"There has been some quarrel," said Dovenald the bard. "Heard you aught
of a dispute between them, young man?"

"Methinks there is little need to seek for a cause of quarrel," said
Kenric. "Roderic of Gigha is even now meditating how he can make himself
the lord over Bute. No farther shall he go, for he cannot now escape the
penalty that is his due."

"And what penalty is that?" asked the Lady Adela.

Kenric turned to Dovenald for reply, knowing well that Dovenald was
better learned than any other man in the breast laws of that land.

"My lady," said Dovenald, "he must be judged and punished for his crime
as the wise men of Bute shall direct. Justice will be done. Fear not for
that."

"Justice?" cried she. "I know well what justice means with your wise
men. It is not the worthless fine of a few score of cattle that would
repay me for the loss of my dear husband. No, no. A life for a life.
Earl Roderic has cruelly slain our good and noble lord, and now I demand
a speedy vengeance."

She flung herself on her knees before her son Alpin.

"Oh, my sweet son," she cried, clasping his two hands, "I charge you
upon my blessing, and upon the high nobility you inherit, to be revenged
upon this traitor for his crime;" and thereupon she took up the
bloodstained weapon and forced it into her son's hand.