Someone remained within. Any
trap set by the English, he felt sure, would be presaged by absolute
silence and stillness. But this did not rule out the possibility of an
ambush by Purceville, who had not yet made his intentions clear.
With this in mind, he dismounted several hundred yards from the house,
and wrapping the horse's reins about the branch of a sheltering tree,
advanced on foot.
Opening the back door soundlessly, he slipped inside with the pistol
cocked and ready. Nothing. Heart pounding, he advanced slowly down the
passage, toward the indirect glow of the hearth. He turned the
corner.....
Purceville sat motionless facing him, a drained goblet in his hand. He
evinced no surprise. Apparently his senses were sharper than the
Highlander guessed.
"I will do it," he said evenly. "On the condition that I am never
again left weaponless in an indefensible corner."
Michael came closer, unbuckled the dead officer's sword. He handed it
to Purceville in the English fashion, then straightened and looked him
square in the eye.
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