A brown-and-white collie trotted into the entryway—Effie, the lieutenant had called her that night in the cove. But how could Cilla mention she and the dog were already acquainted?
Cilla scratched the dog behind her pricked ears. “Aren’t you gorgeous?”
“Her name is Effie.”
“Effie. Oh my. You are a beauty.”
An intelligent, friendly light shone in Effie’s brown eyes, as if she remembered Cilla—and still liked her. Thank goodness, dogs couldn’t speak.
“Oh dear.” Gwen hung back by the front door and pressed a handkerchief to her nose. “I—I’m afraid I’m allergic to dogs.”
“Oh my.” Mrs. Mackenzie rushed to the door and shooed the dog outside. “Away with you.”
“I’m sorry.” Gwen’s cheeks approached fuchsia in color. “I hate to—”
“Nonsense. She’d rather be outside. See?” Mrs. Mackenzie pointed to the collie loping to the field across the way with her tail curled up over her back. “That flock of sheep is far too scattered for her satisfaction.”
Cilla chuckled. A perfect dog for the orderly lieutenant.
“Come on through.” Mrs. Mackenzie led the way through a drawing room. “The men are already in the dining room. You’ve met my husband but not our son.”
“The lieutenant?” Cilla’s heels clicked on the flagstone floor.
“No, Lachlan had a date last night in the Orkneys. This is our younger son, Neil.”
A date? The lieutenant had said he had a meeting. Oh, she would have fun teasing him about this.
So why did she have a hollow feeling in her chest? She couldn’t be jealous. Why, that was good news. The lieutenant needed a girlfriend to file down his prickly edges.
The dining room had a high ceiling with exposed beams and tall windows.
Mr. Mackenzie stepped forward with a fair-haired young man.
“Miss van der Zee and Officer Reese, this is our son Neil,” Mrs. Mackenzie said.
“How do you do?” Neil gave Cilla a smile, then gave Gwen a slight scowl.
What an odd way to treat a guest.
They took their seats around a hefty wooden table, and Mr. Mackenzie ladled soup from a tureen.
Cilla passed a bowl to Gwen. “What a lovely home. Lieutenant Mackenzie said you moved here when he was five. What brought you to Caithness?”
“Shipwrecks.” Mr. Mackenzie raised a wry smile and handed her a bowl. “My father started a maritime salvage company in Inverness. During the Great War, we set up a branch in Thurso.”
“We grew to love the land,” Mrs. Mackenzie said.
“I can understand why,” Cilla said. “At first it seems stark and bleak, but then you see the seabirds and the tiny wildflowers and the ever-changing clouds and sea.”
“Aye.” Mrs. Mackenzie took a bowl of soup from her son. “Mountains and trees have a showy, obvious beauty. The beauty of Caithness is subtle but exquisite.”
Mr. Mackenzie set a bowl on his own plate. “Shall I say the blessing?”
Cilla bowed her head and folded her hands.
“In the words of our beloved Rabbie Burns, ‘Some hae meat and cannae eat, And some wad eat that want it; But we hae meat, and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thankit.’”
“Amen.” Mrs. Mackenzie chuckled. “With the war on, it’s but a wee bit of meat, I’m afraid.”
