“Peter’s a smarty-pants,” I agreed, between huffs.
Peter was waiting for us when we finally clambered to the top of the spiky ridge. I insisted on a ten-minute break and gulped a bottle of water before following him to the ridge’s inland tip and the best view of the island I’d seen since I’d flown over it. The small lake shone like quicksilver below us, the windmill farm whirred away to our right, and the castle looked like a toy fort atop its headland far to the north.
Peter immediately made it clear that he hadn’t brought Damian and me there to enjoy the scenery. His pointing finger moved from one croft to the next, up and down the valley, as he reeled off the information he and Cassie had gathered about each of them.
One crofting family coddled a collection of rare orchids in a custom-built greenhouse. Another raised champion sheepdogs. A third made an exquisite single-malt whiskey that was available only on Erinskil. All of the croft buildings had been expanded and improved, using the finest materials, and each was extraordinarily well maintained.
When he’d finished his litany, Peter turned with a sweep of his arm toward the windmill farm.
“I’ve visited all of the islands in the Inner and Outer Hebrides,” he said, “and I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Sir Percy told us that the islanders installed the original system twenty years ago,” I said.
“It seems a curious thing to do, don’t you think?” said Peter. “Why would the islanders spend a fortune to generate power for their own use, yet invest not one penny in improving the harbor? The lake, by the way, isn’t a lake,” he added, peering downward. “It’s a man-made reservoir that supplies the islanders with fresh water.” He gave me a sidelong glance and turned to pick his way back along the ridge. “One more stop and our tour is finished.”
I looked at my watch and saw to my dismay that it was already past noon.
“Is it a long way?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as pathetic as I felt.
“Yes,” said Peter, over his shoulder, “but there’s a marvelous picnic spot at the end of it.”
The promise of lunch was the only thing that got me through the last and by far the longest leg of the tour. When we arrived at the spot Peter had in mind—a shallow cave that overlooked the village—he spread a groundsheet for us and I laid out the many delectable treats Cook had prepared. For the next hour or so, I didn’t know the meaning of the word “moderation.”
The day packs were much lighter by the time we finished. We even polished off the caviar.
Thirteen
I’ve seldom enjoyed a meal more. The fact that we were sitting down was a huge plus, but the pleasant company, the beautiful setting, the exquisite weather, and the superior quality of the food helped a lot, too. Even so, I couldn’t keep myself from casting a suspicious glance at the sky every now and then.The previous day’s deluge was still fresh in my memory. I didn’t relish the thought of being ambushed by another one.
“It’s not like that, Lori,” Peter said after I’d craned my neck a half dozen times. “The weather doesn’t follow a schedule on Erinskil. Rain comes when it will.”
“It doesn’t look as if it will anytime soon,” said Cassie, scanning the cloud-free horizon. “Our luck with the weather seems to be holding.”
While Damian and I packed away the picnic things, Cassie unpacked her maps and field guides and scattered them on the groundsheet—for verisimilitude, I assumed. When the stage was set, we sat four abreast among the thrift and quivering sea grasses at the mouth of the cave and looked down at the village. I expected Peter to ask us to raise our binoculars again, but instead he took his story out to sea.
“As you know,” he began, “Cassie and I came to Erinskil on the interisland ferry. It’s a long trip from the mainland, because the ferry stops at other islands on the way. Cassie and I had plenty of time to explore.”
“When we went down to the hold,” Cassie continued, “we discovered that shipments bound for Erinskil were packed in containers that were different from the others. We wondered why until we arrived in the harbor and watched the crane swing Erinskil’s cargo onto the jetty.”
“I asked the ferry captain about the shipping containers,” said Peter. “He told me they’d been designed and built to order by a firm in Glasgow, exclusively for Erinskil. He also mentioned that the crane is always in tip-top condition. He’d never known it to malfunction.”
“The boats inside the breakwater piqued our interest, too,” said Cassie. “There are only two fishing boats registered on Erinskil, and both belong to the Murdoch family.” She gave me a meaningful glance. “Erinskil doesn’t support itself with its fishing fleet.”