Part 17 (1/2)
”I risk my life to see the woman that I love,” he answered.
”My grief! Love! What will such a thing as you be knowing of love?”
The man winced. On my soul I believe that at last he was an honest lover.
His beautiful, speaking eyes looked straight into hers. His mannerisms had for the moment been sponged out. Straight from the heart he spoke.
”I have learnt, Aileen. My hunger for a sight of you has starved my folly and fed my love. Believe me, I am a changed man.”
The play and curve of her lips stung him. He flung himself desperately into his mad love-making. ”'Belle Marquise, vos beaux yeux me font mourir d'amour,'” he quoted from Moliere. ”'Tis true, Aileen; I die of love; it burns me up,” he added pa.s.sionately, hungry eyes devouring the flying colours of her cheek, the ma.s.s of rippling hair, the fresh, sweet, subtle fragrance of her presence.
”You'll have to hurry about it then, for on my soul you're due to die of tightened hemp to-morrow,” I told him, lounging forward from the door.
The girl cried out, eyes dilating, hand pressing to the heart. For the man, after the first start he did not turn a hair. The face that looked over his shoulder at me was unmoved and bereft of emotion.
”My malapropos friend Montagu again. Devil take it, you have an awkward way of playing harlequin when you're not wanted! Now to come blundering in upon a lady and her friend is-- Well, not the best of form. Better drop it before it becomes a habit,” he advised.
”'Slife, 'tis t.i.t for tat! I learnt it from you,” was my answer.
Long we looked at each other, preparing for the battle that was to come.
Save for the quick breathing of the girl no sound fell.
”Sir Robert, your audacity confounds all precedent,” I said at last.
”You flatter me, Mr. Montagu.”
”Believe me, had Major Macleod discovered you instead of me your soul had by this time been speeding h.e.l.lward.”
”Exit Flattery,” he laughed. ”The lady phrased it less vilely. Heavenward, she put it! 'Twould be interesting to know which of you is right.”
”As you say, an interesting topic of speculation, and one you're like to find the answer of shortly, presupposing that you suffer the usual fate of captured spies.”
His brows lifted in polite inquiry. ”Indeed! A spy?” he asked, indifferently.
”Why not? The favourite of the Hanoverian usurpers discovered in our midst--what other explanation will it bear?”
He smiled. ”Perhaps I have a mind to join your barelegged rebellion.”
”Afraid your services are not available, Sir Robert. Three hundred Macleod claymores bar the way, all eager to wipe out an insult to the daughter of Raasay. Faith, when they have settled their little account against you there won't be much left for the Prince.”
”Ah! Then for the sake of argument suppose we put it that I'm visiting this delightful city for my health.”
”You will find the climate not agree with you, I fear.”
”Then say for pleasure.”
”'Twill prove more exciting than amusing.”
”On my life, dear Kenn, 'tis both.”
”I have but to raise my voice and you are undone.”