“I know Irene has her heart set on marrying in her home church, but remember Dunnet Parish Church is available and my parents have offered Creag na Mara for the reception.”
“And we thank you.” Then Arthur whipped a grin Lachlan’s way. “When is your wedding date?”
“My—” Lachlan choked on the word. “Pardon?”
A laugh wrinkled the skin around Arthur’s eyes. “It’s clear to everyone but you. You’re both mad for each other.”
With a groan, Lachlan clasped his hands at the small of his back, returning to attention. “No, you’re mad.”
Arthur let out a scoffing noise. “Cilla uttered not one word about her man in the Netherlands, and you two flirted all evening.”
“You’re mistaken.”
“I am not. And when the ladies shared a room at your home, Cilla all but admitted to Irene that she’s sweet on you.”
Lachlan’s shoulders tensed, and he clasped his hands even harder. “‘All but admitted’? That means she didnae admit it.”
“It also means she didn’t deny it.”
Heat flooded Lachlan’s cheeks, and his gut swayed worse than the vessel on the passing wake. It couldn’t be true. They hadn’t flirted—only engaged in their customary teasing. Any interest Arthur and Irene detected on Cilla’s part would have been her usual high spirits.
She couldn’t fall for him. It was bad enough he was falling for her. But romance could never be allowed, and he wouldn’t wish unrequited love on his worst enemy, much less on Cilla.
Arthur still aimed a foolish grin at Lachlan.
Aye, foolish, and Lachlan gave his friend a skeptical look. “People in love are forever imagining others to be as big of fools as they are.”
“Ah, come join us. It’s grand.”
Lachlan shrugged him off. The giant aircraft carrier drew near, and he straightened his posture.
He didn’t need to add worries for Cilla’s heart to the pile of worries he had for her today. Those concerns, shoved to the back corner of his mind, now slithered out to the forefront.
By now, Jericho was to be in MI5 custody.
Was he?
Lachlan raised another salute as theWasppassed through the sound with dozens of aircraft lashed to the deck, their wings folded like butterflies at rest.
Due to the arrival of the American task force, Lachlan’s usual Saturday morning trip to Dunnet Head had been delayed until the afternoon. Even then, Blake resented Yardley’s orders superseding his own. Blake needed Lachlan at Scapa Flow.
But Lachlan needed to be at Dunnet Head. Not until he arrived at the lighthouse would he learn whether the spy had been captured.
Whether Cilla was safe.
36
Brough
Saturday, April 4, 1942
The motorboat didn’t earn the name of “fast” as it puttered through the mist, and Lachlan’s foot tapped on the deck. Why couldn’t the boat go faster?
The cliffs embracing the harbor at Brough emerged, and the mist cleared. A man in an overcoat and hat stood by the boat ramp in front of a motorcar—Father’s green 1933 Rolls-Royce 20/25. The man was Neil.
Lachlan’s chest clenched. Why would Neil come to meet him? Why would he use precious rationed petrol? Had something happened to Mother or Father?
As soon as the boat heaved to, Lachlan vaulted out with his bag and jogged up the slippery stone ramp to his brother. “What’s wrong? Mother? Father?”
