“They will be wishing to take the oaths,” he answered. “They’ve come to attend the conference.”
The Earl, always mindful of his dignity before his henchmen, stifled a fierce oath. “I’m no’ a sheriff,” he said. “Let them begone from my roof—see to it Ardkinglass—tell them I willna’ treat with thieves.”
“They willna’ gang,” replied Campbell of Ardkinglass, “they’ve come, they say, for their share of the bonnie English siller.”
The Earl’s control broke at that; he cried out passionately:
“The auld leeing thief! He would be asking me for the siller when he owes me more for rent and robbery than his share twice ower!”
“I think they will be coming to see ye in your public capacity,” was the answer. “They’re no’ taking heed of private feuds.”
Breadalbane stood silent; the angry color fled from his face and it took on lines of cunning; his eyes shifted under their blond brows; he stroked his chin with his delicate hand and coughed musingly; then he glanced up with a return of his perpetual smile.
“Weel,” he said, “I’ll come, Ardkinglass.” He turned and carefully locked away his papers; then preceded his kinsman down the great gaunt stairs.
The Macdonalds stood in the center of the vast dining-hall, the old chief between his two sons; all three erect with their bonnets in their hands, all huge in height and build.
The two young men were breathing hard, flushed and defiant, their eyes roving quickly from door to window; but the elder Makian’s fine old face showed a dignified, placid calm in keeping with his venerable appearance, a benevolent good-will showed in his bright blue eyes and his lips were curved to a kindly smile.