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an anger that had never dimmed throughout the years.  "Seventeen years ago I foresaw this moment when I took MacQuarie's bairn, his son.  I wilna let any man's chattering cheat me of my rightful due!"
    Duncan Campbell had indeed stolen the MacQuarie's heir, though up to this moment Cameron had never really understood the reason for the heartless deed.  He had thought the matter put to rest.  A son for a son, that was what Duncan had said.  Had he known to what ends the Campbell would go, he would never have involved himself in the deed, never promised to keep the secret.  Had he known the devilishness of Duncan's thoughts he would have put the child back in his mother's arms.  But it was too late now to have regrets.  What was done was done.   When the proposal had been made with an offer of peace he had hoped that perhaps Lachlan MacQuarie would not accept and all would be well. If that had happened,  Duncan's thirst for vengeance would have been thwarted.  Such a hope  was shattered with the return of the messenger.  Lachlan MacQuarie had said yes.
    "Nae! Nae!" Cameron shook his shaggy-haired head, trying once more to reason Duncan's fearful obsession away.  There were more people involved in this scheme than the leader of the MacQuaries.  There was a young girl whose only offense was her clan name.  There was also a young man who looked upon his foster father with a worshipful eye, a youth whose trust was most shamefully being betrayed. Robbie. What would happen to the lad when he found out what treachery had been planned?  It could well destroy him.  "Nae!" Cameron said again.
    "Ye hae naught to say on the matter!"  Striking his palm upon the trestle table Duncan caused all the goblets to bobble about as if an earthquake had just struck the area.  "It will be done, or my name is not Duncan Campbell!"
    "And hae ye no care for the laddie?  Think ye not what it will do to him.  Poor Robbie."  Cameron had watched the boy grow up, had watched him exchange toys for a man's skill with weapons.  Robbie had become an integral part of the Campbell Clan.  He thought himself to be the child of Duncan's sister who lived far to the south.  He and the others of the clan had been told the story that Robbie had been sent to his uncle to be fostered out and raised as a possible heir since there was no man child.  Duncan had craftily weaved his tale so that not a one of the Campbells doubted the story.  No one knew the truth except Cameron.  A heavy cross to bear. Especially now.  "Poor Robbie," he repeated.  He is a good and brave lad.  "Do ye have no sympathy for him?"
    Duncan spat the answer.  "He is a MacQuarie!"  He might have said more, the quarrel might have continued well into the morning if not for the entrance of another man into the hall.  The black hair on the young man's head declared him kin to Duncan.  He was Duncan’s nephew, his dead brother's son.  Ian  was the young man's given name. 
    Tall and lean but well-muscled , he had a strength about him that was almost overpowering. Even his manner of dress proclaimed his self-esteem. He as dressed now in a breacon, a length of cloth wrapped round the waist and belted, a length of which was draped over his shoulder and pinned with a jeweled brooch; a liht-colored leine or shirt and a pouchlike sporran made from the head and skin of a badger. Unlike some of the others who often went barefooted or wore moggins , stockings without feet, his curans reached almost to his knee and were made of cowhide and held in position with thin thongs to cling to the shape of his leg.
    Duncan looked upon Ian with pride. Ian had been born at midnight the “wee sma’ ‘oors, and thus had been regarded as one who would manifest in later life some peculiar brilliance of intellect or prowess, though allied to a little wildness. As he had grown to manhood it had been proven true. His particular distinction was on the battlefield and he had done the Campbells