“Major, are your pistols loaded?”
Wolfe said that they were.
“Then shoot me that Highland scoundrel who dares look on me so insolently.”
Major Wolfe looked at his commander very steadily and said quietly: “Sir, my commission is at the disposal of your Royal Highness, but my honour is my own. I can never consent to become a common executioner.”
The Duke purpled, and burst out with, “Bah! Pistol him, Boyd.”
“Your Highness asks what is not fitting for you to require nor for me to perform,” answered that young nobleman.
The Duke, in a fury, turned to a passing dragoon and bade him shoot the young man. Charles Fraser dragged himself to his feet by a great effort and looked at the butcher with a face of infinite scorn while the soldier was loading his piece.
“Your Highness,” began Wolfe, about to remonstrate.
“Sir, I command you to be silent,” screamed the Duke.
The trooper presented his piece at the Fraser, whose steady eyes never left the face of Cumberland.