The Battle for Duncragglin by Andrew H. Vanderwal Read Free Book Online

Straith Meirn antique dealer and his son,” Annie replied. “He's been selling away our heritage to tourists piece by piece. Last year, he even managed to sell the five-hundred-year-old Kintail Bridge. The American who bought it took it away, stone by stone, to rebuild it on his property in Vermont. Can you imagine? Our bridge – a bridge built and traveled by Scots for over five hundred years – sitting in someone's garden in Vermont. That bridge belonged to Scotland – it was not his to sell!”
    “Why was he allowed to do that?”
    “When he bought rights to the land, it didn't even occur to anyone that he would sell the bridge. We tried to stop it, but he sits on the town council. They pretty much do what he wants.”
    Willie removed a well-chewed stalk from his mouth. He regarded the mangled end and flicked the stalk away. “I go to school with Grant,” he said, turning his head to spit out a leftover piece. “He's a right nutter.”
    The Farquhars stopped to watch their approach.
    “Well, well, if it isn't the McRae clan,” said Kenneth Farquhar, a tight lopsided grin on his face. His son's smile looked more openly like a sneer.
    “What brings you here, Kenneth?” Mr. McRae said evenly. “Planning to sell Duncragglin Castle?”
    “I would if I could.” Kenneth Farquhar smiled, not rising to the bait. “It's a shame to see such a splendid castle simply fall into the sea, isn't it? Far better for someone to preserve it – even if that were in a place far away. But alas, even I cannae find a buyer for the rubble that remains.”
    Mr. McRae snorted. “Better for the rubble of our ancient past to be trodden by the Scots,” he said, “than for it to be taken and preserved in some pickling jar.”
    Kenneth Farquhar gave a short condescending laugh. “Such a quaint, myopic point of view. My sales have raised tax revenues that have benefited this whole community, not to mention the jobs I've created for the townsfolk.”
    “Aye,” Mr. McRae said bitterly. “Ye pay them well to plunder the land.”
    “Plunder?” Kenneth Farquhar's eyes flashed. “Be careful of the kettle calling the pot black, Alastair. What of the poisoning of our lands from your farming?”
    “That's no true and ye know it!” Mr. McRae retorted.
    “Do I, now?” The oily smile returned. “I'm no so sure the inspectors would agree with you.”
    “I'm no afraid of your inspectors, Farquhar.”
    “My inspectors? What on earth do you mean? Ye know full well that the inspectors are in the employ of the township. Well, it has been a pleasure to speak with ye as always, Alastair, but I have better things to do. Come, Grant.”
    Grant eyed Alex's board curiously and nudged his father. “Don't artifacts found on the beach belong to the town, Father?”
    Kenneth Farquhar's eye swept disdainfully over the worn driftwood plank under Alex's arm. “Let us be charitable, son. Perhaps they need it for firewood.”
    “See you later, Dilly-Willie,” Grant called over his shoulder.

    Willie stood silently, red-faced, glaring after them.
    “What were they doing here, Dad?” Annie asked.
    “Kenneth Farquhar wouldnae be out here just to enjoy a walk with his son.” Mr. McRae ground the end of his walking stick into the sand. “Let us speak no more of them. They've darkened my mood enough already.”
    They walked along the shore in the opposite direction taken by the Farquhars. Alex traced the Farquhars' footsteps in the damp sand, but lost track of them as they approached the castle harbor.
    Alex heard a shout. Willie was gesturing for them to join him a short way up the side of the cliff. Alex scrambled up, the others not far behind.
    Willie pointed proudly to what he'd found: a small bricked-up archway recessed deep in the rocks. He thumped it hard with the side of his fist and grimaced.
    “That was stupid.” Craig laughed.
    “What do you think this is, Dad?” Annie asked.
    “It's obvious, is it no?” Mr. McRae was puffing from the