“Aye.” Thorfinn blew off a layer of dirt.
“It is smaller than I’d imagined. I was hoping for a big chest.” Rose tapped her finger against the steel, making a pinging sound that echoed through the small chamber.
“It’s where the keys go, at least.” Thorfinn shrugged and carried the container toward the opening. “It’ll be easier to see it in the light.”
They knelt in tandem at the front of the cave. Thorfinn lifted the viscount’s key from around his neck, where it hung next to his own, and returned it to Rose.
“You open it,” Thorfinn said. “This is your quest. I’m just the late-coming squire.”
“Fellow knight,” Rose corrected, not liking how he’d once again made their statuses uneven.
“Did we find our grail, Sir Galahad?” Thorfinn asked.
“Oh, I’m not the saintly one,” Rose said as she inserted the key and twisted. She had a bit of trouble with the rusty latch, but within seconds she had the lid off.
Fiery excitement rushed through her as she lifted out a single letter ... and her heart plummeted.
“It’s in code.”
The disappointment in Rose’s voice echoed through Sinclair. This ... this was part of Reggie’s legacy. Sinclair hadn’t been there to protect his older brother during the war, but hewouldsee to it that Reggie’s last mission was accomplished. In the past hour, Sinclair had felt that a bit of his sibling was still alive, still fighting.
“Is it in some sort of secret language that you developed during childhood?” Rose asked, handing him the scrap of paper.
“Nay.” Sinclair scanned the nonsensical jumble of alphabetical letters. “I have never seen the like in my life.”
“Could he have given you the cipher?” Rose asked.
Sinclair idly rubbed his scar, feeling the puckered, silvery skin beneath his thumb. “Nay. Like I said before, Reggie didn’t contact me after he first left for France.”
Rose bounced to her feet and began to pace. “I suppose I should be happy that we at least found your brother’s letter. Between the two of us, we can figure out a way to crack it.”
“Did Reggie say anything else to you in the ambulance?” Sinclair asked. “Did he explain what had brought him back to the Front?”
Rose sank down beside him on the rock shelf. “No. He just warned me that there were spies everywhere and to trust no one buthim, who is apparently you. It never made sense to me why the viscount was with a French regiment. There were no British troops in the vicinity andcertainly not in the trenches. He was wearing the uniform of a poilu, not that of an English officer.”
Sinclair fisted his hands as he thought about Reggie. He’d always been theatrical and so desperate to prove his honor. Everything had been a quest to him—even setting off to battle. Reggie had always had a singular way of swaying others into participating in whatever mad romp he’d cooked up. And Sinclair had followed his lead ... until the war.
Pain sliced through Sinclair as an image of his brother standing on this very cliff blasted through him.Come with me, Sin. Between the two of us we’ll lick those Germans and kick them back to their precious fatherland in no time.
“At the end, did he ...” He trailed off, not knowing what to ask about his brother’s death—how to ask. It wasn’t just his pain but hers as well.
“His last thoughts were of you.” Rose reached for his hand, her touch gentle. “His final words were to instruct me to tell you that he was sorry.”
Sinclair’s good eye burned. Turning his palm upward, he clasped Rose’s slender fingers. His throat thickened until he thought his muscles might flatten his esophagus.
“I wish I’d been by his side like he’d wanted.” Sinclair managed to squeeze out the words. “Reggie was always hotheaded—racing into situations without any strategy in place. I would have made sure he’d had one.”
“We don’t know that he didn’t have a plan. Even if he did, it probably went awry.” She dropped Sinclair’s hand and leaned forward so her chest was flush against her knees. Rose always looked like she was ready to slay her own dragons, but now she seemed not defeated exactly but weary, terriblyweary. “It was chaos near the Front, especially at the end. After years of the trenches not moving more than a few yards, nobody knew how to handle an actual advance.”
Rose paused then and slowly stretched out her palm. Sinclair recalled how she’d asked him to hold her hand when she’d spoken of Reggie’s last words. His fist closed over hers as he marveled at her courage—not just to face the past but to reveal to him her own vulnerability.
One by one, Rose’s delicate, gloved fingers pressed against his skin as she spoke again. “Roads were blocked with trucks, carts, vehicles, men. Everyone was trying to get somewhere—whether forward or back. The ... the shelling was terrible.”
She stopped, her grip almost painful. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles, his own heart feeling as if it were between the grindstones at David Craigie’s mill. “You do not need to continue, Rose, if you don’t wish to.”
She shook her head—a fierce, emphatic movement. When she spoke, her voice was stronger and determined, and Sinclair’s respect for her swelled even more. “German observation balloons lurked in the sky—these silvery, bloated menaces. The Luftstreitkräfte were trying desperately to stop the Allied advance. Their quick, nimble planes strafed us constantly.”
Rose swallowed hard, but she resolutely continued. “When the fighting was very intense, we could only traverse the roads at night without any headlamps to give away our location. We never knew when the Germans might release mustard gas to suffocate us all.”
