"Those `men'," said Stephen with disdain, "are the King's soldiers. They know nothing of the inner machinations. The ones who do my father's dirty work---those either cruel enough to like it, or weak enough to be bullied into submission---are stationed with him in the Castle. And if Ballard should be there, I will have him arrested and put in chains. You forget that in the King's army I am still a Captain." Stephen paused. "And if you have a better plan, Highlander, I should very much like to hear it." Again Michael felt the sense of helpless inevitability that had assailed him as the women were taken from him. He railed against it, cursed it, hated himself for beginning to yield. Fate's endless trap opened yet again before him. . .to what end ? But no matter how he searched and fought, he could see no other way. This time, at least, he would force one concession. He drew out the pistol, and rested its cold muzzle against the Englishman's chest. "Purceville. Will you swear to me now, on your life, that no matter what happens to me, you will get Mary out and away from here? I mean just and only that. In the eyes of God, and on peril of your life, do you so swear?" This time there was no hesitation. "That I do most solemnly swear." "All right, then." Slowly he lowered the pistol, and handed it to Purceville. "Let's see if you've got any of your father's gift for deception." Their eyes met, though coldly, and both understood. Together they crept back from the wall, then rose and moved to the deeper shadows of a weather-worn tree, where they had left the horse. Michael himself cut a length from the coiled rope, untied the knots he had put in it for Mary's rescue, and fastened one end to the saddle. "All right," he said. "Bind my wrists, before I change my mind. And see that the knots are tight. If anyone examines them, I want it to look real." Purceville did as he asked, exactly, then remounted. All done in silence, and without once looking into his face. In silence also did he spur his mount, and lead the bound man, none too gently, down the hill and onto the road that had swallowed the women. And on to the garrison of men. Thirty-Five The Lord Purceville leaned back heavily against the cold stone wall, eyes wide with a fear that was altogether new to him. His own breathing as they reached the upper stories had become tight and irregular; and now, though nearly twenty minutes had elapsed, his chest had still not relented its angry rebellion at such use. For he was no longer young, and his body's weight had begun to overmatch the inherent strength of his limbs and heart. And this same heart, which had served him so long and so well as to be all but forgotten, now labored heavily to compensate. And while he was probably in no danger of a seizure, what he had seen in Arthur, and the long suppressed fear that his physical hardihood would one day desert him, combined to race dark imaginings through his mind.