“Well, we mustn’t do anything to sacrifice that earthy, smoky flavor,” Rose said, her voice that curious mix of light and somber that he’d begun to realize carried much more truth than he’d first given her credit for. “The intensity of peat and the uniqueness of the bere barley is what makes Frest Whiskey so utterly memorable. Do you think there are sufficient peat bogs on Hamarray?”
“Aye,” Sinclair said. “I took a walk there yesterday to make sure.”
“It looks like we need to take a stroll together, Mr.Sinclair, so I can see these fields myself.” Rose winked, and he nearly groaned. Although they’d been spending every evening together, it was hard to find time for stolen kisses with his family constantly about. Rose and he, unfortunately, had not had an opportunity to resume their aborted tryst in the sea cave. But that didn’t stop Sinclair from feeling like his body was a constant inferno fueled by the few embraces that they did manage.
Just as Sinclair thought his very bones were finally going to melt from the heat, Rose sobered again. “We’ll also have the land surveyorthat we have scheduled to visit the island draw up a proper map. You and Mr.Lewis can then work together to draft a lease.”
“At least there will be one concrete benefit from the surveyor’s visit. I still doubt that his findings will show us any spots I haven’t considered that could be used for spying.”
Rose shrugged. “The land has not had a proper review in years—you said so yourself. Can you wait, though, until the leases are drawn up to harvest the peat?”
“Nay, not if we want it to dry in time for winter. We need to start in a few weeks,” Sinclair said. It was surprisingly easy to raise issues to Rose. She approached with logic, not the bluster of Mar, the apathy of Mr.White, or the wild jubilance of Reggie. Reggie had always been good at dreaming but not the execution. But Rose—Rose was a rare mix of creativity and practicality.
“Then this year we’ll need to rely on everyone’s good faith,” Rose said. “We’ll make sure at this evening’s meeting that the crofters are in agreement that a necessary percentage of harvest will go toward whiskey making.”
Sinclair nodded. “I will see to it when I talk to them directly that there are no hidden complaints to surprise us.”
“Speaking of avoiding unpleasant shocks, I have been thinking about the guest list for the upcoming ceilidh and race.” Rose’s words caused Sinclair to instantly tense. He hated talking about the bloody speed trial, but he agreed that the crofters should have a chance to see what tourism would mean for the island.
“Aye?”
“It may be a good chance to draw our non-Frest suspects back to Hamarray.”
The statement caused Sinclair’s stomach to twist even though he understood her logic. “You mean the Earl of Mar and Mr.White.”
“Yes, but I know that you and the crofters do not seem fond of either man.”
That was an understatement. Sinclair somehow stopped his body from reflexively coiling for action ... or attack. “Under normal circumstances, I would ask that you not invite them, but I can see how it would be useful—especially if you do not ask the earl directly.”
“How do you mean?” Rose asked.
“When the earl wants to do something, he does it. If he is intent on using the race as an excuse to return to Hamarray, he’ll either try to coerce an invitation or just show up. If he goes to that effort, we’ll know his interest is strong.”
Rose arched an approving brow. “And it will make it more likely that he is one of the spies! I can have my friend Percy make sure that the earl hears the gossip about the race.”
“Perfect.” As much as Sinclair didn’t want the earl to ever return, he couldn’t help a slight twinge of satisfaction that he was the one doing the manipulation after being at the mercy of Mar’s machinations for so long.
“We make excellent partners, Thorfinn.” Rose squeezed his hand, but he could have sworn it was his heart that she’d touched with the way it contracted. Heknewshe meant partners in the business sense, but he could not help but think of the word’s broader, more romantic meaning. He had no idea why, but she’d seemed to slip so neatly into his life. It was surprisingly and perilously easy for him to forget sometimes that she was an American heiress and not a lass from the isles.
“I have the information on the thresher manufacturers whose sales agents you and Miss Morningstar can meet with in Edinburgh,” Sinclair said quickly to remind himself of why they were really here together at this table: to improve Frest and catch the spy ring. As they simply could not make headway on breaking Reggie’s code, Rose was heading to the Edinburgh Central Library to research cryptography. Miss Morningstar was traveling with her—both to serve as bodyguard and to do her own digging into tomes about Scottish antiquities, especially those connected with the Northern Isles. Rose would also meet withher friend from London named Percy, who was helping her organize the race.
“I wish you were accompanying me,” Rose said.
“I do as well.” Sinclair did not wish to stifle Rose, but he was worried about the attempts on her life. “You will stay close to Miss Morningstar and, if she is not around, to this Percy fellow?”
“You are as bad as Myrtle with her fretting. And yes, I promise I shall not go wandering about the city on my own.” Once again Rose’s faint protest seemed more reflexive than annoyed.
Sinclair did not press the issue further, as it was not really his place. If it hadn’t been for the planting, he would have gone with Rose, even if he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about navigating a big city like Edinburgh. But he and Rose had both decided that he, as the estate manager, was needed on Frest to help oversee the critical spring chores.
“But you do realize that when you do accompany me on estate business outside of the island, you will need to acquire a suit.” Rose leveled a challenging look in his direction. She had been after him to use his land agent salary to purchase new clothes.
“No amount of coin is going to make me look like a toff. I’ll still be a simple crofter, and I’d rather be honest about that.”
Rose arched an eyebrow. “You are running an extensive estate spanning two islands. If that does not qualify you to wear a premade suit purchased in Kirkwall, I do not know what would.”
Sinclair shifted in his seat, uncomfortable that she had so easily divined the reason for his reluctance. Hefeltlike an imposter. Even though Reggie had prepared him for this role, it seemed ... wrong and arrogant.
“Are you sure I should be the one to initiate the meeting today?” Sinclair asked. “You are the laird, not me.”
