“By Christ, I am not,” she answered resolutely. “Nor any friend of theirs.”
There was a little pause, the heavy sweep of the rain without came distinctly, mournfully, and a low wind howled through the rough window.
Macdonald gazed into her eyes: she did not wince, but suddenly smiled; the color came into her cheeks.
“Ye have a wonderful face, Helen Fraser,” he said. “Are you a princess of the clan?”
“I am Lord Fraser’s daughter,” she answered, “and heiress of our family.”
“They should be proud of you,” said Macdonald. “Are you a maid or wife?”
“I am unwed,” she said, “and am ever like to be, for I do find it hard to love.”
He turned away from her and pointed to the log.
“Will you sit?” he said with a grave courtesy.
She complied at once with a deepening of her smile.