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.
The horsewoman rode through and up to the great entrance, where she alighted. Before she had time to knock, four or five servants came hurrying across the courtyard to take her horse, and the door was flung wide.
She silently entered the vast stone hall, and looked about her; a couple of white hounds came running up to her; a gray-haired butler stepped forward. She asked him in Saxon:
"Is my lord here yet?"
"Nay, my lady; he is looking for your ladyship, when he found ye were missing, he returned to find ye, my lady."
"Let one go after him," she answered, "to say I am arrived—is my cousin, Colin, here?"
"Yea, my lady; and all the other gentlemen."
She flung off her damp coat and ascended the great, bare unfurnished stairs.
On the first landing she came into a glare of light that fell through an open door; servants were passing to and fro, and there was the sound of many voices.
She entered; stood in the doorway looking down the room.
It had been the dining-hall of the old castle; it was a large room with tapestry on the walls and a huge log fire burning on the hearth.
Round the black oak table a party of gentlemen were dining by the light of a hundred candles. At sight of the woman in the doorway they all rose with one exclamation:
"The Countess Peggy!"
She came down the room smiling.
"Ye did expect I had fed the eagles by now?" she asked. "Weel, I'll no be saying but I was fearfu' of it mysel'—welcome to Kilchurn, gentlemen—gude even to ye, Colin."
She held out her hand to the gentleman at the head of the table and took her place beside him, while the others reseated themselves.
"So my lord wanders on the mountains searching for me?" she said. "And ye'll no be having a great opinion of my wits for getting lost."
The green eyes glanced round; some ten men were seated there; all fair-haired, unmistakably of one race, her own, Campbells with keen faces.
"I was no greatly fearing for ye," said her cousin, Colin Campbell of Ardkinglass. "Ye will be knowing these parts vera weel, I thought ye could find your way to Kilchurn."
The Countess Peggy laughed.
"Weel, I'm blithe to be out of the mist and wet," she said. "Albeit I have gotten a great cold."
"Ye didna' come in with any of the murdering Hielandmen?" asked one of the gentlemen.
The Countess poured out some wine and drank it before she answered.
"Yea—I was put on my way by one of the Glencoe men."
A murmur ran round the table.
"Macdonald o' Glencoe!"
Lady Breadalbane's green eyes flashed: "Ay," she said. "He'd been thieving an' murdering—burning one of my lord's houses, he said. He showed me Campbells rotting on the trees and—"
She checked herself abruptly; her keen glance roved round the grim Campbell faces. "I think we've taken enough from these Macdonalds of Glencoe," she said slowly.
There was a little deadly pause; it was not easy for a Campbell to voice his feelings for a Macdonald.
It was the Countess who spoke first: "They're vera simple, these savages; I told him I was a Fraser."
"It was wise," remarked her cousin dryly. "If he had kenned ye were Breadalbane's wife, weel, ye would n a' be here noo."