And Rose hadn’t run from that. She’d stayed and kept driving through that hellish landscape. To save whom she could. To rescue men like Reggie. “You are one of the strongest people I know, Rose. Thank you for what you did for Reggie, forallof them.”
Rose lifted one of her arms from her legs and reached into her pocket to withdraw her cigarette case, which she’d placed there before their climb. “I’m not strong, Thorfinn. I relive that scene too often.”
He reached for the hand twirling the roll of tobacco. Gently, he removed her glove and traced his hand over her skin. “That doesn’t make you weak, Rose. It makes you human, compassionate.”
A harsh sound exploded from her lips. “I’m not the sentimental type, Thorfinn. Don’t mistake me for some sort of angelic feminine ideal.”
Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Sinclair felt the wisp of a true smile touch his face. “I would never do that, but you don’t have to be a dreamy sonnet writer to care for people, Rose. Tofeelfor them.”
Rose shifted, but she did not tug away from him. “I didn’t tell you about the war to discuss me. I wanted—want—you to understand that what happened to your brother wasn’t something your presence could have stopped. I don’t know why he was in the French trenches, but I do know that our ambulance was kicked over by an injured horse. That wasn’t something you could have accounted for, Thorfinn. Warisn’tpredictable. It refuses to follow order, or sense, or reason, or even justice. Even if the ‘good side’ prevails, there is a cost paid that is never equitable.”
It was a price they were all paying—all the world—pulled into a conflict that they were now trying to put to rest. But would it ever lie quietly in its grave, or would it always haunt every one of them in some way?
“I am glad you were there,” Sinclair said and realized how true his words were. “That Reggie was not alone.”
“I was with him at the end, holding his hand and the key.” Rose’s words had softened, and she laid her head against Sinclair’s shoulder. “And his mission became mine.”
“Now I’m part of it as well,” Sinclair said quietly.
“We might never know why he’d returned to the Continent, but wewillferret out this spy ring. For him. For the Allies.” Rose no longer appeared worn down, but she instead nearly vibrated with intensity. This—this was the lass he’d come to know.
“And for you,” Sinclair added. Rose needed the resolution that would come from finishing Reggie’s mission, not just for her safety butfor her inner self—for the woman who’d tried to save the men brutalized by the horrors of trench warfare.
“And also for you, Thorfinn.”
Aye.He needed resolution too. But what would happen once they found it? Would the guilt inside him ever truly dissipate? Would Rose find a degree of peace? He truly hoped she would, even knowing that its discovery would lead her to depart from Hamarray. Rose belonged to the wider, glittering world and he here.
Rose lifted her green skirts, revealing a shapely leg covered in silk, but there was nothing seductive in the economical gesture. A sapphire-blue garter secured both her stocking and a dainty sterling-silver flask. After retrieving the alcohol, she lifted it into the air. “To breaking your brother’s code!”
She took a swig and then handed it to Sinclair.
“To cracking the cryptograph!”
Chapter 11
“You want the rights to dirt on Hamarray?” Rose asked Sinclair as they sat together at the Flett dinner table five days later. The children had already cleared off the dishes and were outside playing in the long golden May evening with Miss Morningstar. Sigurd had set off on his daily walk earlier so he could make it back in time for the meeting with the crofters to discuss the distillery, the upcoming ceilidh and race, and the potential of turning Muckle Skaill into a hotel. What the islanders didn’t know was that Sinclair and Rose were also planning to use the gathering to gauge everyone’s reactions when Sinclair announced that he was going to investigate exactly what had caused Fornhowe to collapse. He sorely hoped no one acted suspiciously, but he could not rule out that one of his neighbors might have turned traitor.
Rose waved her fingers near Sinclair’s face, drawing him back to the present. “I know sod is not the most scintillating of topics, but youdidbring it up.”
Sinclair gave her a rueful expression. “Sorry I was woolgathering, lass. Just thinking about that ‘announcement’ we’re planning on making tonight.”
Although he doubted that anyone was listening to their conversation, they were careful not to openly talk about the spy ring in case someone could easily overhear, including the children. So far, they’d had no success in breaking Reggie’s bloody code and were continuingRose’s original efforts at reconnaissance. But prying into his neighbors’ lives was weighing on Sinclair, even though he knew that it needed to be done.
“I don’t like it either,” Rose whispered softly, and her hand slid into his—being his anchor this time. It was odd and wonderful—this partnership that they were slowly forging. For the past five evenings, Rose and he had huddled at the dinner table and then outside on the strand as they’d talked late into the night about improvements for Frest. But the most remarkable thing was that she, who’d dined in the finest restaurants in Paris, Milan, London, New York, Istanbul, San Francisco, and beyond, had chosen to sup with his family. He liked having her, even if it meant that Sigurd glowered at him for the intrusion throughout the entire meal.
Miss Morningstar—who’d rarely let Rose out of her sight after the latest ambush—would also come for dinner, and afterward she would set off to categorize the contents of Fornhowe. Freya and Hannah would join her, and Miss Morningstar was teaching both of them how to use her camera to document the findings. Either Sinclair or Miss Morningstar would walk Rose home. To his surprise, Rose barely protested the arrangement, but then again, they were all taking the threat against her seriously.
Sinclair was not fool enough to think that Rose might become a permanent fixture in his life. For now, he understood her true purpose for buying Frest and Hamarray. It had been to access Muckle Skaill and to give her a reason to question the crofters. Even though he sensed in her a true interest in his people, a society woman like her would never stay once she’d achieved her mission of uncovering the espionage. But he hoped that she might gain enough affection for the island to not sell it after Miss Morningstar’s digs were completed but to keep it as an investment and allow him to run it for her. He wanted to show Rose that it could be profitable, and he and the other crofters had always been more than willing to work to make it so.
Sinclair cleared his throat, trying to push down the wisp of loss at the thought of Rose leaving. “Well, to return to the discussion on mud—”
“Which is very muddy, indeed.” Rose squeezed his fingers, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. He loved how she could find humor in the most mundane.
“Which is actually about peat harvesting,” Sinclair finished. “We have nearly depleted our allotments on Frest, even with being very careful to replace the upper layer of sod when we are done. The ground has been overused for more than a century now.”
“How dependent are you on peat?” Rose turned serious. “I imagine it is very important, since there doesn’t seem to be any other easy source of fuel.”
“It is our lifeblood. It heats our homes and cooks our food,” Sinclair said. “We’ll be needing it more than ever if we’re to increase whiskey production.”
