Jason ventured, “Perhaps we should pretend to be married.”
Isobel waved a hand. “That’s overdone, believe me. And it presents all sorts of logistical problems with how we met and why we suit and forced proximity.”
“Sounds worth the effort to me,” mused Jason, thinking of touching her whenever he liked, sharing a room with her.
“It’s not,” she said. “We will be cousins.”
“Cousins,” he repeated, eyeing her. There was nothing cousinly about his regard for Isobel Tinker. He wasn’t certain he could manage the theater of it.
Declan Shaw was rising from his stool. “Honestly, these details are—”
“Stay,” Isobel sang out in the same moment Jason muttered, “Go.”
Shaw slumped on his stool.
“And which local family is this?” Jason asked. “For whom are we now posing as cousins?”
“The patriarch’s name is Sveinn Vagn,” said Isobel. “The boys are Stefen, Gisle, and Sveinn the Younger.”
Jason scribbled his own notes, taking great liberties with the unfamiliar spelling. “What else should I know about them?”
Isobel shrugged. “They’re one of the ruling farm families in Iceland. Their estate is inland, but they warehouse their wool near the port for export to Denmark. They have a long-standing feud with the family that is allied to the pirates.”
Jason looked up. “Oh yes, you mentioned the pirateallies. Another bit of luck if they don’t get on. Perhaps your friends will be motivated to help us.”
“Perhaps, but I would not count on it. The Vagns do not fight with the other family, more like complain about them. And please be warned, theymaywellcomplain about me. I cannot say how they will receive me. Even if they are pleasant—which is by no means a guarantee—they may be disinclined to gush about local gossip. I’ve been away for seven years, and I was here under very strange circumstances. They may look back on my time in Iceland and feel a bit... deceived.” She blinked twice and looked down at her notes.
Jason watched her, staring at the bun on the top of her head. Moments ticked by.
Would she offer... nothing more? he thought. These people accounted for their only connection in Iceland. Surely there was more to the story. Jason bit his lip in frustration. He tapped the pen against the desktop.
After a moment, he said, “And you knew this family how, Miss Tinker?”
He’d meant to be casual but the words came out hard. Why would she speculate about the reception of a lot of Icelanders? Anyone should be happy to see her—it shouldn’t matter what happened seven years ago or if she was his cousin or translator or Anne Boleyn.
Who were these people and what had they done to her? He’d wanted to know this from the start. Even her uncle, Sir Jeffrey, had been evasive about it.
She was taken in by a respectable family who treated her as a guest, was all the older man said.
“Isobel?” he prompted, but she wouldn’t answer.
She shook her head at the parchment.
The room went very quiet. Shaw shifted on his tiny stool and the wood creaked. A clock ticked on a shelf.Jason dropped his pen and the motion of the ship caused it to roll across the desk. The three of them watched its progress in loaded silence.
Finally, Isobel raised her head. “I knew them as... friends,” she said. “Why must you know more than this? You will not even tell us your plan.”
“I thought we established there is no plan,” said Jason. “And it’s useful to know about these people because... perhaps I should accompany you to this warehouse. Perhaps several of us should be with you. Perhaps our alias can be more effectively portrayed if I know more. Most of all, I cannot authenticate anything we learn from these brothers if I don’t have a sense of who they are.”
“They are Icelandic farmers,” she insisted.
“Fine, but are they thoughtful? What might cause them to be biased or unreliable? I want to know what we’re sailing into,” he said.
“Now?”
“Sooner rather than later.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “It’s not relevant.”
