The Legend of Lady MacLaoch (18 page)

Just then, the back door of the car swung open and the driver announced our arrival.

Reality poured over me like ice water splashed in my face. I hadn’t heard the car come to a stop, much less known we had arrived.

CHAPTER 24

R
owan kept me at his elbow as he worked the grand marble ballroom, and I was one part glad for his constant presence and one part uneasy that I couldn’t just escape without notice. It was comforting that he guided me through the intricacies of meeting the other clansmen, him murmuring under his breath who they were and what they did for work before we actually approached them to shake hands. What made me uneasy was that everyone seemed to know my name before I said it, and when those from the older generations addressed me, they called me Lady Minory with a bow and a kiss to my hand.

These greetings made Rowan’s arm under my hand stiffen. “It’s Ms. Baker,” he said each time in a clipped voice before moving us along.

As we got moments to ourselves here and there, Rowan explained to me that, earlier in the day, at the initial Gathering meeting, Clive the clan historian had something fresh to share in his opening speech. A Minory had been discovered.

That Minory was me.

I felt a chill ripple through me as we moved through the room; I really was like a lamb who had been invited into a den of lions. The head of which would either protect me or feed me to them as dinner, I still wasn’t sure.

After a while MacLaoch said, under his breath, “There he is. Come, Ms. Baker, there is someone I think you will be fond of meeting.”

Dr. Edwin Peabody was a short man with glasses, thinning brown hair and, I’d learn quickly, an infectious attitude. He stood with his hands clasped behind him, rocking softly back and forth, observing the room at large until he saw us approaching from the other side of the dance floor, and then he smiled broadly.

“Oh-ho-ho! This is the fabled Ms. Nicole!” he said and gave my hand a vigorous shake.

“It’s fabled now?” I said, smiling back at him. I glanced at Rowan; he was grimacing.

“Dr. Peabody is a professor with an American university—Vassar, is it?” Rowan asked.

“Yes, yes, but please just call me Ed.”

My curiosity was certainly piqued. “What do you teach?”

I felt Rowan turn as someone grabbed his attention on his other side.

“Oh, nothing of consequence,” Ed said, waving his hand. “My passion is in what I don’t teach or, rather, what I wish I could be teaching: paranormal science.”

“But I’m sure you could be allowed to teach paranormal sciences at Vassar,” I said encouragingly.

“Oh yes, surely if I put my mind to it, though I teach microbiology and unfortunately do so quite well enough that I’m unable to do much else. But alas! My hobby, or encore career, as my wife has started calling it, is the study of the metaphysical, and most recently my research has been on my clan. This clan,” he said, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

I smiled back at him, guessing at what was making him glow. “I take it that you are studying the family curse?” I noted that Rowan was still engaged.

“Why yes! And it’s extremely fascinating!”

“So what part of it are you studying, exactly?”

“Energy!”

“Energy? As in, metaphysical energy?”

“Yes! First, are you familiar with the concept that energy is neither created nor destroyed?” he asked, launching immediately into a subject he was obviously passionate about.

“Yes, somewhere in my six years of college, I believe I took a physics course. Energy is merely transferred?”

“Well . . . ” he said, hesitating, “yes and no, but for this purpose let’s say yes. In the case of metaphysical energy, it is essentially the energy left of—oh, I suppose I should ask if you are devout in any religion?”

“As in, a devout something or other who wouldn’t believe in the supernatural?”

“Ah, yes.”

“No, I am not, Dr. Peabody.”

“Please, call me Ed.”

I smiled. “Alright Ed, please continue.”

And he did.

“Every being, when it dies, leaves its mark. An energy fingerprint, if you will—one that, over time, becomes consumed by life and the tangled web of energy consumption through birth and death.”

“Wait, I don’t follow you. Energy consumption through birth and death? What do you mean?”

“You see, as human beings, we are full of energy, potential and kinetic; it goes down into the molecular structure of our selves, beyond the cells. We are, in some circles of opinion, just manifestations of energy.”

“Oh. OK . . . ”

“So when things die, since energy is neither created nor destroyed, some of that energy is left behind and some of
that
energy isn’t consumed again by life.”

“Consumed again by life?”

“Think of a stag that falls dead in the forest of old age. His body degrades through time as mold and fungus and bugs consume him. Those then feed the soil when they die or defecate, pardon the description. Plants then consume the nutrients in the soil, animals feed upon those plants, and so on. The energy is passed on through the cycle of life and death. But there is residual energy that cannot be consumed, and that energy is what makes the metaphysical imprint. Energy like that which makes up the waves in the mind or, as some refer to it, the soul.”

“Oh. I see,” I said, and more or less, I did.

“So my work in researching the legend of Lady MacLaoch and the Minory seafarer has been most fascinating,” Ed said. “I did quite of bit of other metaphysical energy research in the United States before I began our clan curse research. About ten years ago, a friend of mine who led rather hokey ghost tours around town had an actual energy meter. He accompanied me on some of my early grave searches. It was then that we discovered, well, I discovered, that when people die they leave dissipated energy markers.” Ed was still smiling. “My friend, to my surprise—and his too, perhaps—discovered that his energy meter actually worked. So, it is most fortunate that you are here!” Ed clapped his hands.

I couldn’t help myself—I rolled my eyes. “You can’t be serious.” I had been hoping that a man of science wouldn’t be interested in dragging me into the curse.

“I get that quite a bit! And yes, I am! You see, Rowan has been most kind to us—my family and I are his clansmen, after all—and has allowed me to meter him.”

“Really?
That
Rowan?” I turned and located the chieftain across the room with a tumbler of whisky in his hand, in conversation with two older men.

“It was odd,” Ed continued as though he hadn’t heard me, “because he is carrying metaphysical energy beyond the meter range I had expected.”

When he didn’t explain further, I asked what he meant.

“Well, from the age of the legend, I’d calculated that the energy fingerprint would be low. Lady MacLaoch watched the violent death of her betrothed a millennium ago. But Rowan was off the meter.”

“But what does that even mean?” I whispered, as people danced in front of us, swirling tartan and silk flickering our view of the chieftain across the ballroom floor.

“I, too, wondered if there might be some deep meaning,” Ed said, rocking back on his heels, “that would be exciting. But of course, I put my serious mind to it, and it probably just means that he was in close proximity to someone who died, and died violently.”

I sucked in air and turned back to Ed, expecting him to suddenly laugh and tell me he was joking. He did not. “As in, he killed someone violently?”

“No, not necessarily, but he has
seen
someone die by violence, and since he’s a man who has served on clandestine missions for queen and country, I’ve no doubt where he has seen it.”

I nodded. Of course. That made sense—perfect, logical sense—and I remembered Rowan mentioning to me that he had in fact lost a friend he considered a brother. “Did you ask him about it?” I asked.

“I did. I’m afraid I wasn’t so composed about it. I was quite sure I was going to see one number, and so when I saw another, I more or less accused him of something quite violent. I’m embarrassed when I look back on it, but Rowan was quite at ease about my outburst—I suspect now that he knew what my meter was going to do before I did.”

“Wow,” I sighed. “I’m not sure that’s what he was hoping we’d end up talking about when he said I’d be interested in meeting you.”

Ed’s own outward energy lowered, and I heard his sober professorial voice. “Yes, I’m sure he was thinking that I’d share my theories on what we could likely expect from the modern-day
Minory . . . ”

“My family name was Minary, though,” I said, heading off that thought at the pass. I was sure by then that I’d never know about my Minary heritage while waist deep in Minory lore.

He waved my protest off as though it were a fly. “Yes, one-letter difference. I heard that argument—our chieftain lobbied hard in your defense this morning after Clive spoke.” He laughed at the memory. “I dare say Clive thought that those moments when he was retelling the story of finding you and how you fit into the legend were his last. Clive said, ‘With her return, our chieftain is truly saved,’ and Rowan stood.” Ed clapped his hands to indicate something speeding away. “Clive skittered like a field mouse off the podium then!”

He sobered as soon as he saw my expression. “Ah. I see you don’t view things this way?”

“Not at all. I certainly feel that I’m
not
going to be lifting any curses during my stay, but beyond that, I am downright frustrated with everyone assuming that I’m a Minory!”

“I see,” he said, and clasped his hands together in front of him. “You know, Nicole—”

“It’s Cole,” I said coolly.

“Cole,” he said, continuing like a professor at the lectern, “I’ve done all the energy reading I can with the MacLaoch line. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take your energy reading.”

I think my mouth literally dropped open.

“I don’t think I have time. Sorry, Dr. Peabody.” I looked about the room to find Rowan and take my leave from the professor.

Ed just nodded. “My wife gives me that same look,” he said, looking slightly apologetic. “Cole, you mentioned you spent six years in college?”

“I did.”

“What did you study?”

“Biology.”

“I assume that you received your bachelor’s or master’s in that?”

“Master’s.”

“Ah. So you’ve done quite a bit of research yourself, for your thesis?” he asked rhetorically. “I have a theory myself about the Minory and Lady MacLaoch. I believe,” he said, not waiting for me to respond or even to acknowledge that he was speaking, “that the love they had for each other, combined with the violence of their separation, would make for a very unique passed-down energy. It would create ripples if they came together again. Ripples like sine waves or sound waves.”

“Sound waves? So we should hear loud humming like a hummingbird?” I snorted.

“No. More like—have you ever been near high-voltage power lines?”

I stopped looking for my exit and looked back at Dr. Peabody.

“Yes.”

“So you have felt the internal humming that they create? In your own body?”

“Yes,” I said simply.

“It’s my theory that when the two descendants who carry the burden of the legend come together, they will create an internal hum in each other. Though how strong it would be and whether it comes to an equilibrium point, I still do not know. I would assume that the hum would be so minor that one would mistake it for just feeling off.”

I just stared at him, speechless, my mind unwillingly thinking of the hum that I’d first come to think of as too much caffeine. I tried to swallow, but my throat was suddenly dry, constricted.

“My other theory is one of reciprocity. The two descendants of the curse could feel the emotional extremes of the other. For example, if one were to experience pure elation, that would send a ripple to the other. The same is true for distress—if one is in great pain or anguish, that energy is felt by the other. Of course, the closer they are to each other, physically, the less extreme the emotions would need to be to be felt by the other. For example, if the two were separated by oceans and one were in a horrendous accident, the other would feel it. Whereas if they were at the same party, say, and one heard a terribly good joke, the other would be able to feel even that little joy.”

I stayed silent. No. No, no, no—I doubted it on every level.

“Of course all of these are simply theories of an aging professor,” he said, as though reading my mind—reading what I was forcing my mind to believe and stick to. “So please do excuse me.” He looked away across the room.

I turned in the same direction and saw that Rowan was engrossed in another conversation, this time with a man and a woman who were dressed to the nines, for the late eighteen hundreds. Then suddenly, a sharp pain pierced the back of my arm.

I gasped and reeled, catching Peabody pinching me, seemingly for all he was worth.

“Ow!” I hissed. My heart hammered in my chest with adrenaline as I rubbed my arm. Being in the middle of a gala, though, I wasn’t sure this was the appropriate place to feed him my shoe.

Dr. Peabody wasn’t looking at me, but beyond me, his mouth agape. “My god, it’s true,” he whispered. “He felt that.”

“Listen Dr. Peabody, I don’t appreciate you treating me like a laboratory test mouse! I, like everyone here, am just human,” I said hotly, but soon realized it was all in vain.

Peabody stared. His eyes tracked something across the room and came to a rest directly over my shoulder.

“Is there a problem?” I heard the deep authoritative voice of the MacLaoch chieftain from over my shoulder.

Dr. Peabody’s face split into an enormous grin. “Amazing . . . ” he said, looking at me and then to the chieftain and back to me again.

I felt my face crumbling into shock, and I said—in the same moment as Peabody replied—“We are done here.”

I turned and made my way through the crowd to the refreshments table as though it were a pond in the middle of the desert and I’d been traveling for months.

The heavily laden table was holding more than just glasses and a champagne fountain, which I put to immediate use—it was also holding up the wearily drunk and those wanting to immerse themselves in deep conversation away from the brightly lit dance floor.

I felt him behind me even before his fingers gently brushed the skin on the back of my arm.