Page 26 of Midnight on the Scottish Shore

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Lachlan stood in the center cockpit as the motorboat sped toward Brough over calm seas.

“Think about the meeting,” he muttered, “not about the woman you’re meeting.”

He hadn’t seen her since Hogmanay, bonny and winsome in her blue dress.

Lachlan balled up his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat. “The meeting .”

Today they would discuss the fake sabotage coming in only a fortnight. With winter weather limiting his trips across the firth, he might not attend another meeting before then.

Although the plan didn’t sit right with him, it would prove Cilla’s merit as an Abwehr agent and build German trust in her so MI5 could run her case more effectively.

If MI5’s plan succeeded, they could keep Cilla safely in Scotland, where she could continue to enchant and encourage and ... and enrich his life.

A wry smile rose. If he was in trouble, why did he enjoy it so much?

Lachlan rested one elbow on the roof of the forward cabin and peeked around the side to get a better view of the bay.

His family’s motorboat, Mar na Creag , rested by the stone ramp.

Motion aboard. A blond woman in a blue jumper fiddled with the motor.

Cilla?

Questions careened in his head, banging into each other, congealing into a dark lump.

Why was she in a boat? His family’s boat? Alone?

That dark lump plunged into his gut. What possible reason could she have for wanting a boat?

Only one—only one reason.

She was escaping. No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t. But no other reason remained.

The selkie had found her skin.

That lump, as dark as coal, smoldered, burned, and crackled into flame.

Lachlan had been betrayed—again. He’d trusted her, and she’d fooled him, fooled them all. He’d kept up his guard for so long, and when he lowered it ...

“No.” The word ripped a scorching path up his throat and warbled with grief.

She wasn’t a double agent, but a triple agent!

Where did she think she was going in that boat? To Germany? She’d never make it. Unless she was meeting a U-boat.

Lachlan released a choked cry and thumped the roof of the cabin. If she met a U-boat, how many Allied secrets would she pass along? She’d tell them about the Double Cross program, warn them that many of their agents had turned.

His free hand found the hard mass of his revolver under his greatcoat and jacket. Yardley had issued it to Lachlan for this very reason. He’d almost stopped carrying it.

Lachlan clenched his fists and screwed his eyes shut. He couldn’t. He couldn’t shoot her.

But he could stop her. He had to.

Hands trembling, Lachlan unbuttoned his greatcoat, reached inside his jacket, and wrapped his hand around the handle of the revolver.

A black ribbon of grief wound through the throbbing red fury. What could he say to her? Would she beg him for mercy again?

His chest caved in. Mercy—why did it always lead to betrayal?

The naval boat pulled to the opposite side of the ramp from Mar na Creag .

Cilla lifted her head, met Lachlan’s gaze, and her expression widened into joyful relief. “Lachlan! Thank goodness.” She scrambled out of the boat. “A fishing boat exploded. It’s sinking. The men—they’re in the water. We need to rescue them. But I—I can’t start this motor.”

Lachlan’s hand slipped off the revolver, and the lump spun in a new direction in his gut, spitting out everything he knew, everything he assumed. “Wha—what?”

Dashing across the ramp, slipping on patches of seaweed, Cilla called to the crew in the forward cockpit. “That way—below the lighthouse. We need to rescue them—now!”

She held out her hands to Lachlan. “Help me aboard.”

Unthinking, he obeyed and helped her down into the center cockpit.

“Sir?” The coxswain peered over the cabin at Lachlan.

His mind and gut spun him into dizziness, but he nodded. “Aye.” The crew pulled the boat away from the ramp and turned to sea.

“Oh, Lachlan.” She pressed trembling hands over her mouth, her eyes red and her cheeks streaked with tears.

A sinking fishing boat? Lachlan braced himself against the cabin to counteract the dizziness. Was she telling a tale to cover her escape attempt? If so, he’d find out soon enough.

Aye, and she’d know any lie would immediately be exposed.

The lump disintegrated into ash. A lie would profit her nothing. She was too smart to try to deceive him in such a way.

Those red eyes, those tear tracks—they couldn’t have resulted from faking tears the moment she’d spotted Lachlan. She’d been crying for some time. She was telling the truth.

He cleared his swollen throat. “What—what happened?”

“It exploded.” Her hands flew apart and shook. “I saw it. Yardley didn’t believe me, said he’d send a boat from Scapa. That’d take too long.”

“A fishing boat?”

“I was watching it.” Her gaze darted about the motorboat. “Help me. Help me find life rings, something to rescue them.”

“Aye.” A life ring and the boat’s pole were secured to the roof of the forward cabin, where the crewmen could reach them. “Look for blankets in the cabin. I’ll gather lines.”

Cilla gripped the cabin roof and stretched up on her toes. “Can we go any faster?”

“Full speed,” Lachlan yelled. Even the hardiest of fishermen couldn’t last long in the frigid water.

Lachlan shrugged off his greatcoat and scrambled along the narrow deck past the aft cabin to the aft cockpit, where he found lines coiled and ready. He looped them over his arm and returned to the center cockpit.

“I found only one blanket.” Cilla clutched it in her arms, and her face warped. “Thank goodness you came when you did. I—I tried to start that boat, but I couldn’t. How could I? I don’t know how. What was I thinking?”

“You were thinking you wanted to save those men.” His voice roughened. She wasn’t a triple agent. She was loyal, true, helping the Allies.

As she’d stated all along, and he sucked in an icy breath. He’d been wrong, so wrong.

Cilla bunched the blanket below her chin and lowered her head. “This is my fault.”

“Your fault?”

“My messages—what if a U-boat—”

“Wheesht!” He put a finger to his lips and glanced over the cabin to the crew. But what if a U-boat had indeed sunk the fishing boat? The motorboat had no weapons, no asdic to detect a submerged U-boat.

Lachlan gritted his teeth. They could be speeding into a trap. “Send a wireless message to Scapa,” he called to the crewmen. “Tell them to send antisubmarine vessels.”

“Already done, sir.”

“Very good. And send a message to Dunnet Head. We’ll need to transport survivors to the hospital.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The boat rounded the curve of Dunnet Head and rose on a swell. Scattered wreckage littered the blue seas. Hands stretched up, waved.

“They’re alive!” Lachlan counted heads as they sped closer—five he could see. “Thank God. Thank God, you saw them, Cilla. No one else—no one else did.”

“It’s my fault.” She hugged the blanket hard. “I know it.”

“No, lass.” He didn’t have time to comfort her. He cupped his hands around his mouth to call to the men in the water. “How many are you?”

“Six aboard,” a man called back. “But one didnae make it.”

The motorboat slowed, pulled within thirty feet of the wreck, and cut the engines so the propellers wouldn’t harm the men in the water.

A crewman unlashed the life ring.

“Are you strong enough to swim to us?” Lachlan said.

“I am. I dinnae know about the others.”

“Billy’s hurt,” a young man called in a cracking voice. “And I—I cannae swim that far.”

The sailor flung the life ring, but it slapped into the water ten feet short.

Cilla tugged Lachlan’s sleeve. “I can swim the life ring out. I’m a strong swimmer.”

“You cannae, lass.” He turned to the coxswain. “Start the motor. Pull a wee bit closer.”

A splash.

“Cilla!”

Only her shoes remained on deck. She was swimming to the life ring.

“Cilla! That was foolish, lass. Foolish.”

“I don’t care.” She gathered the life ring. “Which one of you is Billy?”

“Over here. He’s hurt badly.”

An injured or drowning man could panic and pull Cilla down with him. Lachlan groaned and stripped off his jacket, holster, and shoes.

He leaped into the water and suppressed a cry. Bitter cold. Keeping his head above the surface, he swam toward Billy. Two of the men swam toward the motorboat. “Cilla, I’ll fetch Billy. Men—who else needs help?”

“I cannae make it.” A man clung to a piece of wreckage. “I’m bleeding. The cold ...”

“Bain?” Lachlan found his friend’s face. “Jock Bain? Is that you, man?”

“Aye. Praise the Lord, you came, Mackenzie.”

Praise the Lord indeed. “Cilla, take the life ring to Jock.”

“I will.” She swam toward him.

Ahead of Lachlan, two lads gripped hands across a curved section of their boat’s hull. “I—I cannae hold him much longer. He’s unconscious.”

It was young Jamie Gunn and his brother Billy, neither lad old enough for the Forces, and Lachlan swam harder. “Hold on, Jamie. Hold on. I’ll take care of Billy, come back for you.”

Lachlan grabbed Billy under the chin, nudged him onto his back, and swam toward the boat, Billy’s weight drifting down onto Lachlan’s legs.

He kicked hard, struggled to keep his head above water, fought the numbness stiffening his hands and feet.

To his side, Bain clung to the life ring. The crewmen hauled the line, then grabbed Bain’s arms to lift him on board. Cilla tread water nearby.

“Back on the boat, lass.” Exertion chopped up Lachlan’s words.

She held up her hands, and a crewman tossed her the ring. “One more.”

Headstrong lass, but brave. Lachlan’s breath came hard, and he drew up to the motorboat. “He’s unconscious.”

“Aye, sir.” The men wrapped their hands around Billy’s wrists and heaved the lad on board.

Lachlan swam toward Cilla.

Jamie had abandoned the wreckage. He splashed in the water, crying out, his panic understandable in the circumstances—but deadly dangerous.

“Cilla! I’ll get Jamie.” Lachlan swam harder to catch up. “Get back to the boat.”

She turned to him, her hair plastered to her head, then to Jamie, who floundered toward her. Her eyes widened, and she passed the ring to Lachlan.

“Smart lass.” Lachlan stretched the life ring toward Jamie. “Take the ring, Jamie. Dinnae come to me. Take the ring.”

“I—I cannae hold it.”

Lachlan edged away from the lad’s flailing limbs. “You can. I willnae let you drown.”

Jamie plunged one arm through the ring, his eyes wild.

“Haul him in!” Lachlan yelled. “I’ll stay with you, lad.”

The crewmen dragged Jamie toward the boat. Lachlan swam six feet away, close enough to help, but not close enough for Jamie to grab.

One of the fishermen leaned over the side of the boat and pulled Cilla on board, and Lachlan released a shivering sigh of relief.

The crewmen lifted Jamie from the water. One guided the lad down to the cabin, and the other extended his arms down to Lachlan.

Lachlan clamped his hands about the man’s forearms and let him haul him onto the deck like a flopping fish—a fish banging his ribs on the gunwale.

Lachlan sat up, pressed his hand to his ribs, and a great shivering took hold of him. “Full speed to Brough.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

He swung his legs down into the forward cabin and entered. Billy and Jamie Gunn lay together on the floor under the blanket. “How’s Billy?”

“He took a knock on the head,” Jock said, “but I dinnae see other injuries.”

“And you?” Lachlan said.

Jock sat in an upholstered chair with one of the crewmen’s greatcoats around him, and he stuck out one foot. “A gash on my leg.”

“Any other injuries, men?” Lachlan wrenched off his necktie and unbuttoned his shirt—it wouldn’t keep him warm anyway.

“Naught but cuts and bruises,” an older man said, his gray hair silvered by seawater.

“Good.” After Lachlan wrung water from his shirt, he picked his way to Jock past the Gunn lads and all the men’s feet. Cilla didn’t look up as he passed. “Are you all right, lass?”

She hunkered low with Lachlan’s service jacket around her.

He squeezed her slender shoulder but continued on his way. He squatted before Jock and ripped the man’s trousers away from the injury. “What happened to your boat? What did you see?”

“We were all on deck except Sandy.” Jock’s voice broke. “He never came up.”

Lachlan murmured in sympathy, but he needed information. “Did you see a periscope, a torpedo track?”

He shook his fair head. “We were all watching the water. Heard a loud clunk, and then ...”

“It was a mine,” the older fisherman said. “Sure of it.”

Lachlan wound his damp shirt around Jock’s calf. German aircraft often dropped mines in Pentland Firth. Minesweepers from Scapa Flow kept the strait clean—but some of the explosive devices did escape detection.

“There you go, man.” Lachlan tucked in the loose fabric and patted Jock on the knee. He stood and worked his way back to a free seat—beside Cilla. His sopping-wet vest did nothing to stop the chills racking through him, and he tucked his freezing hands into his armpits.

“You were right,” Cilla murmured. “I’m foolish.”

Lachlan cringed. “No, lass. I was wrong to say that.” Even more wrong to think her a traitor, and guilt carved into his chest.

“No, I am foolish.” She shook her lowered head. “Impulsive, impatient, selfish.”

“Selfish? No. You jumped into the water to save—”

“Yes, selfish.” Cilla lifted her head, and dripping tendrils of hair obscured her lovely eyes. “All my life, I’ve only cared about myself, having fun, making friends. That’s why Gerda died.”

Lachlan clamped his hands tighter under his armpits to restrain himself from brushing aside her hair. “You said she died because of Hilde.”

“I didn’t stop Hilde. I heard what she was saying. I thought she was being cruel, but did I tell her to stop? Tell Gerda to ignore Hilde and find girls who deserved her friendship? No, I didn’t. I was having fun with my friends, and I couldn’t be bothered. And she died. She died because of me.”

Cilla’s face writhed with pain, and nothing else mattered to Lachlan. Not even his heart, and he wrapped an arm around her shuddering shoulders. “Dinnae fash yourself.”

She ducked her chin. “No, that’s my problem. I’ve never fashed myself. I’ve never been critical of myself. I’ve never told anyone all that happened that day. Why? Because I can’t admit what a horrible person I am—not to others, not even to myself.” Her voice splintered.

The splinters pierced Lachlan all the way through. “I shouldnae have called you foolish. You’re brave, the bravest woman I know.” Even more so, now that he knew— knew she’d helped the resistance, joined the Abwehr to escape, and endured the seas and prison and Lachlan’s wrath.

“Knowing how horrible I am—it feels awful.” She hunkered low and rocked back and forth. “Awful. So why does it feel right to see myself this way? It doesn’t make sense.”

Lachlan rubbed her trembling back. “It’s good to acknowledge our faults. If we never see ourselves as wretched sinners, we never see the need for God’s mercy.”

Cilla peeked around her shoulder at him.

“Aye,” he said. “It’s called feeling ‘poor of spirit.’ In the Beatitudes, Jesus said, ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’”

“I don’t feel blessed.”

Lachlan had nothing more to say. He rubbed her shoulders, encased in his own jacket.

The motor slowed, and the boat turned.

Lachlan gave her shoulders one last pat and climbed out into the center cockpit. The freezing air bit into every inch of his clammy body.

Several vehicles parked at the boat ramp, and Commander Yardley stood there with half a dozen sailors.

The boat’s crewmen heaved to the ramp, and Lachlan jumped out and jogged over to Yardley. “Two of the men need medical care, and the three others should be examined. One of the men died—never came to the surface. They think a mine sank their boat, not a U-boat. They saw no periscope or torpedo tracks.”

Yardley nodded, handed Lachlan a greatcoat, and beckoned to his sailors. “Help the men into the automobiles.”

Lachlan wrapped the coat about him, but he wouldn’t warm up until he changed out of his wet clothes.

Cilla climbed over the gunwale, and Lachlan dashed over to help her. She shrugged him off and strode over to Yardley. “I disobeyed your order, sir.”

“You did.”

She held out a key. “I deserve whatever punishment you have for me.”

“No, sir.” Lachlan marched up to the commander. “She saved five men’s lives. The Gunn lads are not even old enough for the Forces—their father died fighting in France, and they support their mother. Jock Bain has a wife, four bairns.” He gestured to Jock as he passed, aided by a sailor. “Cilla saved them all.”

Yardley studied the key in his hand.

“She risked her life for these men.” Lachlan lowered his voice to a fierce whisper and stepped as close to the commander as he dared. “She risked her freedom, aye? You can never doubt her loyalty again.”

Yardley raised his head, his gaze cool. “Yes, I know.”

Lachlan’s mouth drifted open. The commander had already realized Cilla was loyal. Why had it taken Lachlan so long?

Because he was stubborn and guarded and lacked mercy. But Cilla ...

She drew his gaze, huddled and shivering and diminished inside, but loyal and brave and ferociously compassionate.

Lachlan trusted her fully. And if he could trust her, he could ... love her.

His heart wrenched from one side of his chest to the other, and he gasped from the pain.

Yardley sniffed and held out the key to Cilla. “They give medals for less than this.”

“Aye.” Lachlan choked out the word, and he guided her to a waiting motorcar.