Page 14 of Midnight on the Scottish Shore

14

Dunnet, Scotland Sunday, June 15, 1941

After the tumult of the past few weeks, Lachlan craved peace. Sitting with his parents in the familiar pews of Dunnet Parish Church usually stilled the waters of his mind.

But those waters tumbled and tossed.

On Friday, RAF Coastal Command aircraft had detected the German heavy cruiser Lützow leaving the Baltic for the Atlantic, where she could have ravaged British shipping. Beaufort fighter planes had damaged the ship enough to send her back to Germany. But she and her kin would return.

On Saturday, he’d been coerced into meeting with the very spy he’d captured.

And now on the Sabbath, the minister preached a parable that heaved boulders of conviction into those frothing waters.

Lachlan gripped his hands in his lap and bowed his head as the minister’s words stirred those waters even more. Was he willing to accept conviction? How could he call himself a man of faith if he ignored it and continued as ever?

After the benediction, Lachlan rose with his parents and greeted elderly Mr. and Mrs. Fraser in the pew behind them.

Mother peered over Mrs. Fraser’s shoulder toward the back of the church. “I wonder who those young ladies are. Have you seen them before?”

In the back pew talking to the Bain family stood two women in naval uniform—Cilla’s guards. They had their backs turned to ... Cilla. Who stood by herself in a yellow floral dress.

No. Lachlan’s heart plunged into his stomach. When Cilla made sport about attending church, it never occurred to him that she’d actually come.

“Aye,” Mrs. Fraser said. “One of the Wrens has attended this past fortnight—the Welsh lass with the light brown hair. She’s stationed at Dunnet Head. The other two lasses are new though.”

Mother guided Father toward the aisle. “Let’s introduce ourselves.”

Lachlan fumbled for his mother’s arm. “No!”

His parents spun to him, eyes wide.

His mouth opened and closed, but no words could pass the barrier erected by the Official Secrets Act. How could he tell his parents they were about to welcome a Nazi spy?

“Well?” Father said.

Lachlan ran his tongue around his dry mouth. “I—I want to go home and have dinner.”

“In good time.” Mother gave him an affectionate smile and marched down the aisle.

Straight to Cilla.

Lachlan scrambled to catch up, but what could he say? How could he protect his mother and father?

And what if Cilla said she was his sweetheart—or worse, his lover?

He couldn’t speak. He could only pray.

Lord, no.

Mother extended her hand to the selkie. “Och, I love seeing a new face at Dunnet Parish Church, and such a bonny one. Welcome, dearie.”

With a smile that illuminated her entire face, Cilla took his mother’s hand. “How do you do? I’m Cilla van der Zee.”

Lachlan’s step hitched. Why did she have to be so attractive? But wasn’t that the way of the selkie?

“I’m Rhona Mackenzie. My husband, Malcolm. Our elder son, Lachlan.”

Cilla’s gaze locked on his. Her smile flattened. The light extinguished. “Lieutenant.”

He managed to nod. “Miss van der Zee.”

“You’ve already met,” Father said as he shook Cilla’s hand.

The Official Secrets Act tied his vocal cords in knots. He couldn’t say how he’d met Cilla or how he’d been blackmailed into helping her transmit secrets to Nazi Germany, and he let his gaze bore into hers.

Cilla snapped a smile to his parents. “I’m the new apprentice lightkeeper. Your son had an appointment at Dunnet Head yesterday.”

“Aye.” Mother tucked her pocketbook under her arm. “He didnae mention meeting you.”

“Oh, we met only briefly.” Cilla flapped her hand. “I know he has important matters on his mind.”

“Aye.” Important matters like protecting his family and country.

“Van der Zee,” Father said. “Is that Dutch?”

“Yes. I escaped from the Netherlands in April.”

Escaped? The muscles in Lachlan’s neck went taut, and he clasped his hands behind his back. A German U-boat had ferried her to Scottish shores. Commander Yardley had confirmed that the RDF station at Dunnet Head had indeed failed to detect the U-boat that landed Cilla. The equipment had quirks and flaws.

“You poor dear.” Compassion for Cilla swam in Mother’s brown eyes. “Is it as bad over there as they say?”

“It is.” A shadow crossed Cilla’s face. “Food is scarce. The Germans take it all for themselves. And they’re cruel to Jewish people. To anyone who dares oppose them.”

Lachlan’s fingernails dug into his palms. How could she say that when she supported the Nazi cause?

“I’m glad you were able to escape,” Mother said. “But why Dunnet?”

“I wanted to help in some way. Since I’m not a British subject, I can’t join the Wrens or the ATS. But my grandfather was a lightkeeper, so this position seemed perfect. It isn’t much, keeping the lighthouse clean, but it frees men to fight.”

Frees men to fight? Heat rose in Lachlan’s chest. How many men and women had been assigned to keep this woman under control?

Mother frowned. “Aye, but it’s lonely work at that.”

A sheen filled Cilla’s eyes. “It is.”

Something twisted inside Lachlan’s chest, and the heat diffused. What if she was lonely, not simply acting?

“Come along, Miss van der Zee.” Officer St. Clair motioned with a gloved hand. “Shall we leave?”

Cilla nodded to the Wren.

Mother reached for Cilla’s hand again. “I’m glad you have other young ladies at Dunnet Head to keep you company.”

“They—they keep themselves to themselves.” Cilla’s voice barely reached Lachlan’s ears.

“Oh dear.” Mother squeezed Cilla’s hand. “If you need anything or simply want a friendly face, we’re right up the road. Ask for the Mackenzie place—it’s called Creag na Mara. It willnae do for you to be lonely.”

Cilla’s face puckered and turned pink.

Lachlan winced. For the past two months, she’d been imprisoned and treated as an enemy. That had to be difficult for a sociable sort of lass. Was Mother the first kindly person she’d met?

Cilla flicked up a smile, her eyes fluttered shut, and she spun toward the door with the Wrens on her tail.

Mother clucked her tongue. “The poor dearie. We’ll invite her to dinner sometime.”

“Aye,” Father said.

“No,” Lachlan said through clenched teeth.

“Och, Lachlan.” Mother swatted his arm. “You’ve been so long in the company of men, you’ve forgotten how to welcome a bonny lass.”

He’d already welcomed that bonny lass. With his sgian-dubh.

Lachlan gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

He followed his parents outside into a cool and cloudy day, and he put on his cap as they wended their way through the graveyard. The wind blew strong from the northwest, and the early morning’s drizzle had departed.

So had his compassion. Cilla van der Zee was treated as the enemy because she was the enemy. The worst sort of enemy. The sort who masqueraded as an ally.

He strolled with his parents away from the clay-colored church with its slate roof.

He had to keep Cilla far from Creag na Mara. He couldn’t risk his parents forming an attachment to her.

And what if she met Neil?

A shudder ran up his arms as he passed stores and homes with roughcast walls covered with thousands of pebbles.

Neil and his Free Caledonia comrades opposed the Allied cause. They believed Scotland would fare better under German rule.

What if the Free Caledonians learned Cilla had a direct connection to Germany? What if she had some way of communicating with her Abwehr handler that MI5 couldn’t detect? With Nazi help, Neil’s friends could do great damage.

“Fine sermon this morning, aye?” Father gripped his homburg against the wind as they left Dunnet village and passed through flat farmland.

“Aye.” Lachlan pulled his officer’s cap lower on his forehead. “The Parable of the Unforgiving Servant. Which one of you suggested that to the good minister?”

Father chuckled, and his blue eyes glinted. “That would be your heavenly Father, lad. Not your earthly one.”

In the parable, Jesus told of a servant who owed his master a large debt he could never repay. Facing debtor’s prison, he begged for mercy and received it. Then that same servant threw another servant into prison on account of a trifling debt. When the master heard, he imprisoned the first servant as well, saying, “Shouldest not thou also have had compassion on thy fellow servant, even as I had pity on thee?”

The wind spun away Lachlan’s sigh, spun it toward St. John’s Loch glinting to the east. “In the Father’s eyes, Neil’s debt to me is as trifling as the hundred pence owed to the servant. I know I need to forgive Neil, even if he never admits he was wrong.”

Father shrugged broad shoulders. He didn’t need to add anything, since Lachlan had already figured it out. “Forgiveness is never easy.”

Mother gave Lachlan a sympathetic smile. “But you have the Lord helping you. Neil has nothing but ...”

“Whiskey and politics.” For the first time in over a decade, he felt a rush of pity for his brother. “It’s not enough.”

“No, it’s not,” Father said. “Can you declare a ceasefire?”

Lachlan raised half a smile, for he had but half the solution. “A ceasefire requires two willing participants.”

“True.”

“But I—I’m willing.”

“Good lad.” Father’s mouth bent low. “Are you also willing to take a few shots without firing back? Turn the other cheek?”

Lachlan let out a mock groan. “Why do you keep bringing the Good Book into this? Aye, I’m willing.”

“Thank you, love.” Mother smiled with lips wiggling with emotion.

For Mother and Father, he’d take those shots, take the bruised cheek, take the frustration of absorbing Neil’s ire and not reflecting it back to him.

In the field to the west, sheep lay low in the green grass to let the wind flow over them.

Lying low ...

If Lachlan lay low and kept the truce, perhaps Neil would come home more often. Talk more about his doings, about whether he was involved with Free Caledonia again. Might even slip and mention if a connection had been made to Germany.

That could lead to arrests. To dissolving a subversive group.

Lachlan clamped his lips between his teeth.

Mother was chatting about her plans for the week as the wind tugged strands of red and gray from the knot of hair at the base of her neck, and Father was watching her with his usual look of adoration.

If that were to come to pass, Lachlan would break his parents’ hearts yet again.

Why could it never be straightforward?