He had his back against the wall and was keeping Makian and his son at bay with the sweep of his long sword.
The sight drove the Countess wild: “Two to one!” she shrieked, “ye foul cowards!”
“Hold the woman back!” cried Makian; he had no scruples; what chance had they for their lives if the Campbells came? and Breadalbane was before the door. Ronald started at his father’s voice.
“Bolt the door!” cried Ian; Ronald obeyed as if he knew not what he did.
The Countess dashed forward to stop him and a second time Makian cried:
“Hold the woman, Ronald!”
This time he turned and caught her by the arm and swung her, not ungently, back. Under his uplifted arm that held her she saw the crossing swords of her husband and Makian, and Ian standing grimly by; she saw Breadalbane hopelessly overmatched and her eyes flashed to the bolted door.
“Let me go,” she said in a quick whisper, staring up into his grave troubled face. “Oh—take your hands away!”
But he held her as firmly against the castle wall as he had done against the mud hut; again her green eyes glanced in agony at her husband and she writhed in Ronald’s grip:
“They’ll kill him,” she said hoarsely.