“Well, I am not denying it, Colum. And what is more, I am Angus MacOdrum, Aonghas mac Torcall mhic Odrum, and the name I am known by is Black Angus.”
“A fitting name too,” said Colum the Holy, “because of the black sin in your heart, and the black end God has in store for you.”
At that Black Angus laughed.
“Why is there laughter upon you, Man-Seal?”
“Well, it is because of the good company I’ll be having. But, now, give me the word: Are you for having seen or heard aught of a woman called Kirsteen McVurich?”
“Kirsteen—Kirsteen—that is the good name of a nun it is, and no sea-wanton!”
“Oh, a name here or a name there is soft sand. And so you cannot be for telling me where my woman is?”
“No.”
“Then a stake for your belly, and the nails through your hands, thirst on your tongue, and the corbies at your eyne!”
And, with that, Black Angus louped into the green water, and the hoarse wild laugh of him sprang into the air and fell dead against the cliff like a wind-spent mew.