bush is interesting, but nothing at all to the purpose. You are
hinting that we two are spies, and I tell you there are no spies, and
can be no spies on this island."
"I have only your word to set against my own doubts," said the
MacLeod.
"My word and your doubts are both aside from the purpose. Your mind
has become confused. Unless you are at war with James of Scotland,
there can be spies neither in the domain you hold under his hand, nor
in the kingdom over which he rules. Are you a rebel against your king,
MacLeod of Skye?"
"That I am not," answered Allaster hastily, and with evident
discomposure.
"Very well then. You see the absurdity of an argument on espionage.
MacDonald and I have as much right on the island of Skye as you have,
because it is part of the Kingdom of Scotland, and we are loyal, if
humble subjects of his majesty."
"You are not come here then to report on the condition of Skye?"
"We came here of our own free will; the messengers of no man, and we
are to report to no man. If the king should ask me any question
regarding my visit to Skye, I would answer him, that I had met with
the utmost courtesy, except from its chief. I would say that MacLeod
of MacLeod was so ignorant regarding the usages of good society that
he received us sitting down, and never asked us to be seated, an error
in politeness which I was myself forced to amend. MacDonald, plant
yourself on that chair beside you. I will take this one."
MacDonald promptly obeyed the command, and the king seated himself,
throwing one leg over the other and leaning back in comfort.
"Now, my Lord of Skye," he said, "have you any further questions to
ask, or any additional hints to bestow upon your guests, at present in
your sullen presence upon your own invitation?"
The chieftain regarded the king in silence for a few moments, then
said without change of countenance,--
"By God! you may be a small farmer, but you are a brave man. You are
the first who has questioned the authority of the MacLeod on his own
ground. So the case being without precedent, one has to be made, and
that will require some thought. We will postpone the question until
later. I trust you will both honour me with your presence at dinner
this evening, but if you prefer it, you may sup alone in your own
apartments."
"We are sociable travellers," said the king rising, for the laird's
words had in them an inflection of dismissal, "and we will have great
pleasure in accepting seats at your table."
Then with a bow to the man who still remained in his chair, the king
and his comrade withdrew. They consulted together for a time in the
room of the former, but reached no definite decision. MacDonald urged
that they should come to an understanding with their host at once, and
learn whether they were prisoners or free men, but the king held that
Allaster should have the time for thinking over the situation which
had been practically agreed on.
"There is no hurry," he said. "Each of us is younger than Allaster and
so there is time to bide."
On being summoned to the great dining-hall that night, they found a
company awaiting dinner numbering perhaps a score, all men. A piper
was marching up and down the room making the timbers ring with his
martial music. The MacLeod stood at the head of his table, a stalwart
man whose massive head seemed sunk rather deep between his broad
shoulders, but otherwise, perhaps because his costume was cunningly
arranged, there was slight indication of the deformity with which he
was afflicted. He greeted his guests with no great show of affability,
and indicated the bench at his right hand as the seat of MacDonald.
The young Highlander hesitated to take the place of preference, and
glanced uneasily at his comrade.
"I am slightly deaf in my right ear," said the king good naturedly,
"and as I should be grieved to miss any observations you may make, I
will, with your permission, occupy the place you would bestow upon my
friend."
MacLeod looked sternly at the speaker for a moment, but seeing that
MacDonald, without protest moved speedily round to the left, he said
at last,--
"Settle it as pleases you, but I should have thought a Highland
chieftain took precedence of a Lowland huckster."
"Not a huckster exactly," explained the king with a smile. "My
patrimony of Ballengeich may be small, but such as it is, I am the
undisputed laird of it, while at best MacDonald is but the son of a
laird, so because of my deaf ear, and according to your own rules of
precedence, I think I may claim the place of honour at your right."
And as the MacLeod, with an angry growl sat down, the king and
MacDonald followed his example. The others took their places in some
haste, and with more or less of disorder. It was plain that MacLeod
preferred the silent Highlander to the more loquacious farmer of
Ballengeich, for during the meal he addressed most of his remarks to
the man on his left, although his advances were not as cordially
received as perhaps they might have been. The king showed no
resentment at this neglect, but concentrated his attention on the
business at hand.
When the eating was done with, the servants placed three large flagons
before their master and the two who sat on either side of him. These
they filled to the brim with wine.
"Gentlemen," said MacLeod, "it is a custom in this castle that our
guests, to show they are good men and true, each empty one of these
flagons at a draught, and without drawing breath. Will you then
accompany me to any toast you may care to name?"
"The wine I have already consumed at your hospitable board," said the
king, "is the best that ever ran down a thirsty man's throat; but if I
supplement it with so generous and instant an addition, I fear my legs
will refuse their service, even if my head retain sense enough to give
the command."
"That need not trouble you," said MacLeod, "for in the last hundred
years no man has insulted this vintage by leaving the hall on his own
feet. There stand your legs against the wall, Guidman of Ballengeich."
The king, glancing over his shoulder, saw standing against the wall a
row of brawny gillies, each two of whom supported a stretcher, whose
use was at once apparent.
"Very well," cried the king to his host; "give you a suitable toast,
MacLeod, and I will enter with you the rosy realms of the red wine."
MacLeod then stood up.
"I give you," he said, "the King of Scotland. May he be blest with
more wisdom than were some of his ancestors!" This he repeated in
Gaelic, and the sentiment was received uproariously, for the wine was
already making itself felt in the great hall.
If MacLeod had any design in offering this toast it did not appear on
the surface, and if he expected a hesitancy on the part of his guests
to do honour to it, he was disappointed, for each young man rose with
the rest.
"Here's to the king!" cried the one on his right, "and may he imbibe
wisdom as I imbibe wine." Then raising the flagon to his lips he
drained it dry and set it with a crash on the table again.
MacLeod and MacDonald drank more slowly, but they ultimately achieved
the same end. Then all seated themselves once more, and the drinking
continued without the useless intervention of further talk. One by one
the revellers sank under the table unnoticed by their noisy comrades,
to be quickly pounced upon by the watchful stretcher-bearers, who,
with a deftness evidently the result of much practice, placed the
helpless individual on the carrier and marched off with him. This
continuous disappearance of the fallen rapidly thinned the ranks of
the combatants struggling with the giant Bacchus.
The king had been reluctant to enter this contest, fearing the red
wine would loosen his tongue, but as the evening wore on he found all
his resolution concentrated in a determination to walk to his bed.
MacDonald proved no protection. Early in the bout his unaccustomed
head descended gently upon the table and he was promptly carried off
to rest.
At last MacLeod and the king sat alone in the hall, that looked larger
now it was so nearly empty; and James, as a test of what sense
remained to him, set himself to count the torches burning more and
more dimly in the haze of their own smoke. But he gave up the attempt
when he saw that they had increased by hundreds and thousands, and
were engaged in a wild pyrotechnic dance to the rhythm of the last
march that had been played on the pipes. He swayed over towards his
host and smote him uncertainly on the shoulder.
"MacLeod," he cried, "I challenge you to stand, and I'll wager you I
can walk further down the corridor with fewer collisions against
either wall than any man in Skye."
With difficulty the king rose to his feet, and as he did so the stool
on which he sat, because of a lurch against it, fell clattering to the
floor.
"The very benches are drunk, MacLeod, and the table sways like a ship
at sea. That stool is as insecure as a throne. Rise up if you can and
see if yours is any better."
But the MacLeod sat helpless, glaring at him from under his shaggy
eyebrows. Seeing him stationary the king laughed so heartily that he
nearly unbalanced himself, and was forced to cling for support to the
edge of the table. Then straightening himself to excessive rigidity he
muttered,--
"Good-night, MacLeod. Sit there and see the rule of your house broken
by your----" If the next word were "monarch," or "king," it was never
uttered, for as James made his uncertain way towards the door, the
expert gillies, who knew their business, came up behind him, swooped
the stretcher against his unreliant legs, and they failing instantly,
he fell backward on the stoutly woven web between the two poles. There
was a guttural laugh from MacLeod, and the prone man helplessly waving
his hands, shouted,--
"Unfair, by Saint Andrew, unfair! Curse the foe who attacks a man from
the rear."
[Illustration: "THE TWO WENT OUTSIDE AND TOOK THE ROAD BY WHICH THEY
HAD COME."]
THE KING SAILS
The young men awoke somewhat late next day with heads reasonably
clear, a very practical testimonial to the soundness of their previous
night's vintage.
"What's to be done?" asked the king.
MacDonald proposed that they should repair instantly to MacLeod and
demand of him conveyance and safe conduct to the mainland.
"We can scarcely do that," demurred the king, "until we are sure that
detention is intended. Let us put the matter at once to a practical
test, and see if we are prevented from leaving the castle. If we are,
then is the time for protest."
Acting on this suggestion, the two went outside and took the road by
which they had come. They found an agile young gillie at their heels
before they were out of sight of Dunvegan.
"Why are you following us?" asked MacDonald, in Gaelic.
"I was told to wait on your lordships," returned the man.
"We need no waiting on; turn back."
But the gillie shook his shaggy uncovered head and patiently trod in
their footsteps.
"Let us see how far he will follow," said the king as he strode on.
The gillie accompanied them for half an hour or more without making
any protest, but at last he said to MacDonald that he thought it was
time to return.
"We are going through to the coast we came from," replied MacDonald,
"and do not intend to return."
At this the gillie drew from his belt a short black tube that looked
like a practising chanter, which indeed it was, and on this he blew a
few shrill notes. Up to that moment the way had been clear, but now
there appeared over the hill in front of them a dozen armed men, who
approached carelessly as if they had merely happened to be in the
neighbourhood, or were journeying together toward the castle.
"I think it is time to go back," suggested the gillie in a dull,
uninterested voice.
"I think it is myself," replied MacDonald.
And so the futile excursion came to an end.
Once more in the castle they were confronted again by the question,
What next?
"I am certain," said the king, "that if MacLeod is attempting to hold
us, there is little use in making appeal to him, and we have small
chance of getting word to the fleet. I propose then to coerce him. He
was alone in his study yesterday, and he may be alone there now. A
sword's point at a man's throat is an irresistible argument."
"But will he keep his word if he gives it under distress?" objected
MacDonald.
"I think he will, but it is better not to put too strong a temptation
on him. If we come on him alone we will make him sign a pass for us.
Then we will gag and tie him securely, convey him, when the way is
clear, to this room, where he will be less likely to be looked for. We
will then give him the consolation that if his pass proves useless we
will return and finish the business by sending him into a less
troublesome world."
This advice was no sooner promulgated than it was acted upon. The
pair traversed the corridors unseen until they came to the door of
the study, then, slipping out their swords, they entered quickly
unannounced. The sight which confronted them was so unexpected that
each stood there with drawn sword in hand as if stricken into stone.
MacLeod was not in the room, but in his stead, beside the wall of
books, her hand upraised, taking down a small vellum-covered volume,
was the most beautiful young girl, of perhaps nineteen or twenty, that
either of them had ever looked upon. She seemed surprised at their
abrupt entrance and remained statuesquely in her position, as
motionless as they. The young woman was the first of the three to
recover her composure. Relinquishing the book to the shelf, the hand
came down to her side, and she said in most charming, liquid tones,
but in broken English,--
"You are looking for my father perhaps?"
The king, ever gallant, swept his hat from his head and bowed low, his
alertness of mind saving the situation, for he answered quickly,--
"Indeed no, my lady. We thought the room was empty, so I implore you
to pardon our intrusion. We were here yesterday, and my friend and I
have just had a dispute regarding the size of these gigantic tomes on
the lower shelf; my friend insisting that they exceeded our sword
blades in length. Pardon me madam?" and the king stepped briskly to
the largest book, laying his sword down its back as if in measurement.
"There, Jamie," he cried, "I have won the wager. I knew it was not
more than three quarters the length of my blade."
The glance of fear to which the young woman had treated them departed
from her face, and she smiled slightly at the young man's eagerness.
"I gather from your remark," he said, "that you are Miss MacLeod of
Dunvegan. May I introduce my friend, James MacDonald of Sleat. My own
name is James Stuart, and for a time we are your father's guests at
Dunvegan."
The young lady with inimitable grace bowed her queenly head to each of
them in turn. The men slipped their swords quietly back into their
scabbards.
"I give you good welcome to Dunvegan," said the girl. "I regret that
I do not speak fair the English."
"Indeed, my lady," rejoined the susceptible king, "it is the most
charming English I ever heard."
The fair stranger laughed in low and most melodious cadence, like a
distant cathedral's chime falling on the evening air.
"I am thinking you will be flattering me," she said, "but I know my
English is not good, for there are few in these parts that I can speak
to in it."
"I shall be delighted to be your teacher," replied the king with his
most courteous intonation. He knew from experience that any offer of
tutorship from him had always proved exceedingly acceptable to the
more dainty sex, and this knowledge gave him unbounded confidence
while it augmented his natural self-esteem.
"It is perhaps that you already speak the Gaelic?" suggested the young
woman.
"Alas! no madam. But I should be overjoyed to learn and there, it
may be, you will accept me in the part of pupil. You will find me a
devoted and most obedient scholar. I am in a way what you might call a
poet, and I am told on every hand that Gaelic is the proper medium for
that art."
A puzzled expression troubled the face of the girl as she endeavoured
to follow the communication addressed to her, but MacDonald sprang
somewhat eagerly to the rescue, and delivered a long harangue in her
native language. Her delight was instant, the cloud on her brow
disappearing as if by magic under the genial influence of the
accustomed converse. The king's physiognomy also underwent a change
but the transformation was not so pleasing as that which had illumined
the countenance of the girl. His majesty distinctly scowled at the
intrepid subject who had so impetuously intervened, but the pair paid
slight attention to him, conversing amiably together, much to their
mutual pleasure.
Now, it is nowhere considered polite to use a language not understood
by some one person in the party. This fact MacDonald knew perfectly
well, and he doubtless would have acted differently if he had taken
the time to think, but he had become so engrossed by the beauty of the
lady, that, for the moment, every other consideration seemed to have
fled from his mind. Miss MacLeod is to be excused because she probably
supposed a Stuart to be more or less acquainted with the language, in
spite of his former disclaimer, which it is not likely she fully
comprehended. So she talked fluently and laughed lightly, while one of
her auditors was consumed by an anger he dared not show.
The tension of the situation was changed rather than relieved, by the
silent opening of the door, and the pause of MacLeod himself on the
threshold, gazing dubiously at the group before him. The animation of
the girl fell from her the moment she beheld her father, and the young
men, turning, were confronted by the gloomy features of the chieftain.
The MacLeod closed the door softly, and, without a word, walked to his
chair beside the table. The girl, bowing slightly, with visible
restraint, quitted the room, and, as she did so, MacDonald's alertness
again proved his friend, for he tip-toed quickly to the door,
before the king, accustomed to be waited upon rather than waiting,
recollected himself; and held it open for the lady, making a gallant
sweep with his bonnet as she passed out.
When the supple young man returned to his place beside the king he
said in a whisper,--
"No sword's point play with the father of such a beauty, eh?"
To this remark his majesty made no reply, but said rather gruffly and
abruptly to his host,--
"Do you hold us prisoners in this castle, sir?"
"That will depend on the answers I get from you," replied the MacLeod
slowly. "Are you two or either of you, emissaries of the king?"
"We are not."
"Does the king know you are here?"
"Regarding the king, his knowledge or his doings, you had better
address your inquiries to him personally. We have no authority to
speak for his majesty."
"You are merely two private gentlemen, then, come all this distance to
satisfy a love of travel and a taste for scenery?"
"You have stated the case with great accuracy, sir."
"Yesterday you spoke of my lack of manners in failing to ask you to be
seated; I shall now refer to a breach of politeness on your own part.
It is customary when strangers visit a province under an acknowledged
ruler, that they should make a formal call upon the ruler before
betaking themselves to other portions of his territory. You remained
for several days in Skye without taking the trouble to inform me of
your arrival."
"Sir," replied James haughtily, "I dispute your contention entirely.
You are not the ruler of Skye."
"Who is then?"
"The King of Scotland, of course."
The MacLeod laughed in a fashion that somewhat resembled the snarl of
an angry dog.
"Of course, as you say. No one disputes that James is king of all
Scotland, and I would be the last to question his right, because I
hold my lands under charter bearing his signature, carrying the Great
Seal of the kingdom; nevertheless, the MacLeods held Skye long before
the present royal family of Scotland were heard of, and I would have
been MacLeod of MacLeod although James had never put his hand to this
parchment. Meanwhile, I take the risk of detaining you until I learn
more about you, and if the king makes objection, I shall apologise."
"You _will_ apologise," said James sternly.
"Oh, it is easily done, and fair words smooth many a difficulty. I
shall write to him if he complain, that I asked especially if you were
his men, that you denied it, and so, both for his safety and my own, I
considered it well to discover whether or not you were enemies of the
realm. If the father of MacDonald is offended I shall be pleased to
meet him either on sea or land, in anger or in friendship, and as for
you, who talk so glibly of the king, I would warn you that many things
happen in Skye that the king knows nothing of, besides the making of
strong drink."
The king made him a courtier-like bow for this long speech, and
answered lightly,--
"The cock crows blithely on his own midden. Your midden is here,
while mine is far away, therefore the contest in crowing is somewhat
uneven. Nevertheless I indulge in a final flapping of my wings and an
effort of the throat when I say that you will apologise, not by
writing at your ease in Dunvegan Castle, but on your bended knees at
Stirling."
"That's as may be," said the MacLeod indifferently, and it was quite
obvious that he remained unmoved by the threat. "Gentlemen, I have the
honour to wish you good morning."
"One moment. Are we then to consider ourselves prisoners?"
"You may consider yourselves whatever best pleases you. If you make
another attempt like the one you indulged in this morning, I shall
clap you both in the deepest dungeons I possess. Some would even go so
far as to call that imprisonment, but if each gives me his word of
honour that he will make no attempt at escape, and also that he will
not communicate with Stirling, then you are as free of my house and my
grounds as if you were the most welcome of guests. But I warn you that
if, when you pass your words, you attempt to tamper with any of my
men, I shall know of it very soon after, and then comes the dungeon."
The king hesitated and looked at his friend, but MacDonald, who had
taken no part in this conversation, seemed in an absent dream, his
eyes gazing on vacancy, or perhaps beholding a vision that entranced
him.
"What do you say, MacDonald?" enquired the king sharply.
MacDonald recovered himself with a start.
"To what?" he asked.
"To the terms proposed by our gaoler."
"I did not hear them; what are they?"
"Will you give your word not to escape?"
"Oh, willingly."
"And not to communicate with Stirling?"
"I don't care if I never see Stirling again."
The king turned to the chief.
"There is little difficulty, you see," he said, "with your fellow
Highlander. I however, am supposed to be a Lowlander, and therefore
cautious. I give you my word not to communicate with Stirling. As for
the other proviso, I amend it as follows. I shall not leave this
island without your knowledge and your company. If that is
satisfactory, I pledge my faith."
"Perfectly satisfactory," answered the MacLeod, and with that the two
young men took their departure.
Once more in the king's room, from which, earlier in the day they had
set out so confidently, MacDonald flung himself upon a bench, but the
king paced up and down the apartment. The former thought the latter
was ruminating on the conditions that had been wrung from him, but the
first words of the king proved his mistake.
"Jamie, you hardly gave me fair play, you and your Gaelic, with that
dainty offspring of so grim a sire."
"Master of Ballengeich," replied the Highlander, "a man plays for his
own hand. You should have learned the Gaelic long ago."
The king stopped abruptly in his walk.
"Why do you call me by that name?"
"Merely to show that in this ploy the royal prerogative is not brought
into play; it is already settled that when I meet the king, I am
defeated. It remains to be seen what luck plain James MacDonald has in
a contest with plain James Stuart."
"Oh, it's to be a contest then?"
"Not unless you wish it so. I am content to exchange all the fair
damsels of Stirling for this one Highland lassie."
"You'll exchange!" cried the king. "I make bold to say she is not
yours to exchange."
"I intend to make her mine."
"Ah, we'll see about that, Jamie."
"We will, Ballengeich," said MacDonald with confident precision. And
so the contest began.