“I will not,” she answered. “Take your hands away, Macdonald of Glencoe!”
But he held her gently against the mud walls of the hut; heedless of her shudder under his touch.
A great rowan-bush full of dull berries grew close; her scarlet dress pressed against the dripping leaves as she drew as far as she was able away from him.
“Ye shall—” he said simply. “Why not?”
She was still and quiet though she saw she was helpless.
“We are strangers,” she said quickly.
“I would not have it so,” he answered eagerly. “Through war or peace I would be a friend to thee and thine—and I would have thy kiss on it—so that there may never be feud between mine and thine—kiss me, Helen Fraser!”
She crushed further into the rowan-tree and gave one quick glance round the utter desolation.
“No!” she said. “No! I—”
But her words were stifled, for he had caught her up to him—and kissed her lightly, full on the mouth.