scalp dangles at the belt of the most bewitching little charmer in Christendom.”
“Her name?”
“Mistress Antoinette Westerleigh, London’s reigning toast.”
Aileen clapped her hands in approving glee.
“And did you ever tell her?”
“A score of times. Faith, ’twas my rule to propose every second time I saw her and once in between.”
“And she——?”
“Laughed at me; played shill-I-shall-I with my devotion; vowed she would not marry me till I had been killed in the wars to prove I was a hero; smiled on me one minute and scorned me the next.”
“And you love her still?”
“The sun rises in ’Toinette’s eyes; when she frowns the day is vile.”
“Despite her whims and arrogances?”
“Sure for me my queen can do no wrong. ’Tis her right to laugh and mock at me so only she enjoy it.”
Aileen stole one shy, quick, furtive look at me. It seemed to question whether her lover was such a pattern of meek obedience.
“And you never falter? There iss no other woman for you?”
“Saving your presence, there is no other woman in the world?”
Her eyes glistened.
“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?”
“Because you can’t talk the Gaelic, Creagh. You’re barred,” I told him triumphantly.
“Would you be sending our guest on such an errand of danger, Malcolm?” asked Aileen in a low voice.
“Not I, but Fegs! I will never say the word to hinder if he volunteers. ’Tis in the service of the Prince. The rest of us are kent (known) men and canna gang.”
Grouped behind Malcolm were now gathered the Prince, Raasay, and Miss Flora. To me as a focus came all eyes. I got to my feet in merry humour.
“Ma foi! Ulysses as a wanderer is not to be compared with me. When do I set out, Major?”
“At skreigh-o’-day (daybreak). And the sooner you seek your sleep the better. Best say good-night to the lassies, for you’ll need be wide awake the morn twa-three hours ere sun-up. Don’t let the redcoats wile (lure) you into any of their traps, lad. You maunna lose your head or——”
“——Or I’ll lose my head,” I answered, drolling. “I take you, Major; but, my word for it, I have not, played hide-and-go-seek six months among your Highland lochs and bens to dance on air at the last.”
The Prince drew me aside. “This will not be forgotten when our day of power comes, Montagu. I expected no less of your father’s son.” Then he added with a smile: “And when Ulysses rests safe from his wanderings at last I trust he will find his Penelope waiting for him with a true heart.”
Without more ado I bade Miss Macdonald and Aileen good-bye, but as I left the room I cast a last look back over my shoulder and methought that the lissome figure of my love yearned forward toward me tenderly and graciously.
Chapter XII
Volney Pays a Debt
There are some to whom strange changes never come. They pursue the even tenor of their way in humdrum monotony, content to tread the broad safe path of routine. For them the fascination of the mountain peaks of giddy chance has no allurement, the swift turbulent waters of intrigue no charm. There are others with whom Dame Fortune plays many an exciting game, and to these adventure becomes as the very breath of life. To such every hazard of new fortune is a diversion to be eagerly sought.
Something of this elation seized me—for I am of this latter class—as Murdoch and his gillies rowed me across the sound to Skye in the darkness of the early morning. It was a drab dawn as ever I have seen, and every tug at the oars shot me nearer to the red bloodhounds who were debouched over the island. What then? Was I not two years and twenty, and did I not venture for the life of a king’s son? To-day I staked my head on luck and skill; to-morrow—but let the future care for her own.
In a grove of beeches about half a mile from Portree we landed, and Murdoch gave the call of the whaup to signal Donald Roy. From a clump of whins in the gorse the whistle echoed back to us, and presently Captain Macdonald came swinging down to the shore. It appeared that another boatload of soldiers had been landed during the night, a squad of clan militia under the command of a Lieutenant Campbell. We could but guess that this portended some knowledge as to the general whereabouts of the Prince, and ’twas my mission to learn the extent and reliability of that knowledge if I could. That there was some danger in the attempt I knew, but it had been minimized by the philibeg and hose, the Glengarry bonnet and Macleod plaid which I had donned at the instance of Malcolm.
I have spoken of chance. The first stroke of it fell as I strode along the highway to Portree. At a crossroad intersection I chanced on a fellow trudging the same way as myself. He was one of your furtive-faced fellows, with narrow slits of eyes and an acquired habit of skellying sidewise at one out of them. Cunning he was beyond doubt, and from the dour look of him one to bear malice. His trews were like Joseph’s coat for the colour of the many patches, but I made them out to have been originally of the Campbell plaid.
“A fine day, my man,” says I with vast irony.
“Wha’s finding faut wi’ the day?” he answers glumly.
“You’ll be from across the mountains on the mainland by the tongue of you,” I ventured.
“Gin you ken that there’ll be nae use telling you.”
“A Campbell, I take it.”
He turned his black-a-vised face on me, scowling.
“Or perhaps you’re on the other side of the hedge—implicated in this barelegged rebellion, I dare say.”
Under my smiling, watchful eye he began to grow restless. His hand crept to his breast, and I heard the crackle of papers.
“Deil hae’t, what’s it to you?” he growled.
“To me? Oh, nothing at all. Merely a friendly interest. On the whole I think my first guess right. I wouldn’t wonder but you’re carrying dispatches from Lieutenant Campbell.”