The Runaway's Gold (23 page)

“No,” I said, pulling her hand down, but somehow finding the courage to keep it in mine. “I don't have time.”

I glanced at her face, but in the end it was Mary who took a step closer, wrapping her arms tightly around me back, me spine tingling at her touch.

“Oh Lor', Mary, I can't let you go,” I said, surprised by her wet cheek on me shoulder.

“You have no choice!” she whispered, burying her face in me chest. “The whole island's looking for you.”

“Then I'll come back—just as soon as I can!” I awkwardly touched the edge of her hap, me fingers at her hair as the drizzle continued.

“No, Chris, you can't,” she said softly. “You've caused more trouble than anyone is likely to forget—even if you wait years to return.”

“I have a plan, Mary. I just have to get to the broch.”

“In Culswick? The one you told me about with the carving of the tree?”

“Aye.”

“But why? It's near your croft! Surely your Daa will find you.”

“There's something hidden there. At least I think there is. And it's me only chance to . . .” I stopped short, glancing at her hand, now wet with rain but still in mine.

“What?”

“Get free of Shetland.”

As I spoke I could feel her tremble.

“Come with me,” I said, pushing her back gently, touching her warm cheeks with me hands. “Will you, Mary?”

“Yes—no! Lor', Chris, we're far too young for that.” Then she reached for me shirt and helped me pull it on. “And I can't leave Midder by herself.”

“Then one day,” I pleaded. “When we've grown? I'll send word when I know I'm safe.”

“Do you ever look at the stars?” she whispered, grabbing me hand once again and pointing to the sky. “That is, on the rare occasion we Shetlanders can see them.”

I followed her gaze to the murky gray above us.

“My favorite constellation is Orion. Do you know it?”

I nodded, imagining the warrior's arms and legs sprawled above us, the three diagonal stars of his belt. “Aye, I do,” I said. “But it's not the stars I'm thinking of right now.”

“When me Daa would leave us,” she continued, “Charles and me, for a trip or journey of some sort, he'd point to Orion. Just before he left. And he'd tell us that when we missed him we were to look for the warrior, high in the sky. And that would be our connection, no matter how far apart we were. Because he'd be looking too.”

“Our connection?” I asked. And then I suddenly knew she was saying good-bye. “Please, Mary! Don't tell me I'll never see you again!”

“Chris,” she said, her voice trembling. Then she pointed to a cloth sack tucked behind the branches. “I gathered what food I could without Midder seeing, after we first heard the cannons. It should feed you for a day or so, at least.” Then she reached into her pocket and slipped a cool, round object into the palm of me hand. “Since you'll not have me to show you the way, you'll be needing this.”

It was a compass. Silver with a heavy glass face and the initials “C.C.C.” engraved on the cover.

I looked at it, stunned. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, pressing it into me hand. “You know how to use it?”

“Aye.” I looked up and smiled at her, suddenly shivering in the growing wind. “You of all people know I'm quick to get lost.”

She laughed as I slipped it into me pocket. “Well, I must say I was stunned you found your way this far.”

I touched me fingers lightly to her cheek. Then, suddenly, there was shouting in the distance.

“Go!” she said, pushing the sack into me chest and pulling me through the hedge.

“Which way?” I asked.

“Down Hillhead till it ends. Then you'll turn left until the second lane, where you'll take a right. That will take you to the road out of Lerwick. Can you remember that, Chris? Can you?”

I nodded, glancing nervously up and down Hillhead.

“If you're quick about it you'll be west of the Hill of Dale by sunrise.”

I turned to look at her one last time before releasing her hand. “I won't forget you, Mary Canfield,” I whispered. “Ever.” Then I sprinted into the night.

On the Run

was thankful for the cover of darkness as I darted through the wet, frigid air. In time the grand houses of Lerwick were behind me. And when the sun rose, I curled up behind a shrub on the Hill of Dale, high above the path Reverend Sill and I had taken, and slept. It was when I awoke at sundown that I heard voices, and from me perch I saw a group of men gathered on the path below. Among them, unmistakable, even from a distance, was Sheriff Nicolson.

“Knut Blackbeard says he's headed to America,” I heard one of the men say. “If that's true, he'll linger round Lerwick. That is, if he wants to hitch a ride.”

“Nah,” Sheriff Nicolson scoffed. “Too scared, that one. Headed straight for home, he is. I'd put money on it.”

“To Culswick?”

“Aye.”

“Then west it is. We'll spend the night at the Sinclair croft outside of Tingwall. Then set out again at first light.”

I didn't linger to hear more. With the help of Mary's compass, I stumbled through the moonlight as best I could, staying off the path until I was several miles north of Tingwall. Only then did I cut west in the direction of Culswick, knowing that, with no lantern to guide me and with the need to stay well off the path, the journey would take much longer than it had when I had traveled with Reverend Sill. Even without his heavy kishie on me shoulders, the rugged hills of heather and peat seemed endless.

As I trudged along, I tried to make sense of all that had happened. Why Malcolm had foolishly sent me ahead of him. Why John, of all people, had made it possible for me to escape. In the end John had protected me, just as he promised. And in doing so sacrificed the freedom he wanted more than anything else.

By the close of the second day I finished the last of the bread and cheese Mary had packed, and by the third was so ravenous I began to feel dizzy and weak. In desperation I scavenged the soft moss on the edge of a burn, as me Midder had taught me to do in the worst of times. But with no way to cook it, the bitter greens churned miserably in me belly and me pace slowed
considerably. I knew it was only a matter of time before Sheriff Nicolson and his men caught up with me.

It wasn't until nearly dusk on the third day that the familiar thatched roof of Knut's croft came into view. Not long afterward I made out the dim outline of me own croft house in Culswick, smoke from the fire wafting from the roof. Oh, how I longed to cross that familiar threshold! To swallow but a mouthful of Aunt Alice's broth or a piece of dried cod! But I forced meself to think of those hidden ducats. How I might use them to help save me family. To save meself. How I might use them to buy John's freedom.

As always in Shetland, the wind pulled hard across the heather and through me gansey and shirt. I waited again for dark, shivering in the shelter of an ancient byre, long since abandoned and roofless, as clouds whipped across the dim light of the moon. It being lambing season, the wee baaing sounds reverberated from all directions of the scattald. Had Daa, I wondered, had success attaching the Peterson lambs to one of our ewes as he had many times before?

The climb to Culswick Broch, which had always seemed effortless, took everything I had. When I finally dropped to me hands and knees and crawled under the lintel stone above the entrance and into its circular inner wall, I lay still for a moment, head throbbing, too weak to pull meself up.

As if in a daze, I thought of Malcolm. Gone forever—his wife and children left with no one to care for them. And of
Catherine and Victoria—soon to be cast from the croft by the likes of George Marwick because I hadn't retrieved the coins. And then a bank of clouds drifted over the moon, leaving me in darkness.

I staggered to me feet and felt across the wall for the chiseled outline of the tree. Just seven nights before, John had been there—in that very spot—in the wilds of the March gale, the promise of the new life he had dreamed of alive in his eyes.

When I felt the carving, I searched around frantically with me fingers for an opening in the wall where the ducats might be. I threw me body against the surrounding stones, then tried grasping the carving itself—left side, right, top, and bottom—but it was so perfectly wedged into the stones surrounding it that me fingernails couldn't find any leverage.

It was when the clouds finally parted from the moon that I noticed a cluster of smaller rocks driven between two larger stones to the left of the carving. I clawed at one, driving me jagged fingernails around it until it eventually pulled free. Then the stone beside it came loose, and another, until I was able to work me fingers behind one of the two larger stones and swivel it out just enough for me hand to find its way inside. What for all those years I had presumed was one four-foot-wide circular wall was actually two walls—with an open chamber between!

Removing more of the small stones, I swiveled the large one farther still, until I could reach me entire arm—up to the shoulder—into the cold, damp space between. Feeling around wildly—high and low, back and forth, I suddenly brushed
something soft, just beyond me grasp. Then I frantically clawed away more stones, widening the opening even more until, bent at the hip, I stretched me shoulders and chest inside.

It was just as I clamped both hands to the object that I felt a sharp pull at me breeks. The next thing I knew I was flying backward, landing on me back, a heavy, weathered satchel pressed into me belly.

“Guess we always knew that carving was special,” John said, looking down at me, his wide smile beaming in the moonlight.

“Solus Christus, Brother!” I cheered. I had never been so happy to see anyone in me life.

“Told you I'd get us out of there. All you and Mal needed was a chance to get upstairs.”

“But . . . but . . . Keeper Mann had his pistol!” I said, slowly sitting up.

“Soon as he noticed you and Malcolm were missing, the fool flew up those stairs like a rat to cheese. Forgot all about me and the other men, so we just opened the back door and jumped the blasted trench.”

“
All
of you?”

“Aye.” He reached out a hand and pulled me to me feet. “Gill, Buck, Rufus, Ivan—overall, I'd say it was a poor evening for Keeper Mann.”

“Shouldn't have doubted you,” I said, brushing off the sleeve of me gansey. “Lor', John. Can you forgive me?”

“You have MacPherson to blame for that. The murdering liar. Fillin' your head with stories.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Caught sight of you on the outskirts of Lerwick three nights ago. Been following you ever since. Knew if we traveled alone, Sheriff Nicolson and his men would have a harder time catching up with us. They're searching. Saw them only a few miles behind us earlier today.”

“Where can we go?”

“Oh, I have an idea or two,” he said. His eyes were wild like on the night he stole the pouch. “Now let's see those ducats.”

“Wait—how did you know?”

“Och—there's not much you miss through the thin plastered walls of Lerwick Prison.” But as he spoke, his voice turned strangely cold. “You and ol' Malcolm ought to be more careful next time when you talk of finding treasure.”

Suddenly Midder's warning of so many years ago came back to me:
Christopher, take care with your brother John. For I fear there are times when his honor is not as it should be
.

“Hand it over,” John said, reaching out as I pulled the sack tightly to me chest. Then he lunged for me as I took a diving leap into the opening of the broch wall, scrambling frantically through the wet scree, digging in with me elbows, wrenching meself forward.

“Think you can best me, Brother?” He grabbed fast to me ankles and pulled me back inside. Then he flipped me over and drove his rivlin-clad foot into the center of me gut. “You never have!”