A Daughter of Raasay: A Tale of the '45. William MacLeod Raine

no compulsion about it, Kenn. If you join it is of your own free will,” said Balmerino.

      “I think not. Mr. Montagu has no option in the matter,” cried O’Sullivan. “He forfeited his right to decide for himself when he blundered in and heard our plans. Willy nilly, he must join us!”

      “And if I don’t?”

      His smile was like curdled milk. “Have you made your will, Mr. Montagu?”

      “I made it at the gaming table last night, and the Chevalier O’Sullivan was one of the legatees,” I answered like a flash.

      “Touché, Sully,” laughed Creagh. “Ecod, I like our young cockerel’s spirit.”

      “And I don’t,” returned O’Sullivan. “He shall join us, or damme——” He stopped, but his meaning was plain to be read.

      I answered dourly. “You may blow the coals, but I will not be het.”

      “Faith, you’re full of epigrams to-night, Mr. Montagu,” Anthony Creagh was good enough to say. “You’ll make a fine stage exit—granting that Sully has his way. I wouldn’t miss it for a good deal.”

      “If the house is crowded you may have my seat for nothing,” was my reply. Strange to say my spirits were rising. This was the first perilous adventure of my life, and my heart sang. Besides, I had confidence enough in Balmerino to know that he would never stand aside and let me suffer for his indiscretion if he could help it.

      The old Lord’s troubled eyes looked into mine. I think he was beginning to regret this impulsive experiment of his. He tried a new tack with me.

      “Of course there is a risk. We may not win. Perhaps you do well to think of the consequences. As you say, heads may fall because of the rising.”

      The dye flooded my cheeks.

      “You might have spared me that, my Lord. I am thinking of the blood of innocent people that must be spilled.”

      “Your joining us will neither help nor hinder that.”

      “And your not joining us will have deucedly unpleasant effects for you,” suggested O’Sullivan pleasantly.

      Lord Balmerino flung round on him angrily, his hand on sword hilt. “I think you have forgotten one thing, Mr. O’Sullivan.”

      “And that is——?”

      “That Mr. Montagu came here as my guest. If he does not care to join us he shall be free as air to depart.”

      O’Sullivan laughed hardily. “Shall he? Gadzooks! The Chevalier O’Sullivan will have a word to say with him first. He did not come as any guest of mine. What the devil! If you were not sure of him, why did you bring him?”

      Balmerino fumed, but he had no answer for that. He could only say—

      “I thought him sure to join, but I can answer for his silence with my life.”

      “ ’T will be more to the point that we do not answer for his speech with our lives,” grumbled Leath.

      The Frenchman leaned forward eagerly. “You thought heem to be at heart of us, and you were meestaken; you theenk heem sure to keep our secret, but how are we to know you are not again meestaken?”

      “Sure, that’s easy,” broke out O’Sullivan scornfully. “We’ll know when the rope is round our gullets.”

      “Oh, he won’t peach, Sully. He isn’t that kind. Stap me, you never know a gentleman when you see one,” put in Creagh carelessly.

      The young Highlander Macdonald spoke up. “Gentlemen, I’m all for making an end to this collieshangie. By your leave, Lord Balmerino, Mr. Creagh and myself will step up-stairs with this gentleman and come to some composition on the matter. Mr. Montagu saved my life last night, but I give you the word of Donald Roy Macdonald that if I am not satisfied in the end I will plant six inches of steel in his wame for him to digest, and there’s gumption for you at all events.”

      He said it as composedly as if he had been proposing a stroll down the Row with me, and I knew him to be just the man who would keep his word. The others knew it too, and presently we four found ourselves alone together in a room above.

      “Is your mind so set against joining us, Kenn? I have got myself into a pickle, and I wish you would just get me out,” Balmerino began.

      “If they had asked me civilly I dare say I should have said ‘Yes!’ an hour ago, but I’ll not be forced in.”

      “Quite right, too. You’re a broth of a boy. I wouldn’t in your place, Montagu, and I take off my hat to your spirit,” said Creagh. “Now let’s begin again.”—He went to the door and threw it open.—“The way is clear for you to leave if you want to go, but I would be most happy to have you stay with us. It’s men like you we’re looking for, and—Won’t you strike a blow for the King o’er the sea, Montagu?”

      “He is of the line of our ancient monarchs. He and his race have ruled us a thousand years,” urged Balmerino. “They have had their faults perhaps——”

      “Perhaps,” I smiled.

      “Well, and if they have,” cried Donald Roy hotly in the impetuous Highland way. “Is this a time to be remembering them? For my part, I will be forgetting their past faults and minding only their present distresses.”

      “It appears as easy for a Highlander to forget the faults of the Stuarts as it is for them to forget his services,” I told him.

      “Oh, you harp on their faults. Have you none of your own?” cried Elphinstone impatiently. “I have seen and talked with the young Prince. He is one to follow to the death. I have never met the marrow of him.”

      “I think of the thousands who will lose their lives for him.”

      “Well, and that’s a driech subject, too, but Donald Roy would a hantle rather die with claymore in hand and the whiddering steel aboot his head than be always fearing to pay the piper,” said the young Highlander blithely.

      “Your father was out for the King in the ’15,” said Balmerino gently.

      Oh, Arthur Elphinstone had the guile for all his rough ways. I was moved more than I cared to own. Many a time I had sat at my father’s knee and listened to the tale of “the ’15.” The Highland blood in me raced the quicker through my veins. All the music of the heather hills and the wimpling burns wooed me to join my kinsmen in the North. My father’s example, his brother’s blood, loyalty to the traditions of my family, my empty purse, the friendship of Balmerino and Captain Macdonald, all tugged at my will; but none of them were so potent as the light that shone in the eyes of a Highland lassie I had never met till one short hour before. I tossed aside all my scruples and took the leap.

      “Come!” I cried. “Lend yourselves to me on a mission of some danger for one night and I will pledge myself a partner in your enterprise. I can promise you that the help I ask of you may be honourably given. A fair exchange is no robbery. What say you?”

      “Gad’s life, I cry agreed. You’re cheap at the price, Mr. Montagu. I’m yours, Rip me, if you want me to help rum-pad a bishop’s coach,” exclaimed the Irishman.

      “Mr. Creagh has just taken the words out of my mouth,” cried Donald Roy. “If you’re wanting to lift a lassie or to carry the war to a foe I’ll be blithe to stand at your back. You may trust Red Donald for that whatever.”

      “You put your finger on my ambitions, Captain Macdonald. I’m wanting to do just those two things. You come to scratch so readily that I hope you have had some practice of your own,” I laughed.

      There was wine on the table and I filled the glasses.

      “If no other sword leaves scabbard mine shall,” I cried in a flame of new-born enthusiasm. “Gentlemen,