Lachlan cleared his throat, and he gripped her shoulder. “Neil met me at Brough today. He wanted to tell me about Jericho. And about you. He thinks you’re a spy.”
Cilla groaned and plastered her hands to her face. “Oh no. Your parents.”
“He didnae tell anyone, and Yardley put the fear of the OSA in his heart.”
“How much does Neil know?” Her voice strained.
“Far less than he wants to know, and far more than he should. But Yardley told him you’re on our side and can be trusted.”
“He did?”
“Aye, and Neil can be trusted too.” Conviction solidified his voice.
She lowered her hands and faced him. “You’ve forgiven him.”
“Aye.” He didn’t meet her gaze. “I need to tell him.”
“Tonight?”
“The morn. I willnae leave you alone.”
Cilla could have stayed in his half embrace forever, but he patted her shoulder and scooted his chair around the corner of the table again.
Lachlan pulled over a notepad. “We have work to do, lass.”
The warmth in her cheeks hadn’t receded. “Work?”
His cheeks were ruddy, and he uncapped his pen. “Yardley didnae give me instructions, but I know you’re sending Kraus a message tonight.”
“Last night I sent a short message that Jericho missed the rendezvous at the drop site and at the station, but I recovered his canister.”
“Good.” He wrote in the notepad. “I’ll list what Jericho has seen and heard, what he might transmit to Germany. We need to construct what you could reasonably know, and we need to explain what happened so you look loyal to Germany.”
Love for him swelled in her chest, in her throat, on her lips, but she clamped her lips shut.
The night before, Yardley told her if the police didn’t capture Jericho or if the Abwehr suspected Cilla had turned, MI5 would run down her case and intern her or shuttle her to another location.
With an uncertain future, telling Lachlan of her love would be more than foolish. It would be cruel.
****
Cilla laughed as Lachlan twirled her around to a dance tune on the Saturday Social on the BBC’s Forces Programme.
Gwen and Imogene had told them Yardley left Dunnet Head around four thirty. He hadn’t yet returned.
When Mr. Hall relieved Cilla at six o’clock, Cilla and Lachlan had gone downstairs to the top apartment in the lighthouse and Lachlan had brought up supper. They’d composed a message, but she couldn’t transmit to Kraus until Yardley approved it. And if she didn’t transmit tonight, Kraus would become even more suspicious.
Cilla had grown restless.
Lachlan had fetched her wireless from the lightroom, and the music and dancing and Lachlan’s reassuring company had done their work.
“I see you’re both impressed by the gravity of the situation.” Commander Yardley stood in the doorway.
Lachlan sprang away from Cilla and rubbed one hand over a bright red cheek.
Cilla gestured to Lachlan. “I was nervous, and he was trying—”
“We caught Jericho.” Yardley sauntered into the room.
