The Legend of Lady MacLaoch (3 page)

Whoa
, I thought. “OK, Carol, I won’t, but how will I know if they’re a Mac—”

“Now there’s a good girl!” She interrupted me by giving my hand a pat. “Ye enjoy the rest o’ your breakfast and give me a shout if ye need anything more.” With that, she bustled from the room, leaving me to stare at the empty space where she had been standing.

CHAPTER 5

T
he brisk walk to the library was just that, brisk. It was a standard Scottish day, according to Carol—overcast with the threat of rain and a high of
12
degrees Celsius (54 degrees Fahrenheit). I felt the two cups of tea I’d had with my breakfast, their caffeine as well as their warmth. My heart seemed to be fluttering in my chest by the time I walked down the stairs to the basement of the library, where the historical document room was located.

A long, oak reception counter stood in front of the rows and rows of files and books that took up the entirety of the library basement. A man was talking to an older woman in a cardigan and glasses behind the counter. I gazed about as I waited my turn. To my right was a study table and beyond that, against the wall, an antiquated computer and microfiche machine. The air was cool and filled with the distinctive smell of old paper I had imagined. I knew that within the shelves behind the woman at the counter there would be something, at least one thing, even a tiny clue, that would tell me about my ancestry. My excitement peaked, making my insides jittery—or was it still just the full effect of Carol’s tea? When I looked back at the counter, it was my turn.

The woman turned out to be
the
Deloris, and we connected right away. I learned she had been with the library since she was old enough to pick up a book, her mother having been the librarian before. Eventually we came around to the subject of why I was there.

She didn’t even blink an eye. “Ye know, that name sounds just like Minory. Are ye quite certain that it isnae Minory?”

“Not
100
percent, no. Do you know anything about the Minory lineage?”

“Oh aye, big legend around that one. Best ye go have a look-see for yourself tomorrow at Clan MacLaoch’s castle and visitor center when it’s open. The MacLaochs have a long history that includes the Minorys. Castle Laoch has been in that family for over eight hundred years. Matter of fact, the clan is still together. On its thirty-fourth chieftain now,” Deloris said, clearly impressed. “Castle Laoch is not but a couple kilometers. Ye could walk there if the weather is fair. This time in May ’tis hit and miss, aye? Oh!” she said, as if just remembering, and nodded toward the door. “The man who was just in ’ere is the MacLaoch clan chieftain, and he could tell ye a thing or two about the Minorys, I’ll tell ye that.”

“A chieftain?” I said, thinking of old photos of American Indian chiefs, bare-chested, with feathered headdresses.

“We only have documentation that starts in the
1850
s,” Deloris said, ignoring my comment, “and the castles will have more information than we do. Castle Laoch would be the place to ask.”

I paused for a moment, thinking. I wasn’t sure that I should explicitly go against Carol’s warning. “Do you know any reason why I might not want to mention my Minory research to a MacLaoch?”

“Och!” she said dismissively. “Some like to get upset by it, but ’tis nothing but an old fairy tale or curse, depending on what side yer standin’. I personally dinnae put much stock in fairy tales. I know just the two who could give ye firsthand knowledge of it though. Old birds, they are. Down at the harbor they run MacDonagh and MacDonagh Tours—it’s a boat tour that will take ye out the harbor and past the point, through the small fishing isles, over to Castle Laoch and back. From what I’ve heard, they’ll tell ye more than ye need to know about the fairy tale, but I’ll let ye figure that out for yourself.” She gave me a knowing nod.

After giving Deloris information on where she could reach me if she came across anything useful in the stacks, I headed down to the docks.

CHAPTER 6

T
he Glentree harbor at midday was sparsely populated with boats, most of the fishing vessels at sea. The rocky shore held a lone flat-bottomed boat at its edge and two old, craggy men standing on either side of it hollering at each other.

“No, I didnae! Ye did, and if ye cannae remember where, I’ll no’ be the one tae tell ye. Ye blithering bawbag!”

“Nae tell me?
Me?
I was the one who asked ye tae put the fishin’ knife awa’ in the first place, and now ye won’t tell me where ye put it? Ye are the bawbag, ye bawbag!”

“Bluddy bastard.”

“Arsehole.”

“Fu—”

“Lady!” one shushed the other as I approached.

“How can we help ye?” The other addressed me with a full smile of semistraight and semiwhite teeth and gave me an elegant bow.

“I’m looking for MacDonagh and MacDonagh Tours. Something tells me I’ve found it?” I smiled back.

Both men wore green fishing slickers with rubber boots and rain caps in the same drab color. The old men themselves were identical, too—both white haired and blue eyed—with the exception that one had a crooked nose that must not have been properly set after being broken, while the other’s was straight.

“Ye sure have! This is my brother, Angus, and I am Bernie,” said the one with the straight nose.

“Pleased tae meet ye,” Angus said, giving me a nod.

“Ye can remember our names,” Bernie said, “by remembering that I’m the handsome one and that Angus is like his name, full o’ bull.” He slapped his leg and guffawed loudly.

It took only a few moments to get out of the harbor and onto the placid waters, most of the delay due to the brothers arguing about which of them should help me into the boat and which was to push us out into the water.

We bobbed along, taking in the majestic, gray basalt cliffs rising like iron gates to our right, the rich green of pasture grass softening their edges. Opposite the cliffs, the ocean beckoned, small, grassy mounds indicating a smattering of isles between us and the open Atlantic.

Angus and Bernie seemed made for the water. They may have looked as if they were closing in on one hundred years of age with their dark, weather-beaten skin and the deep crinkles around their eyes—probably as much from smiling as from squinting against the sun and rain—but they were as nimble and agile as teenagers when it came to the boat. They moved instinctively as the boat skimmed lightly over the coastal waters’ low ripple.

“Before we get started on our tour, we’d like tae know about our guest. Where ye’re from and what ye’re most interested in?” Bernie asked, affecting the composure and manner of a professor beginning his first day of class.

Angus was seated behind me, manning the outboard motor. “Aye,” he agreed. “Bernie here used tae lecture at the local college, so if I know what ye’re interested in, I can tell Bernie when tae shut that trap o’ his if he’s prattling on about some nonsense!’” Angus wheezed a reedy laugh and gave my ribs a conspiratorial jab with his elbow.

“What are ye telling her back there?”

“Just telling her nae tae be shy, brother!” He gave me a wink.

Bernie harrumphed. “All right.” Then, smiling at me: “Now go ahead, dear, what brings ye out tae Glentree?”

“I’m doing family research,” I said.

“Ah, aye. Come to discover which clan ye belong tae, aye?”

“Well not rea—”

Bernie interrupted and leaned around me to Angus. “Donald or Fraser, this one?” he asked his brother, nodding toward me.

“Fraser? Ye daft? Look at her. Nae, she’s Irish, no’ Scots.”

“Irish? Nae. She’s Scots—a Stewart, maybe?”

“Stewart.” Angus eyed me as though I were a boat he was appraising. “Aye, maybe,” he finally said, with a shrug.

“Aye.” Bernie nodded. “Lass, we’re ready. What’s the name that ye think is yer family name? We think it’s Stewart—that is, if ye are Scots.”

I laughed. “Maybe I’m all of the above. The surname I think I know for certain is Minary.”

“Ho!” both men exclaimed, and the boat nearly upended.

Angus straightened us out as I clung to the side, having slid to the floor with the upset.

Bernie exclaimed, “Angus! Get hold of yourself!” Then he looked at me. “Say that name again, lass?”

“Min-a-rrry,” I said, enunciating the
a
and rolling the
r
.

“Ah,” they both said.

“Thought ye said Minory,” Angus said.

Still on the floor of the boat and still startled, I gingerly got up and resumed my place on the wood plank that was my seat. “It could be Minory. Unfortunately, my grandfather—the one who informed my family that we were Minarys by bloodline—died, and no one in the family knows for sure . . . ” I trailed off. On one hand, I hoped I was a Minory, since there seemed to be plenty of information about that family. On the other hand, who
were
these people that their name would evoke such a response, that they would have created a legend so strong that people in the present day still got upset at the mere mention of the name?

“I spoke to Deloris at the library, and she said that you both might know more?”

“Ah! Deloris!” Bernie said. “Yes, well, Minory. I’ll tell ye that that name has a history, ’ere it does.”

“Aye, right it does,” Angus added from behind me.

“I dinnae know about Minary, but I’ll tell ye about the Minorys.”

Angus decreased the engine power, slowing us down. It felt like the signal to the real beginning of our tour. We motored between the shore and the green humps of the islands. The towering cliffs still to our right were broken up by wide-open coves; I could see freshwater from mountain streams emptying into the ocean.

“The Minorys, a long, long time ago, owned quite a bit o’ land in this area—outer isles and a significant part o’ the Isle of Skye, too.”

“Back in the days of the Vikings, ye see,” Angus piped up.

“And they were a fearsome sort. Depending on who ye talk tae, they were raping and pillaging, but I’ll tell ye, I’m no’ a historian. What Angus and I know has been passed down tae us through our father and his father and so on, Angus will agree, aye, Angus?”

“Aye,” he said, sounding slightly noncommittal.

“What we were told was that one of the most fearsome of the Minorys owned land on one o’ the outer isles, and he wanted tae take a wife o’ one o’ the Scots clans in the early times tae bring peace between them. Well, the Scots were none too happy about tha’, as they had wanted the Minory lands and were no’ so keen on keeping peace with him, so they said nae. Turns out the Minory was just making a formality of it because he swooped in and took himself a bride anyway. Well he’d no’ had her long and no’ married her before the clan moved across the water and killed him and brought back their clanswoman—as it turns out, against her will.”

We drifted along, motor still low, the breeze off the ocean giving me the chills. I felt a strange sensation under the goose bumps. It was the same hum from my tea buzz earlier, only it now seemed to start from lower in my belly and tingle out along my skin. I took a deep breath as the boat rocked.

“It was said,” continued Bernie, in a low voice, “the Scots woman, Lady MacLaoch—”

Just then the motor quit all together and plunged us fully into the quiet of the water lapping at the bow.

Bernie leaned to the side and nodded at Angus, who shrugged and pulled the starter cord. The motor chugged and died, again and again.

“A’richt, Angus. We dinnae want tae be stranded out here. Ye keep daein’ that, and ye will flood it.”

“Aye, well if ye know so much, why dinnae ye come back ’ere and fix it yerself?”

Bernie glared at his brother before continuing with me. “Now, where was I? Ah yes, Lady MacLaoch. Now, lass, there is something ye need tae know about Lady MacLaoch.” The tone of Bernie’s voice had become stern, as if he were speaking of a woman he knew personally. “She was a fearsome lady, and she and the Minory were wild with love. She had planned her elopement with him, and she stole down tae the docks that day tae meet him and went willingly ontae his ship tae marry him. She loved him but knew that her father had intended her tae marry elsewhere. She had been promised tae another. Do ye see now? She had no other choice, and she could no’ live by that decision, so she fled with the man she loved.”

“Nowadays,” Bernie continued, “ye can marry who ye like! But in those days, nae. Women like ye were property tae be sold and bartered with as such. Lady MacLaoch had been arranged tae marry a clansman in trade for more lands—more lands meant more power, aye?

“Aye. Well, that day came when she went tae the harbor and pretended tae trade for goods for the castle and instead stowed away with the Minory. And she might have gone far, but her handmaid spied her and rushed back tae the castle tae tattle on her. Lady MacLaoch might have made it tae Minory lands where she couldn’t be touched, but the ship didnae make it. The MacLaochs slaughtered them all here in these waters.” Bernie finished somberly, the story seeming to catch up to him, even though he must have recited it a million times.

Bernie turned his head back to me, his watery blue eyes looking at me as though to look within me. “It was at that isle to yer left, lass, that the Minory was laid over a boulder, arms tied tae the rock, and Lady MacLaoch made tae watch as they took his life. ’Tis said that he was so powerful that the ropes cut into the rock as he strained against them, full of rage at her having tae be made tae watch, and that those cuts are still there taeday.”