“What do you make of this, MacDonald?” said the chieftain, turning to his future son-in-law, as if already he looked to him for support and counsel.
But MacDonald shook his head, in spite of the fact that his wife who-was-to-be, stood very close to him.
“All negotiations have been carried on by my friend here, and so to him I must refer you. He is the leader of our expedition of two.”
During his brief acquaintance MacLeod had but thinly veiled his dislike of the Lowlander, who had always ventured to speak with him in a free and easy manner to which he was unaccustomed. Instead then of addressing his question to the other, he returned to his occupation of watching the ships manœuvring in the loch before him. But his air of expectancy seemed to indicate that he thought the usual glibness exhibited by the man at his right would bring forth some sort of explanation, but the king stood as silent as himself, his eyes fixed on the fleet. One by one the ships came to anchor and even an amateur in the art of naval warfare could see by the protruding guns that they were prepared for action.
MacLeod could restrain his impatience no longer, so without glancing at his visitor, he said,—
“Perhaps you, sir, can tell me the purport of all this display.”
“Assuredly,” answered the king with a trace of sternness in his tone that had hitherto been absent in his converse with his gaoler. “The fleet comes at the command of the king to take away your prisoners, if they are unharmed, or to batter down your castle if they have been molested.”
“I suppose then I should be thankful they are unharmed?”