And even though knowing full well by bitter experience all her
naughtiness and hypocrisy, Sholto, gulping his heart well down into
his throat, could not do otherwise than forgive a thing so pretty and
so full of the innocent artifices which make mown hay of the hearts of
men.

With a touch of his lips upon the hand of Margaret the Maid in token
of fealty, Sholto MacKim turned on his heel and went away towards the
fords of Thrieve, muttering to himself, "No, she does not mean it, I
do believe. But I have ever heard that of all women she who never
means it is the most dangerous."

And this is a dict which no wise man can gainsay.

CHAPTER XIII

A DAUNTING SUMMONS

Not far before them had ridden the Earl and the Lady Sybilla. Behind
these two came the Marshal de Retz and the fat Lord of Avondale. They
were telling each other tales of the wars of La Pucelle, the latter
laughing and shaking shoulders, but at the end of every side-splitting
legend the Frenchman would glance over his shoulder at Maud Lindesay
and the little maiden Margaret.

As Sholto passed them on his return he stood aside, poised at the
salute, looking meanwhile with awe on the great and notable French
soldier. Yet at the first glimpse of his unvisored face there fell
upon the young man a dislike so fierce and instinctive that he grasped
his bow and fumbled in his quiver for an arrow, in order to send it
through the unlaced joints of the Marshal's gorget, which for ease's
sake his squire had undone when they left the field.

Sholto MacKim was at the fords waiting the chance of crossing and the
pleasure of the surly keeper of the bridge, Elson A'Cormack, who sat
in his wheelhouse, grunting curses on all who passed that way.

"Foul feet, slow bellies, fushionless and slack ye are to run my
lord's errands! But quick enow to return home upon your trampling
clattering ruck of horses, and every rascal of you expecting to ride
over my bridge of good pine planking instead of washing the dirt from
your hoofs in honest Dee water."

The long files of horsemen threaded their way across the green plain
of the isle towards the open space in front of Thrieve Castle, the
points of their spears shining high in the air, and the shafts so
thick underneath that, seen from a distance, they made a network of
slender lines reticulated against the brightness of the sun.

The great island strength of the Douglases was then in its highest
state of perfection