Page 42 of Midnight on the Scottish Shore

42

Dunnet Head Friday, May 1, 1942

Cilla wiped the last of the dishes, her eyes on the clock, her ears partly tuned to the BBC’s “Books That Made History” program, and her stomach flopping.

She hadn’t eaten a bite of supper. Although she was at peace with her plan, if anything went awry, her family, her friends, and Double Cross would be in danger.

The BBC announcer described the next program, on the history of May Day.

Eight o’clock. It was time.

With a ratcheting breath, Cilla smoothed the skirt of her navy-blue shirtwaist dress and went into the sitting room, where Gwen and Imogene were knitting. “I’m going to have a rest in my room before our meeting at nine o’clock.”

Gwen raised the week’s issue of Radio Times . “You’ll miss ‘It’s That Man Again.’”

Cilla would miss Gwen far more. Even Imogene. She gave them a casual smile. “Thank you, but not tonight.”

With great effort, she resisted the urge to give them a fond farewell. She left the sitting room, closed the door, and went down the hallway to her room. After she slipped on her black hat, gloves, and overcoat, she grabbed her sewing basket and tiptoed down the hallway and out the door.

Outside, the burnished light of the just-set sun lay before her, darkening to deepest blue to the east. The last rays of sun she’d ever see.

A rush of grief, but Cilla clamped it off and crossed the courtyard to the lighthouse. As quietly as possible, she opened the door. She paused inside and listened, holding her breath. Mr. Hall was upstairs in the lightroom, and she mustn’t attract his attention.

Cilla pulled her seascape from the basket, spread it on the floor right inside the door, and set her letter on top.

“I’m so sorry, Lachlan,” she whispered. If any other way existed ... but none did.

Cilla slipped outside and hurried to the concrete hut, where her bicycle leaned out of sight against the far wall.

This afternoon, whilst taking a break to use the loo, she’d retrieved her suitcases from under her bed. On the far side of the hut, she’d set the fuse for the limpet mine, timed to detonate a half hour after the rendezvous and fifteen minutes after the blockship was set to blow up. She’d padded the mine with clothing and strapped the suitcase with the mine, as well as a suitcase with the rest of her clothing, to the back of her bicycle.

Cilla walked the bicycle to the road, then mounted and cycled away. With the blackout curtains drawn and the BBC on the wireless, the Wrens wouldn’t notice her departure.

She pedaled hard and fast. Commander Yardley planned to leave the RDF station at 2030 hours to pick up Lachlan at Brough and return for the meeting at 2100 hours. Cilla needed to hide behind the old storage shed on the beach at Brough long before either man arrived.

Tears tickled a sideways path across her cheeks, and her mouth crumpled.

For the good of her family, for the sake of the Double Cross program, and to protect Lachlan and Yardley and the Wrens, she had to abandon all she loved and return to the sea.

****

A full moon crested to the east, turning the lighthouse an eerie silvery green.

Lachlan drummed his fingers on his knees as Yardley’s staff car approached Dunnet Head. His holster weighed heavy around his waist.

He didn’t know what the night held—as if he ever did—but he’d do his best to protect Cilla, soothe her worries, and savor her company. Perhaps for the last time. In case of any danger, Yardley would whisk her away to safety. Away from Lachlan.

After Yardley parked the car, Lachlan stepped out into the cool, clear night. Gwen and Imogene waited in the courtyard.

“Cilla went to the lighthouse without us.” Imogene harrumphed. “She isn’t supposed to go anywhere without a guard.”

“I’ll talk to her.” Yardley opened the lighthouse door and stopped short.

Lachlan eased around him.

On the floor lay Cilla’s fabric seascape, adorned with pebbles and feathers.

Lachlan squatted in front of it. Sometime since he’d last seen it, she’d added a selkie on the beach, with a sealskin of downy gray feathers and long, flowing hair made from dozens of tiny dried flowers.

It was ... stunning.

“Is that a letter?” Yardley asked.

A folded sheet of paper rested on the fabric cliff, and Lachlan opened it to see Cilla’s bonny handwriting with its large, loose loops. He read it out loud.

What a fun year this has been! But all fun must come to an end. In Dutch, van der Zee means “from the sea.” From the sea I came, and to the sea this selkie must now return.

By the time you read this, I will have donned my sealskin. Lachlan, I thank you for giving it to me.

Don’t try to stop me. The coordinates I gave you for tonight’s rendezvous are incorrect.

With highest regards, I wish you all farewell.

Lachlan’s mind buzzed. None of it made sense.

Yardley cursed. “She’s a triple agent.”

Gwen and Imogene released cries of outrage.

Hunched over the seascape, Lachlan clutched the letter and slammed his eyes shut. It couldn’t be true. Had he been betrayed again? Lured by mercy, by trust, by ... love?

“She turned on us.” Gwen’s voice trembled. “I—I liked her.”

“I never trusted her,” Imogene said.

Lachlan did. Despite all evidence, he still trusted her, and his eyes opened.

“Mackenzie,” Yardley said. “What does she mean about the sealskin?”

A long breath drained Lachlan’s lungs. He drew in more air and glanced up at Yardley. “I taught her to operate my family’s motorboat.” And tonight, she’d taken it to sea.

Yardley’s upper lip curled. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“After the fishing boat sank. After—aye, after she proved she was loyal. She proved it.” Lachlan slapped the letter. “I dinnae believe this.”

“Don’t be a fool, Mackenzie. This is the only truth she’s told us this past year.”

Lachlan stared at the letter. She hadn’t said she was returning to Germany. Hadn’t said she’d betrayed them. Only said she was going to sea.

Cilla’s seascape drew him, the selkie gazing to the shore, a selkie with flowers for hair—a selkie of the land, not the sea. “ What if she doesn’t see herself as trapped?” Cilla had asked him with her blue-green eyes turned to shore. “What if she prefers the land? This land?”

Memories jostled in his mind, all she’d said the last few weeks, the options she’d bemoaned. The recent, sudden, unwarranted cheer.

“Every word of this letter is true,” Lachlan said with nauseating, heartbreaking conviction. “But she hasnae betrayed us. She’s protecting us.”

“Don’t be a fool, Mackenzie.”

Lachlan stretched up to standing, and pieces plummeted into place. “What were her options? If she stayed here, her family’s lives would be in danger—or our lives if Kraus came to shore.”

“So she’s returning to Germany?” Yardley’s face contorted. “Whether she’s true or false, Double Cross is at serious risk. All our work. All our double agents.”

“She didnae say she was returning to Germany. She said she was returning to the sea.” Lachlan could see her standing in the heather with the sun turning her hair to gold and her eyes stretching too wide when they found only seven limpet mines in the hut.

His heart froze. His breath. His blood. Somehow he found his voice. “The missing limpet mine.”

“Pardon?”

“Dobbs said they brought eight. You counted seven.”

Gwen gasped. “Do you think she stole one?”

Lachlan squeezed his eyes shut, forced himself to think. “She watched me train. She knows how to use it.”

“Oh no.” Gwen let out a wee sob. “You think she’ll blow up the U-boat?”

Lachlan’s chin dropped to his chest. “Och, Cilla, lass.”

Yardley shook his head over and over. “What if the mine fails? What if she buckles under torture? And what if she is indeed a traitor, and she stole the mine to deceive us? I can’t take any chances. I’m calling for a naval response.” He turned for the door.

“No, sir!” Lachlan grasped the commander’s arm.

Yardley glared at Lachlan. “Under no circumstances must we allow that U-boat to return to Germany.”

“Aye. Aye. But wait.” Lachlan released Yardley’s arm and rubbed his temple. “Cilla wants Kraus to observe the sabotage and send a report to Germany. Whether she’s true or false, she wants that report sent. And it’s in MI5’s best interest that he do so, aye?”

Yardley’s eyes cleared, and he gave a slow nod.

“So, wait. Wait. The explosion is timed for 2200 hours. Time the alert so they’ll arrive fifteen minutes later. If they arrive too early, the U-boat might submerge and miss the explosion at Scapa.”

“If they arrive too late, the U-boat will escape. And remember, we don’t know the actual coordinates.”

Lachlan puffed out a sharp breath. “It cannae be far. My family’s boat was still at Brough when I arrived at 2045 hours. The rendezvous is at 2145 hours. At full speed, the boat makes ten knots. That means the rendezvous is no more than ten miles from Brough.”

“Very good.” Yardley pointed to the door. “St. Clair, return to the station with me. Mackenzie and Reese, observe from the lightroom with Mr. Hall. The RDF will be turned off from 2130 to 2200 hours for supposed maintenance. The rendezvous is probably out of range, but we can’t risk detecting the U-boat before the blockship explodes. The instant you observe the explosion, ring me, and I’ll send the alert and turn on the RDF.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Gwen and Imogene said in unison.

But a great, unfamiliar restlessness built inside Lachlan, undeniable, uncontainable.

He shoved his way out the door.

“Mackenzie! Where are you going?”

“To stop her.” Foolish, hopeless, but he needed to.