“Weel?” he questioned. “Ye look ower serious, Peggy.”
She gave a great shudder as at the remembrance of something loathly.
“I have broken bread with a Macdonald,” she cried bitterly. “And—”
“Weel?” he insisted.
“And then—by force—he kissed me, Jock.”
The Earl’s hollow face flushed scarlet.
“A Macdonald o’ Glencoe kissed ye!” he cried.
“Ay,” she answered passionately. “But I dinna think he’ll live to boast of it. I left him on the mountain, shot through the ankle.”
“It should have been his heart,” said Breadalbane grimly.
“Yes, I ken, but I couldna’—’tis work for you, Jock, not for me—I just shot to prevent his following me—’tis likely he’ll die of hardship.” She rose restlessly to her feet.