“Unbind these gentlemen, and return to them their arms.”
While the loosening of the men was rapidly being accomplished, the captain of the guard brought the chief his sword, and would have presented it to him, but the king himself rose and took the weapon in his own hand, tendering it to its owner. The chieftain accepted the sword and rested its point on the floor, then in dignified native courtesy, he doffed his broad, feathered bonnet.
“Sire,” he said, with slow deliberation, “Scotland has a king that this good blade shall ever be proud to serve.”
For three days, the MacNabs were the guests of the king in the castle, while the legal documents were being prepared. King and chieftain walked the town together, and all that Stirling had to show, MacNab beheld. The king was desirous of costuming, at his own expense, the portion of the clan that was now in his castle, whose disarray was largely due to his own soldiers, but he feared the proposal might offend the pride of Finlay the Fifth.
James’s tact, however, overcame the difficulty.
“When I visit you, MacNab, over by Loch Tay, there is one favour I must ask; I want your tailors to make for me and the men of my following, suits of kilts in the MacNab tartan.”
“Surely, surely,” replied the chief, “and a better weaving you will get nowhere in the Highlands.”
“I like the colour of it,” continued the king. “There is a royal red in it that pleases me. Now there is a good deal of red in the Stuart tartan, and I should be greatly gratified if you would permit your men to wear my colours, as my men shall wear yours. My tailors here will be proud to boast that they have made costumes for the Clan MacNab. You know what tradesmen bodies are, they’re pleased when we take a little notice of them.”
“Surely,” again replied MacNab, more dubiously, “and I shall send them the money for it when I get home.”