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Chapter 22
Ilaylookingupinthefaceofthemanthatheldme;andImindhisfacewasblackwiththesun,andhiseyesverylight,butIwasnotafraidofhim.IheardAlanandanotherwhisperingintheGaelic;andwhattheysaidwasallonetome.
Thenthedirkswereputup,ourweaponsweretakenaway,andweweresetfacetoface,sittingintheheather.
“TheyareCluny’smen,”saidAlan.“Wecouldnaehavefallenbetter.We’rejusttobideherewiththese,whicharehisout-sentries,tilltheycangetwordtothechiefofmyarrival.”
NowClunyMacpherson,thechiefoftheclanVourich,hadbeenoneoftheleadersofthegreatrebellionsixyearsbefore;therewasapriceonhislife;andIhadsupposedhimlongagoinFrance,withtherestoftheheadsofthatdesperateparty.EventiredasIwas,thesurpriseofwhatIheardhalfwakenedme.
“What,”Icried,“isClunystillhere?”
“Ay,isheso!”saidAlan.“Stillinhisowncountryandkeptbyhisownclan.KingGeorgecandonomore.”
IthinkIwouldhaveaskedfarther,butAlangavemetheput-off.“Iamratherwearied,”hesaid,“andIwouldlikefinetogetasleep.”Andwithoutmorewords,herolledonhisfaceinadeepheatherbush,andseemedtosleepatonce.
Therewasnosuchthingpossibleforme.
