Makian interposed:
“We will gang to the sheriff, Jock Campbell, but there was talk of siller for those taking the oaths and I’d no’ be adverse to my ain share.”
“Weel?” said Breadalbane mildly.
“We’ll no’ be asking a muckle,” said Makian generously. “King Jamie couldna’ do more for us than fine words and a siller bawbee apiece—gie us twa hundred of King Wullie’s money and we’ll be taking the oaths.”
“I take your meaning, Macdonald,” answered Breadalbane. “The twa hundred pund would just pay for the coos—well, I’ll keep it and then you’ll be still owing me the rent.”
Makian was silent, recognizing a master-stroke of cunning; Ronald had little Lowland speech and could only frown angrily; but Ian, his elder, made a step toward Breadalbane:
“We owe ye neither money nor friendship, Jock Campbell,” he cried fiercely, “we come to ye because ye stand for the government—we’ll no’ be considering what there is between us here and noo.”
Breadalbane lifted his head with a little laugh. “Keep back,” he said. “Dinna forget that I’m no’ ane of your Hieland thieves, but Campbell o’ Glenorchy and Breadalbane! Keep back, I say! Do ye ken that in Edinburgh the lifting of my finger would hang ye before the Tolbooth?”
His eyes shone with a steady contained hate, and fire flashed in Ian Macdonald’s gaze to meet it.
“Na doot ye could lee awa’ a mon’s life in Edinburgh, Jock Campbell,” he answered, “but noo we stand on our ain ground.”