“Come nearer,” he commanded in Gaelic, “and tell me what you are doing, skulking there!”
The other advanced to the edge of the bank. “I was watching yourself, Mac ’ic Ailein,” he replied in the same tongue, and in the sulky tone of one who knows that he will be blamed.
“And why, in the name of the Good Being? Have you never seen me swim before?”
“I had it in my mind that someone might steal your clothes,” answered Lachlan MacMartin, looking aside.
“Amadain!” exclaimed the swimmer. “There is no one between the Garry and the water of Arkaig who would do such a thing, and you know it as well as I! Moreover, my clothes are on the other side, and you cannot even see them! No, the truth, or I will come out and throw you into the loch!” And, balancing his arms, he advanced until he was only waist-deep, young and broad-shouldered and glistening against the bright water and the trees of the island behind him. “Confess now, and tell me the reason in your heart!”
“If you will not be angry I will be telling you,” replied Lachlan to his chieftain Ewen Cameron, who was also his foster-brother.
“I shall make no promises. Out with it!”
“I cannot shout it to you, Mac ’ic Ailein; it would not be lucky.”
“Do you think that I am coming out to hear it before I have finished my swim?”
“I will walk in to you if you wish,” said Lachlan submissively, and began to unfasten his plaid.