Page 21 of Midnight on the Scottish Shore

21

Dunnet Sunday, November 16, 1941

“The weather is turning,” Cilla said between bites of scone. “I imagine that would affect the salvage business.”

“Aye, that it does,” Mr. Mackenzie said. “It’s far more difficult in wind and rain and snow.”

“More shipwrecks too, yes?” Cilla filled her voice with curious concern as she plied for information for Maggie. “How many have been lost lately?”

“Not many. The local boats stay in harbor after dark due to the blackout.”

“No lighthouses lit.” Cilla swept a rueful look around the table. “I take full responsibility.”

Lachlan gave her a measured smile. Did her questions sound like an interrogation?

“One benefit of bad weather.” Mr. Mackenzie raised a finger. “It keeps German torpedo boats and aircraft away.”

Across the table from Cilla, Neil harrumphed. “The Ger mans would stay far from Scottish shores if not for English warmongering.”

“Neil,” his mother said softly. “Not at dinner, please.”

A natural way for Cilla to learn more about the separatists. “I don’t mind, Mrs. Mackenzie. I’m curious about this. Although I went to school in England, I don’t know much about Scottish politics.”

“Because you went to school in England ,” Neil said with a look firm but not dismissive.

“If I remember correctly, the Acts of Union were signed in 1707?”

“Aye.” Behind Neil, light rain pattered on the windowpanes. “A treaty forced on the Scottish people against their will by a handful of wealthy Scottish peers, all for money.”

Cilla needed to tread carefully, to avoid stoking fury between brothers. “Do the Scottish people oppose the union today?”

Mrs. Mackenzie twisted her napkin in her lap. “Most dinnae oppose it, especially with the war on. Some fancy more Scottish representation in Westminster, some want a Scottish parliament for matters of local concern, and others want complete separation.”

“That’s what Free Caledonia wants.” Neil’s gaze pounced on Lachlan. “No true Scot can be a friend to England.”

Cilla held her breath.

Lachlan clenched his fork so hard his knuckles whitened, but he said nothing.

“Neil.” His father’s voice sliced like flint. “We’ve asked you—”

“She asked a question, and I answered it.” He sipped with an innocent air.

“I did ask.” Cilla gave her host a chagrined look. “I apologize.”

“No, lass,” Mr. Mackenzie said. “It’s my son who should be apologizing.”

“It’s all right. I am curious about Free Caledonia.” Cilla laid her silverware on her empty plate. “I’m fascinated by Scotland. Is your group large? Do you have chapters throughout the country?”

As Neil chewed, he eyed his brother.

Lachlan set his napkin on the table beside his empty plate. “Excuse me, please. I hear Effie at the door.”

“Of course, love,” his mother said.

Cilla watched Lachlan’s broad back retreat from the dining room. Perhaps he realized Neil would speak more freely in his absence, and she turned an expectant smile to Neil.

Neil rolled his spoon in his fingers. “We started in Edinburgh. I belong to the Inverness chapter. A few of us meet in Thurso at the Claymore and Heath.”

A pub, most likely, and her nerves tingled with excitement. Now she had a group for Fergus to join—if only in Cilla’s imagination.

Tiny toenails clicked on the flagstone floor. Effie trotted up to Cilla, and Cilla scratched the dog behind her ears—damp but not sopping. Lachlan must have dried her with a towel.

Lachlan remained in the doorway. “There’s a break in the rain. We should leave soon.”

“Oh.” Disappointment twined around Cilla’s vocal cords, but at least she’d finished eating. “I suppose that’s wise.”

“Och, lass. That is the way of living in Scotland.” Mr. Mackenzie pushed back his chair and stood. “When you have a break in the weather, you run through it. You never know if another break will ever come.”

Cilla laughed. She’d been in Scotland only five months, but she understood.

In the entryway, Cilla and Lachlan put on their coats and hats, Mr. Mackenzie helping Cilla with her coat.

Mrs. Mackenzie pressed up on her toes and kissed Lachlan’s cheek. “I know you’re disappointed the Admiralty didnae ap prove your transfer, but I’m selfishly happy. It’s a blessing to see you so often.”

Transfer? He’d never mentioned a transfer.

Lachlan’s cheeks turned red, and he flicked an embarrassed glance to Cilla. “Thank you, Mother.”

Outside, Lachlan removed a tarpaulin from over the bicycles, and they pedaled away.

When they reached the main road, Cilla affected a breezy voice. “Transfer?”

“Aye.” Red still burnished his cheeks. “I requested a transfer.”

“So you wouldn’t need to work with us anymore.”

His tires whished over the damp pavement, and his mouth pursed. “Yardley told me he blocked my transfer through the Director of Naval Intelligence’s office.”

Admiration for Lachlan’s integrity mixed with the disappointment of knowing he’d prefer to leave. “I see. If you transferred, you wouldn’t need to work with us, but you’d avoid being disciplined.”

He jerked his gaze to her, a frown. “No, you’d avoid prison.”

Cilla’s bicycle wheel wobbled, and she gripped the handlebars hard. He did it for her?

“Last month.” His voice came out gravelly, and he cleared his throat. “Last month when you volunteered to go to prison for the sake of my conscience—that was courageous of you. Generous. Kind.”

“Oh.” The colorful blooms of wildflowers and heather had disappeared, leaving brilliant emerald green as far as she could see. “I don’t like how Yardley treats you.”

Lachlan shrugged. “When I was at sea, we gave orders to sink U-boats—orders that killed dozens of men. That was also hard on my conscience, but I did my duty. I’ll make peace with this work too.”

Entering the village of Brough, they passed a barn filled with rolls of hay, and Cilla groaned. “This is all my fault.”

“Aye, it is.” A gorgeous grin dug into Lachlan’s cheeks.

She laughed and swerved her bicycle toward his. “You aren’t supposed to say that. You’re supposed to make me feel better.”

“And add more lies to the pile I’m telling now? On the Sabbath Day? You ask too much, lassie.”

He was teasing her back, and she loved it. “I wouldn’t want you to violate your conscience again, laddie.”

Lachlan laughed.

The sound tangled up Cilla’s insides. He was a good-looking man even when he scowled, but when he smiled ... oh, heavens.

They passed houses plastered white or cream or gray, and Lachlan tipped his hat to an elderly couple crossing the road.

Cilla had always been attracted to men with easy smiles, men who laughed often and well, men who gave her compliments and gifts and a rollicking good time. Men who bent to her will.

So why were her eyes and her heart drawn more and more to the quiet, unbending Scot?

Two gulls swooped overhead in tandem, calling to each other.

A quiet man, yes, but a man of fierce emotions, flaming into anger—but only when danger threatened the land or the people he loved. And he loved fiercely too.

What would it be like to receive such love?

Heat surged in her chest, up her neck.

Such love would be splendid.

Cilla had made him smile, she’d made him laugh, but could she ever make him bend?

A wave as cold as the sea below washed away the heat. Lachlan’s rigidity came from his high standards. He would never— could never—bend toward a woman who failed to meet those standards.

Cilla’s hands fussed with the handlebars. Never in her life had she disliked herself, but now she saw so many flaws, so many mistakes. And she didn’t know what to do about it.

Lachlan stopped his bicycle and pointed down and to the right. The road ran alongside a short cliff overlooking Brough Pier in a little bay dotted with a handful of boats. “Come see.”

Cilla pushed her bicycle closer. Down on the rocky, kelp-strewn beach lay dozens of grey seals and their little white pups.

“Oh, they’re darling. Look at them.”

“Anyone you know?” A smile wriggled in the corner of his mouth.

Cilla laughed and pointed around the beach. “My aunt, my nephew, my second cousin once removed. Good day, my friends! I’d join you, but this cruel man stole my sealskin.”

A pensive look replaced his smile. “And if I hadnae done?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Her chest deflated, and she resumed pedaling. She’d told him the story many times, but this time felt different. “I planned to take the train to Tante Margriet’s house, but my papers were so badly forged, I might have been caught along the way.”

Cilla shuddered. What if she’d been captured in a railway station with dozens of witnesses? What if the press had reported it? “I’m glad you were the one to capture me, not someone else.”

Lachlan grunted, his face impassive.

A frustrated rumble released from her throat. “A fine reward you received for saving my life, yes? Being trapped in a position you hate.”

“Dinnae fash yourself.”

“Pardon?”

He tilted his head to the side. “It means, ‘Don’t fuss, don’t worry.’ As I said, I’ll make peace with it. If we can convince Yardley to focus more on salvage operations than on ship movements, I’ll make peace even faster.”

The road climbed the uninhabited knob of Dunnet Head, without a soul in shouting range. “Imogene’s reports from the station should help too—sightings of German aircraft and U-boats. All easily verified from German records.”

“Aye. I didnae want you mentioning radio direction finding at first, but it’s no longer censored. The Germans know we have it, and we’re not telling them how it works, only that it does indeed work.”

“That’s good, yes? They’ll know they can’t come here without being detected.”

“Aye.” But his lower lip pushed out. “On the other hand, the Luftwaffe has bombed and strafed some of our RDF stations—and some of our lighthouses. These reports might endanger Dunnet Head.”

Cilla’s breath came harder as they climbed. “They already know a military facility is here—they warned me about it.”

The road curved. “I hope Yardley lets you report on Free Caledonia.”

“Your brother certainly likes to talk about it.”

“Because he knows I hate it.” A growl rippled his voice.

“Is that why you’re at odds? Or have you never gotten on?”

Lachlan guided his bicycle up the rise. “We were very close as boys.”

“But when he went to prison—”

“No, before that.” He stopped and straddled his bicycle, and a troubled look overtook his face. “When we were cadets at the Royal Naval College. I was seventeen. Neil was fifteen.”

“Oh?” Something about the moment felt hushed and sacred, and she let her feet touch the road to ground her.

Lachlan’s chest expanded, and he gazed down a narrow loch, ringed by prickly gorse bushes, their golden flowers long gone. “Neil began sneaking out at night to drink. He appealed to my loyalty and asked me to cover for him. I did. Over and over, I did. Then one night, he got drunk, stole a motorcar, crashed into a cottage, and fled. They arrested a local lad, and Neil had no intention of confessing. I couldnae let an innocent lad be punished for my brother’s sins. So I told the police. The college expelled Neil.”

“Oh no. What a difficult decision that must have been.”

“Aye. I have a duty to family, but a far higher duty to the truth, to the greater good. No one should have to choose between them.”

Her heart sank for both brothers. “Neil has never forgiven you.”

“No.” He shot her a furtive glance. “I’m ashamed to say, I havnae forgiven him for betraying me. I intend to do so, though.”

“Betraying you?”

Lachlan straightened up and tilted back his head. “Neil’s best mate, Reggie, was in my form. Not long after Neil was expelled, he invited Reggie to Creag na Mara for Easter. Our form had been assigned a dissertation. Mine was finished. Reggie was having trouble with the topic, so I showed him my notes to give him some ideas. It was a trap.”

“Oh no. What happened?”

“Soon after, the commander of the college summoned Reggie and me. Our dissertations were identical. Reggie and Neil had sneaked into my room, and Reggie had copied my paper in his own hand. Reggie then produced notes, also copied from my work in his own hand. My notes had disappeared—they’d stolen them.”

What a cruel trick. “They framed you.”

“Aye. I had no defense other than my word, which no longer meant anything. The only honorable course was accepting the punishment without protest. Almost six outstanding years as a cadet—erased. I would have graduated in a few months.”

“Oh my goodness. That’s awful.”

“Before you wonder how I know Neil was involved, he bragged about it to my face. We came to blows.” He touched the scar on his upper lip.

Cilla touched her own upper lip. To bear that reminder, day by day, of his brother’s betrayal ... “No wonder it’s difficult for you to forgive him.”

“Aye.” His gaze flitted to her and away, as if he were embarrassed to have shared such a personal story. He set one foot on the bicycle pedal and pushed off. “Be thankful your sister has given you no trouble.”

A strange little laugh barked out. “Hilde has given me nothing but trouble.”

Lachlan’s feet thumped back to the pavement, and he gaped at her over his shoulder. “You speak of her often. I assumed you were close.”

“Not close, but I love her. I try to protect her.” She fluttered one hand in the air. “You and I have much in common.”

“How so?”

Behind Cilla, treeless land undulated to the east, toward the North Sea. “Hilde is drunk more often than not. Her boyfriend, Arno, is the worst sort of Dutch Nazi—in the militant branch—and Hilde follows wherever he goes. She’s been rude and cruel to everyone in our family, and she’s deliberately pushed everyone out of her life.”

“Not you?” A bewildered note rang in his voice.

“Not for lack of trying.” Cilla shrugged and faced him. “But I’m stubborn, and she’s my little sister. I know, somewhere under all the anger, is the little girl I remember from before—from before she became a bully, from before Gerda died.”

Lachlan’s face stretched long. “Gerda?”

Why had she said that? She never told that story, and she grimaced. “We should ride, before the rain returns.”

A shade fell over Lachlan’s eyes, he firmed his lips, and he jerked his head westward and began pedaling.

She caught up, still grimacing. For heaven’s sake, he’d shared a difficult story. Why couldn’t she?

Because the story wrecked her inside, and she hated that feeling more than anything.

Lachlan kept a stony gaze fixed on the road ahead.

Cilla pulled in a fortifying breath. “Gerda was Hilde’s friend. Or she wanted to be Hilde’s friend. Quite desperately.”

Lachlan’s gaze slid to her. “Aye?”

The road bent in a final set of curves ascending Dunnet Head. “Hilde is a great beauty, and she was the queen of her group of friends. Hilde would let Gerda in, then kick her out—over and over.”

“How did Gerda ...?”

Die. How did she die? Cilla slammed her eyes shut, then forced them open so she wouldn’t topple off the road. “The summer I was sixteen, we all went to the shore. I was with my friends, Hilde with hers. The younger girls dared each other to swim to a buoy. Gerda didn’t want to, and Hilde teased her, taunted her, told her she could never be friends with a coward.”

“Och,” he said in that righteously indignant way of his.

Cilla pedaled around the final bend, and the Atlantic came in view, gray and forbidding and deadly. Her breath shook in her lungs. “Gerda—she so desperately wanted—but she wasn’t a strong enough swimmer, and—”

“That’s enough, lass.” His voice gentled, roughened.

She blinked and swiped at her eyes. “Hilde couldn’t—her guilt overwhelmed her. She went wild. All the anger she felt at herself—she directed it at everyone who loved her.”

“Including you?”

“Yes.”

Lachlan’s bicycle tires squeaked to a stop, about a hundred yards from the gate in the stone wall. “You—you said we had a lot in common.”

Cilla circled back to him and hopped off her bicycle. “You have a wayward brother, and I have a wayward sister.”

“But you’ve forgiven.”

The wind swung her hair across her cheek, and she held it back. “I didn’t say it was easy, but I remember why she’s hurting, the guilt she’s carrying—carrying with good reason. That helps me forgive her—not excuse her behavior, but forgive her.”

“Not excuse ...” Lachlan spoke softly, slowly, staring between his handlebars. “Not excuse, but forgive.”

Her chest ached, feeling his struggle, the tearing between love and repulsion and hurt. “Why is Neil so defiant? Did something happen to him too?”

Lachlan’s gaze drifted up to her, and his chin drew back. “Happen to him?”

“Was he always rebellious? Or did something happen to change him?”

“I ... dinnae know. He was never rebellious ...” Shock flashed in his dark eyes. “I never ... never even thought about it.”

Something warm curled around her heart at the sight of a man of resolute justice taking a step closer to forgiveness.