Damian uncrossed his legs. “You’re not as shocked as I expected you to be, Sir Percy.”
“Why should I be shocked?” Sir Percy hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat and threw out his chest. “My dear fellow, I’m the laird. Do you seriously imagine that anything takes place on this island without my knowledge?”
Grinning like a mad magician, he unhooked a thumb, flung a hand out with a flourish, and pressed a button on the Portland-stone mantelpiece. An oak panel to the left of the fireplace slid back soundlessly, and six grim-faced, tweed-jacketed men marched forth to stand like a wall in front of Damian and me. I recognized the hostile eyes of Mick Ferguson glaring down at us and gripped the blanket, confused and a little shaken.
Damian reached for his gun.
Twenty
Damian’s hand hovered perilously near his concealed holster but retreated when Sir Percy stepped forward, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth.
“Lori, Damian,” he said, flinging his arms around the shoulders of the men nearest to him, “please allow me the great pleasure of presenting to you the elders of Erinskil.You know Mick Ferguson, of course—he took you to Cieran’s Chapel. Mick, would you be so kind as to see to the drinks? I’m sure no one will refuse a wee dram on such a devil of a night.”
“Yes, sir, your lairdship,” said Mick, and he moved with alacrity toward the liquor cabinet.
“The elders are charged with the awesome responsibility of governing Erinskil,” Sir Percy explained, beaming down at me and Damian. “I hope you won’t be too put out with me when I confess that I invited them here to listen in on our riveting conversation. I thought it might contain information of interest to them.”
“They’ve been eavesdropping?” I said, scandalized.
“Such a time-saver,” said Sir Percy with unimpaired good humor. “Completely eliminates the need to rehash your side of the story.”
“What made you think that our side of the story would be of interest to these gentlemen?” asked Damian.
“With you and Peter wandering through the caverns, there was no telling what you might have discovered,” Sir Percy replied. “I summoned the elders because they have a right—indeed, a duty—to know if you stumbled upon the airtight chests.”
“I’d like to question them about those chests,” said Damian.
“No doubt you would.” Sir Percy rubbed his palms together energetically. “The first order of business, however, must be introductions. Damian has met the elders already, though he was unaware of their governmental roles at the time. I will, therefore, direct the introductions to you, Lori. From left to right, we have Cal Maconinch, harbormaster; Alasdair Murdoch, fisherman; Neil MacAllen, crofter and mill manager; George Muggoch, publican and baker; and Lachlan Ferguson, pastor.”
The men appeared to be in their sixties and seventies, though Pastor Ferguson’s flowing white hair and deeply creased face made me suspect that he was the eldest elder. George Muggoch was as round as his wife—unsurprising in a man who ran both a pub and a bakery—but the others were fit and trim. Alasdair Murdoch was broad-shouldered and burly, as befitted a man who spent his days hauling fishing nets, and Neil MacAllen had the long, lean build of a shepherd. Cal Maconinch’s auburn hair was scarcely touched by gray, which led me to believe that he was the youngest of the six. All of the men wore shirts and ties beneath exquisite tweed jackets—examples, no doubt, of the mill’s fine wares.
As they were introduced, each man touched a hand to his forehead in a brief salute, murmured a polite “How do you do?” and took a seat. Three chairs had to be carried from other parts of the library to accommodate the new arrivals, but in the end we formed a snug circle before the fire. The elders sat, wee drams in hand, gazing expectantly at Sir Percy, who lounged back in his great leather armchair, looking uncharacteristically reflective.
“Strangest thing,” he mused aloud, gazing at the ceiling. “Boring old sticks-in-the-mud like Cassie’s father are credited with brains because they never smile. I, on the other hand, have gained the reputation of being a fool simply because I enjoy life. I’ve never quite understood the equation.”
“No one here thinks you’re a fool, your lairdship,” Mick assured him.
“Lori and Damian do,” said Sir Percy, eyeing us shrewdly. “They wanted to shield me from an awful truth I was too simple-minded to perceive. I should sack you, Damian, for poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, but it wouldn’t do the least amount of good.You’re the sort of chap who won’t let go of a bone once he’s begun to worry it.” He let his gaze travel over the elders’ attentive faces. “I’m very much afraid, gentlemen, that we shall have to explain ourselves, and throw ourselves on the mercy of the court.”