“And you are very eager to be gone,” she finished with a faint smile.
He looked at her half-hesitatingly.
“You have been very hospitable to one not of your race,” he said slowly. “Beyond Dunblane, on the beginning of the Highlands, lives an old shepherd who knows me well—if you ever need me send to him and I shall hear.”
She lifted her head.
“I shall ask for no gratitude, Macdonald,” she said gravely and proudly. “Nor am I like to need you—I have my own kin.”
A puzzled expression crossed his face.
“Your brother is a Saxon,” he answered. “Most Saxons would have shot me where I lay.”
Delia Featherstonehaugh smiled faintly:
“My brother is a gentleman.”
“And I am a prince of the Macdonalds,” said the Highlander, “and I can bring two hundred men to serve you when you will. They would give their lives to one who had given Ronald Macdonald his.”