A scraping sound rose from the beach.
Effie stepped forward, and her ears pricked.
A dark shape obscured the mottled rocks on the beach. Most likely a seal.
Lachlan almost smiled. Or was it a selkie? The mythological creature had the form of a seal but shed her skin on land to appear as a beautiful woman and entice unsuspecting men.
He ruffled Effie’s fur. “I’d better guard my heart, lass.”
The dark shape lengthened. A man? A pale face glanced up to Lachlan, then the man pressed against the bluff.
Now Lachlan’s blood chilled. Chilled to ice.
Men only hid if they were up to no good. Was he a smuggler?
Or a spy?
Without breaking his gaze on the intruder’s dark form, Lachlan leaned low and slid his sharpsgian-dubhfrom his sock. Several German spies had been captured after landing by boat or by parachute. If this man was a spy, he might be armed with more than a wee knife.
Regardless, Lachlan had a duty to apprehend him.
Staying hunched over, Lachlan eased his way down the path to the beach, never losing sight of the cowering coward.
Then he flipped on his torch and shined it directly at the man. “Who goes there?”
Only the soft lapping of waves answered him.
Lachlan took a few more steps across the flagstones. “No use hiding. I’ve seen you. This is the only path off the beach, and I’m armed. Surrender.”
“Please don’t shoot,” a woman said.
A woman? Lachlan’s step hitched, but he didn’t lower his torch or his sgian-dubh. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
The woman wore a dark coat and a dark hat, and she raised slender arms. “My—my name is Cilla van der Zee. I’m a Dutch refugee.”
Beside her on the rocks lay a deflated rubber boat. How had a refugee from the Netherlands rowed a dinghy to the far north of Scotland?
Lachlan continued his slow approach, praying she wouldn’t notice he was armed with a knife not a revolver. “You traveled all that way in a dinghy?”
“A fishing boat brought me most of the way.”
“Why so far north? Why Scotland?”
“I—I was in Norway when the Nazis invaded. On holiday. I was—I was trapped.” Her voice shook. From fear? Or because she was lying? Or because she realized how ludicrous her story sounded?
Effie brushed past his legs. She should be growling or barking, but the dog trotted right up to the intruder. So much for being a good judge of character.
One of those slender arms stretched to Effie. “Oh, what a beautiful—”
“Hands up!” Lachlan cried.
“Sorry!” Her arms sprang into the air. “Please don’t shoot.”
“Effie, come. Now.”
The collie obeyed, hopping over a shovel on the ground.
A shovel? Flagstones had been shoved aside, exposing the sand beneath. A hole. To the side lay a stack of suitcases.
