The Master of Stair 6

The Master of Stair 6

In their hearts they all assented; they knew the Earl of Breadalbane,

ruthless and cunning even for a Campbell; of a fine ability and a power

that made him next to his cousin Argyll, the master of the Highlands;

and these kinsmen of his, a body-guard of Campbells kept always about

him, regarded him with a respect that only great cunning, great

falseness and great power could have engendered in their shrewd souls.

 

Dinner over, they rose; they had come from Edinburgh that day and were

mostly weary.

 

The Countess Peggy, whose masterful spirit they obeyed, dismissed them.

 

She was going to wait up for the Earl, she said, and needed no company.

 

It was hardly late yet; but the Campbells were never of a roistering

spirit; most of them went to bed; the Countess waited alone in the

dining-hall.

 

It was full of the mellow light of candles and the bright glow of the

fire; the arms and trophies of the chase on the tapestried walls

glittered in points of light.

 

She seated herself in a large oak chair that almost concealed her

slender figure; her buckle shoes were held out to the blaze; her fine,

thin face was outlined against the ruby head cushion; she sighed,

finding herself tired.

 

One of the boar-hounds had found its way in and lay by her side; her

long white hand hung idly down and caressed his silky ears; all her

movements were very graceful; her body as supple as her face was

unmoved and hard.

 

The heavy clock in the corner had struck ten, but she gave no sign of

impatience; her lids drooped over her brilliant eyes, though her firm,

thin mouth was unrelaxed.

 

It struck the half-hour. She looked round; the table was set, nothing

was wanting for her husband’s welcome; she lapsed into musing again.

 

Presently she started into alertness; there was a sound without; the

door opened suddenly.

 

“Jock!” she cried and sprang up.

 

A slight gentleman in a shining cuirass stood in the doorway.

 

In a second the dog was at his side and the woman half way down the

room with out-held hands to meet him.

 

“Jock!” she said again; the change in her was wonderful; she flushed

into an animated color, all hardness left her face; with sparkling eyes

and parted lips she came to him.

 

“Weel,” he smiled, “I didna’ think ye would be lost on your own

Hielands.” He stooped and kissed her; then with a sudden half-laugh to

hide the unsteadiness in his voice:

 

“Ye gave me a bitter moment, Peggy, when I found ye had missed us.”

 

“’Twas the mist!” she cried. “I dropped my whip and turned back for

it—then the mist thickened; ah, my dear, ye canna ken how lonesome I

felt alone in the wild hills.”

 

She trembled; her overwrought control leaving her at sight of him; he

led her to the table and drew her down beside him; he was more relieved

at sight of her safe in Kilchurn than he would have cared to put into

words, and it was with a sigh of relief that she looked at him; she had

had disturbing visions of the wild Macdonalds meeting the hated

Breadalbane.

 

She sank on a little stool beside him while he eat his supper, with her

green eyes, very soft now, on his face.

 

He was a man of a remarkable appearance; of a very elegant build and

upright carriage, though barely of the middle height; his face was thin

and hollow in the cheeks, his lower jaw projecting gave him a sinister

__EXPRESSION__; his nose, a high aquiline, his eyes large, light gray and

very restless; his thick brown hair of a blond so pale that it appeared

gray.

 

There was an air of great delicacy and dignity about him; he smiled

continually, but taken without the smile the face was hard and cruel.

 

When he looked at his wife, however, it entirely softened and his

unpleasant eyes flashed into a passion that redeemed them as she caught

his free hand and laid it against her cheek.

 

“’Tis the last time I lose sight of ye when we cross the Hielands,

Peggy,” he said. “Did ye meet any?”

 

“Yea,” she answered under her breath; “a Macdonald o’ Glencoe.”

 

The Earl turned in his chair with a flash of steel and gold.

 

“One of those thieves!” he cried. “What did he do?”

 

A deep color came into her face.

 

“He showed me the way,” she said. “He showed me also Campbells he’d

slain—he showed plunder from your house—he named you devil—and—”

 

“Ah, he didna’ ken ye were a Campbell?” asked Breadalbane.

 

“Why no, Jock—I told him I was a Fraser—I didna’ desire to be murdered.”

 

“Ye will have deceived him,” remarked the Earl. “Ye are a bonnie liar,

Peggy.”

 

He gave the strange compliment in all sincerity and so she took it.

 

“But ye hav’na’ heard the finish,” she said. “Jock—will ye ever forgive

me?”

 

She lifted eager glowing eyes and laid her hand on his arm.

 

Breadalbane put down his wine-glass.

 

“Weel?” he questioned. “Ye look ower serious, Peggy.”

 

She gave a great shudder as at the remembrance of something loathly.

 

“I have broken bread with a Macdonald,” she cried bitterly. “And—”

 

“Weel?” he insisted.

 

“And then—by force—he kissed me, Jock.”

 

The Earl’s hollow face flushed scarlet.

 

“A Macdonald o’ Glencoe kissed ye!” he cried.

 

“Ay,” she answered passionately. “But I dinna think he’ll live to boast

of it. I left him on the mountain, shot through the ankle.”

 

“It should have been his heart,” said Breadalbane grimly.

 

“Yes, I ken, but I couldna’—’tis work for you, Jock, not for me—I just

shot to prevent his following me—’tis likely he’ll die of hardship.”

She rose restlessly to her feet.

 

“I wish he hadna’ kissed me,” she cried. “A Macdonald o’ Glencoe!”

 

Breadalbane’s pale eyes flashed and narrowed, but he spoke quietly:

 

“The Macdonalds and I will come to issues yet, Peggy—and then—by

Heaven! I shallna’ forget this.”

 

“Ah, I ken, Jock—but I would he hadna’ kissed me.”

 

Her face flushed and trembled; the Earl set his mouth dangerously as he

marked her wrathful distress; he held his hand out to her and she very

passionately caught hold of it.

 

“We’ve taken enough from these Macdonalds,” she cried. “I saw the

plunder of a house of yours to-day—and murdered Campbells feeding the

eagles—”

 

She swung round on him with tears gathering in her eyes: “Jock, ye are

almost master in the Hielands; are ye going to leave this knot of

thieves in your midst to harry and insult ye?”

 

“Nay,” cried Breadalbane fiercely. “I’m only waiting, ye ken—ye canna

touch the Glencoe men openly—ye might as weel try to hunt the eagles

off Ben Cruachan as the Macdonalds out o’ Glencoe—but if they dinna

take the oaths—” He finished with one of his sudden smiles.

 

“Yea,” said the Countess Peggy breathlessly. “Ye’ll have the government

behind ye then, they’ll be rebels and proscribed men—ye’ll have them in

your hand, Jock. Ah, but do ye think they willna’ take the oaths?”

 

Breadalbane drew her down beside him and kissed her flushed forehead.

 

“Dinna fear, Peggy; not ane of the Hielanders will take the oaths—or if

Glengarry or Lochiel do, the Macdonalds willna’.”

 

“Ah!” she took a deep breath. “And then ye will have the law to help

ye.”

 

“I shall get letters of fire and sword from the government,” said

Breadalbane, “and clear the Hielands of the Macdonalds.”

 

There fell a little pause; the two utterly absorbed in themselves and

each other did not notice or heed the falling fire and guttering

candles or the lifting wail of the storm withou