“This is fules’ talk,” said Breadalbane imperiously. “Sic sights are common in the Hielands—ye ken vera weel—the Campbells hae fed the eagles often enow—I shouldna’ hae thought that ye, Peggy, wad hae sickened at the bluid o’ the Macdonalds.”
“I dinna—but—I canna forget.”
Breadalbane’s eyes flashed.
“Nay—because the Hielands are clear o’ the thieves—we canna forget, when we see Argyllshire and Invernesshire free to the Campbells, when we can ride unarmed with nae to question us—lords o’ the Hielands. Ye say weel we canna forget.”
She warmed a little in response to his tone. “I dinna regret or repent,” she said. “Hate o’ the Macdonalds is in the bluid—it is na sorrow for them but fear—fear maybe, Jock, o’ the reckoning.”
“We shallna’ pay, Peggy—Lord Stair will answer to that.”
Lady Breadalbane was silent, only something like a sigh escaped her.
The last candle sank into darkness; only the pale light of the stars and the street lamps without illumined the room.
“And he will pay,” said Breadalbane.
She started from a reverie.