“It smells wonderful.” Cilla inhaled the savory scent of chicken and leeks floating in clear broth. She turned a smile to her host. “How is the salvage business?”
Mr. Mackenzie scooped soup onto his spoon. “Sadly, German bombs and mines and U-boats give us plenty of business.”
Cilla swallowed a mouthful of the soup, delicate but tasty. “Do you raise sunken ships?”
“Only in shallow waters. It’s a difficult and expensive endeavor. Most of our work comes from beached vessels or those dashed on rocks.”
“I’m glad we can use the metal again.” But Cilla’s mind trailed in another direction. Would information on salvaging ships be good chicken feed to send Hauptmann Kraus?
Mrs. Mackenzie turned her sweet smile to Gwen. “We heard Miss van der Zee’s story, but what about you, Officer Reese? Where do you come from?”
Gwen sniffled, and her light brown eyes widened, showing reddening. “I’m from Swansea.”
“You’re Welsh?” Neil’s narrow nose wrinkled. “But you wear an English uniform.”
“Neil, please,” his father said with a growl in his voice.
Neil shrugged. “I only want to know how she justifies it.”
“I ... I ...” Gwen’s gaze darted about, and she pressed a handkerchief to her nose. “I’m serving my country.”
“Please, Neil.” His mother’s voice shook. “I’m sorry, ladies. I’m afraid our son—”
“Dinnae apologize for me, Mother. I’m not ashamed.” Neil’s light eyes burned in a familiar Mackenzie way, and he lifted his chin high. “I was imprisoned for refusing to register for conscription.”
“Oh?” Cilla almost choked on a bit of leek, and she swallowed hard. “Why would you refuse?”
“I belong to Free Caledonia.” That chin edged even higher. “We believe in Scottish home rule, free of English oppression.”
Cilla put a smile in her voice. “How wonderful. Officer Reese also believes in home rule—free ofNazioppression. You have much in common.”
Neil drew back his chin and blinked.
Cilla kept her smile firmly in place. How dare he insult aguest in his home? Lachlan Mackenzie might be stiff and serious, but he’d never be rude or unkind.
Gwen sneezed and groaned into her handkerchief. “Oh no. I’m sorry. The dog—my allergies. I—I have to leave.”
“Oh, you poor dearie.” Mrs. Mackenzie squeezed Gwen’s arm. “I’m sorry. Did you get enough soup?”
Gwen nodded, although she’d consumed maybe a quarter of her bowl.
Cilla shoveled in one last mouthful. She hated leaving, but she had to stay with her guard—rather, her guard had to stay with her. “Thank you for your hospitality. The soup is delicious, and I enjoyed your company.”
“Another day.” Mr. Mackenzie rose. “Haste you back.”
Not without a guard, and her guard would never return. But Cilla nodded and smiled and followed Gwen to the front door.
After more apologies and thanks and goodbyes, the ladies pedaled toward Dunnet Head.
“I’m so sorry,” Gwen said. “These allergies.”
“I’m sorry you’re miserable. Are you feeling better? The fresh air should help, yes?”
“Yes.” Gwen blinked rapidly. “I should feel better in about half an hour.”
“Let me know if you need to stop and rest.”
“Thank you.”
