The warmth in Lachlan’s cheeks blazed, but he refused to cut his gaze away.
“Pardon?” Johnny curled his upper lip at Neville and Clive. “Mackenzie served with distinction on theAntelope.”
Neville and Clive had been Lachlan’s best friends at the naval college, but now Neville lifted his broad nose. “He was expelledfrom Dartmouth for plagiarism. Come, Johnson. An officer should associate only with men of honor.”
Lachlan forced his hands not to coil into fists. Honor—and honor alone—had led him to silently take the punishment for an infraction he hadn’t committed.
“I always associate with men of honor.” Johnny whirled his grin back to Lachlan. “Have you decided what we shall do this evening? The night is still young.”
“Indeed.” Fitz stepped in front of Lachlan, turning his back to Neville. “I’m desperate to go to shore. Company on board this ship is rather dull.”
Neville and Clive marched away.
“Don’t mind them.” Johnny frowned at their backs. “Insufferable snobs.”
Fitz sniffed. “I believe in judging a man on his present, not his past.”
“Thank you.” Lachlan shoved the words over his stiff lips. Not wishing to dwell on that past himself, he forced his thoughts to the present. “This evening, aye? After we anchor, we can spend a few hours in town before curfew.”
Johnny cast a skeptical gaze across the waters to Kirkwall. “Can you call it a town? The cinema is playing a year-old comedy calledSpy for a Day.”
Twitches raced through Lachlan’s cheeks as the ship slowed to settle in at the anchorage and men bustled about to lower the anchor.
He’d been ordered not to say a single word about capturing Cilla van der Zee. Not to his family, not to his friends. No one. “I fail to find anything humorous about spies.”
“Dear old chap. We do need to make you laugh.” Fitz burst into a broad grin. “What could be more humorous than the bumbling fools the Germans have been sending to spy on us? Didn’t you hear about the man they captured in Hertfordshire last week? Or the two men arrested in Edinburgh last autumn? They’ll hang.”
What about Cilla van der Zee? Lachlan could still see her luminous eyes pleading up at him in the police station. The brightest green blue he’d ever seen. He hated to think of the light extinguishing from those eyes.
His stomach churned. But Miss van der Zee was a Nazi spy, and arresting her was Lachlan’s duty. He couldn’t allow her to send British secrets to Germany.
So why did guilt and dread insist on threading through his gut the past six weeks since her capture?
His frown deepened. The papers had trumpeted the arrests of the men in Hertfordshire and Edinburgh. But not one word had been printed about the lass he’d turned in.
“Lachlan?”
“Hmm?” He blinked at Fitz.
His friend gave him a disbelieving smile and nudged Johnny with an elbow. “He does need a laugh. Or a pint. Or both.”
Lachlan shrugged. Laughs had been scarce recently.
“I thought being stationed close to home would cheer you up.”
Lachlan had thought so too. Father divided his time between Inverness, where Mackenzie Salvage had its headquarters, and the branch office in Thurso. Neil remained in Inverness and had come home only once. How could the man prefer the pubs of Inverness to the sweet comforts of Creag na Mara?
The churning in his stomach smoothed into a slow burn.
He shook his head. “Fitz, you promised to show me the Type 279.” He pointed to the antenna that could detect aircraft and surface vessels from afar.
“At your service.” Fitz led the way down theHood’s armor-clad deck. “See you this evening, Johnny.”
Lachlan tipped Johnny a salute and followed Fitz.
Whilst Lachlan and Fitz and Johnny and millions more served their country, Neil refused to. For that, he was rewarded with a position at Mackenzie Salvage.
The unfairness of it all rankled, but what did Lachlan really have to worry about? Neil wouldn’t keep the position for long. He was lazy and never failed to sabotage himself.
