The Legend of Lady MacLaoch

by Becky Banks

  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.

  I looked over my shoulder at him. “Does it look bad?”

  “No, a bit red ’tis all.” He was silent a while. “Cole . . . ” he said softly.

  I finished the drink in my hand and set it down before turning around.

  “Yes?” I said tiredly, thinking he was going to ask me what had just happened.

  “I am so sorry for bringing ye into this whole mess. I should no’ have brought ye here—I knew some people might be trouble, but I dinnae think all of them would be. Ye’d think ye were a mystic or shaman here to work your magic for all of them to see.”

  I smiled a tad bitterly, it was true. I felt the same.

  Rowan placed a comforting hand on my back. “If ye want to leave, I’ll personally take ye home now,” he said, moving us effortlessly through the crowd toward the patio doors.

  I wasn’t sure what his expression was, but people seemed to be steering clear of us.

  “I also want to apologize. I thought Dr. Peabody a scientist and a gentleman—I cannae understand what made him attack ye. I’d have no’ introduced ye to him if I’d thought he’d hurt ye.”

  His tone was so sincerely regretful that I felt a small piece of bitterness melt away. Somewhere in the more malicious side of my mind, I had been thinking that this was all of his design.

  “Don’t worry. I think if he had his energy meter, he wouldn’t have felt so compelled to prove his point by pinching the back of my arm.”

  “Prove his point?” Rowan asked. “What point? That ye are a deity sent from god tae save us all, and he was proving tha’ ye wouldn’t bruise if he pinched ye?”

  I smirked at his sarcasm. “No, more like you and I are descendants of the legend and if he pinched me, you’d feel it too.”

  Surprise crossed Rowan’s features as he opened his mouth to speak. He was interrupted by a paunchy—and punchy—old man.

  “MacLaoch ol’ boy!” He grasped Rowan’s shoulder aggressively. “Lady,” he said, rolling his eyes in my direction and giving me a small bow that was more like a nod.

  “I’ve been meaning to speak with you all evening,” he said breathlessly in Rowan’s face. Even standing next to him, I could smell the alcohol.

  “Gregoire,” MacLaoch said, greeting him in short. “Ms. Baker, this is—”

  “Forget the formality, Rowan, none is needed here, aye?” he said thickly, as if his words were becoming entangled in his mouth.

  I felt Rowan stiffen next to me, and as this Gregoire man continued, in Gaelic, he became taut as a bowstring beside me. I’d not known the chieftain long, but it seemed he was suppressing the urge to strike the words from the man’s mouth. His fingers twitched against my back, in time with that regular
tic of his, the clenching jaw.

  Rowan broke in, suddenly, in English. “It’s no’ a throne, uncle, it’s a position more akin to the president of a business than a king with power and gold. Dinnae confuse the two.”

  But the Gregoire continued his tirade.

  In the next moment, Rowan bent to my ear, “Go to the outdoor balcony. Wait for me there. Cole—do not, do not leave with anyone but me.”

  His head beside mine, I gave a small nod to indicate that I’d heard him—I’d ask him later what this was all about—and took my leave.

  At the doors to the patio, I couldn’t help but turn back. Gregoire was still growling in Gaelic while Rowan’s gaze was off with me, as if I had taken a piece of him with me.

  I pointed to the balcony where I’d be, and he gave a slight nod, sliding his eyes back to the assault in front of him.

  CHAPTER 25

  And that’s when I got pinched, hard, for the second time that night. I’d barely gotten to the stone railing of the balcony and enjoyed a few moments of cool night air when my other arm was attacked.

  “Ouch!” I whirled.

  Eryka. She was wearing a fiery orange number that slouched and billowed appreciatively around her thin frame; her fire-engine-red shoes matched her nails and lips. She screamed without saying a word.

  I glanced around for witnesses, but found none.

  Eryka’s pinch turned into a sensuous nail drag up my arm, then back down. “Surprise,” she said huskily, far too close for comfort.

  I took a step back and came up against the stone railing.

  “I bet you didn’t think you would see me here tonight. I can see it all over your face,” she said, and laughed, deep and throaty. “Of course you didn’t—it’s hard to pay attention to the competition when you have the attention of so many men to manage. Just the few seconds I spent in that horrid room, all I heard was Ms. Baker this, and Lady Minory that . . . ”

  If I were a man there would be no doubt that I would be hanging on her every word and enjoying the flirtatious motions she was making toward me. But I wasn’t a man and had not even a single ounce of interest in her.

  “You’ve made quick work of all this—very smart for the whore and liar that you are,” she said with vicious melodrama.

  I could feel my eyebrows arching as she continued.

  “He’ll never be yours, you know,” she said, biting the air between us. “No matter how hard you try to get rid of me. You thought that little stunt of getting me fired would get rid of me? It didn’t—though I have to say, that was some nice work on your part. I didn’t see that coming.”

  I held up my hand. “Stop.” I didn’t have much left in me for more crazy-person babble. “Eryka, I have no idea what you are talking about. The only time I think of you is when you show up. So your assumption that I am working a master scheme is completely ridiculous,” I said, then added, “and please take a step back.”

  “Oh. You are good,” she purred. “I almost believe you. No, I know all about you. You think I don’t know about your kind? You think you can just walk right in and ruin everything with this talk of curse breaking? I didn’t invest ten years of my life to just let some arrogant American come in and valk all over me.” She sneered. “You had best keep an eye out and it best be on your back.”

  None of her words were making sense. Especially the last piece. “I’m not sure I understand what you said to me. Did you just threaten me?”

  Eryka showed me all her little white teeth in what I can only assume was her attempt at a Cheshire grin. “I’m not threatening you, love,” she said. “But if you don’t get on that plane in a few days and return to that filth you call a country, I promise you’ll still be leaving.”

  “Right,” I said. “As in, in a body bag? Eryka, again, let me be plain. I’m here to do research, not steal boyfriends or rock the boat of social standards. So when you threaten me, you are just making a fool of yourself. At no time am I ever a danger or threat to you. You’ve done that all by your little self.” I had one last shred of common courtesy left, and Eryka had taken a double fisted hold on it and was trying her damnedest to snap it in half and feed it back to me. “If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere—”

  “You’ll go nowhere!” she shrieked and slapped me hard across the face.

  Growing up with an older brother, I was no stranger to being struck—it’s something of a rite of passage for older brothers to hit their younger siblings. Anytime I was with family, I knew that, at some point even still, I would receive a blow: a punch to the arm from a brother, a head slap from a mother or aunt, any number of other friendly physical interactions. This, however, was a grand gala in an ancient castle and the person doing the slapping was most decidedly not someone who loved me. In those fractions of a second after she struck me, my brain shut down and left my body to defend itself.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Eryka’s hand came back from the initial slap to give the other side of my face a feel for the big shiny ring she wore on her middle finger. Inches before it touched my skin, I grabbed her wrist and reciprocated with a closed fist.

  Eryka went sprawling backward onto the stone terrace. I methodically slipped off my shoes and mink and strode to where she’d landed.

  She sat up as I approached and everything but Eryka and I went underwater—all sounds and sights muffled except for ours. I could hear her heartbeat, smell her fear. I straddled Eryka, batted away her hand as it came up to defend herself, and raised my other fist to break her nose. I had become single-minded: I was going to be methodical about punishing her, and I wasn’t going to stop until the debt was paid in full.

  That was, until I was gripped around the middle and lifted backward off of her.

  I twisted and nailed the person with my elbows. But the grip didn’t lessen; instead, strong arms pinned me tighter, like iron bands.

  I fought, and the hold on me got stronger. I doubled forward, trying to bite the arms that had me; I thrashed my legs and went pleasantly wild.

  It took me a while fighting and clawing before the din in my ears stopped and the tunnel vision I had created for Eryka widened. I realized I was no longer at the castle, but at the ocean’s edge, in the lower cove. I bit and scratched at the person who had me, and recognized the swearing.

  “MacLaoch.” I hissed, “Put me down. Now.”

  “Are ye calm?” he said, and swore as I wriggled and kicked at him.

  “Yes! Now put me the fuck down!”

  “No, ye are not,” he said calmly.

  It took me a millisecond to realize once he hoisted me up over his shoulder that I wouldn’t be there for long. But it was too late. He strode into the ocean and tossed me in.

  CHAPTER 26

  No!” I shouted just before the freezing Atlantic seawater choked my voice off.

  The diamonds felt like ice cubes against my ears and chest. My dress felt like it simply dissolved in the glacial water, as it no longer loaned me any warmth. I managed to kick to the surface.

  “Holy shit, this water’s cold!” I gasped.

  In that simple instant, I was suddenly more worried about my own survival than working over Eryka. As I kicked, my dress sealed about my legs like plastic wrap and I couldn’t keep above even those low, sloppy waves near shore.

  I heard myself make a gurgling sound and clawed at my dress, the first fingers of panic shifting my adrenaline high into fear. I got a foothold on some rocks and pushed forward—into MacLaoch, who hoisted me out of the water by my arm.

  My teeth chattered as I stumbled out of the water next to him, “Oh—my—g-god. Th—that—water—is—cold.”

  “Aye,” he said softly, gripping my elbow and steering me toward the cliff face, away from the water’s edge.

  Being out of the water was even colder—the soft breeze I had enjoyed earlier was now the kiss of frosty death on my skin. My whole body took up the chatter and I stumbled—my feet had swiftly become painful from the cold. Rowan lifted me in
to his arms.

  He was warm, but I could barely feel it, my skin numb with both cold and the aftershock of adrenaline leaving my system. I clutched my hands together to stave off the full-body shuddering.

  We approached a thick, old, wooden door with iron hinges—in the cliff face. If the evening hadn’t been so strange already, I would have been surprised. Stepping through the door and up several stone stairs, we entered a large, cellar-like room where soft lights flitted on, set off by our movement. The air in the room was humid and held the musk of warmth and cedar. Two stone benches carved from the walls of the room lined either side; Rowan set me down on one and grabbed a wool blanket from a stack of them at the back of the room. Wrapping my body within it, he vigorously rubbed my arms while I just observed, like a mannequin.

  “I’m so c-cold,” I whispered. My jaw was chattering uncontrollably, and I could think of nothing else.

  Rowan sat behind me and pulled me in against him. “Shh, no’ for long.”

  Slowly, I started to feel his warmth, his breath whispering against my cheek as he gathered my sodden hair and pulled it out from under the wool blanket.

  My body gave a violent shudder, as if it were physically trying to expel the chill that had settled within my bones. I looked down at my white feet; they were tinged purple.

  “H-how are you not c-cold?” I managed.

  I could feel him shrug behind me. “I’m wearing a wee bit more than ye—wool socks, tartan, kilt. I’ve been sweating like a pig the whole night.”

  “Hmph,” I grumbled. “You’re a bastard for throwing me in there.” Then I added, “Even if I deserved it.”

  “It wasn’t about whether ye deserved it or not,” he said. “I needed ye to be calm so I could ask ye what happened.” Then he said, as an afterthought, “Tha’, and ye bit me.”

  I gave him a tooth-chattering grin in response.