Rose pulled back with a reluctant sigh and patted his chest. “I can’t linger too long. More guests will be arriving soon, and I want to personally greet as many as possible, since this is the grand opening.”
“What has the reaction been so far?” Thorfinn asked, cupping her face with his hand.
“Wonderful!” She beamed. “I even got a grunt of approval from my father, and my mother hasn’t had one complaint—although I think Alexander nearly startled her to death when he showed her the vole family that he rescued from the plow. I’ve heard so many people say how much it felt like stepping into their own house, it was so pleasant.”
“That’s because you’ve managed the impossible, Rose.” Thorfinn pulled her tightly against his chest as he brushed his lips over her temple. “You turned Muckle Skaill into a real home—not just for the guests who sojourn here for a day or a week or a month but for me and my sisters and brother.”
“And me.” A wondrous expression fell over Rose’s face as she stepped back to stare up at him. “I never thought I’d have a home. But here I am. Hereweare.”
“Here we are,” he repeated with a grin. They weren’t anyone’s idea of a proper laird and lady, but it was their very uniqueness that madethem strong, steady, stalwart—like the standing stones that Rose had once compared him to.
“I couldn’t imagine a better way to commemorate the official opening of Muckle Skaill Hotel and the first anniversary of the official end of the Great War than with all of you!” Rose projected her voice over the crowd of ceilidh attendees gathered in front of her. Myrtle and Percy stood together—glasses of Frest Whiskey in their hands. Next to them bounced the younger Flett children under the watchful eyes of Astrid, Freya, and Young Thomas. Beyond them stood Widow Flett, David Craigie, Janet and Ann Inkster, elderly islanders, the war heroes, the women who’d kept the crofts functioning during the war, children, toddlers, and babies. And interspersed among the people of Frest were Myrtle’s archaeology students and guests of Muckle Skaill. Even Rose’s mother and father were in the audience, looking almost ... comfortable. Although the three of them would never be particularly close, it was enough for Rose that they were here, supporting her in their own way.
Beside Rose, on the temporary platform that had been erected on the headlands for the event, was Thorfinn. He had initially balked at joining her as master of ceremonies, but she’d pointed out that he’d need to get accustomed to it. After all, he was the laird to her lady.
“Today is both a celebration and a remembrance.” Rose shifted her body slightly and gestured to Scapa Flow behind her with her tumbler. “We stand before a great natural harbor once filled with the British Grand Fleet and stalked by German U-boats. From these shores, men left to fight in Belgium, France, Italy, Russia, Africa, Turkey, and in the world’s oceans; women volunteered and risked their lives to support the troops as nurses, couriers, and ambulance drivers. Men and women sallied forth to aid the peoples of France and Belgium against the German aggressor. All people supported the war effort. When atruce was finally declared, these waters were filled with the remnants of the German High Seas Fleet, a constant reminder that war could erupt again at any minute.
“But that threat is gone now—the once-fearsome fleet sunk by the Germans’ own hands—a final act of desperation in a conflict that wrought so much hopelessness and pain. The dominion of Scapa has been returned to the people of Orkney. Trawlers and merchant vessels are once again the most common sight.
“Yet still we can see the masts of dreadnoughts rising from the water and the hulls of overturned destroyers resting on skerries. We know that beneath the turquoise waves lurk the sunken cruisers, their guns now pointing at nothing. These are both seen and unseen reminders—scars, if you will. We shall all carry them—whether it be inflicted by shrapnel, by bullets, by memory, or by loss.
“But we, like the Scapa Flow, will keep on moving, keep on changing, keep on sustaining life. Not just our own but each other’s. We shall heal together, build together, create together.
“So let’s not just lift our Frest Whiskey to toast the anniversary of the Treaty of Versailles. It is not only what that legal document granted us but what we dowithit. To community, to healing, to growth, to the gift of a future.”
Rose held the amber liquid high above her head, and the people erupted into shouts and cheers. The sound—both joyous and resolute—buoyed her. She did not feel like the cynical observer anymore but a part of this, a wonderful, connected part.
Beside her, Thorfinn nervously cleared his throat as he gestured for his siblings to join them on the stage as the children had requested. They wanted to tell a story in remembrance of their late parents, although they refused to tell either her or Thorfinn which one they had chosen.
Rose linked her arm with her husband’s, and Freya took his other elbow. Her sisters followed suit and then little Alex, so they stood as one unit. Together.
“The past year has been one of great sadness and of great happiness for my family.” Thorfinn’s voice started out weak, but the more he spoke, the stronger it became. “As most of you know, my stepda passed away around this time last June.”
Mr.Flett’s death, in many ways, had been a mercy, and Rose believed the proud man had simply stopped fighting. He must have known that his passing would protect his beloved children. Despite the path his bitterness and desperation had placed him upon, Sigurd had been a loving father to Thorfinn’s half siblings. For the latter, Rose mourned him, as did Thorfinn.
“Days later, Mrs.Sinclair and I announced our betrothal. Our engagement was made in the shadow of the standing stone known to bring luck and fortune to sweethearts.” Thorfinn gazed directly at Rose now, and a sense of wholeness blossomed through her. “And our marriage, although it is still only a few months old, has been one of much joy.”
Freya now spoke, her pale face flushed but her words confident and strong. “And to honor both our da—who always led the storytelling—and our brother and sister-in-law, the Flett children would like to tell you all a tale. It is a familiar one but also new. We have made it up ourselves, and no one has heard it afore, even Thorfinn and Rose.”
Freya paused then and glanced at Rose with a huge welcoming smile on her face. “Our story begins with a selkie who decided to come ashore.”
At the words, Rose clasped her free hand against her heart as the organ seemed to swell like a hot-air balloon.
“She was very, very bonny, of course,” Alex piped up.
“And she could navigate a boat better than any mortal or fae creature—even the finmen,” Hannah added. “For she had a knowledge of the currents, as she had traveled far and wide. There was naught of the sea that she had not seen with her own eyes.”
Thorfinn glanced over at Rose, and his warm look made her feel like she was floating among the gold-drenched clouds.
“So she decided to explore the land,” Margaret said. “Being a practical sort, she was very careful with her selkie skin when she landed on the shores of Hamarray. She folded it up and carried it with her. She didn’t lose it or hide it in an obvious place or, worst of all, entrust it to a silly man for safekeeping.”
“But she did meet a man,” Mary interjected. “A nice handsome one with a big smile.”
“He was a Viking!” Alex shouted, causing the crowd to laugh and Thorfinn to blush. Despite how many times Rose had called her husbandmy Vikingin deliciously intimate settings, the appellation could still redden his cheeks.
“He was an islander, and he didn’t know if he could trust a stranger—especially one so fair,” Freya said. “But she seemed so eager to learn about the people of Frest and to try to help them that he soon found himself softening to her.”
“He taught her how to dance,” Barbara said, “and how to find cockles at low tide.”
