“I could only think about all those times the earl ‘introduced’ my mother to his cronies. I was in that house where it all happened, and my mind—”
He trailed off when Astrid’s fingers brushed against his hands fisted on the handle of the tusker. “I understand, Sinclair. I know your past, the whole island does, but Rose does not.”
He stopped struggling against the peat cutter and rested a moment. “Do you think I should tell her?”
“If you don’t want her abandoning the isle thinking you’re a jealous gappus, aye,” Astrid said.
“Rose is going to leave Hamarray eventually. She’s not one for staying in the back of beyond.”
“She’s making a lot of improvements for someone who doesn’t intend to stay,” Astrid pointed out. “And she’s still here, with us, cutting peat even after you insulted her. That says something, doesn’t it?”
Aye, it did. He’d misjudged Rose sorely.
“Even if she would set her sights on a crofter like me, she’s not the marrying kind. She’s said so herself.”
“Then maybe it’s up to you to prove there’s some value in it and that there’s something here on Frest worth sticking around for.”
Sinclair scanned the peat field until he found Rose. She was standing in a ditch, her practical skirt stained with mud. A smudge of it spread across her cheek and onto her nose. Her red-painted lips were parted as she laughed, her white teeth a contrast against the bright color. Her tam-o’-shanter had mostly slipped from her hair, and the black strands stood in wild tufts. Young Thomas must have said something amusing. The lad’s smiles had been rare since he’d returned from the trenches, but he was grinning now and looking as proud as a peacock.
Rose could do that—make a body feel good about themselves. All the islanders were growing to like her. Although his stepda would never embrace an outsider, he grumbled less and less. Rose wasn’t trying to change their ways. Hell, she wanted tocelebratethem.
“No matter what, she deserves an apology, Sinclair,” Astrid said quietly.
He nodded. This time when he pulled on the tusker, he easily freed it.
After walking over to Young Thomas and Rose, he stopped a few feet away. “Mind if we switch partners for a peedie bit?”
Young Thomas looked between him and Rose, clearly sensing some sort of tension between them. He tugged on his flatcap nervously. “Whatever Miss Van Etten wants is fine by me, sir.”
Rose shielded her eyes as she gazed up at Sinclair from the hip-high pit she was standing in. “Is there a particular estate matter you wish to discuss?”
He nearly winced at her cool tone, but truth be told, he deserved worse. “More of an apology.”
Young Thomas’s eyebrows flew beneath his strawberry-blond bangs, but he wisely didn’t say anything. He just lifted his tusker and slowly retreated.
“All right.” Rose waved toward the exposed soil where Young Thomas had been working. “Dig away.”
Sinclair sliced through the layers of sod, wishing he were as proficient at cutting through the muck he’d made of things. “I was in the wrong.”
“About which point exactly?” Rose spoke with a politeness so sharp she could have used it to break through the peat if she’d wanted.
“Both in what I said and in how I said it,” Sinclair answered. He glanced around, wishing he could say more, but this wasn’t the place and time.
“I am still holding the ceilidh and the race next week, and Percy is here to help me. Those plans cannot be stopped, and the people of Frestarelooking forward to it—with the exception of you and your stepda.” Rose stabbed her shovel at the clump he’d just loosened with such force it crumbled in the center.
He still wasn’t ready to fully embrace the ideas of rich toffs making Hamarray their playland, but he resolved to give it a chance—for Rose’s sake and for the crofters’. “I truly hope it will be the success that you think it will be.”
“Do you still believe I’m delivering sin to Hamarray?” Rose asked with brittle sweetness.
Sinclair stopped the motion of the tusker. “I know you intend to bring good, Rose. But I have my reasons for feeling the way that I do—reasons I should probably tell you.”
Rose lifted both of her hands. “We have a long, tedious day ahead of ourselves. What better time is there?”
“If it is all the same to you, it’s a conversation best held in private.” Sinclair was going to have to reopen a lot of old wounds, and he’d never been one to bleed in public. Even the mere idea of talking about his past made his body tense, as if preparing for a devastating blow. He dreaded revealing the old horrors more than he’d ever feared entering the boxing ring.
“Okay,” Rose said a little less stiffly than before. “I can wait if it’s important to you.”
“Thank you.”
