“Because I want you to know where your sustenance is coming from. And your freedom, if you’ll help me.”
“But why---”
“For the love of God, man, drink! I cannot untie you while I am holding this. Time enough for talk while we dig the grave..... For your comrade, Purceville. I don’t intend to kill you. Just remember I’ve a gun and sword both, and know how to use them.”
Reluctantly Stephen drank, then followed the Highlander’s every move as he untied him.
But if he had harbored any thoughts of attacking him once he was freed, the painful stiffness of his limbs dispelled them. There was nothing for it now but to play along, and keep watching for a chance..... But in spite of all he could not fully submerge a feeling of relief at being set free, and a raw animal gratitude as they moved to the kitchen, and he drank his fill of water from the urn.
With the pistol in his hand but not pointed, Michael led him next to the small, attached toolshed behind the cottage. Pointing inside it to a shovel, he instructed the Englishman to take it up, then walk ahead of him slowly to the gravesite of his clan.
“You’re not going to bury him here?” said Stephen as they reached it.
“Yes, I am. He may have been an honorable man, and he may not. But he died among us, and among us he will lie.”
“Us?”
“Master Purceville, you have a nasty habit of questioning the inevitable. We are in a place of burial, because a man is dead. I am a Scot with a pistol, and you are a Brit with a spade. There is the earth; now dig. I will ask the questions.” Muttering, but having no choice, Stephen did as he was told.