The Master of Stair 14

The Master of Stair 14

There was the sound of steps without and a thundering on the door.

 

“Jock!” cried the Countess, “Jock!”

 

Breadalbane had been forced back into the window-seat; the huge figure

of Ian almost hid him from her view; Ronald looked over his shoulder at

them.

 

“Jock Campbell is doomed,” he said gravely. “Answer me—do you want him

saved?”

 

Even in that moment she was arrested by the serious passion of his face.

 

“Tell me,” he insisted.

 

“What do you think!” she cried fiercely.

 

“Yes or no?” said Ronald.

 

With a wrench the answer came from her: “God in Heaven—yes!”

 

Instantly he loosed her and swung round on the fighting men; not too

soon; the Earl had slipped by the wall and Ian was over him, forcing

the sword from his grip; but Ronald caught him by the shoulder and

dragged him back with a force that shot the dagger from his hand.

 

“Get up!” he shouted to Breadalbane; and the Earl, dizzy from the fear

of death, staggered to his feet.

 

The hall was full of Campbells, the Countess had dashed to shoot back

the bolt and Ardkinglass had rushed in with a dozen of his kin at his

heels.

 

Makian, breathing hard, glanced round and saw the day lost for him; he

had not gathered his son’s action; but Ian turned on his brother with

bitter curses.

 

“Are ye mad or traitor, Ronald, that ye give us to the hands of our

enemies?”

 

The Earl pushed past him into the center of the room and stood between

the three Macdonalds, sullenly at bay, and the silent Campbells,

waiting the signal for slaughter.

 

“Fool! fool! to come to Kilchurn Castle!” said Makian, then fell into

silence.

 

“Will ye have us hang them as thieves?” asked Ardkinglass, “or shall we

cut them down noo?”

 

Breadalbane pushed the blond hair back from his eyes, and glanced round

his tacksmen. In the little pause that followed, Ian broke into a

furious taunt: “Are ye turning tender, Jock Campbell? Dinna fear the

odds—a Macdonald is worth sax Campbells!”

 

Down from the door came the Countess Peggy into the midst of the men;

the brown fur on her bosom was unclasped and showed the tumbled lace of

her tie; her red hair had fallen into twists of fine curls onto her

shoulders; she was flushed and most beautiful.

 

“Kill them, Jock,” she said.

 

She held out her hands, red-marked, round the wrist from Ronald’s grip.

“Kill them, Jock,” she said again, and her gaze went straight and

defiant to Ronald Macdonald.

 

Breadalbane did not answer her; he spoke to Makian.

 

“Your son gave me my life, Macdonald, and you’re three against a

hundred. I hav’na’ need to crush ye by these means and I’ll no’ be

under a debt to a Macdonald. Take your lives and gang.”

 

The Countess made a fierce little sound under her breath: “Ah, no,

Jock—kill them—while ye have the chance!”

 

“He saved my life,” the Earl answered briefly, then to the Macdonalds,

“leave Kilchurn, and remember I’m no’ under a debt to ye.”

 

They came slowly forward, showing little of their surprise in their

faces; Ronald’s blue eyes were devouringly on the Countess; she drew

herself up as he passed and her hand clutched into her furs.

 

“I wouldna’ have let ye go,” she cried bitterly, but Breadalbane turned

on her:

 

“Woman, will ye no’ remember, I’m master in my ain castle?”

 

She shrank into herself, submissive under the rebuke; but a hate not to

be controlled flashed from her eyes.

 

“See them out of the castle, Ardkinglass,” commanded the Earl, “see

they gang at once. I’m no wishing to be robbed under my ain eyes.”

 

Makian, afraid for his life, swallowed the insult and without a

backward look or any salutation to the Earl, went heavily from the

hall, his sons at his heels.

 

Ardkinglass and the Campbells followed.

 

Now they were alone, the Countess Peggy turned passionately to her

husband.

 

“Ah, I thought I had died! ah, my ain love, Jock—why didna’ ye kill

them?” She caught up his hand and put her cheek to it with a little

caressing movement.

 

He frowned at her absently and put his free hand to his sword-hilt.

 

“Jock, Jock,” she cried, “ye had your chance—all the hate of these

hundred years might hae been satisfied—ye shouldna’ hae let them gang

sae easily—that—Ronald—too,” her eyes flashed as she said it, “escapes

more lightly than if he’d kissed a Hieland wench against her will—is it

for naething I am Campbell o’ Glenorchy’s wife? Ah, Jock, when ye drew

your sword I thought ye had killed him for me—not let him live

to—boast—”

 

Breadalbane turned impatiently.

 

“Ye dinna understand,” he said, “he saved my life for one thing.”

 

“Not for love o’ ye,” she interrupted fiercely, “but to win a smile

frae me—an insult and a disgrace—if ye had killed him none had kenned

he spared your life to please your wife!”

 

The Earl flushed a little at her tone, but he was lapsing into his

usual calm manner.

 

“Woman, ye dinna ken the larger issues,” he said dryly. “If I had slain

these Macdonalds how think ye it would hae sounded in Edinburgh? Sir

John wouldna’ hae thanked me for it; it would hae pleased nane but the

Jacobites that hae been glad for this handle against me.”

 

She moved a step away from him.

 

“Ah, ye hae grown too politic,” she answered. “When I wed ye, ye

wouldna’ hae done sae—Campbell o’ Glenorchy would hae fought for me nor

been dared sae tamely by these thieving Macdonalds!”

 

Breadalbane looked at her calmly. “I willna’ put myself outside the law

when I may be avenged inside the law,” he said. “In a while not three,

but all o’ the Macdonalds shall be in my power and without scandal can

I use it—dinna ye understand?”

 

“But they will take the oaths,” she answered.

 

“Not after this—they willna’,” said the Earl, grimly.

 

But the Countess Peggy was not appeased; she looked with a frown at the

fading marks on her wrist and rebellion against her lord rose within

her.

 

“I’m no’ convinced,” she said, half under her breath.

 

Breadalbane gave her a cold glance.

 

“Let a man judge o’ a man’s affairs,” he said curtly, “I’m no’ needing

your advice on matters o’ policy.”

 

He turned to leave the room, but the Countess swung round and caught

his coat.

 

“Nay, Jock,” she cried, with tears in her eyes, “dinna leave me in

anger—forgive me—’tis only that I couldna’ bear to think they should

live to—to laugh at ye.”

 

“I’m no’ angry with ye, Peggy,” smiled the Earl, “and for the

Macdonalds—dinna fear; they willna’ lang be troubling us.”

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VII

 

THE POISON OF THE KISS

 

 

The three Macdonalds trudged in silence over the flat moors beyond Loch

Awe. Behind them lay Kilchurn Castle, black against the vapors of Ben

Cruachan, the mist-soaked standard of England hanging red and gold

above it.

 

The heavy gray sky seemed to hang low enough to be touched with an

uplifted arm; there was no wind; a few flakes of snow fell slowly.

Makian walked a little ahead of his two sons, and reflected on the

absolute failure of his attempt to wring money from Jock Campbell: it