Her heart sank for both brothers. “Neil has never forgiven you.”
“No.” He shot her a furtive glance. “I’m ashamed to say, I havnae forgiven him for betraying me. I intend to do so, though.”
“Betraying you?”
Lachlan straightened up and tilted back his head. “Neil’s best mate, Reggie, was in my form. Not long after Neil was expelled, he invited Reggie to Creag na Mara for Easter. Our form had been assigned a dissertation. Mine was finished. Reggie was having trouble with the topic, so I showed him my notes to give him some ideas. It was a trap.”
“Oh no. What happened?”
“Soon after, the commander of the college summoned Reggie and me. Our dissertations were identical. Reggie and Neil had sneaked into my room, and Reggie had copied my paper in his own hand. Reggie then produced notes, also copied from my work in his own hand. My notes had disappeared—they’d stolen them.”
What a cruel trick. “They framed you.”
“Aye. I had no defense other than my word, which no longer meant anything. The only honorable course was accepting the punishment without protest. Almost six outstanding years as a cadet—erased. I would have graduated in a few months.”
“Oh my goodness. That’s awful.”
“Before you wonder how I know Neil was involved, he bragged about it to my face. We came to blows.” He touched the scar on his upper lip.
Cilla touched her own upper lip. To bear that reminder, day by day, of his brother’s betrayal ... “No wonder it’s difficult for you to forgive him.”
“Aye.” His gaze flitted to her and away, as if he were embarrassed to have shared such a personal story. He set one foot on the bicycle pedal and pushed off. “Be thankful your sister has given you no trouble.”
A strange little laugh barked out. “Hilde has given me nothing but trouble.”
Lachlan’s feet thumped back to the pavement, and he gaped at her over his shoulder. “You speak of her often. I assumed you were close.”
“Not close, but I love her. I try to protect her.” She fluttered one hand in the air. “You and I have much in common.”
“How so?”
Behind Cilla, treeless land undulated to the east, toward the North Sea. “Hilde is drunk more often than not. Her boyfriend, Arno, is the worst sort of Dutch Nazi—in the militant branch—and Hilde follows wherever he goes. She’s been rude and cruel to everyone in our family, and she’s deliberately pushed everyone out of her life.”
“Not you?” A bewildered note rang in his voice.
“Not for lack of trying.” Cilla shrugged and faced him. “But I’m stubborn, and she’s my little sister. I know, somewhere under all the anger, is the little girl I remember from before—from before she became a bully, from before Gerda died.”
Lachlan’s face stretched long. “Gerda?”
Why had she said that? She never told that story, and she grimaced. “We should ride, before the rain returns.”
A shade fell over Lachlan’s eyes, he firmed his lips, and he jerked his head westward and began pedaling.
She caught up, still grimacing. For heaven’s sake, he’d shared a difficult story. Why couldn’t she?
Because the story wrecked her inside, and she hated that feeling more than anything.
Lachlan kept a stony gaze fixed on the road ahead.
Cilla pulled in a fortifying breath. “Gerda was Hilde’s friend. Or she wanted to be Hilde’s friend. Quite desperately.”
Lachlan’s gaze slid to her. “Aye?”
The road bent in a final set of curves ascending Dunnet Head. “Hilde is a great beauty, and she was the queen of her group of friends. Hilde would let Gerda in, then kick her out—over and over.”
“How did Gerda ...?”
Die. How did she die? Cilla slammed her eyes shut, then forced them open so she wouldn’t topple off the road. “The summer I was sixteen, we all went to the shore. I was with my friends, Hilde with hers. The younger girls dared each other to swim to a buoy. Gerda didn’t want to, and Hilde teased her, taunted her, told her she could never be friends with a coward.”
