Transfer? He’d never mentioned a transfer.
Lachlan’s cheeks turned red, and he flicked an embarrassed glance to Cilla. “Thank you, Mother.”
Outside, Lachlan removed a tarpaulin from over the bicycles, and they pedaled away.
When they reached the main road, Cilla affected a breezy voice. “Transfer?”
“Aye.” Red still burnished his cheeks. “I requested a transfer.”
“So you wouldn’t need to work with us anymore.”
His tires whished over the damp pavement, and his mouth pursed. “Yardley told me he blocked my transfer through the Director of Naval Intelligence’s office.”
Admiration for Lachlan’s integrity mixed with the disappointment of knowing he’d prefer to leave. “I see. If you transferred, you wouldn’t need to work with us, but you’d avoid being disciplined.”
He jerked his gaze to her, a frown. “No, you’d avoid prison.”
Cilla’s bicycle wheel wobbled, and she gripped the handlebars hard. He did it for her?
“Last month.” His voice came out gravelly, and he cleared his throat. “Last month when you volunteered to go to prison for the sake of my conscience—that was courageous of you. Generous. Kind.”
“Oh.” The colorful blooms of wildflowers and heather had disappeared, leaving brilliant emerald green as far as she could see. “I don’t like how Yardley treats you.”
Lachlan shrugged. “When I was at sea, we gave orders to sink U-boats—orders that killed dozens of men. That was also hard on my conscience, but I did my duty. I’ll make peace with this work too.”
Entering the village of Brough, they passed a barn filled with rolls of hay, and Cilla groaned. “This is all my fault.”
“Aye, it is.” A gorgeous grin dug into Lachlan’s cheeks.
She laughed and swerved her bicycle toward his. “You aren’t supposed to say that. You’re supposed to make me feel better.”
“And add more lies to the pile I’m telling now? On the Sabbath Day? You ask too much, lassie.”
He was teasing her back, and she loved it. “I wouldn’t want you to violate your conscience again, laddie.”
Lachlan laughed.
The sound tangled up Cilla’s insides. He was a good-looking man even when he scowled, but when he smiled ... oh, heavens.
They passed houses plastered white or cream or gray, and Lachlan tipped his hat to an elderly couple crossing the road.
Cilla had always been attracted to men with easy smiles, men who laughed often and well, men who gave her compliments and gifts and a rollicking good time. Men who bent to her will.
So why were her eyes and her heart drawn more and more to the quiet, unbending Scot?
Two gulls swooped overhead in tandem, calling to each other.
A quiet man, yes, but a man of fierce emotions, flaming into anger—but only when danger threatened the land or the people he loved. And he loved fiercely too.
What would it be like to receive such love?
Heat surged in her chest, up her neck.
Such love would be splendid.
Cilla had made him smile, she’d made him laugh, but could she ever make him bend?
A wave as cold as the sea below washed away the heat. Lachlan’s rigidity came from his high standards. He would never—couldnever—bend toward a woman who failed to meet those standards.
