“The emergency stairs,” he explained. “They lead here, and from here you can get outside.” He tapped a sequence of buttons on a wall-mounted keypad, presumably to disarm the alarm system, and pushed the side door open.
We stepped out into the cool, sunlit morning. When I glanced upward, I realized that we were standing on the strip of headland directly below my balcony. I was surprised to see how low the cliffs were—they’d looked much higher from above. The strip of headland looked different, too, now that I was standing on it. It was wider, and slashed by a sunken path that ran in both directions along the cliffs.
“The coastal path,” Damian explained, following my gaze. “It goes all the way around the island.”
“Sounds scenic,” I said as the brine-scented breeze tossed my curls. “Could we walk it tomorrow? If we’re still here, that is.”
Damian tilted his head back to look at the sky. “I don’t see why not, if the fine weather holds.”
“We want to go to the beach,” Will reminded us determinedly.
“So you shall,” said Andrew, and he crossed the sunken path to a pair of stone pillars that stood at the grassy strip’s outer edge.
The pillars marked the top of a set of stairs that had been cut into the cliff. Although the staircase was equipped with a rope railing threaded through a series of iron posts, I took hold of Rob’s hand and Andrew grabbed Will’s before we started down. Damian took up the rear.
Andrew used the time we spent on the stairs to lecture Will and Rob about the dangers of rip currents and the way high tides could creep up and swallow unsuspecting little boys. Before our sneakers touched the sand, he made them vow solemnly that they would never go to the beach on their own. I could have kissed him.
I was even more grateful to him once we’d reached the beach. Although the tide was on its way out, the belt of broken shells and drying seaweed left behind by the high tide was well up on the sand. Anyone caught in the cove when the tide was in would have to scramble to reach the safety of the stairs or risk being drowned, swept out to sea, or battered to death on the jagged rocks I’d seen from my balcony.
The sun had not yet climbed over the cliffs, so the cove was still in shadow, but the sea glittered and the white sand glowed invitingly. Will and Rob swiftly divested themselves of shoes and socks and engaged their grown-up companions in a fast-paced game of tag that somehow turned into a cricket match with driftwood wickets and Mummy fielding balls. Once the twins had burned off their excess energy—and batted three balls into the surf—they settled down with the buckets and spades and began to construct a miniature version of Dundrillin Castle. Andrew and I acted as architectural consultants, but Damian strolled away on his own, to stand at the edge of the sea.
When we finished the sand castle, Andrew headed off with the boys to search for seashells and tide pools. I waited until they’d disappeared behind a cluster of barnacle-encrusted rocks, then took a deep breath and walked over to stand beside Damian. I had a strong suspicion that my bodyguard was about to lose his temper, and I didn’t want him to lose it in front of my sons.
Damian acknowledged my arrival by pointing to a flock of small birds skimming the waves between the beach and Cieran’s Chapel.
“Puffins,” he said.
“Oh, how splendid!” I watched in delight as the flock flew in tight formation mere inches above the foaming crests. “I wish I’d brought my camera.”
“You can bring it when we walk the coastal path,” he suggested. “I’m sure we’ll see them again. They nest in the western cliffs.”
“You know a lot about Erinskil,” I observed. “Have you been here often?”
“I’ve never been here before,” he replied, “but I can read and I know how to listen. Sir Percy provided Andrew and me with detailed dossiers on Erinskil. We supplemented the dossiers by spending a few hours in the pub on the night we arrived.”
“Good thinking,” I said. “If you want to know what’s going on in a place, spend time in the local pub. Church bulletin boards are helpful, too, and a post office can be almost as helpful as the pub, especially if the postmistress is as nosey as the one in my village. She’s better than a local newspaper for—”
“Lori.” Damian interrupted the flow of nervous babble before it could become a torrent. “Is something bothering you?”
“Well . . . yes.” The moment of truth had come. “Remember last night, when I told you I’d seen a meteor? It wasn’t a meteor.”
“What was it?” Damian asked, frowning slightly.
“A light. I saw a light on Cieran’s Chapel. It came and went so quickly that I wasn’t sure I’d seen it, but I am now.” I hunched my shoulders and braced myself for a tongue-lashing. When nothing happened, I added, in a small voice, “I’m sorry, Damian. I shouldn’t have lied to you. Feel free to yell at me.”