“Answering e-mail?” I asked.
He turned the laptop so that I could see the monitor. The screen was divided into four sections. Each showed a different black-and-white image of a specific place in the castle—a door, a corridor, a staircase, the courtyard. As I watched, the images flickered and changed to show other corridors, doors, and staircases.
“There’s a man in the main control room monitoring activity in and around Dundrillin,” he explained, “but I like to keep my hand in.”
I made a mental note to be on my best behavior when wandering the corridors, then leaned against the doorjamb and said gloomily, “Abaddon’s still at large.”
“It’s early days yet.” Damian looked up from the computer screen and regarded me intently. “And if Scotland Yard doesn’t stop him, I will.”
The steely glint in his eyes frightened me a little. I couldn’t keep myself from glancing at his scar. I wanted to ask him if he’d ever killed anyone, but I held back. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.
I had just enough time left after Bill’s phone call to take a hot shower and change into a fine woolen dress before going down for dinner. Damian didn’t change. I doubted that there was enough room in his duffel bag for evening dress, but it didn’t matter. Sir Percy, unlike Mrs. Gammidge, wasn’t a stickler for formalities. He showed up for dinner wearing a bulky black turtleneck and dark tweed trousers, both of which, he informed us, had been made on Erinskil.
We were deep into our leek-and-potato soup when Sir Percy asked about our plans for the following day. My mouth was too full for polite speech, but Damian answered readily.
“If the weather holds, I thought we might go down to your cove in the morning, sir.” He turned to me. “The water’s too cold for swimming, but I imagine your sons will be able to find other ways to amuse themselves.”
“It’s a great idea,” I said. “Will and Rob love beach-combing.”
“You must take them to the observatory one night while you’re here,” Sir Percy advised as Mrs. Gammidge cleared away the soup bowls. “The sky is as clear as a newborn’s conscience. I’ve seen comets, meteor showers—if you’re lucky, the aurora borealis will show herself.” He heaved a dramatic sigh as Mrs. Gammidge began serving the rack of lamb. “If I needed one reason to return to Erinskil, it would be the night sky. Or the ghost,” he added, after a reflective pause. “I’m rather fond of our ghost.”
I was glad that I’d finished my soup. If I hadn’t, I would have sprayed it across the linen tablecloth. As it was, my voice rose a few octaves as I squeaked, “Is Dundrillin haunted?”
“Not as such,” Sir Percy said. “But we’re not far from a place that is.” He swallowed a forkful of sautéed spinach and jutted his chin toward the windows. “There once was a chap, you see, named Brother Cieran—”
“The meditating monk,” I broke in, nodding. “Damian told me about him. He used to row out to the islet I can see from my balcony. It’s called Cieran’s Chapel, isn’t it?”
“It is,” said Sir Percy. “Local legend has it that he was out there praying when Vikings came ashore at the harbor. They pillaged the village and killed everyone, then moved inland to attack the monastery. The marauders were gone by the time Brother Cieran returned, but the monastery had been looted and the monks had been slain. After giving his brethren and his flock a decent burial, Brother Cieran rowed back to the little island. Once there, he released his boat—to punish himself, some say, for not perishing with the others. It’s said that his tormented spirit lingers there still, praying through all eternity for the souls of the dead.”
I suppressed a shudder and asked, “Have you seen the ghost?”
“Alas, no,” said Sir Percy. “But a few of my guests have. The apparition either frightened or thrilled them, but I’d like to think it would inspire pity in me. The Earl of Strathcairn’s grandfather—the tenth earl—-was so moved by the tale that he elected to have himself buried on Cieran’s Chapel. He told his grandson that he wanted to keep poor Brother Cieran company.”
“How splendid,” I murmured.
Sir Percy waved his knife in a vaguely southerly direction. “The ruined monastery is just over a mile from here, above the overlook on the coastal path. Legend has it that if you stand inside the ruins on certain nights, when the moon and stars are just so, you can hear the screams of the dying monks.”
His macabre words were still echoing in my mind when the chandelier flickered and went out, plunging the room into darkness. I gasped, nearly stabbed myself in the face with a forkful of lamb, and knocked over my water glass.
“Calm yourself, Lori.”