Rob Roy Page #2

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It'll take more than a cow to fix that.

You'll be in the Americas,|living off the fat,

so it won't worry ya.

- Have some broth, Rob.|- No, Coll. I'm for home.

God bless you, Rob.

Rob just walks in among them,|his sword still in its sheath

and says,|"Get up, you bunch of ragged-arsed..."

Hello, Rob.

"Get up, you bunch|of ragged-arsed cow thieves."

Rob up to him and says,

"Tell your crew to lay down|and I'll only cut your throat,

else I'll call my men."

And we're all there. We are ready.

Get up, boy. Come on.

Go on. Get.

I dreamed a silkie came.

And what did he do|to you, your silkie?

You wakened me|before the best of it,

but he would have|ravished me for certain.

How do you know you're awake, wife?

Mr Killearn.

I'm on my way.

Aye. Well on the way, I'd venture.

Let me be, Mr Killearn. You'll wake him.

Don't, Mr Killearn!

I'm sure the young master|has you nicely greased, does he not?

Oh, Betty, you'd hardly|feel me going in.

A wee whiff of quim in the morning,

Mr Cunningham, sir.

Just the thing to clear your head.

Mr Cunningham,|I hope I'm not disturbing you.

Of course|you're bloody well disturbing me.

Do you think I want to wake up

and find some great smelly|Scotch man staring down at me?

What are you doing here?

I came to tell you|that some local trades people

are pressing|for payment on your debt.

You woke me for that?

A thousand apologies, Mr Cunningham,

but they've also writ to His Lordship.

Damn it, man.

I but recently|earned His Lordship 200 guineas.

What are the complaints|of a few tradesmen for such services?

This country does not agree with me.

I cannot wait to be|out of the damnable place.

The sentiments of|a great many of us, sir.

Would you like me|to take away your chamber pot?

I know many a Scotsman would be|glad of this on a cold morning.

It's almost pure spirit,

and I'm no judge of a pint of pish.

Come back.

Come here!

I killed Tam Sibbald|yesterday morning.

We played ball once at Creiff market.

I remember shouting,|"Well done, Tam",

when he made a run.

And there he was,|hung on the end of my dirk like meat.

Aye.

Well, likely it was necessary.

Aye, it was.|Necessary enough to save worse.

But those tinkers|weren't all born broken men, Mary.

Some of them had kin and clan.

They made me fear|I might have come across

one of our own among them.

McGregors are not tinkers.

But a hard winter or two away,|some of us...

What's gnawing on you, Robert?

I've made up my mind|to borrow money from Montrose

to buy cattle at Creiff market|and sell at Carlisle.

How much money?

1,000.

Believe me, Mary, it will turn profit.

6 in Creiff is 12 in Carlisle.

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