“There’s no need for that, Harry,” she said, patting his shoulder. “Accidents will happen.” She picked up the bits of broken china and returned with them to the bar.
“You’re all being far too kind.” Harry glowered at his treacherous boots, then looked at me, his face brightening. “You’re not interested in birds by any chance, are you? If you are, Cassie and I could show you some really smashing nesting sites. Please say you’ll come. It’s the only way I can think to make things up to you. Oh, excuse me. . . .” He thrust a hand toward me. “Harry Peters—that’s me, the clumsy oaf—and this is my friend, Cassie Lynton.”
“Lori Shepherd,” I said. Damian was scowling mightily at me, but I ignored him, shook Harry’s hand, and gave Cassie a friendly nod. “I’ve just arrived on Erinskil, and I’d love to see the nesting sites. Where and when shall we meet?”
Young Harry looked as though I’d given him absolution. “On the coastal path, below the old monastery? Cassie and I will be there at seven tomorrow morning. It’s best to get out early, you know.”
I winced inwardly at the thought of rising with the dawn but promised Harry that Damian and I would be there at the appointed hour.
“Grand,” said Harry, beaming.
Damian intervened. “If you’ll excuse us, we really should be going.”
“What about our ride?” I asked.
“The rain’s let up,” he said. “We can walk back to the castle.”
“Gosh,” said Harry, his eyes widening. “Are you staying at the castle? How marvelous.”
“If we don’t leave now, Lori, we’ll be late for lunch,” said Damian, tapping his watch.
I said good-bye to Harry and Cassie, donned my rain jacket, and stepped out into the drizzle, with Damian breathing fire down my neck. He was radiating displeasure, but he waited until we’d reached the muddy track above the village to vent his spleen.
“For God’s sake, Lori,” he expostulated, “I expect you felt sorry for the young idiot, but it was irresponsible of you to accept his invitation. I don’t know anything about him.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I do.”
Damian stopped short. “I beg your pardon?”
I swung around to face him. “I know for a fact that Harry Peters doesn’t wear glasses, he’s not a bird-watcher, and he’s never made a clumsy move in his life. Harry Peters’s real name is Peter Harris. And he grew up next door to me.”
Ten
Damian’s brow creased angrily.
“Calm down, Damian,” I said, imitating the soothing croon he’d used on me.
“I’ll calm down,” he snapped, “when you’ve told me exactly what the boy next door is doing on Erinskil.”
“I don’t have a clue,” I admitted. “I’ve never been more surprised to see anyone in my life. I honestly don’t know why Peter’s here, and I have absolutely no idea why he’s using an assumed name, but I think he dumped the tea in my lap to keep me from blowing his cover.”
“Why is he traveling under cover?” Damian asked, his voice creaking with exasperation.
“Not a clue,” I said serenely, “but I’m sure he’ll tell me all about it tomorrow. That’s why he offered to meet me.The nesting sites were his idea, remember, and they’re not near the village. Peter wants to tell me, in private, why he’s here.”
I began slogging uphill again. My sneakers, I decided, would be unwearable by the time I got back to Dundrillin. They were good shoes, but they hadn’t been built to withstand the triple threat of sand, salt water, and mud. Damian trudged beside me, scanning the scrubby shrubs and tumbled rocks that littered the hillside. It was a pity no passing assassin appeared. My bodyguard looked as though he needed to hit something.
“Chance meetings make me nervous,” he grumbled. “I don’t believe in coincidence.”
“It’s not as coincidental as it seems,” I assured him. “Peter’s spent the past year in the Western Isles, studying seals. Maybe he had a few days off and decided to explore Erinskil.”
Damian gave a snort of incredulity. “Ah, yes, the top-secret, hush-hush seal study—that must be why he’s traveling incognito. Do you know anything about the girl?”
“Any friend of Peter’s is a friend of mine,” I said staunchly. “Stop fussing, Damian. If Peter Harris were American, he’d be the ideal Eagle Scout. I’d trust him with my life.”
“I hope you don’t have to,” Damian said grimly, and walked on in silence.
Sir Percy’s seldom-seen assistant, Elliot Southmore, met us halfway up the hill in the purple car. I took the front seat, and Damian rode in the back. The track was so narrow and the verges so slick that Elliot had to drive all the way back to the village in order to turn the car around.
“Am I late?” he asked as we bumped downhill. “I understood that I was to pick you up at the pub.”
“We decided to leave early,” said Damian.
“Tidy little place,” Elliot commented when we reached the top of Stoneywell’s main street. “The natives are none too friendly, though.”