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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.

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