“Only with Cilla.” Not even three days had passed since he’d seen her, but a hole gaped in his heart and his life. She’d been more than a good partner. She’d brought sunshine and laughter and refreshment. She’d brought hard truth and gentle soothing and brisk encouragement.
To say he missed her seemed insufficient.
Yardley cleared his throat. “I allowed her to send a note to your parents, apologizing for not saying goodbye and stating she’d been offered a wonderful job and needed to leave Dunnet Head straightaway. She did not leave a new address, and she will not write.”
His family would miss her as well. “We’ll never see her again.”
“I’m sorry.” Yardley’s eyebrows shoved together. “I couldn’t help but notice you and Cilla growing fond of each other.”
“Aye.” He drew in a searing breath. “We love each other.”
Yardley lifted an attaché case, opened it, and handed Lachlan a paper-wrapped bundle. “She wanted you to have this.”
Lachlan held it in his lap and unfolded the brown paper. Blues and greens and pebbles and feathers and flowers, and his heart smashed into pieces.
He stroked the wee gray feathers on the selkie, and his throat swelled shut.
One kiss. One declaration of love. The tangling of frozenfingers. All when he’d been too wracked by pain to truly enjoy it. He didn’t even have a photograph of her.
But he had memories, and he’d make do.Goodbye, my bonny selkie lass.
****
London
Saturday, May 23, 1942
“I’m glad we didn’t execute her.” Thomas A. Robertson grinned at Commander Yardley.
Cilla arched an eyebrow at the men. “So am I.”
“You were right about her, Tar.” Yardley rested his forearms on the table in the office in MI5’s London headquarters, where Section B1a oversaw the Double Cross program. “She was an outstanding double agent.”
“Sank a U-boat singlehandedly—something many of our warships have failed to do.” Tar chuckled. “A shame no one will ever know.”
Cilla managed a sad smile, but she took no pride in her responsibility for the deaths of dozens of men. Her physical wounds had healed with only a few scars, but the wounds inside would take longer to heal.
“How goes your training?” Tar asked.
“It’s going well, sir.” To the world, she worked as a secretary at the War Office. In reality, she worked for MI5, learning the agency’s procedures from the other side. The job suited her and interested her and aided the war effort. “Thank you for this opportunity.”
“You’re welcome, Cil—Cecilia.” Yardley stood and gave her a slight bow. “That’s all for today. Your Saturday afternoon is free as always. I’ll see you Monday.”
“Thank you, sir.” Cilla said goodbye and left the building on St. James’s Street, with her new handbag tucked under her arm.
Her new identity granted her a fresh stock of clothing coupons. Not enough to replenish what she’d lost aboard the U-boat, but she adored her new suit that matched her aquamarine ring.
Stately white, gray, and tan buildings lined the broad road, and Cilla headed south toward St. James’s Palace.
A year ago, she would have been thrilled to stroll through London, passing shops and restaurants and hotels. Such bustle and energy, and so many people.
Yet how she missed the beauty of Caithness. The tiny blooms peeking from the heather, the seabirds careening along the cliffs, the waves tumbling to shore.
And she’d gladly trade the company of the millions in the city for the one man she loved.
Her eyes stung, and she blinked rapidly to clear her sight.
Over time, she’d make friends in London, but she’d never stop missing Lachlan.
