Page 48 of Midnight on the Scottish Shore

48

The address on Lachlan’s orders matched the street address—58 St. James’s Street—but the modern white building looked like a hotel and bore no signs. He’d been surprised not to be sent to the Admiralty buildings in Whitehall, but wartime did require expansion into new facilities.

On the surface, Lachlan’s new duties didn’t feel as vital to the war effort as directing a destroyer’s guns or supervising base defenses, but pushing papers was indeed vital. Paperwork organized the flow of men and money and matériel, and without that flow, the whole system fell apart.

Supported by his cane, Lachlan opened the door. At least he could take comfort in knowing the first Churchill Barrier had broken the surface at Scapa Flow. And at least he could still serve and wear the uniform of the Royal Navy, even with his physical limitations.

Inside, a middle-aged woman in a brown civilian suit sat at the front desk. Not a Wren? He frowned at his orders.

“May I help you, sir?”

“I’m sorry. I have the wrong address. I’m looking for 58 St. James’s Street.”

“That’s correct.” She held out her hand. “May I see your orders?”

How unusual for a civilian to request orders, but Lachlan complied.

She raised a bright smile and rose to her feet. “Ah yes. Lieutenant Mackenzie, we were expecting you. Please come with me.”

Lachlan removed his cap and followed her down a hallway, passing a civilian man chatting with officers in Army brown and RAF blue. The men hushed and watched as Lachlan passed but returned his “Good morning.”

What sort of place was this?

“Right through here, Lieutenant.” The receptionist opened a door and stepped back.

Inside, Cdr. Ernest Yardley sat behind a desk.

A laugh tumbled from Lachlan’s mouth. “Aye, now this makes sense.”

Yardley came around his desk and greeted Lachlan with a grin and a handshake. “Welcome to MI5’s London headquarters.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s good to see you again.”

“And you.” Yardley gestured to a red leather armchair in front of his desk. “How is your leg?”

“Much better, thank you.” But a sigh of relief slid out when he sat and took his weight off that leg.

Yardley sat behind his polished wooden desk. “For the purposes of the world at large, you have an administrative posting with the office of the Director of Naval Intelligence. Frightfully dull and yet quite hush-hush.”

So Lachlan could explain why he didn’t discuss his duties—or even want to discuss them. “I understand my duties will be anything but dull?”

“I think not. We’ll be using your knowledge of defenses and the war at sea, as well as your skills at subterfuge.”

Lachlan’s chest twinged. Those skills arose from working in tandem with Cilla, as she spouted her creative ideas in a rush of energy.

Her name tipped his tongue, but he scraped his tongue over the roof of his mouth. Yardley would never answer his questions.

“Now that you’re here, I can explain more about what we do in Section B1a. What I’m about to tell you must never leave this room.” Yardley fixed his sternest look on Lachlan.

“Aye, sir.”

“We have over a dozen double agents in our service. In December, our codebreakers broke the cipher the Abwehr uses to communicate internally. This was one of the primary purposes of Cilla’s messages to Germany. Since we knew the exact content of her messages and the Abwehr tends to transmit them verbatim to Berlin, this aided our deciphering.”

“I see.” Lachlan’s mouth drifted open. “The chicken feed...”

“I like to think it fattened our German chickens for the slaughter.” Mischief flashed in Yardley’s dark eyes. “Now that we can read their traffic, we know when and where to intercept new arrivals, we can discern whether the Abwehr trusts their agents, and we have verified that every Abwehr agent on British soil is in harness.”

“In harness?”

“In MI5 control, whether as a double agent or in custody. Every single one.”

A dam broke on a deep reservoir of anxiety, and all flowed out in a sigh and a smile. “If they’re all accounted for, then Cilla is safe.”

Yardley gave him a thin smile.

“I willnae ask, sir.”

Yardley smoothed one hand over the blotter on his desk. “Now that it’s clear the Allies will win the war, the Germans will be expecting offensive Allied operations, as they should. MI5 is determined to shift from chicken feed to strategic deception. For example, if we were planning a major operation in North Africa, we would try to convince Germany that we were invading Norway or France.”

“Aye.” Lachlan sat forward. “Hitler would transfer troops and equipment away from the Mediterranean.”

“It needs finesse.” Yardley tapped one finger on the desk. “If we’re too blatant, the Germans will realize they were fooled and believe their agents to be either incompetent or traitors—and the program will collapse.”

“But if we succeed, we could save the lives of thousands of Allied soldiers and sailors and airmen.”

“And win the war.”

Lachlan sat back in his chair. All he’d done in the past year, all his worries about compromising Allied security—now felt redeemed. Since the dawn of time, armies had labored to conceal their movements and gain the advantage of surprise. But the new age of wireless intelligence promised not only to conceal but to misdirect.

Yardley stood, circled the desk, and leaned back against it. “This requires closer coordination of our double agents through the Twenty Committee. The committee will approve a general strategy. You will serve as a liaison between the Admiralty member of the committee and case officers involved in naval matters—like me. You’ll help translate the general vision into details, combined with information gleaned by our double agents.”

Lachlan’s chest stirred. This would be far more rewarding than pushing papers. “This sounds very interesting, sir.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it.” Yardley crossed the room and stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Come with me. I’d like to introduce you to another member of our team—a member who will be working on a more personal level with my new double agent. A rather temperamental agent, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Lachlan followed Yardley into the hall and down to another office.

Cilla might have challenged Yardley in many ways, but she could never have been called temperamental.

Headstrong, aye. And witty and gracious and delightful ...

And ... sitting in the office before him.

It couldn’t be, and he blinked hard.

A blond woman in a suit the same bonny blue green as Cilla’s eyes sat at a table, gaping at him. She stumbled to standing. “La-Lachlan?”

He forced his feet in her direction, forced words over his dry throat. “Cilla? I—I thought I’d never see you again.”

Her face turned red and crumpled.

Lachlan gathered her hand in his, small and warm and gripping his as if her life depended on it.

In the doorway, Yardley cleared his throat. “Lieutenant Mackenzie, may I introduce you to Cecilia Klaasen?”

Lachlan couldn’t rip his gaze from hers. “Your new identity.”

“Yes.” Her voice warbled, and she swayed closer to him.

“Cecilia Klaasen is officially classified as a refugee with a history in the Dutch resistance. She is employed as a secretary with the War Office.” Satisfaction colored Yardley’s voice. “Miss Klaasen has no record of ever having served as an enemy agent or a double agent, and she’s never drawn the slightest suspicion from MI5.”

“Like God’s forgiveness.” Cilla’s eyes glistened like the seas off Dunnet Head, and her bonny lips puckered. “My old record erased. My new record clean.”

Speechless, Lachlan caressed her slim fingers and memorized each angle on her face.

Yardley chuckled. “Mackenzie, in case you haven’t recognized the personal significance of her new identity, let me state it clearly. You are free to fraternize with Miss Klaasen.”

Lachlan’s gaze snapped to the commander. “I—I am?”

“In fact, fraternization is encouraged.” Yardley crossed his arms. “Individually, each of you is talented, but in partnership you’re exceptional. It is in the best interest of MI5 to remove all barriers between you. We have done so.”

“Oh, Lachlan.” Cilla’s weight pressed against his arm.

She was more than alive and safe and free—she was alive and safe and free beside him. And he was free to fraternize with her. To love her.

Lachlan cleared his throat. “With all respect, Commander, one barrier remains. A lack of privacy.”

Yardley laughed and opened the door. “I’ll see myself out. You are both relieved from your duties for the rest of the day. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

All Lachlan could see was Cilla’s face.

With each breath, her smile edged wider. With each blink, her eyes grew more luminous. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

With her hand still entwined with his, he circled his arm behind her back. “The last time I saw you, I was in a wee bit of pain. You might have thought me delirious. But when I told you I loved you, I meant it. I love you very much.”

“And I—I meant it too. I love you so much, and I missed you.” Her voice broke.

“Och, lass. No tears.” He could think of only one way to stop the flow.

His cane clattered to the floor, and he gathered her into his arms and his kiss and his life.

A wee gasp from her, and she leaned into him, melding with him.

She was his—his bonny selkie. From the sea, of the sea. To the land, of the land. To him, of him, now and forever.

Cilla tipped her head back, with closed eyes and a sloppy smile. “I knew it. I knew you’d love fiercely.”

He laughed. “Fiercely, aye?”

“Aye.” She opened her eyes and gave him a flirtatious look.

He kissed her again. Fiercely, he hoped. “You heard the commander—we have a free day. What shall we do? A park? A restaurant? I havnae ever taken you on a date.”

She grinned and hunched her shoulders. “Oh, let’s. But before we leave, we should discuss anything secret.”

“Aye. Smart lass.” Lachlan leaned his backside against the table, stretched out his right leg, and drew her close again.

Cilla twisted in his arms and frowned at his leg. “Your knee?”

“I hope you dinnae mind a man with a cane. I may have it for life.”

“I think you look quite dashing.” She glanced at him through her eyelashes and pressed a little kiss to his lips.

A satisfied groan leached out, but he pulled back. They couldn’t stay in the office all day. “Tell me more about this woman I’m kissing—Cecilia Klaasen. May I still call you Cilla?”

“Please do. It’s a nickname for Cecilia anyway. But in the office, you should probably call me Cecilia.”

“I’ll try.” He stroked the firm curve of her lower back. “What’s your new story?”

Cilla traced the rim of his shirt collar. “I was involved in the resistance and escaped last April. I was afraid the Nazis would send agents to find me, so I took a job in a lighthouse in the far north of Scotland. When the two spies came this spring, I fled to London. I inquired at Scotland Yard, and they sent me to MI5. MI5 believes the second spy came to help the first—and the first never mentioned me. They assured me I was safe, but they gave me a new name to be safe.”

Lachlan nodded a few times. “Enough truth in there for me to remember.”

“It helps. I keep stumbling over my name though.” She chuckled as one finger traced a mesmerizing path under his collar.

Too mesmerizing, and he had to do something about it. “That willnae do at all. Take my name instead.”

“Yours?”

“Marry me.”

She laughed and gave his chest a little shove. “Now who’s being impulsive? We’ve had a handful of kisses, we’ve never been on a date, and—”

“And I want to marry you.” His voice thickened. “More than anything, I want to marry you.”

She stared at him, the blue green expanding into oceans. “Are you serious?”

“Am I ever not serious?” He grinned at her. “You asked me that once, aye?”

“I did. After I teased you about stealing my heart.” Laughter spilled from her bonny lips. “I never dreamed you would indeed steal my heart.”

“Have I?” He pulled her close and nuzzled a kiss to her forehead. “I have no intention of giving it back. I shall lock it up like a selkie’s skin, so you have no choice but to marry me.”

“Are you blackmailing me, Lieutenant?”

His smile spread across her warm forehead. “Is it working?”

Cilla wove her fingers into his hair. “I’ll marry you, but I do so under duress.”

Spoken like a true selkie. And he kissed her.