The Legend of Lady MacLaoch (32 page)

CHAPTER 48

I
stood in the kitchen of our apartment at Castle Laoch, coffee mug in one hand, flipping through a photo album on the counter with the other. The living room was filled with the boxes my mother had sent, and I was unpacking. Mother was happy to have me finally settled but was breathing fire that I had found my husband so far away. She had had the movers ship everything from my apartment, including the office wastepaper basket, still full, as well as some stuff she’d been trying to get rid of from her house. I was just happy that she hadn’t sent the entire contents of the refrigerator.

I was trying to get my things sorted quickly, as cataloging of the wilderness area and managing research students needed the majority of my time. I was also coordinating with my family the plans for our wedding at the castle the next year. Rowan seemed blissful that it was taking place in Scotland but was also conveniently absent when wedding details needed to be sorted out with my mother.

I didn’t have to be too particular with my unpacking—Rowan’s apartment in the upper part of the castle was soon to be used exclusively as his office; we were moving into a refurbished crofter’s cottage by the sea. The renovations of which were nearly done.

Sipping my coffee while I paged through the album, a lone photograph caught my eye. Pulling it out from the plastic sheeting, I realized it was old, very old. The man in the sepia image was standing next to a woman who held a toddler on her lap. They all looked severely unhappy, the way most people look in old photographs, as if they were convinced the camera was stealing their souls.

I heard Rowan come in behind me, the flap of the kitchen door sounding just before he leaned against my back and took the mug of coffee from me.

“What’s tha’, love?” he asked before taking a sip.

“I don’t know. Relatives?” I leaned back against his warm body.

“Mmmm,” he said into the mug. “Flip it over and see what it says—maybe their names are on the back. Tha’ man looks some like ye.”

Flipping the photograph over, I read the names, then read them again. Only when Rowan started chuckling did it really sink in what I was seeing. It was doubly confirmed when he started laughing outright.

It said, in shaky cursive,
Iain Eliphlet Minory
.

Minory with an
o
.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

No person is an island, and it takes a village to raise a child. Both sentiments are completely appropriate for describing the community effort that it took to raise this book from an idea to what you have in your hands now. The community grows each day as more and more people read it and fall in love with the story, but in the beginning there were those who were instrumental in getting this book to where it is now. I’d like to first and foremost thank Anne de Ridder for being there for the first baby steps I took as an author and shouting, “You can do it! Great job!” A big thanks goes out to my writing group, Adam Stonewall, Chris Lytsell, and our newly indoctrinated Jennifer Newton. Adam, I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank you for your awesome idea of incorporating a larger portion of the curse in the story—the benefits, I think all would agree, are stupendous. To my peer review group, Annie Small, Ayn Generes, Joelle Allen, and Heather Vaughn-Lee: all of you brought enthusiasm and loving critique that buoyed me and
The Legend of Lady MacLaoch
’s characters to new and even greater heights. A high five also goes out to my editing team at Indigo Editing & Publications—Kristin and Susan, you guys rock! To my dearest friend, Kate Carman, for telling me to “just write, damn it!” and for the unwavering help and expertise along the way. To Toby Neal, for the initial challenge and for being my writer-in-arms as we took on this authoring journey together. To my father-in-law and uncle for patiently explaining about fighter jets, and that when a pilot and copilot eject from an airplane, they don’t land together but rather, miles apart. To my friends who made me wild with jealously when they visited Scotland and then those who introduced me to the fabulous Highland Still House in Oregon City and its co-owner Mick. It’s because of you all that I went to Skye, fell hard for Scotch whisky, watched the RAF do training maneuvers, met the bartender who was the inspiration for Rowan MacLaoch and the wonderful couple Bill and Charlotte of Ben Tianavaig B&B. A special thanks goes to my family for support and encouragement, not to mention the endless ideas for characters! And finally, because he is the most important one to thank—the one who has stood by me day and night, the one who has encouraged me from the first inkling of an idea, the one who held his hand out to me in support when things got tough, the one who taught me what love is and what it can become—thank you to my husband, Keith. You are my best friend—thank you.

GLOSSARY

Bairn: Child

Bawbag: Useless person

Gillie: Hunting or fishing guide; or a male attendant or personal servant to a Highland chieftain

Quaich: Scottish drinking cup of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries having a shallow bowl with two flat handles

Sgian dubh: Small, single-edged knife

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