With his usual bad luck, as he stepped onto the bottom stair, Peter walked into the foyer, coming from the kitchen. He cursed under his breath in his native language. Why wasn’t Peter at church?

Peter brightened at sight of him. “Ah good, you’re back. Now we can have our talk.” He made it a command.

But Arrin was not to be swayed. “Not yet. I’m going back out.” He shoved out the front door, and to his relief, Peter didn’t call him back or follow him.

By the time he’d once more climbed the slippery slope to the top of the cliff, Collin was already there. He stood, with his back to Arrin, perilously close to the edge, tossing pebbles into the foggy expanse below. For a split-second Arrin was tempted to rush up and shove his broth...

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