“The tide will be in by now,” Sinclair pointed out softly as he stepped back to allow the women to pass into the main chamber.
“So we’re marooned on Frest?” Miss Morningstar spoke calmly enough, but he didn’t miss the worry in her voice. After all, he felt it too.
“You’re welcome to stay in my family’s cottage until morning,” Sinclair offered. “I’m afraid I can only offer you the loft, as it is the single private room. It isn’t luxurious, but it’s comfortable enough to lay your heads. Or I can take you over to Hamarray on my boat. I know the waters well enough, and there is some light from the moon.”
“No need to risk navigating at night, especially with the tricky currents around here,” Miss Van Etten said with an almost airy tone before she ducked under the passage. Sinclair, though, didn’t miss her slightly shaky intake of breath. The tight corridor unsettled her, but she had plunged ahead without hesitation. The new Lady of Muckle Skaill was indeed admirably tough.
Miss Morningstar shrugged before she, too, disappeared into the tunnel. When Sinclair wriggled through and clambered to his feet, he found Miss Van Etten only a yard from the entrance, her chin tilted toward the sky. Her hat must have fallen off somewhere, and her short black curls were in wild disarray, but she still managed a fierce, upper-crust elegance. And for once, he didn’t feel pushed away by it. This was not unearned arrogance but true strength.
Miss Van Etten turned then, and he watched as she purposely arranged her face into a pleasant mien. But when she linked one of her arms with his and the other with her friend’s, he could feel the tremble that she otherwise hid so efficiently. Her back straight, she ledthem down the uneven hillock like a Roman general advancing over Hadrian’s Wall.
When they reached Sinclair’s front door, Miss Van Etten stepped back. “You two can go inside. I’d rather sit and watch the stars.”
“Are you certain that you wish to stay out here, lass?” Sinclair asked. “It’s dreich tonight.”
“The chill feels good.” Miss Van Etten gave what Sinclair now realized was a practiced smile. “I got used to the damp in France.”
Apparently, blitheness made just as good a shield as it did a blade. “Could I at least bring you blankets?”
Miss Van Etten tilted her head. With the moonlight bestowing her white skin with a pearly glow, the result was stunning. Sinclair sucked in his breath as she studied him from beneath her long black lashes.
“As long as it comes with a flask of the whiskey that I tasted at Widow Flett’s.”
There was no doubt that the heiress now realized the liquor had been distilled at Fornhowe, but neither of them mentioned it. It relieved him somewhat that she didn’t seem angry, but he was just learning how well Miss Van Etten could obscure her true emotions. Even if she didn’t intend to turn them in to the exciseman, she could always insist on a share of the proceeds. Other lairds would see it as their right, and so might she. But it wasn’t a fight to have now.
“I can arrange a wee dram or two,” he promised, keeping his tone as light as hers as he opened the door for her friend.
“I am happy to stay outside with you, Rose.” Miss Morningstar paused at the threshold, her lips pursed with concern.
“There’s no need for both of us to spend a sleepless night. I shall be fine.”
The archaeologist shook her head. “You should not be alone, Rose. Not in the dark.”
Miss Van Etten sighed wearily. “If you insist on staying with me, I shall have no choice but to go inside. You have never handled sittingstill in the cold. You’ll be a frightful, shivery mess within minutes. I will be fine, M.”
Miss Morningstar’s expression grew as mulish as Miss Van Etten’s, and it was clear that the women were about to meet a stalemate.
“I can stay with Miss Van Etten,” Sinclair said. “I won’t be getting more sleep tonight anyway.” After all, he was giving up his bed.
“Would that work for you?” Miss Morningstar asked her friend.
“Fine,” Miss Van Etten said crisply before she marched in the direction of the sea.
Miss Morningstar sighed heavily. “Let’s be quick about getting me settled. I don’t want her alone too long.”
“Aye,” Sinclair agreed, thinking about the hollowness in Miss Van Etten’s eyes when they’d discovered her in the skull room and the way her hands had briefly shaken.
Together, he and Miss Morningstar hurried into the cottage. Thankfully, Sigurd was sleeping soundly. Freya had already gotten the children back to sleep, and it took Sinclair only a few moments to explain to her what had happened. While Freya helped prepare Miss Morningstar a pallet in the loft, Sinclair grabbed three of the heaviest wool blankets woven by his mother and a bottle of whiskey. As he headed back into the air, a chill stole through him that had nothing to do with the dreich and everything to do with the fact that the recent events in Fornhowe had left him upended.
He could not escape the sense that his already conflicted relationship with Miss Van Etten was about to get even more in a tangle.
Chapter 9
Sinclair found Miss Van Etten on the beach staring out at the inky sea.
People generally looked small and lonely against the backdrop of the Flow. Not Miss Van Etten. She appeared fierce, indomitable—as if she could stare the sea into submission. Perhaps it was the set of her shoulders or the way her short hair danced in the wind. But most likely it was her undeniable spirit.
But her strength didn’t mean that she wasn’t in need of a companion to help ward off the darkness not born of the night. Even if he wasn’t the gallant knight to her lady, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t sit with her a spell or two.
