Landing at a little stone pier, Kenric and Allan went up to the castle front.  Allan blew his hunting horn.  The guard ordered the drawbridge to be lowered, and the two lads entered.  They were met at the inner gates by the Lady Grace de Currie and her five young boys and girls, who accompanied them into the great drinking hall.  Then as they were taking the hospitality that was offered them, Kenric told of how the three island kings had come to Bute, and how his father and Alpin had been slain.

Much concerned was the lady of Ranza at all this —­ for she had heard but a fisherman’s account of what had befallen the house of Rothesay —­ and more than all was she grieved at the late illness of her dear friend the Lady Adela.

“So now,” said Kenric when he had modestly spoken of his kingship, “I would see your husband, for, as I hear, he has newly been to Scotland, and can tell me where I may meet King Alexander.”

“Sir Piers,” said she smiling, “went forth at sunrise with his men, and is even now upon the mountains in search of sport.  I fear he will not be back ere morning, for you know his habit of wandering for days together among the hills.  So I beg you, my lord Kenric —­ and you also, Allan —­ rest you here in our castle until Sir Piers returns.”

“Yes, Kenric, stay, and I will show you my new bow, and you shall see how well I can now aim,” said little Fergus (the same who in the aftertime fought so valiantly at Bannockburn).

“No,” said Kenric, “I cannot stay, for on the morrow I must even be back in Bute to take my seat at the assize that has been called, and I would not willingly neglect the first duty that has fallen to me.”

“Why, then,” said Allan Redmain, “let us both to the mountains, my lord.  There is no pass or crag in the north of Arran that my foot has not trod, and it will go hard if we find not Sir Piers in a few hours’ time.”

Thereupon Kenric and Allan, leaving their four men at the castle, walked round by the shore side to Glen Catacol, and through a gloomy pass that led far up into the craggy mountains, where the eagle reigned on high and the red deer ran wild and free.

Now Allan Redmain was a most venturesome youth.  He was taller by a head than Kenric, strong of limb and surefooted as a mountain goat.  Heedless of the danger into which he was taking his king, he led the way into the wildest fastnesses of Ben Bharrain, by paths that even the hunted stag might fear to tread.

In vain did they search for any sign that would bring them to Sir Piers de Currie and his band of hunters.  No sound of rallying horn, no voice of man reached their ears, but only the drumming cry of the wild grouse or the short sharp bark of the fox; and when, after much scraping of bare knees, they scaled the steep mountain’s peak and stood upon the lofty height, where the heather grew crisp and short, they sat down and let the cool wind blow against their flushed faces.  Then with keen eyes they scanned each crag and fell, searching in gully and glen, in hollow and on height.  But though they saw many herds of deer, yet of huntsmen they saw no sign.