The Runaway's Gold Read Free Page B

“I’ll be no further part of this!”
    Aunt Alice looked fearfully to Daa, who cursed and spaton the floor. But he knew not to fight John. When John made up his mind, there was no going back. “Christ, woman!” Daa shouted. “Then give it to Christopher!”
    I looked up from me chair, too stunned to move as she shoved the cloth into me chest, let out a faint gasp, and quickly backed into the corner.
    â€œUse it, lad,” Daa ordered, his flat, even voice nearly drowned out by the ewe’s bleating. “I canna hold her forever!”
    At first I didn’t understand. And then, as the bleating seemed to crescendo and Peter Peterson’s pounding grew more powerful, Daa, while still pressing down on the ewe, somehow balanced on his squatted right leg and swung the other fiercely into me calf.
    â€œSnuff her out, I say! Peterson’s watching—we canna slip her from the byre!”
    I grabbed the table to keep from toppling onto him, me flesh bruised by the blow. And then, suddenly, a deep chill began to creep up me back as it came to me what he wanted me to do.
    Me throat tightened as I limped to the ewe’s head, squatted on the icy floor, and gingerly transferred the rag into me right hand. Me shaking palm hovered inches over her soft, warm snout as I glanced back into Daa’s wretched, eager eyes, praying for a sign that I had misunderstood.
    Spit flew from his lips. “
Snuff her out, lad!
We haven’t the time!”
    At first the ewe’s eyes bulged, darting left and then right,as I attempted to seal her nose. But try as I might, I couldn’t bring meself to clamp down me palm. In moments she wrestled free of me and was bleating even louder than before.
    â€œI hear that ewe, Robertson!” Mr. Peterson’s pounding grew more powerful, the door’s iron latch bending under the strain.
    â€œI said snuff her!”
    She was a beast of the highest value—the proven producer of twins, an unharvested fleece on her hide, her breath hot and vibrant in me palm.
    â€œAre you sure?” I pleaded, Daa’s eyes boring into me, an icy-cold silence willing me on.
    I glanced quickly at John—surely he, always the guide amid me Daa’s violent storms, would tell me to stop. But as our eyes met, he winced. And then he looked away.
    And so I grabbed her snout once more, clamping me shaking fingers around her moist nostrils and delicate, bony jaw as Daa’s powerful hands held her body and struggling legs in place. Again she thrashed and twisted, fighting to push her head free, but this time I tightened me grip.
    At first I squeezed softly, and then harder and harder, me pink palm just wide enough to seal off her air and clamp her jaw closed. Her nose was wet, fast, desperate—and as she struggled against me, thrashing left and then right, her haunting brown eyes searched mine. Then, finally, her chest lay eerily still.
    I released me hand and stood, me entire body trembling, the imprint of me palm still pressed into the cloth covering hersnout. And then I slowly backed away, so stunned by what I had just done it was all I could do to take another breath.
    Beside me Daa sprang to his feet, dragging the dense, lifeless body into the back room and hoisting her with his powerful, booming arms into the box bed Catherine shared with Vic. Then he covered her with their quilt, wiped his hands on his breeks, and rolled down the sleeves of his gansey.
    â€œPeterson, is that you I hear?” he called in a slippery voice as he reached for the door. “What brings you by in this God-awful gale?”

Culswick Broch
    t wasn’t the death of the ewe that seemed strange that night. Like all Shetland lads, I had slaughtered sheep, swine, fowl, and even whales stranded helpless on the shore. But those killings had been with a purpose, kept at arm’s length by the quick stroke of a sharp blade. Fast, direct, deliberate.
    I looked first to