“Is this true?” he said.
“Yes,” answered MacDonald, “it is true.”
The girl, her wide eyes distended with fear, clutched the arm of her lover. Even she knew this was a case for the headsman, but MacLeod, with not a quiver in his voice, called down to his followers,—
“Bring round the king’s barge, and see it is well manned. I myself will take the rudder.”
The stern face of the king relaxed as he saw this chieftain stand straighter than ever before since he had known him, ready to take on his head whatever might befall.
The girl impetuously flung herself at the king’s feet, and in her excitement forgetting the limitations of his learning, she poured forth a plea for her father in Gaelic. The king smiled as he stooped and raised the suppliant.
“My dear,” he said, “I shall never hear that language without thinking of you, and of my own discomfiture. If it were not that MacDonald stands there with that dour Highland look on his face, it is I would kneel at your feet. Your father is to come with me to Stirling, for I have said he should, and I must keep my word with myself as well as I have kept it with him. Do not draw away your hand, in spite of MacDonald’s scowls, for I have this to promise you. If you and he will accompany us to Stirling, I pledge to you the king’s word that I shall grant you whatever you ask. So you see you need have no fear for your father’s safety.” Saying this, the king, with that courtly manner which so well became him, gave the hand of the girl into that of MacDonald.
Thus it came about that the MacLeod took a voyage he had not intended, and came so unscathed from it that he long outlived the man who was the cause of his journey.