“What if she doesn’t see herself as trapped?” The cliffs inthe bay sloped gently, covered in verdant growth, radiant in the sunshine. “What if she prefers the land? This land?”
A slow smile climbed up Lachlan’s face. “Then she’s an uncommon selkie.”
“No one has ever called me common.”
“An uncommon selkie, aye.” His nose wrinkled, and he frowned at the sky as if searching for words above. “A peculiar selkie. Odd even. Aye, right bizarre.”
“Lachlan!” She laughed and gave him a playful shove.
His laughter broke out, lighting his eyes and crinkling his smile.
She did indeed prefer this land. And this man. This uncommon man.
32
Pentland Firth
Saturday, March 7, 1942
Snow flurries billowed over the sea and stung Lachlan’s face as the motorboat crossed to Brough, several hours late for the Saturday meeting.
After fearsome weather had kept Lachlan from Dunnet Head for a fortnight, Commander Yardley would probably be relieved by Lachlan’s presence rather than annoyed at his tardiness.
In front of Lachlan, Arthur leaned back against the forward cabin. “I’m glad the wind died down enough for us to cross. Irene has her heart set on meeting my family in London.” He ducked down and smiled at his fiancée sheltered inside the cabin.
Yet not his fiancée. Irene refused to officially accept Arthur’s marriage proposal until she met his parents.
“Your family will love her.”
“Without a doubt.” Arthur turned his lopsided grin to Lachlan. “She’s also eager to see Cilla again.”
Lachlan’s heart lurched. Arthur and Irene would be spending the night at Creag na Mara before catching a train to Londonin the morn, and Lachlan had promised to invite Cilla to dine this evening with the happy couple.
He hadn’t seen her since the day she’d confronted him for his boorish behavior. Showing her how to operate the boat had helped, and occupying his mind and eyes on that task had diffused his awkwardness. But a restaurant meal in a setting reminiscent of a date?
“Aye,” he said. “Cilla will be glad to see Irene too.”
A gleam grew in Arthur’s eyes.
Lachlan had to divert him, and he studied the overcast sky. “The weather will be clearing soon. Spring is coming.”
“Spring, when ‘a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.’”
“Spring, ‘when kings go forth to battle.’”
Arthur rolled his eyes.
Lachlan peered over the roof of the front cabin. He couldn’t hear the crew’s conversation over the roar of motor and wind, so they couldn’t hear him either.
He leaned back against the cabin beside his friend. “The war will heat up in the spring as always. We’ll have to assess base defenses for damage from winter storms.”
“We’ve kept the booms and vessels in shape throughout the winter.”
“Aye. Commander Blake says your command is one of the finest at Scapa, and he is right stingy with praise.”
A satisfied smile settled into Arthur’s cheeks. “Thank you.”
“We’re expecting stronger attacks on the convoys—we’ve already had attacks in the Arctic, a couple of losses. The Home Fleet will be busy bottling up the German ships in port.”
