With a wrench the answer came from her: “God in Heaven—yes!”
Instantly he loosed her and swung round on the fighting men; not too soon; the Earl had slipped by the wall and Ian was over him, forcing the sword from his grip; but Ronald caught him by the shoulder and dragged him back with a force that shot the dagger from his hand.
“Get up!” he shouted to Breadalbane; and the Earl, dizzy from the fear of death, staggered to his feet.
The hall was full of Campbells, the Countess had dashed to shoot back the bolt and Ardkinglass had rushed in with a dozen of his kin at his heels.
Makian, breathing hard, glanced round and saw the day lost for him; he had not gathered his son’s action; but Ian turned on his brother with bitter curses.
“Are ye mad or traitor, Ronald, that ye give us to the hands of our enemies?”
The Earl pushed past him into the center of the room and stood between the three Macdonalds, sullenly at bay, and the silent Campbells, waiting the signal for slaughter.
“Fool! fool! to come to Kilchurn Castle!” said Makian, then fell into silence.
“Will ye have us hang them as thieves?” asked Ardkinglass, “or shall we cut them down noo?”
Breadalbane pushed the blond hair back from his eyes, and glanced round his tacksmen. In the little pause that followed, Ian broke into a furious taunt: “Are ye turning tender, Jock Campbell? Dinna fear the odds—a Macdonald is worth sax Campbells!”