“Some day you will pay the price,” she said, “for he has the Saxons and the Southrons behind him—he is a mighty man.”
The Highlander flung up his head. “Let the Saxons try to reach Glencoe,” he said grimly. “Let Jock Campbell turn his claymores out to touch us here—there will be more blood for the eagles at Strath Tay!”
She lapsed into silence again; the rain was growing colder, changing into a fine sleet; she was numb and frozen.
“Give me rest,” she said faintly, “or I die—is there not one hut in all this barrenness?”
He looked surprised that her endurance should be exhausted already; hesitated with a desire to be rid of her encumbrance.
She put out her hand and touched him delicately on the shoulder; for the first time he saw her eyes, green and very bright, as she leaned forward.
“Ah,” she said very softly. “You would not leave me—when I am lost—or make me ride when I am like to faint—find me shelter for awhile, Macdonald!”
“I would not have left you,” he answered, “and though I know none of you, Helen Fraser, I will find you shelter.”
There was a wattled hut near by, often used as an outpost by the Macdonalds in their plundering raids; he turned toward it now; it was very little off the road to Glenorchy.
Helen Fraser looked at his great figure before her, his resolute strength, his firm face, and she gave a little inscrutable smile.