Read Online Finder's Shore by Anna Mackenzie - Free Book Online Page A

my misgivings aside and settle beside Ronan, doubling the heavy groundsheet back across our damp legs, grateful, as I close my eyes, for his reassuring presence beside me.

CHAPTER 8
    A thin light wakes me, the smell that accompanies it — kelp and brine and damp, sandy earth — telling me where I am. Dawn is not far off, the sky above the hills already hazing from deep grey into pink. Ronan’s head is pillowed on his arm, his hair tangled, his mouth slightly open. He looks younger asleep.
    Moving carefully to avoid disturbing him, I crawl from beneath the sailcloth, emerging from the dunes like an animal from its burrow.
    With the light I can make out the alien shape of the cliff, the topmost section — and with it the old fishermen’s path that leads to Merryn’s farm on the headland — sheered away. There’s no way to tell whether time or Colm engineered the collapse. Even if he had no part in it, Colm must have been pleased by the results. With the tide running high up the sand, the cave mouth is unreachable. Closer, despite our efforts to disguise it, the dinghy lies like a signpost on the sand.
    I cast my eyes towards the sea-path at the far end of Skellap Bay. If I could be sure that it’s still my family who live at Leewood, I might be able to convince Ronan to leave the dinghy where it is. Checking the farmyard will take only a few minutes.
    The crust of sand crunches sweetly as I run across the bay, each step holding an echo of my childhood. Sloughing off my doubt at leaving Ronan alone, I let memories of long-ago stories and laughter, of Pa and Ty and Sophie, expand within me.
    The path is overgrown, but I can make out its curves in the stunted pattern of the sea-grass. At its crest, the familiar stop-bank comes in sight. Scrambling across it, I hurry along the ditch to where it meets the field wall. The light is strengthening with dawn’s approach. Ducking low I follow the wall to the edge of the trees. The roof of the barn is visible above the rise, but nothing mars the stillness.
    As I edge up the slope to where I can see into the yard, a sudden clatter makes me freeze. The mournful bleat of a goat reassures me. Cautiously I move on. The henhouse, the barn: beyond lies the house. I’m nearly within sight of it when the gentle snick of a latch makes me jump. A moment later there’s a rustle of breaking twigs as someone hurries through the trees.
    Quietly as I can, I trail after the sounds. Over the crest of the hill there’s a clearing where we used to pick green shoots and hunt out summer berries. There, at last, I see who I’m following. Sophie stands with her face upturned to the first rays of light that come slanting through the branches. There’s only a token resemblance to the girl, still then a child, that I left behind on Dunnett.
    I stand transfixed as she extends her arms and spins in a slow circle. Her shawl, woven in a cobweb of grey and green, billows like delicate wings from her spread arms. Her head is bare, her dark hair pulled into a braid that hangs smooth and straight down her back. As she turns to face me, my heart contracts. The years have added a fullness and promise to her prettiness: her straight nose, defined lips, fine pale skin. At fourteen — the age I was when I left Dunnett — Sophie is beautiful.
    A branch cracks beneath my foot and she abruptly stops turning. Without pausing to consider, I step into the clearing’s pale light. Emotions run fleet across her face, alarm giving way to shocked recognition before her face smoothes.
    My throat works against me. “Hello, Sophie.” The years stand like a wall between us. “You look well,” I manage at last.
    Sophie raises her chin. “What are you doing here, Ness?”
    Her coolness stings me. “I’ve missed you.” I take a step forward but Sophie doesn’t move. She seems more assured than her years. “I wanted to know how you were, and … and whether things had changed.”
    She huffs a breath. “Oh, they’ve