The Runaway's Gold Read Online Free PDF Page A

from his pocket to pay Andrew Johnson, the smithy in Skeld, for repairing the tuskhar we used to cut the peat. Then again, four months back, on the night Midder and our wee brother Michael died, when he silently paid the midwife who had failed to save them.
    Daa never trusted a soul with where it was hidden, so it was only fitting John had taken it to the broch, the one place Daa’s stiff leg kept him from venturing. John and I knew every stone of that place, every curve of every rock. And when William was still with us—dear, lovely William, who would laugh at the drop of a hat, and smile so deeply at the littlest of thingsthat his elfin cheeks raised clear to his eyes—the three of us had pretended it was our fort and we were the last mighty warriors of Shetland. The wonderfully strange picture of a tree carved on a smooth stone next to where John stood we fancied the symbol of our kingdom. Or, perhaps, a secret crest of valor. Imagine—a tree on the treeless island of Shetland! No other broch could claim such a thing as that. Some of the branches on the bottom right had been mysteriously left off, as if, we secretly guessed, its maker had been captured before completing his work.
    What I didn’t know that night was how close to the truth we were.
    Lifting the lantern as John fondled the pouch, I caught a glint in his lively hazel eyes. The eyes that locked onto yours, no matter who you were, and held you fast.
    â€œLast Tuesday I saw the crafty miser creep down from the ladder by the harnesses in the byre when he thought no one was looking. Next chance I got I stood on that same ladder and prodded among the turf above those rafters. Hah!” he shouted through the wind, his smile growing dark. “I’ll not risk me life another year at sea, belly aching with hunger, and
him
hiding a pouch of coins!”
    He turned to the scattald below.
    â€œAll that talk about us Robertsons being better than the others. Boasting of his ties to the English just because he thinks that proves his ties to royalty. Chris—have you ever wondered why you and our sisters have no friends?”
    I thought of how Jeremy Williamson had come by to see me. And Nicol Magnuson. “Not our kind,” Daa had warned. “I’ll not have the likes of those families on our croft.”
    The carving of the tree above his shoulder, John clenched his fists as he spoke, his words roaring above the moan of the gale.
    I had never seen him in such a state.
    â€œLook at us!” he said, rounding on me. “Clothes in tatters, no flesh to speak of on our bones, and him with
this
!” He shook the pouch in me face, then started to pace. “The man’s not right in his mind. You must know that! How many a Shetlander risked his neck hauling casks of gin in the dead of night for him to skim off a cut of their share? Him and his years of side deals with Marwick—we know he never gave the others what they deserved. Here, in me hand, is proof that Daa, through years of cheating, lying, and scheming, has enough to get us out! He had it all along! Do you know, Chris, how much is in here?”
    I shrugged. Not only had I never touched a coin, I hadn’t any idea what a pound or even a shilling could buy.
    â€œEnough to outfit our share of a sloop for an entire season!” John closed his fist tightly around the leather, steam coming from his mouth into the chill of the storm. “We could begin to escape the clutches of Marwick! But no—Daa thinks like all the dim-witted Shetlanders:
Better the known evil of the merchants than the unknown of breaking free
. They’ve been waiting for generations, but no one ever dares! Lor’, Chris,” he bellowed, “don’t you ever dream of being free?”
    I shuddered, watching his wild eyes and swallowing hard. Did I want to be free? Did I yearn for a life beyond the struggles of the croft? “Me belly aches, John,” I said quietly.