tanks rose before them, reminding Rose of the stone monoliths on Hamarray and Frest. But these were less majestic and more brutally functional. Two figures were crouched down by one of the silos. They stood up and nodded to each other. A giant of a man began to lift something into the air.
An electric lantern!He was getting ready to signal. If he did and timers were set, they would all perish.
Thorfinn exploded into motion, knocking the massive German to the ground. As the second spy started to draw his weapon, Rose trained hers directly on his chest.
Myrtle fired a warning shot straight through the spy’s bowler hat. He froze.
Something flashed in the prone man’s hand.
“He has a knife!” Rose screamed.
Thorfinn rapidly slammed his fist into the villain’s face three times, and the hand holding the weapon went limp. Grabbing the spy’s lapels, Thorfinn slowly dragged the unconscious man up and slumped him against the oil tank.
Keeping her weapon aimed at the other man, Rose stepped out of the protection of the rocks to hand Thorfinn a piece of rope. The conscious spy shifted, and another bullet whizzed above his head.
“I wouldn’t try that,” Myrtle said. “The next one will be lower. I’ve killed a charging bull with a single shot. Your skull is considerably more fragile. I should know. I’ve dug up enough of them.”
Once Rose bound the slighter agent’s hands together, he became wonderfully compliant. She made sure to stand behind him and clear of Myrtle’s line of fire.
By the time Rose and Thorfinn had cleaned out each of the men’s pockets and removed hidden weapons, the giant fellow had regained his senses. He glared at Thorfinn. “I should’ve killed you instead of listening to Will.”
“Hush, Heinrich,” the man with the British accent snapped.
Thorfinn, however, merely shrugged. “I’m rather glad you didn’t.”
Rose couldn’t stop the chuckle that rose up inside her. Fueled by nervous energy, it spilled out. Thorfinn’s response to the German agent was just so ... calm and so utterly and completely him.
