Argyll put his letter back in his pocket.
“They must not take the oaths,” he said peevishly. “If they do it must be suppressed—surely with the aid o’ the Master o’ Stair we can do that?”
“I dinna believe they will take them,” answered the Countess. “They hate us too much and they think themselves ower safe in Glencoe.”
“’Tis a fearfu’ place to enter,” said her cousin.
“But no’ impossible ye ken—ye see—they could send the soldiers from Fort William—and I one side and Breadalbane the other—they would be in a trap.”
He looked thoughtfully into the fire and fondled the arm of his chair with restless thin fingers.
“There is ane person we have no’ considered,” he remarked, “the King.”
“William o’ Orange?” she questioned.
“Yes—ye ken he is no’ a puppet King and has a fearfu’ habit o’ looking into his affairs himself—I’m no sure of his gude-will to our scheme.”
She lifted her delicate shoulders scornfully.