“You hate him very deeply?” she questioned.
His frank eyes flew wide.
“He is the loathed devil of all the Campbells,” he cried, “surely you know that?”
She gave a little laugh.
“What are his qualities?” she asked. “Why do you hate him so?”
“Ask every soul in the Highlands or the Lowlands,” he answered fiercely, “and if ye find one to say a good word for Jock Campbell—then will I tell ye of his qualities.”
He came across the hut and stood towering over her.
“I do mistrust you,” he said. “I think you are over quiet.”
She drew herself a little closer against the wall, the green eyes glittered up at him.
“I think you are a Campbell,” said Macdonald, breathing hard.