The Legend of Lady MacLaoch (13 page)

“Who will be there?” I asked, thinking about my research once again.

“Members of the MacLaoch clan from all over the world. Some have spent a good lot of their spare time researching family documents and clan history. They will want tae hear of your research—as well ye might learn something from them—even on Minary,” he said, knowing exactly what I had been thinking.

I nodded in response and looked down at the invitation. I realized that it had been signed R. MacLaoch.

“Who else are you inviting?” I asked.

He thought about it for a moment. “We’ve invited all the clan members and some others, but I expect only two hundred will come.”

“That’s quite a few people, but not what I was asking. Who else have you personally invited? I’m assuming we’ll be grouped together, sit at the same table or something.”

MacLaoch watched the amber liquid in his glass as he slowly turned it back and forth. It slid like oil around the inside, making wide legs that slithered back down to pool at the base.

“No one. And it’s a yes or no question, Ms. Baker—yes, ye will attend, or no, ye will not.” His gaze traveled from his glass to meet my eyes.

While his look was fierce and unwavering, I could feel how guarded he was. This was a man who did not trust easily and in general seemed to be a lone wolf, yet here I was, with a personal invitation to attend an event that only happened once every four years. And if I wasn’t mistaken, he was asking me to be his date, and feared my answer.

The thought of being his date after all that had just transpired between us hit me strangely and I had the undeniable urge to laugh.

I couldn’t help but ask directly, “Are you asking me to be your date?”

“Ms. Baker, yes or no. And why do ye have a look as if ye are to burst out laughing?” he asked, his expression darkening.

“Honestly? You have to be kidding me. After all that just happened, you are asking me to be your date?”

It seemed from his look that it was this moment that he had been dreading. “Yes.”

I just kept looking at him, calmness restored, my mood sobered by his honesty. He wanted me to go with him.

“Is this so that you can keep an eye on me? The whole ‘keep your friends close but your enemies closer’ thing?”

“Ms. Baker,” he said, standing and closing the distance between us. “Is this something ye are interested in? Do you want to go?” he asked softly.

I looked back down at the invite—ignoring the closeness of his body—the scrolled writing, the elegant invite, his personal signature on the bottom all said I’d never get a chance like this again.

“Yeah, I do, I’m just trying to figure out if I should be on my guard waiting for you to push me off a cliff.”

MacLaoch grinned, and it lit up his face with an emotion I was sure was rare for him. I felt an odd, lovely sensation in the pit of my stomach.

“I promise no’ to do tha’ until after the final gala,” he said softly.

CHAPTER 18

W
e moved the conversation back to the comfort of the plush leather chairs, discussing the details for the next week. He would pick me up at seven in the evening on Monday, unless I wanted to attend the clan meeting prior—to which I said no. I liked him, but not enough to pledge my soul to the clan; he conceded that this was fair. I learned that there would be a hunt, lawn games, and other happenings, and if I was interested, he could get me a sign-up list. Everything was costume optional, and not being one to reenact or play make-believe on such a grand scale, I declined the offer—though the hunt sounded interesting, even if it was labeled a male-only activity.

The afternoon faded outside the windows. Through the discussion, one thing kept bugging me. I decided, after a long pause, that I had to clarify at least one part of our brief history together.

“There is one thing that I’m not sure I understand—and it doesn’t have to do with the Gathering next week,” I plunged in. “Why did you really offer me that money? Were you serious?”

“Aye, tha’,” he said. He considered his response for a while, then answered, “I’ll repeat what I said earlier, it was no’ a payoff. The fact tha’ ye dinnae take it tells me something of ye. Ye are a prideful woman, Ms. Baker, and I’ll no’ fault ye for it.” He said it seriously, as if he were commending me.

“Why that amount? That cannot be a coincidence—it is the same amount as my, well, of what I owe to various places.”

MacLaoch raised is eyebrows at me. “Ms. Baker, I assure ye it isnae based on anything other than what I assumed ye paid for your plane ticket here, the cost of your rented car, and how much your stay with Will and Carol is costing ye. No more than tha’.”

I looked at him with my own questioning brow lift. “You obviously pay too much for things—it didn’t cost me nearly that much. Do you do that for everyone Kelly manhandles?”

“Ms. Baker, as I have said before, if someone raises an issue with one of my clansmen, I rise to meet it. I dinnae hand out money to everyone who has a complaint, but would I do it for a woman whose ancestor is Iain Eliphlet Minory? The descendant of the man my ancestor loved? Who cursed me—and all the chieftains before me—because of what we’d done tae him? Oh aye, I’d do everything I could to make sure she’s happy.”

CHAPTER 19

M
acLaoch smiled, a little curve at one corner of his mouth, and stood. “We still have some light left, Ms. Baker—will ye permit me to show ye the castle gardens?”

I looked out the window then back to him. “Ah, yes. That’d be nice,” I said, feeling the formality of his request.

I followed the MacLaoch chieftain, who still carried his whisky in one hand, out to the many gardens that took up the rear of the estate. Lush forestland blended into the symmetry of the gardens, the distinction between them made soft and subtle in the profusion of flowers and the rigid structure of bordering hedges. We entered the first garden by walking along a low stone bridge over a narrow river.

The river reminded me of the placard that I’d read the day I’d met him. “Where is the river that Lady MacLaoch supposedly filled with her tears of joy?” I asked.

MacLaoch smirked, pointing down with his whisky hand. “This one.” He leaned against the railing.

“All this water from one person, huh?” I asked, my sarcasm meeting his smirk.

“Aye, well, it was carved by her tears but is fed now by the rains.”

“Yes, but I think the question is not how it was formed but rather by what kind of tears.”

“And what are your thoughts on it?” he asked and took a small sip of whisky, watching me closely.

I was quiet for a moment. Had he been anyone else, I would have simply let him know the plaque was full of bull. But instead I employed my manners. “Well, for starters, I’m curious to know who wrote the story on that plaque you display here, in your home.”

MacLaoch watched me for a moment longer and then said, “No, I think ye should tell me yer opinion first. I can see tha’ ye think one thing yet ye say something else. I’d prefer ye to be frank.”

“I appreciate that, but I was raised to act like a lady, and what I was going to say was not very ladylike.” I added, looking down at the running water below us, “My mother would drop in a dead faint if she heard me say that. So, who were they?”

“But your mother is no’ here,” he said encouragingly.

“And yet, I will not give in.” I said, leaning on the rail as well.

“Would ye believe it was just a bunch of little old ladies who made tha’ plaque?”

I laughed out loud. “No, I wouldn’t. It seems to have too much of an ulterior motive for it to be from innocent little old ladies.”

“Och, come now. I dinnae say they were innocent.”

“You’re serious? They were little old ladies? Who was feeding them the information? Because someone must have.”

“Ye dinnae believe the story? It’s from little old ladies, though, who would ne’er lie.”

“You,” I said and shook my head, “are trying to goad me into saying what I almost said earlier. Which was, I don’t believe that the plaque was made with the full truth in mind. Rather, it was made to make the MacLaochs look good.”

“Och, ye pain me,” MacLaoch said, lifting his free hand to his chest
in mock consternation. “Created to make us look good? As the laird of the MacLaochs, I’m deeply offended by your words, Ms. Baker. How could ye?”

“Ha ha,” I said, looking over at him. “You should be offended. Mock me, but those tears Lady MacLaoch cried were in joy? Right, and my name is Queen Elizabeth.”

“All right, your majesty, and why would they not be? She was extremely grateful her family came to her rescue. Joyous even.”

“Keep it up,” I said, “and I’ll have to put on my muck boots.”

I came to the first of the gardens, which was creatively named Circular Garden. Low box hedges outlined the garden’s curved edges, inside a maze of brightly colored annuals. The path followed the arching perimeter.

The gravel crunched behind me as the chieftain caught up. “Muck boots?” he asked. “Oh aye, ye think I’m full of . . . well now, that wasn’t very ladylike of ye.”

“You don’t believe the plaque any more than I do, admit it.”

“Now, ye know I cannae confirm or deny tha’.”

“But what I’m wondering is why, when it’s obvious that you don’t believe the version of the story that’s written on it, you keep it up.”

“The three old ladies that made it are still alive, and out of respect to them, I keep it up,” he said sincerely.

I looked at him as we neared the exit to the garden. “Noble,” I said. “So you aren’t completely heartless.” I smiled, thoroughly enjoying the ease that settled between us.

“No,” he said, quietly looking from my smile to my eyes. “No, not completely heartless.”

“Yes, well,” I said to no one and about nothing; my heart squeezed as I walked out of the garden and into an open field. The path curved upward. The view was breathtaking; reddish greens meandered down to distant cliffs and the moody color of the sea beyond.

“This way, Ms. Baker,” MacLaoch said, behind me.

I turned to find him a few paces up the gravel trail. “Wait, what garden is this?” I asked.

“Garden?” he said, coming to stand next to me. “What garden?”

“This area here—is this not one of the gardens?”

MacLaoch’s eyes scanned the area. “This bit of land here? It’s soon to be another garden, but the head gardener hasn’t gotten to it yet. How’d ye know of it?”

“You mean this right here, this wilderness area? Are you saying that this isn’t a managed natural area?” I asked in disbelief. “There must be hundreds of native species in here.”

MacLaoch watched me. “How do ye know what are native?”

“School. I did a piece in undergrad for my botany course on the native species of the British Isles. There,” I said, and pointed.

“Aye, Scots thistle, I know that one, and heather,” he said. “But they are only two. They don’t make an entire wilderness, Ms. Baker.”

“Right, but,” I said, stepping off the trail and into the open space. It was filled with many plants I could not identify, but those I could, I called out: “A type of wood sedge,” I said, pointing, “and . . .
Primula veris,
cowslip . . . and yarrow. Oh!
Odezia atrata
, a chimney sweeper.” I crouched down to get a better look at the charcoal colored moth motionless on a blade of sedge several paces in. The white blush on the tips of its wings confirmed my identification.

I felt the MacLaoch chieftain come up behind me. “If ye had this space, if this land was all yours, what would ye do with it?”

I looked up over my shoulder at him. A sea breeze had pushed its way over the land. It moved through the low-lying greenery and tossed my hair gently about.

“Hypothetically?” I asked.

“Aye. Hypothetically.”

Without pause I said, “Preserve it. Study it.” I looked over the land again—it seemed pristine and untouched by humans. The forest stopped in the distance, the thickly girthed, ancient trees giving way to the dense undergrowth of shrubs and low-lying bushes, deep green and ruby with lush
spring growth. “It looks like this land has never been cleared for grazing,
which means that the ecosystem here must be the closest thing to native. Meaning, you probably have some very rare and possibly endangered species in here. It’s just amazing,” I said, and stood.

“Then tha’ is what I’ll do with it,” MacLaoch said.

“What?” I said, surprised. “I thought that was a hypothetical question you asked me.”