With his head bowed, he kneaded the handlebars. His cheekspitted. At the base of his neck, below the band of his cap, his hair glowed like copper.
He said nothing.
Dread snaked around her stomach. “Lachlan?”
He hauled in a loud breath without changing his posture. “For the last eight months, you’ve been my enemy. Aye, I came to appreciate the work you did and to—to enjoy your company, but always, always remembering who you were.”
“Your enemy.” Of course, he saw her that way. Why had she fooled herself into thinking they had become friends?
“I knew how to act with you.” He opened one hand and struck the handlebar over and over. “I dinnae know how anymore.”
She blinked a few times as if it would help her comprehend. “I don’t understand.”
His face scrunched up. “That day. You said you made a fool of yourself. No. You proved yourself a loyal ally. You proved you’ve been telling the truth all along. And you proved you are a woman of the highest character. I trust you completely, and I dinnae know how to act.”
Then he lifted his head and looked her full in the eye with something new in his gaze. Something heartbreaking.
Vulnerability.
She sucked in a cool breath. He didn’t give his trust easily, because when he trusted, he trusted deeply. That meant when someone betrayed him, as Neil had, he was wounded deeply.
By giving her his trust, he’d given her a potent weapon.
More than anything, she wanted to tell him she could never hurt him, could never hurt a man she loved so much, so dearly, a man who had given her the sweetest gift she could imagine.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a blunt tone. “I dinnae know how to act, but that’s no excuse. I’m ... not known for social graces.”
No, he wasn’t, so she’d have to help him. “Can we try to work together as we used to? I miss it.” Her voice warbled.
A softness washed through his expression. “Aye.”
Her eyes tickled, and she stretched them wide, blinked. She refused to cry, but she had to ask, ask for what her heart wanted most. “Do you suppose—could we ever—could we be friends someday?”
“Not someday.” A spark lit in the soft brown of his eyes. “Now. Consider me your friend now, if you’ll have a right dafty for a friend.”
A gift bestowed to only a few. Her chin quivered, and she turned away. “Thank you.”
“To prove it, I’ll give you your sealskin.”
“Pardon?”
He aimed his chin seaward. “My family’s boat—the one you tried stealing that day—”
She gasped. “It’s your family’s?”
“Aye. Her name isMar na Creag, and I’ll teach you how to start the motor.” With a serious face, he jabbed a finger toward Dunnet Head. “If you ever need a boat, ever encounter a similar situation, I want you to be prepared.”
He was indeed proving his trust by handing her the means to escape, if she were so inclined. “My sealskin,” she whispered.
“Aye, selkie lass. Come. I’ll show you right now.”
“I’d like that.” She climbed back on her bicycle and pedaled beside him, through the village of Brough and down the bumpy path to the boat ramp.
A dozen grey seals sunned themselves on the flagstone beach, cushioned by kelp.
Cilla leaned her bicycle against the stone wall at the top of the concrete ramp. “In the legend, the selkie is trapped against her will, yes?”
“Aye.” Lachlan set his bicycle beside hers and adjusted his cap. “She prefers the sea to the land.”
