But her words were stifled, for he had caught her up to him—and kissed her lightly, full on the mouth. Like flames piercing ice a sudden passion flared from her calm; she called out something fiercely in the Lowland language that he could not understand, and wrenched away with the furious color in her face. “A Macdonald’s kiss will not harm ye!” he cried hotly, roused by her wrath. At the sight of his face she controlled herself and set her lips. “Ye have done what ye wished,” she said unsteadily. “Put something between us that I shall remember.” She was trembling; passionately clasping and unclasping her hands; he came toward her; she clutched at the reins of her horse and leaped into the saddle. She flung on her hat, her eyes shone through the floating feather and hair; she had a perfect seat in the saddle; Macdonald noticed how gloriously she sat and how her proud look became her face. “I am very glad to come with ye,” he said, his fair face flushed. “I will not leave ye, Helen Fraser, until ye find your kinsfolk.” She had one hand in the pocket of her coat. Her green eyes were on him; she suddenly spurred her horse forward. Macdonald taken by surprise, stood still a moment, then impulsively came after her. He saw her turn in the saddle with something glittering in her hand. The next second the report of a pistol rang out; a flash of fire through the rain. Ronald Macdonald cried out and fell on his side, shot through the ankle. A sweep of color came into her face as she saw his plaid prone on the heather; she thrust the smoking pistol into her holster and turned her horse’s head down the white road that led to Castle Kilchurn. CHAPTER III JOCK O’ BREADALBANE’S WIFE Loch Awe lay vast and gloomy under the gray skies; it was twilight and the sky burnt gold and purple with the last of the setting sun behind Castle Kilchurn. Though it no longer rained, great black clouds lay over the distant mountains and a thick mist hung over the placid water. The castle itself, standing huge and magnificent on the tongue of land that runs into the loch at the foot of Ben Cruachan, bore on the Gothic turrets the English standard: a symbol of the authority with which the government had invested the Earl of Breadalbane. Along the road that wound by the edges of the loch to the castle, rode a woman in a scarlet cloak. The vast expanse of cloudy sky, the huge outlines of misty mountains, the gloomy castle and the great storm-twisted fir-trees were all tinged with an air of awe and melancholy. The woman and her bright brown horse were reflected among the shadows of the broken clouds in the still water; she rode slowly with her face lifted to the flaring sky and her red hair blown back from her face. There were lights in the windows of the Castle Kilchurn, and the outer gates stood open.