The Legend of Lady MacLaoch

by Becky Banks

“Yes?” I asked.

  “Come back tomorrow—when the castle is officially open—and I’ll personally give ye a tour of Castle Laoch and the legend tha’ haunts us.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, and I moved quickly down the stairs and out the front doors, back to Will and Carol’s along the main road.

  • • •

  Freshly showered, I curled up on the window seat in my room, which looked over the road below and Glentree harbor in the near distance. I picked up my pen and wrote in my journal, logging the day’s events as I had planned to do in order to remember the trip and keep track of clues for my research. But by the time I got to the boat tour in my narrative, my hands were shaking so badly that I had to put my pen down.

  Not only had I nearly gotten killed once and passed out twice, I had also learned about an ancestor who may or may not have been mine. It was true that the difference between the two names was just a single letter, but it was also a fact that the difference between kilter and killer was a single letter. A single letter was not anything to be dismissed, especially if I intended to be 100 percent certain where my bloodline had originated from, and that one letter would be a sticking point when I went asking for historical information about the Minarys. There would be at least one person at Castle Laoch who would not believe me should I go there to use the expansive library for research. Unfortunately, that was where I felt I would have the most luck finding information about Iain. But if the man I had met was part of the castle management, as I suspected, I probably could avoid him by going straight to the clan historian.

  I just hoped he wasn’t as superstitious as the rest of this island appeared to be.

  CHAPTER 11

  The next morning I quietly made my way through breakfast as Carol rushed busily about, attending to the other guests, a whole troupe of German tourists loudly and boisterously enjoying their breakfast. This allowed me to avoid Carol—not that I was ashamed of not taking her advice but rather, because I didn’t need the extra comments, especially the way the day had turned out.

  I was halfway down the stairs when Carol’s voice pulled me back. “Oh, Cole! Wha’ are your plans today?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron as she came down to me.

  “Uh, I hadn’t really—”

  “If ye’re going tae be about tonight around nine,” she interjected, obviously not caring what I did have planned, “there’s a spot of live music in the hotel next door. Good Gaelic music, not that contemporary crap. I have a nephew, Fletcher, who’s playing in the band.” She squeezed my shoulder. “You’ll be up then?”

  I had been prepared for some sort of rebuke for my excursions yesterday, thinking that Glentree was a small town, so it would only be a matter of time before she found out. I wasn’t ready for this.

  “Um, sure, I’ll be up. Are you and Will going?”

  She laughed at that. “Och no! We’re tucked in by eight. Thought ye might like tae meet my nephew and see some local music, ye know, have fun.”

  I laughed to myself, once I understood. When you’re single, you can smell these setups coming a mile away. “What does he play in the band?” I asked.

  “Och, I’m no’ sure wha’ it’s called in English, I think the fiddle.”

  After trying not to commit more than my just a toenail to the evening festivities, I made my way back to the documents room at the Glentree library.

  It was a beautiful, overcast Scottish day, and the curls in my hair did their unruly thing and bounced on the breeze. I hoped that the clan chieftain went to the library often enough that Deloris could act as a liaison of sorts for me. The MacDonagh brothers also seemed to think that the chieftain was open enough to sharing information with the locals, so the Deloris avenue seemed like a good way to go.

  “Ah! You’re back,” Deloris called as I stepped into her domain. She popped out from the shelves to meet me at the counter. “I hear ye went out with the MacDonagh brothers on a tour yesterday—I met up with them early this morn’ and they ha’ nothing but thanks for sending ye their way.”

  “I did, they are quite the pair, those two. They nearly upset the boat when I mentioned why I was here in Glentree.”

  “Aye, those two would get excited about a close reference to the Minory name. Sorry about that, aye. Hopefully they behaved themselves?”

  I smiled, remembering their bows and formalities. “Yes, they were nothing but gentleman. They did mention something that made me come to see you again. They mentioned the chieftain of Clan MacLaoch is open to sharing the history of Castle Laoch with local people. Do you think you could request some materials for me?”

  “Oh, aye. I suppose I could—what materials are ye thinking of?”

  “I think I want to know more about this Minory family—it is so close to Minary that I just want to be able to cross it off the list of possibilities. Do you think you could ask for any historical references they might have on that last name? Or if they have boxes of historical material, I’d be happy to sort through it and save you the trouble.”

  “Sure. Though I have tae ask, have yae no’ thought about going tae Castle Laoch yerself and asking? Ye could tell them that I sent ye, they should be obliging enough.”

  “I. Well,” I blundered, “The truth is, I’m not sure that all of the MacLaochs hold your sentiments toward the Minory-MacLaoch legend. I would hate to ruin the chance to look at those documents just because I’m looking for an ancestor who shares a strikingly familiar last name.”

  “Oh all right, but I hope it wasn’t the MacDonagh brothers who’ve gotten you scared tae talk with the MacLaochs? They’re a nice lot, they are.” Then she seemed to think better of what she said. “Well, except for that Eryka woman. Truthfully, she’s not a MacLaoch, no matter how desperately she wants to be.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  Deloris waved her hand. “Never mind. I’ll make a request for you on those documents and let you know when I get them.”

  • • •

  Just as I was finishing lunch in my room back at the bed-and-breakfast, the phone rang. I answered ready to tell the person on the phone they had the wrong number, especially if it was my mother.

  “Good afternoon to you!” Deloris said, and before I could respond, she excitedly continued. “After ye left this morning, I called up tae the MacLaoch castle tae see if I couldn’t arrange tae have some documents sent down. Well, we got tae talking, the Castle Laoch historian and I, and I explained who ye are and what ye are looking for, paying mind that it’s spelled with an a. Though I’ll tell ye, he pushed that notion right out the window. He said to me, ‘Minary with an a? Tosh! It’s nae spelled with an a; it’s an o, and I’ll tell her myself if I have to.’ Well, that’s his opinion, and since he spends the majority of his time secluded away with his ancestry books and such, I’m not surprised that he’s so convinced of it—knows nothing else, aye? The long and the short of it is that he said he’ll see what he can find and, if we should be so inclined, we could go by this afternoon to pick up what he’s found. Would ye like tae accompany me? Would be no bother tae pick ye up.”

  “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 exi
stence 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.