“But we’re not even sure if the viscount’s last notes are buried under this standing stone, and who knows what archaeological treasures we might be disrupting,” Myrtle protested. “I am still not quite sure how Thorfinn came to the conclusion that ‘Centuries of rocky love doth keep the heart’ means this particular location.”
“Thorfinn’s conclusions have been sound,” Rose said from where she was sitting with Astrid and Percy on a picnic blanket. “We know Reggie employed homophones, so it makes sense thecenturiesmeansentries, and the locals do view these stones as guardians. This particular one is thought to protect young lovers if they bury an object by it.”
“Can you imagine what a treasure trove is under our feet?” Myrtle tapped the ground.
“Careful,” Astrid called out. “You might squish the celluloid doll that I buried there when I was a child. I am sure it is of great scientific import.”
Myrtle glared at her. “Are you absolutely certain you are not a German agent?”
“I couldn’t be surer,” Astrid said firmly.
“What was that?” Myrtle called out in a panic when Thorfinn’s shovel struck something hard. Her attempt to push him out of the way resulted in nothing but her own near tumble. But before she could pitch toward the ground, Thorfinn obligingly stepped away from the excavation. Myrtle quickly bent down and brushed away the dirt with one of her tools. A few seconds later she sank back down on her heels. “It is just another rock. Thank goodness. I don’t know why we can’t do a proper excavation.”
“Because British intelligence may need this information immediately,” Rose pointed out. “Having Thorfinn dig is much less damaging than the naval deckhands rooting around with spades.”
Myrtle sharply sucked in her breath at the image of eager sailors running amok through her future archaeological projects. “I just wish time weren’t so important.”
“It is the secrecy that I find a bother,” Percy remarked in his laconic tone, which, for once, wasn’t setting Thorfinn’s teeth on edge. “We helped save the peace, but no one will ever know.”
Astrid rolled her eyes. “Do you really think your chest is broad enough for more medals?”
“Ouch.” Percy clutched his heart. “You wound me.”
“You’ll survive,” Astrid told him.
“If we blab about the conspiracy plot, it could incite public outcry for even more extreme punishments to be placed upon Germany. The negotiations in France could be entirely upset. And then we’d be responsible for destroying the peace that we fought to preserve,” Rose pointed out.
Thorfinn also had his own personal reasons to be thankful that the British Navy wished to keep the whole event a secret. It meant that Sigurd’s role would be hushed up as well, and the children could go on thinking their da a hero. Freya, unfortunately, knew most of it, but she seemed to be coming to terms. She had even managed to discuss her thoughts about her father’s actions with Thorfinn and had, on her own, concluded that his treason had been a product of Sigurd’s bitterness and the need to provide for his children. Freya had determined that they should give the hidden gold to war widows, and her decision seemed to grant her some degree of peace.
“I suppose you’re right about the need to be discreet,” Percy said with an exaggerated sigh, “if you wish to be precise about it.”
“Speaking about precision.” Myrtle drifted back in Thorfinn’s direction. “You haven’t hit anything else with your shovel, have you?”
“You do realize that Frest has been host to agrarian societies since the beginning. All this land you’re standing on has been tilled and retilled by generation after generation for thousands of years,” Thorfinn pointed out.
The glare the archaeologist sent him was deadly. Considering Myrtle’s aim with a gun was apparently equally fatal, Thorfinn thought it wise to refocus on the hole in front of him. Despite his teasing words to Myrtle, he was being extremely careful.
It felt rather odd, digging with an audience, but their group had promised Myrtle that only one of them would work at a time. Since Thorfinn was the most proficient at shoveling the sod, he’d volunteered to go first. Hopefully, he’d picked the right spot, and they wouldn’t have to dig around the whole damn stone.
The tip of his shovel scraped against something, giving the distinct clang of metal hitting metal. Myrtle hopped over like a hare, her nose fairly vibrating like the wee beastie’s too. “Did you hit something again?”
“Aye, but—”
Myrtle shoved him aside and carefully scraped away the sod. Rose popped over too.
“It sounded clangy,” Rose said as she peered over Myrtle’s shoulder.
“Did Sinclair unearth something of great-great-great-great-great-grandma’s?” Astrid asked.
“Should I contact the London Museum?” Percy inquired.
“This is not a laughing matter,” Myrtle said sternly. “It could have been priceless.”
“But it isn’t?” Percy arched a brow.
“Well, not as an archaeological object,” Myrtle said, standing up, “but I do believe it is the viscount’s. Just stay close to the metal container. Don’t churn up soil unnecessarily.”
“We should all do the honors,” Thorfinn said, holding out the shovel to Rose. “You should lead.”
