What would he have done if she’d kissed him?
Cilla belted out the chorus, her off-key notes bruising her own ears.
“We can accuse you of being a selkie ...”
Lachlan’s voice, and Cilla sprang to her feet and spun around.
Mirth danced in his dark eyes. “But no one could ever accuse you of being a siren.”
Because she sang poorly, and she let out an exasperated sigh. “Why, thank you. No one could ever accuse you of being a flatterer.”
“No one ever has.” He tipped his chin to the side. “What are you hiding?”
She’d spread her arms wide along the edge of the table, shielding her project from view. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“You’re not as good of an actress as you claim.” He ducked to her left.
She shifted.
His teeth flashed in an easy grin.
Oh, she loved him like this. But he wouldn’t smile when he heard today’s briefing, and her heart writhed.
Lachlan gave her a comical mock scowl. “Hiding your nefarious spy plans, aye?”
Her shoulders squirmed. “It isn’t nefarious. Just silly. Playing with fabric and pebbles and such.” She groaned, stepped aside, and braced for his laughter.
Instead, he studied her project for quite some time, and a smile edged up. “It’s a seascape, aye? It looks like the beach at Brough.”
Or the beach by his home where they’d met almost a year earlier, and she tucked her lower lip between her teeth.
“These wee downy feathers ...” With a thick finger, he traced one of the feathers she’d sewn on her blue fabric sea. “They look like seafoam.”
“Do they? That’s what I wanted.” Cilla waved one hand over the fabric. “I’ve never done anything like this before. But then I’ve never had so much time to myself.”
“Aye.” Lachlan straightened up and crossed his arms. “Boredom sparks creativity.”
Cilla dropped her voice into the basement. “Yet another profound saying from Lt. Lachlan Mackenzie.”
He gave her a sheepish look. “No, a profound saying fromRhona Mackenzie, uttered whenever Neil or I complained of boredom.”
Cilla laughed. “My mother would give Hilde and me a list of chores.”
Footsteps thudded up the spiral staircase.
“Excuse me.” Cilla eased past Lachlan, turned off the wireless, folded her fabric into her basket, and cleared the tiny table. If only she didn’t have to ruin the lighthearted mood.
After Yardley greeted them, Cilla and Lachlan sat at the table and Lachlan reviewed Cilla’s log.
Cilla had told Kraus winter weather had kept her boyfriend “Samson” from visiting as frequently as desired, and she’d provided less intelligence from Scapa Flow, whilst still sending MI5-approved sightings of ships and aircraft. The Abwehr hadn’t shown interest in the salvage information from “Rahab” but grew increasingly interested in the Free Caledonia information from Fergus. She’d given him the code name “Joshua.”
“My notes.” Lachlan returned Cilla’s log, marked up in his strong, neat script.
Yardley leaned back against the window behind Lachlan and lifted his prominent chin. “On Wednesday night, Kraus sent Cilla a new order.”
Cilla cringed. “You won’t like it, Lachlan.”
Yardley lifted one soothing hand. “Before you get angry—”
