“Just the live-in household staff at the mansion. Hamarray was made into pastureland during the Enclosures, and many of the folks living there moved to Frest. It is why we are so densely populated.” Of course, the Earl of Mar had only made matters worse when he’d gottenrid of the sheep and instead filled his land with wild game not native to Orkney, including hares that ate the crops on Frest.
“How big are the farms?” Miss Van Etten spoke around the thin roll of tobacco in her mouth and somehow managed almost perfect elocution.
“A few acres or so each.”
Miss Van Etten whipped around in his direction. Her mouth agape, the sodden paper clinging to her lower lip. She grabbed the cigarette moments before it dropped. “A fewacres! How isthatsustainable?”
It wasn’t.
“Isn’t that just a kitchen garden plot at best?” Miss Van Etten continued. Her tone was honestly befuddled and not at all belittling. Still, her words carried an unintended sting.
“We fish the seas, too, and there are the sheep on Hamarray. We do odd jobs. Some of the women sell their knitting from time to time.” And there were less legal means of earning an income that he would never reveal to any laird.
Miss Van Etten did not speak as she scanned the landscape with a sharp, reassessing gaze. Her glance stopped near his stepfather’s croft, and their milch cow, Sally, raised her shaggy, reddish-brown head and lowed. Frest, like most of the islands in Orkney, was relatively low lying, so even situated on the strand, they had a good view of most of the western side of the isle. The green fields were crisscrossed with drystone walls and dotted with cattle, ponies, and a few woolly sheep. It was a bucolic view that belied the hard work the land demanded from its stewards.
“Shit,” she said, her voice a bit thunderstruck, as if the full enormity of her whim to purchase the islands had finally begun to register.
Sinclair had never heard a lady of her class swear, but he fully echoed her sentiment. “Shiteis generally the preferred term around these parts.”
“Well, shite, then.”
They both fell into silence as they gazed over the fields that Sinclair loved. He wondered what Miss Van Etten felt as she surveyed her holdings. She could not possibly experience the intense tug he did, the connection to the soil and to the people. But perhaps she no longer saw it as a mere acquisition, like an exquisite string of pearls for her to don and discard at will, but as a living land full of history, tradition, and promise.
Miss Van Etten began to draw in her breath, as if preparing to speak again, but before she could, his cottage door popped open, and out spilled his half siblings. Sinclair glanced over at the elegantly dressed Miss Van Etten and wondered if she was ready for an invasion of the Flett children. He did not want to disrupt the shaky accord they had just reached.
“We should do another circuit of Frest—mayhap a bit slower this time—and I can tell you more about the place and its people.”
She grinned then—a short but honest flash of a smile. “I rather like that idea.”
Just as she started to reach for the Raceabout’s throttle, Freya’s voice broke through the wind and the hum of the motor. “Thorfinn! Thorfinn!”
Miss Van Etten turned her head toward the call. Sinclair knew the moment she caught sight of the bairns racing down the hill, since her eyes widened so far that they seemed to nearly double in size.
“Your relations, I take it?” Miss Van Etten asked wryly.
“My half siblings,” Sinclair answered.
Freya, who had the longest legs, reached them first. She whipped her blonde braid behind her back and smiled broadly at Miss Van Etten. “You must be one of the American ladies who is visiting Muckle Skaill.”
“Mookle Skull?” Miss Van Etten slanted a confused look in his direction.
“Muckle Skaill. It meansthe big hallin Orcadian,” Sinclair explained. “It is what we locals call your new home.”
“Ah.” Miss Van Etten nodded and then turned back to Freya. “I suppose I am, then. My name is Miss Rose Van Etten, and who might you be?”
“Frey—I meanMissFreya Flett.” His sister dropped into an awkward curtsy.
To Sinclair’s relief, Miss Van Etten’s lips did not twitch at his sister’s clumsy attempt to assume courtly manners. The golden flecks in the heiress’s eyes might have flashed a bit brighter, but she said with perfect solemnity, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Flett.”
“And I yours.” Freya clasped her hands over her heart and dipped so low this time that she had trouble getting up.
“Have you asked her yet?” Mary shouted to Freya from halfway down the hill.
“Did she say yes?” Barbara yelled next.
Freya shot a meaningful stare at the twins. “I was getting around to all that. I had to greet her proper first.” When she returned her attention to Miss Van Etten, a gracious smile once again wreathed her freckled face.
“Miss Van Etten, would you do us thegreathonor of joining us for dinner? I was just putting it on the table when we heard your magnificent vehicle outside our window.”
