The Legend of Lady MacLaoch (7 page)

“Well, good news, it is,” I said then, though a bit leery. “Is it at the castle?”

“Oh no, we would go tae the administrative offices—they are a ways down the road from the castle. It’s only but a short walk from the offices, though, if ye wanted to see it. Weather looks like it’ll hold today—though spring, it’s hit and miss, aye?”

I signed off with Deloris, telling her I was happy to see the administrative offices. The weather was, as she said, hit and miss, though I wondered as I waited at the curb for her if it wasn’t more “rain and mist.”

• • •

From the moment Deloris and I entered the front room of the two-story converted stone house, our world chattered and bustled like a chimpanzee cage. Boxes lined the walls, cluttering the reception area—piled in front of the receiving counter and behind it as well—and filling what little walking space there had once been around the room’s few desks. The one private office, off to our right, was partially filled with boxes as well. From the noise, it seemed like the place was packed with people, but there were only three women. All three were talking at once, to each other and on the phones.

“Oh my,” Deloris said for us both.

“Maybe we should come back later,” I said.

“Aye, I would, but I’m afraid that one of these boxes is from the historian, and if we don’t get it today, we might never see it again.”

In that light, I quite agreed. If we didn’t rescue that box, wherever it was, it might get unpacked or shipped or have done to it whatever was happening to the rest of the mess that surrounded us. I noticed that the boxes weren’t all filled with books and other documents, as I’d assumed. They were labeled in curly script: napkins, stationery, glassware, candles. Deloris seemed to be reading the labels at the same time.

“Oh! The gala!” she cried, as if in an epiphany. Right then one of the women finally hung up her phone and made her way toward us.

“Deloris!” the woman exclaimed as she picked her way through the room and around the counter to greet us. “What brings ye down here?” She sounded as though she had just run a long distance.

“I’ve come to meet Clive for some old clan documents,” Deloris said cheerfully, then seemed to remember I was standing next to her. “Rather, she’s come for the documents. This is Cole Baker from America. She’s doing a spot of history searching. That’s why we are here. Though it looks like the gala must be coming up, aye? We don’t mean tae bother ye.”

“Och, aye. The gala will be here in just a few days and that rotten woman—” The clerk interrupted herself to call back to one of her two colleagues still on the phone. “Mary, have ye gotten ahold of Eryka?”

Mary shook her head in response.

“Och!” our host said, stamping her foot. “Damn woman had the delivery driver unload all this here and no’ down at the castle where it should have been. And she has the gall tae no’ show up taeday. That’s all she had tae do, arrange for delivery, and look, look at all this!”

Deloris and I looked around again at the boxes. I thought of what Deloris had said the day before. A woman named Eryka who wanted to be a part of the MacLaoch clan. Personally, I felt she wasn’t trying hard enough if she had anything to do with the mess around us.

“We’ll not take up much of yer time, but do ye know which one of these boxes is for us?” Deloris asked and then added, “Or if any of them are?”

“Which one is for ye? I dinnae understand.”

“Oh, yer historian gave me a call this morning about clan documentation that he would be bringing down here tae the administrative offices. Did he no’ tell ye?”

“Och, Deloris, I’ve spoken tae a number of people this morn. It would be possible that I talked with Clive, but I’ll tell ye I’ve no’ see him unless he did bring them in when we were filling up the lorry tae take another load down to the castle. In that case we’d ha’ missed him, and it’d be in the office behind ye.” She looked at the room behind us but didn’t stop her breathless ramble. “And, in with all this, we started moving things tae the chieftain’s flat at the castle, so now we have more boxes than we know what tae do with. I just hope we dinnae give him champagne glasses and hand out at the gala his personal affects!” she said, giving a short humorless laugh.

But then the phone rang, and our host cursed her way back to her desk. She glanced back to us, but we waved her off.

Surely it would be easy to distinguish between a box of party items and one filled with historical documents.

Just as we lifted the lid on the first of the many boxes, our host popped her head in—the phone call was for Deloris.

“I leave the library for just a few minutes . . . ” she muttered. “Somehow, they can find me anywhere.”

Deloris made her way from the room as I replaced the lid on the box. I’d wait for her to return. It seemed that it would be rude, almost mean, to look for the historical documents without her, since she seemed so excited (almost more than I was) to find a clue to my ancestry.

I leaned back against one of the boxes in the office and looked around, fine with having a moment to check out this MacLaoch property, too. Newer than a lot of the town, this stone building definitely still hearkened back to the eighteen hundreds—the heavy wood of the bookshelves and desk solidified the feel.

It wasn’t that big of a room, and most of it was obscured by cardboard. The need to be useful became overwhelming, and I decided to start in on the boxes without Deloris. They’d either be historical documents or not, and I wouldn’t mess with the stuff that was not. I opened the lid on the box we’d been about to go through before Deloris had been pulled away by her phone call. On first appearance it was what we were looking for: file folders piled together. I pulled out the first folder and opened it to what started like a very personal letter to the current MacLaoch clan chieftain. I was about to slap it shut and move on to the next box—ready, as a guest already nervous about stepping on toes, to assume that this indicated that the box’s entire contents was too recent for my needs—but then the name Minory caught me like an anchor. Before I could stop, I’d read it in full.

Dearest son and nephew (for though you are my nephew by blood, you have always been as close to me as would be a son),

It is with grievous heart that I write to you. I know that it is not long now until I die—the doctors, despite all their knowledge, do not know how to cure me. They can, however, with all their knowledge, tell me that my foe—this so-called incurable cancer—will kill me in a few months’ time.

Right now you are no doubt deep in the wilderness of some foreign country bringing honor and pride to your family name, though I fear I will not last long enough to see your triumphant return. Thus, the reason for this letter. Over the years, I have imparted to you a working understanding of your duties once I leave this earth, but all that I have taught you wanes sadly when compared with the most difficult and arduous responsibilities of this job.

No doubt you have scoffed at the curse on the MacLaoch chieftains—as a boy, I played them off as well—though I will tell you from experience that it is real. And while I have just a breath left, I will tell you the history of what I know of it.

Several generations of MacLaoch chieftains ago, there began a movement. A movement to discover the full depth of the curse and alleviate our suffering by meeting its demands. It was first done by the twentieth clan chief—it is documented that he spent countless hours researching the Minory lineage as well as local folklore on the curse. The one thing that remained constant in all versions of the curse he heard is that the pain and suffering of the MacLaoch chieftain must be as great as that felt by Lady MacLaoch, and only a Minory could lift the curse, and then only voluntarily. With this, he began cataloging each and every ancient Minory throughout history, slowly and painstakingly finding the descendants to discover a modern-day Minory. Sadly, his life ended before his work could be completed. It was only to be taken up again by our twenty-ninth clan chief—you will, I hope, excuse me for not using their full names as it pains me to write even the amount that I have already—who began where the twentieth left off. It is through his work that I give you this grievous news about the MacLaoch curse. It will be with us through the rest of time.

The twenty-ninth chieftain poured through documents upon documents—it is said in his journals that he felt pure elation as he narrowed upon two lines of the Minory family that quite possibly could still be alive. More research, and he discovered that one of those lineages had died out during the late 1700s. He cast it aside and focused his energies on the last remaining line of Minorys. In his research of that lineage, he discovered that, right then, a Minory was residing in Glasgow. Of course, before he could contact the Minory, he discovered the death certificate of this man—as though the curse was just one step ahead of him. The Minory had died in the short time between when our chieftain learned of his existence and tried to contact him! While the Minory had been married, he had produced no children, and it is with a hard heart that I must tell you what has been passed down. The last of the Minorys died in 1850. His name was Iain Eliphlet Minory, and his death has sealed our fate for eternity. It seems that Lady MacLaoch has gotten her wish: we shall forever know her pain and suffering and never know the sweet balm of love and peace—that damnable woman!

My son and nephew, as I lie dying of this dreadful disease, I can only tell you that the curse is real. And had I heeded the curse, I would have done much differently in my life. Thus, I will impress upon you: do not succumb to the fickle nature of your heart and look for love. It is not your fate while sitting upon the chieftain’s chair. Keep your distance and harden your heart; instead of a wife, devote your life to that of your clan—make sure that, as I have, they are not want for anything; provide as you can and give back whenever it is possible. In doing this, in taking nothing for yourself, Lady MacLaoch cannot take from you that which you do not have.

Again, it is with a sad heart that I say my good-byes to you upon paper and not in the flesh. Know that I am proud of you in all that you have done and will accomplish.

Good-bye, my son and nephew, and God bless you.

My eyes swam with the tears from the heavy burden of history. The sound of footsteps approaching kept me from thinking too long—I shook my head and replaced the box lid as Deloris popped her head in the door.

“Just been on the phone with the historian from Castle Laoch—now he says the documents that I requested don’t exist! I just had it out with him on the phone, because it sounds like he’s hiding something. I don’t know what on earth it would be but I can feel it. Like a mother can sense when her babe puts his hand in the cookie jar when she’s not looking, aye?” Her look changed from one of suspicious indignation to concern. “Are ye all right? Ha’ ye been crying? What happened?” She rushed into the room.

I just shook my head. “Oh no, I just got a bit of allergies, all these old buildings . . . ” I rubbed my nose aggressively to demonstrate my point.

“Oh, all right . . . ” She sounded unconvinced but, politely accepted my excuse. “Come then, I’ll drop ye back off at Will and Carol’s. I’ll tell ye, the clan chief will hear about this! Documents don’t exist, hmph!”

I let her chatter wash over me as I reread the letter over and over in my mind. That name, acknowledged by the former clan chief as the last of the Minory lineage, was nearly identical to the one that had brought me to Scotland.

CHAPTER 12

I
spent the rest of the day puttering around town, buying knickknacks from the local shops and enjoying the day in general. It was closing in on over twenty-four hours since I’d nearly fallen off a cliff and been scared to death with a claustrophobia attack and dealt with an angry MacLaoch, so this day was going well. So well that the thought of going out socially for the first time I’d gotten to Scotland was sounding like a really good idea, even if it was a setup.

After a nap, dinner, and a shower, it was closing in on a half hour since the music had started in the hotel next door. I dressed in the one fancy outfit that I had brought with me, thoroughly surprised it hadn’t wrinkled, despite my not taking it out of my suitcase until then. I added a few gold bangles and matching loops to my ears and paused in front of the mirror. The Queen of Sheba would be hard pressed to find a top that fit better than this one. The top was a deep, nearly black, green and it was cut perfectly to show off the fullness of my chest and hips; the jeans were just snug enough; and my slip-on wedges made my legs look a mile long.

I threw on some mascara, a little blush, and—because I was feeling fancy—attempted to tame my mass of curls before heading out.

The hotel next door was a set of four refurbished stone townhomes from the eighteen hundreds. The bar was packed with people dancing in the middle and sitting or mingling around the edges. The main floor was an open plan, with a restaurant to one side and the bar/music venue to the other. The bar was simply that, though with nice hardwoods and modern touches. The tables and chairs had been pushed to the sides of the room, leaving a large space open for dancing. The band, from what I could see through the crowd, was on the far end of the room.