“Is the Earl of Mar in Edinburgh?” Myrtle asked. “If not, there might be a delay in getting him to sign the papers.”
“I believe he is, but his land agent is handling all of the details.”
“Perhaps that is who you need if you decide to keep the islands,” Myrtle suggested as she picked up her book again.
“An estate manager?” Rose said, considering the idea. She recalled some of her British lovers complaining of the need to meet with their land agent about some matter or another when they just wished to stay abed. It suddenly struck Rose that estate managers could form very close relationships with their employers through the years. Land agents also possessed great access to the holdings. Such a man could easily be thehimthat Barbury had referred to ... or, just as plausible in the other direction, the spy.
“Yes, one of those,” Myrtle said absently as she became reabsorbed in her reading.
“That’s it!” Rose said excitedly as a welcome sense of clarity struck.
“What’s it?” Myrtle sounded slightly annoyed as she lowered the small tome once again.
“I need to meet this land agent of Mar’s. I’ll make some excuse—maybe that I want him to bring me the papers to sign. It will be an excellent opportunity to gauge whether he could be connected to the viscount’s mission! I can also ask him about the running of the estate.”
“So youareplanning to keep it?” Myrtle asked. “If so, can I excavate the mounds on Frest? They honestly intrigue me even more than my broch. I keep feeling that there is something under them that I need to discover.”
Once again, Rose didn’t answer Myrtle’s first question because, thunderation, she still didn’tknowher ultimate goal. Rose had always been one to let life sweep her up into one adventure and deposit her in the next. That was how she’d ended up in the middle of a war andnow with the responsibility for two islands on her shoulders. She wasn’t someone who stuck around, and the people of Frest deserved better.
“If I don’t sell off, you can excavate what you want so long as we get full permission from the crofters. But the only thing that I’m certain of right now is that I am going to bring Mr.Sinclair with me when I meet this estate manager.”
“Your Viking?” Myrtle asked.
“How many times do I have to say that he’s notmyViking?” Rose crushed her damp cigarette in her hand.
“You seem awfully attached to him, considering the short span of time that you’ve known each other.”
Rose snorted, the idea of needing anyone but herself more unsettling than she wanted to admit. “If I am to hire a land agent, he would be my first choice, since he clearly knows the islands and is already a de facto leader of the crofters. It will be interesting to see how he interacts with Mar’s old estate manager.”
“Rose, you do realize that you barely know the man,” Myrtle pointed out. “What makes you think he is ready for such responsibility?”
Rose laughed—the sound rather bitter. “Because he certainly understands more about duty than I do. Besides, I have other reasons for considering him for the position. He’s hiding something from me, and it will give me a chance to watch him.”
“Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer?” Myrtle repeated the old adage archly.
“Yep.”
“Are you sure it’s because you think he’s the enemy that you want him near?” Myrtle asked, this time her voice softly serious instead of teasing.
And for the third time that night Rose ignored her friend’s inquiry. And the reason for it was simple.
The potential answer frightened the dickens out of her.
Chapter 7
The sound of the motorboat caused Sinclair to lift his head from the crab pot he’d been fixing. Normally he did such things after sunset by the peat fire, but he was currently waiting on the ancient stone jetty for Miss Van Etten’s arrival. She’d sent one of her servants over to his croft yesterday with an invitation for him to accompany her to Stromness to meet Mar’s former estate agent, Mr.John White, and her solicitor, Mr.Lewis. Although Sinclair had little time to spare, he did not want to turn down the opportunity to be involved in the transfer of title to Frest, no matter how tangentially. Miss Van Etten had also promised to tell him about her plans for improving both islands.
A strange anticipation had swirled through Sinclair since he’d received the missive. He told himself that it was because he was looking forward to skimming through the waves inThe Briar. After his experience in Miss Van Etten’s automobile, he really shouldn’t have been so eager to climb into any machine navigated by the heiress. Sinclair was supposed to be the steady one, the reliable one, theboringone. He wasn’t the Earl of Mar seeking pleasure over all else. He had no time for frivolity or even adventure. Such distractions could come at a cost to his siblings’ welfare—and that was a price he would never be willing to pay. But still, Sinclair couldn’t stop his thrill when he spied the sleek vessel slicing through the water at a speed he could never achieve in hiscraft, no matter how strong the wind or how much time he put into maintaining the motor.
“Are you ready?” Miss Van Etten shouted over the burble of her engine, slowing her vessel as she approached the collection of old stones jutting into the North Sea that composed the pier of Frest.
“Aye,” Sinclair said as he once again unsuccessfully tried to push down the swell of excitement rising through him like a dangerous gale.
Hoisting a crate of cheeses with its false bottom, Sinclair hopped into the vessel. As long as he was going to Mainland, Orkney, he might as well engage in business—both licit and illicit.
After Miss Van Etten reversed and brought the speedboat around, she winked one of her topaz eyes. That was his only warning before she jammed the throttle forward, and they shot through the water like a merry porpoise. The force slammed Sinclair back against the padded leather seat. Although the sea was relatively calm today, freezing spray shot into his face. Luckily, he was accustomed to icy showers and knew how to resolutely stare into the biting deluge.
Miss Van Etten did not display such stoicism.
