Rufus MacIan of MacDonald was squatting in the middle of the dining table now, giving Throwley a clear and close view of whatever it was he kept underneath his kilt. It seemed to have paralyzed the Lieutenant of the Tower. Which made his visitor’s next move a simple matter. "Can ye understand this ?" MacIan asked, and rammed the dirk into Throwley’s eyeball until it stopped hard against the back of his skull.