Percy shoved his hands into the pockets of his evening pants, causing his tuxedo jacket to bunch. “Perhaps itisbest that you consult the inanimate terrier.”
Rose laughed shortly, the sound ugly to her ears. She couldn’t mask the self-loathing—not tonight. She’d come to Edinburgh to lick and hide her wounds, but instead she’d just ripped off the scab and forcedherself to bleed. “We’re two of a kind, aren’t we, Percy? Living life one distraction after another, never pausing for long-overdue self-reflection.”
Percy plucked the glass from her hand and downed what little champagne remained. “If you want to engage in philosophical drivel, I am afraid I’m not the right companion. But if you are interested in indulging in another diversion, I know a rather pleasurable pastime that we both enjoy.”
Rose sighed and leaned against the tall base upon which Greyfriars Bobby was perched. She’d asked to come to Edinburgh for just such an evening as Percy offered. Dancing. Drinking. Merriment. And moreprivateentertainment.
But she’d found she’d lost the taste for it. For all of it.
It should have been depressing, realizing that she could not even glean a moment of sparkle from the glitteriest of events. But it felt ... liberating? As if she were no longer held under its thrall, no longer drawn to it, no longer an integralpartof it.
She was a separate entity from the high society she’d been born into ... which meant she was free to find her own place—toestablishher own place. Where she chose.
“I think I shall just retire to bed.Alone.”
Percy heaved a melodramatic sigh. “I was afraid that would be your answer.”
“Sorry I’m such a bore.”
Percy gave her a fond grin. “You are never a bore, Rose Petal. After all, it is not every day a man can watch a beautiful woman engage in a philosophical debate with a statue of a dog.”
“Shhhh. You’ll insult Bobby. He takes these matters very seriously.” Rose gave the old boy one quick goodbye pat on his bronze snout.
“I’m sure he does.” Percy crooked his elbow in her direction. “Shall I accompany you back to the hotel before I attend another function?”
“I would be delighted to have your company.” Rose linked her arm with his as they headed toward the Royal Mile. “But don’t stay out too late. I plan to leave bright and early in the morning. I want to go to Hamarray.”
Percy made a face. “I really cannot see the hold that windy, desolate place has on you. I admit it has a certain charm in the spring, but can you imagine it in the winter? Whyever do you want to go back there so soon?”
“It’s home.”
Those two words—so innocuous—slipped from Rose’s mouth. In her drunken state, she almost didn’t notice. When she did, she jerked to a halt and nearly turned her ankle. She would have fallen if Percy hadn’t held her steady. She had never, ever considered a placehome. Even in childhood, she’d always thought of where she lived as the New York residence or the Daytona house. Those edifices of brick and mortar (or, in the case of the Florida residence, coquina) were the domain of her parents, and Rose had just happened to be a temporary occupant.
But Muckle Skaill ... Muckle Skaill washers. Not because of a title, or a deed, or any claim of ownership. But because of how she felt—not about the building but about the land and the people. About shy Ann Inkster and earnest Young Thomas. About the proud David Craigie and his windmill. About the wonderful Flett children and their excited questions and never-ending enthusiasm.
Percy scuffed his shoe against the street and then lifted his head to face her. “Rose? The question that you asked Greyfriars Bobby about connection? I think you’ve just answered it. Home is a rare thing for creatures like us. If you’ve found one, do not allow a stuffed, pompous prig to chase you from it.”
Rose looked at Percy, but she saw Barbury standing before her. She hadn’t been wrong about the viscount. Reggiehadfound his purpose. It hadn’t been about rooting out the spy ring—at least not directly. He was trying to bring peace to “those we let into our hearts.” Back then, she’d automatically assumed that he’d meant lovers, but it was so much deeper than that.
Rose didn’t need a mission to give her life meaning. She needed connections, and she was beginning to forge them with the peopleof Frest. Sinclair might have dismissed her, but she wouldnotdismiss herself from the place she had begun to care deeply for.
Myrtle had been right when she’d asked Rose if she was falling in love with Orkney. And this time, Rose was no longer afraid of her answer to her friend’s question.
“Can you circle the islands before you land?” Rose shouted at Percy as she caught a glimpse of Fornhowe from the window of his Short 184 seaplane.
Percy glanced at her and nodded, his light-blue eyes unreadable instead of brimming with his normal joviality. He’d done all the talking on their flight, yelling over the motor in an effort to make conversation. At one time, Rose would have been bellowing right back at him, not wanting to endure the silence or, in this case, the constant roar of the engine. For discourse meant distraction from thought.
But Rose had found herself wanting the opportunity to think, craving it even. Watching Aberdeenshire and the foothills of the Cairngorms hadn’t soothed her. The pink castles seemed too perfect—like a sugared confectionary that would dissolve in a single spring shower. Even as the landscape beneath them had grown more ragged, she still had not been satisfied. She wanted back to the drama and peace of Frest and Hamarray. She had a race to plan, a legal whiskey distillery to found, and a spy ring to root out ofherhome.
Something opened inside her when she saw the round crest of Frest. Although she couldn’t tell who was who, she could see the Flett children running about their croft. The pony, Charlie, glanced skyward, and Rose could just hear him snorting in disgust. A figure sat under the eaves of Widow Flett’s cottage—most likely the woman herself engaged in knitting. There were the other homes of the islanders, neat tidy plots of land. She knew each of them now ... and their stories too ... those who hadbraved wartime on the isle, those who’d returned, those who were still making their way home, and those who never would. She’d heard tales about selkies, trows, mermaids, and finmen, along with the more recent stories of sailors, soldiers, fishermen, weavers, knitters, and cheese makers.
Everywhere Rose looked, she saw the people of Frest. A wonderful sense of homecoming filled her, and she hoped that these welcoming, hardworking people would come to embrace her as much as she did them.
“Did you know that I’ll be assisting with the peat cutting tomorrow? Not only do the crofters need it for their homes, but we’re planning on increasing whiskey production by leaps and bounds over the next season,” Rose shouted as Percy dipped toward the rocky cliffs. Puffins, skuas, fulmars, and other seabirds hopped about, some with fish dripping from their mouths, others arguing among themselves. Below, she caught the brief flash of a seal’s head bobbing in the gentle waves.
“You? Cutting bits of mud?”
“Technically, I will be helping to stack it.”
