“Fine, my lord, fine, and I’ll acknowledge that I’ve nae rooted objection in principle or in practice to fechtin’––that is, when it’s to serve a richt cause and there be a good chance o’ victory, to say nothing o’ profit. But a’ thing maun be fair and aboveboard, and I’m dootin’ whether that will be the case the mornin’. What I’m feared o’ is no war, but black murder.” And there was an earnestness in Grimond’s tone which arrested Dundee.
“My lord,” said Jock, in answer to the interrogation on his master’s face, “I came here to speak, if Providence gave me the chance, for aifter all that has happened, I didna consider your ear would be open to hear me. When a man has made as big a mistake as I have dune, and caused as muckle sorrow, it behooves him to walk softly, and this is pairt of his judgment that them he loves most may trust him least.
“Na, na, my lord,” for the face of Dundee was beginning again to blacken. “I’ve 274 no a word to say against her ladyship. I gather she has been doing what she can for the cause wi’ them slippery rascals o’ dragoons and their Laodicean commander, of whom I have my ain thoughts. I fear me, indeed, to say what I have found, and what I am suspecting, for ye hae reason to conclude that my head is full o’ plots, and that broodin’ ower treachery has made me daft.”
“What is it now, Jock?” in a tone between amusement and seriousness. “Ye havena found a letter from Lochiel to the Prince of Orange, offering to win the reward upon my head, or caught General MacKay, dressed in a ragged kilt, stealing about through the army? Out with it, and let us know the worst at once.”
“Ye are laughin’, Maister John, and I will not deny ye have justification. I wish to God I be as far frae the truth this time as I was last time, but there is some thin’ gaein’ on in the camp that bodes nae gude to yersel’, and through you to the cause. It was not for naethin’ I watched two of our new recruits for days, and heard a snap o’ their conversation yesterday on the march.”
“I’ll be bound, Jock, ye heard some wild talk, for I doubt our men are readier with an oath than a Psalm and a loose story than a 275 sermon. But we must just take them as they come––rough men for rough work, and desperate men for a wild adventure.”
“Gude knows, my ears are weel accustomed to the clatter of the camp, and it’s no a coarse word here or there would offend Jock Grimond. But the men I mean are of the other kind; they speak like gentlefolk, and micht, for the manner o’ them, sit wi’ her ladyship in Dudhope Castle.”
“Broken gentlemen, very likely, Jock. There have always been plenty in our ranks. Surely you are not going to make that a crime at this time of the day. If I had five hundred of that kidney behind me, I would drive MacKay––horse, foot and bits of artillery––like chaff before the wind. A gentleman makes a good trooper, and when he has nothing to lose, he’s the very devil to fight.”
“But that’s no a’ else. I wouldna have troubled you, my lord, but the two are aye the-gither, and keep in company like a pair o’ dogs poachin’. They have the look o’ men who are on their gaird, and are feared o’ bein’ caught by surprise. According to their story they had served with Livingstone’s dragoons, and had come over to us because they were for the good cause. But ain o’ Livingstone’s lads wha deserted at the same time, 276 and has naethin’ wrong wi’ him except that he belongs to Forfar and has a perpetual drouth, tells me that our twa friends were juist in and oot, no mair than a week wi’ the dragoons. My idea is that they went wi’ Livingstone to get to us. And what for––aye, what for?”
“For King James, I should say, and a bellyful of fighting,” said Dundee carelessly.