“Kneel down, sir,” she commanded.
Tony dropped to a knee. She touched him lightly on the shoulder with his sword.
“In love’s name I dub you worthy knight. Be bold, be loyal, be fortunate. Arise, Sir Anthony Creagh, knight of the order of Cupid!”
We three had wandered away together into an alcove, else, ’tis almost needless to say, our daffing had not been so free. Now Malcolm joined us with a paper in his hand. He spoke to me, smiling yet troubled too.
“More labours, O my Theseus! More Minotaurs to slay! More labyrinths to thread!”
“And what may be these labours now?” I asked.
“Captain Donald Roy sends for you. He reports unusual activity among the clan militia and the redcoats on Skye. A brig landed men and officers there yesterday. And what for will they be coming?”
“I think the reason is very plain, Major Macleod,” said Tony blithely.
“I’m jalousing (suspecting) so mysel’. They will be for the taking of a wheen puir callants (lads) that are jinking (hiding) in the hill birken (scrub). But here iss the point that must be learned: do they ken that the Prince iss on the islands?”
Creagh sprang to his feet from the chair in which he had been lazying. “The devil’s in it! Why should Montagu go? Why not I?”