Her guide struck on the door and instantly it was opened; the Highlander turned with an abrupt gesture to the woman, standing without in the gray.
“A Saxon woman, Macdonald, with a message for you,” he said.
An old man, wrapped in a plaid, stood in the doorway, he stared from one to the other as the shepherd continued: “She met your son Ronald in the Lowlands, and he bid her come to me if ever she had need of finding him, and so she came with news of disaster to you, and I brought her thither.”
“Disaster?” echoed Makian.
Delia Featherstonehaugh stepped over the threshold. She had a glimpse of a warmly-lighted interior and a group of men playing cards; she stood silent a moment with her hand on the door-post and Makian stared at her.
Then she spoke:
“I am an emissary of the King,” she said; she laid her hand on the old Highlander’s arm and her eager eyes looked straightly up into his. “I sent you—and all the clans a warning—by your son, you remember, Macdonald?”
He nodded, the men round the fire had risen and were listening too; her voice rose, gaining in steadiness.
“I warned you to take the oaths to the government—I warned you that the Campbells were preparing a vengeance—”
Makian interrupted.