Page 45 of Midnight on the Scottish Shore

45

With cold steel pressing her cold temple, Cilla begged Lachlan with her eyes. Let me go. Let me go.

“You cannae fool me, Kraus.” Lachlan climbed out of the cockpit onto the deck, his coat unbuttoned and flapping in the wind. He threw a punch in Kraus’s direction. “You dinnae care about her life any more than I do.”

He was acting, and she loved him even more for it, her Scottish warrior taunting his foe. But what was his strategy?

“But your life? Och, you care about that.” Lachlan shook a finger at Kraus. “You care about your precious Führer, and you want to keep fighting for the Fatherland. So you need my boat. Fine. Come over here and fight me for it. Fight me man to man. A square fight, aye? This boat has no weapons.”

Cilla winced. What was he doing? Kraus had a gun ... which wouldn’t fire if wet. And Lachlan—he gestured wildly, but with only one arm, his other arm hidden behind his body.

Lachlan’s boat might not have any weapons, but he did.

“Come on, Kraus!” Lachlan flung his arm in an aggressive arc. “I dare you. Or are you a coward? Afraid to fight me, old man?”

Kraus swung the pistol away from Cilla’s head.

Two blasts pounded her ears, blinded her.

Her high-pitched scream merged with a lower-pitched scream across the waters.

Lachlan crumpled down into the cockpit.

“No! Lachlan! No!”

Only silence answered her.

A cry ripped through her lungs. “No! Lachlan!”

“You.” Kraus turned to her, his eyes dark and hard. “You betrayed us.”

Moonlight glinted off steel. Circling her way.

“No!” Cilla whipped the blanket off her shoulders and tossed it at Kraus.

A crack. A flash.

Cilla stumbled back. Her foot snagged on the low railing around the deck, and she tumbled over the side, shrieking.

Had she been shot?

Her head hit the water. Which way was up?

She thrashed around and struggled to the surface. Her head still throbbed, her leg, her arm—but no new pain. Kraus must have missed.

Rhythmic splashes sounded from the other side of the bow. Kraus was swimming to Lachlan’s motorboat.

Was Lachlan dead? Or only injured? If he was injured, Kraus could easily kill him.

A sob swelled through her. She had to stop Kraus. Somehow.

With all her strength, pushing through the pain, she swam around the bow and toward the motorboat. If Lachlan was conscious, she had to warn him. “Lachlan! Watch out! He’s coming!”

Kraus grabbed the life ring and pulled himself toward the boat, hand over hand.

“Lachlan! Watch out!” If she caught up with Kraus, she might be able to keep him from boarding, the only hope she had.

Kraus reached the boat and climbed the rope.

“Lachlan! He’s coming on board. No!” She swam with all her might, but it wasn’t enough.

With one hand, Kraus groped around on the deck, and he pulled himself up until his head rose above the side.

“Lachlan!” His name filled her mouth, her heart, her being.

Light blazed. A shot rent the air.

Kraus’s back arched. His arms flung wide. His body slithered down the hull into the water.

Lachlan—he’d shot Kraus.

“Lachlan! You’re alive. You’re alive.” She swam hard to the rope.

Nearby, Kraus floated in the water, unmoving.

One look, and Cilla slammed her eyes shut. The Abwehr officer would never again be a danger to anyone.

But Lachlan—was he hurt?

She grasped the rope and tried to climb, but with one arm injured and with cold-numbed hands, she couldn’t pull herself up, could barely hold on. “Lachlan, I can’t. I can’t climb.”

A manly grunt, and Lachlan’s head appeared—his hair mussed, his face warped by pain—and he stretched his arms down to her. “Hold on, lass.”

She gripped his wrists, and he dragged her up until she could swing a leg up and clamber onto the deck.

On hands and knees, she sought his face. “Are you hurt?”

“Aye. My knee.” Sitting on his backside, he stretched his right leg before him. His trouser leg was shredded and shiny with blood.

“Oh no. We need to stop the bleeding.”

Lachlan wrenched off his necktie. “Use this for a tourniquet.”

Cilla’s hands trembled with cold and dread, but she managed to knot the black silk above what remained of his knee.

“You’re hurt, lass.” Lachlan had removed his coat and jacket, and he was unbuttoning his shirt. Concern furrowed his brow. “Your head. Your arm.”

And her leg. “Superficial. I’m all right.”

Lachlan yanked off his shirt, tore off both sleeves, and handed her the remnant.

She wound it firmly around his knee, and a dark splotch bloomed on the white cloth.

“For you.” Lachlan’s hands shook as he wrapped a shirtsleeve around Cilla’s arm and tied it.

“You’ll be all right.” Kneeling beside him, she gathered his hand in hers. “The destroyers will be here soon. They can help.”

“No. We cannae be here when they come.”

“Pardon?”

“How could we explain? A civilian lass boards a U-boat and sinks it with an SOE limpet mine? We cannae tell them why you’re here.”

She stared at his pain-wracked face. He’d figured it out.

“The bravest, most generous lass I know.” He pressed a hand to her cheek, and his expression swam with emotion. “Laying down your life for your family and friends. I—I love you so much.”

Cilla had known it for weeks, but to hear him say it? Her throat clogged shut, and she smashed a kiss to his forehead. Somehow she had to speak, had to tell him she loved him too, loved him with everything in her, but her voice wouldn’t work.

Lachlan’s nose nudged up under her chin. She drew back a bit, and he lifted his lips to hers, and she met him, tried to tell him with her kiss what her voice couldn’t say.

Far too soon, he grunted and pulled back. “We need to leave. Before they come. Can you drive the boat?”

Dazed from the kiss, she shook herself, nodded, and swung her legs down into the cockpit. As she followed his halting directions to start the motor, he dragged himself into the cockpit and lay down on the bench.

“Full speed,” he said.

The motor roared, the boat leapt forward, and she headed for Brough. A few miles away, three ships raced toward them. How were they going to explain all this?

Rivulets of seawater trickled from her hair down her back, and Cilla tucked her elbows to her sides, trying to get warm.

“You’re cold. Put these on.” Lachlan passed her his coat and jacket.

“Keep the jacket, my love. You need to stay warm.” The thin cotton of his short-sleeved vest wouldn’t shield him from the wind and cold. Keeping one hand on the wheel, she slipped on Lachlan’s overcoat, one arm at a time.

A beam of light slashed overhead, and it flashed in rhythm, the familiar rhythm of Morse code.

“The lighthouse,” Lachlan said. “They’re signaling to us.”

Never before had she seen the great Fresnel lens lit, and it was wondrous, a shaft of pure light dividing the night sky. “Commander Yardley—Mr. Hall—they must be raising and lowering a blanket in front of the beam.”

“You drive. I’ll decode.” Lachlan set his hand on Cilla’s lower back.

The warmth of his coat and his touch took the edge off the shuddering cold, but barely. If only she could hold Lachlan, kiss him, savor his love. They’d finally revealed their feelings, but they were in no state to enjoy the moment.

“They’re signaling, ‘Mackenzie—inquire as to your status.’” Lachlan hauled himself up to sitting and stretched up to the signal lamp mounted to the roof of the cabin.

“What will you tell them?” Cilla asked.

“Brough. Two injured.” Lachlan turned on the lamp and flipped the flaps open and shut, over and over.

The lighthouse went dark.

“Message received.” In the moonlight, beads of sweat glistened on his face.

He was in pain, losing blood, badly wounded. “Oh, Lachlan. Your knee. How are we going to explain your injuries to the world?”

Lachlan groaned. “I dinnae know.”

Cilla patted the wheel. “All right. You know the first rule in this work. Start with the truth. You came to Dunnet Head for a meeting, yes? That’s what you told Commander Blake.”

“Aye. Yardley summoned me. I read your letter. I didnae believe you’d betrayed us.” His voice shook with conviction, and he rubbed her lower back. “I remembered the missing limpet mine, and I came for you. I didnae know what to do, but I had to come.”

Cilla reached behind her and squeezed his hand, then released it so she could steer. “You weren’t supposed to come.”

“Aye, but I’m glad I did.” Even with his knee in shambles.

Her chin wobbled. “I am too. Oh, Lachlan, I love you so much.”

“Unfair of you speaking like that when I cannae kiss you.”

She sent him a quivering smile, then sobered. They had work to do before they reached Brough. “Your story. You can’t mention my letter, of course. But you were at Dunnet Head. From there, you could have seen the U-boat explode, sunk by a mine, yes? You rushed to the rescue and took the boat. Wait, where’s the crew? What did you tell them?”

“I—I told them I was going on a rescue operation, very dangerous. I ordered them to shore.”

“A dangerous rescue operation—yes, that fits our story. Then you raced to sea. By the time you reached the wreck, there was only one survivor, a German man in an Army uniform, oddly enough. He tried to commandeer your boat—you couldn’t imagine why—and he shot you. So you shot him. Oh, Lachlan.” Revulsion at all that had happened writhed inside.

“Aye.” His lower jaw pushed forward in that way of his when he was thinking. “That rings true.”

It did. Lachlan would be a hero. He was a hero.

But a wounded one, and a grunt of pain issued behind her.

“Your knee—oh, darling, what will happen to you? To your naval career?”

“Depends on how bad it is.” Wincing, he adjusted the bandage. “I may be invalided home.”

“But the Navy—it means so much to you.”

He aimed a strained smile at her. “Not as much as you do.”

Desperate to touch him, she wiggled her fingers behind her, and he gripped her hand, kissed it, and released it.

“More importantly, what will happen to you?” His voice dipped low.

She puffed a breath into the icy air, and her mind whirled. Since she’d planned to die, she hadn’t planned for this. “On the U-boat, we saw the explosion at Scapa. Everyone was thrilled, and Kraus had them send a message to Hamburg. They had plenty of time to transmit before—” Before her explosion killed them all, and her upper body convulsed forward.

She’d have to come to terms with what she’d done. Beg God for forgiveness.

“All right,” Lachlan said. “That means Hamburg—the Abwehr knows you were on board. When they learn that the U-boat was lost with no survivors ...”

“They’ll think I’m dead. And they—they’ll tell my family.” Even though she’d started the night’s mission expecting that, a horrible emptiness carved into her. “And—and my case is over.”

“MI5 cannae imprison you.” Lachlan’s voice rose. “They cannae. You sank a U-boat, for heaven’s sake.”

“I’ll be all right. I will.” She sent him a feeble smile.

Devastation contorted his face. “We willnae see each other again.”

Never again, and a sob ballooned in her throat.

She trapped it, faced forward, and nodded.

Lachlan rubbed her lower back in circles. Silent.