The Legend of Lady MacLaoch

by Becky Banks

  He turned and made it nearly to the breezeway before Kelly, like a bull that sees the red flag in the arena, went mad. But Rowan had been counting on his cousin’s predictable nature. As soon as Kelly landed on Rowan’s back, Rowan used Kelly’s momentum to flip him over his shoulder and lay him out on his back on the stone terrace. Rowan’s foot came down on his neck and pressed.

  “Where’s your father?” Rowan asked, adjusting his wrenched sweater and retucking his undershirt.

  Gurgling was all Kelly could manage as he clawed at Rowan’s foot.

  “I’ll ask ye once more, then I’ll apply enough pressure tae break your larynx and make ye mute for the rest of your life. That’s no’ a curse from Lady MacLaoch—tha’ one will be personally from me,” Rowan said calmly over him.

  “Let’s try again,” Rowan said as Kelly tried to buck his foot and nearly succeeded. “Stupid fuck.” Rowan cut down harder and watched as his cousin’s eyes widened in surprise. “Yes, now ye know I was being nice. Now ye really can’t breathe, can ye? Where’s your father?” he asked again.

  Kelly became instantly cooperative, his lips moving, trying to tell Rowan.

  “What’s tha’? I can’t hear ye.” Rowan let up just enough for air to pass over Kelly’s voice box.

  Kelly’s lips moved but Rowan only caught the most important word: “Cole.”

  Rowan released his cousin and walked a few paces away to keep from putting his fist through Kelly’s face. When the urge passed, he turned back to his cousin and found him struggling on all fours to stand.

  Rowan squatted next to him. “Say it again,” he said quietly.

  Kelly sat back on his haunches, a hand on his throat. “He’s gone tae get Cole.”

  Rowan nodded. “Where?”

  Kelly shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know. Dinnae fucking care,” he sneered at Rowan.

  Rowan counted all the way to five, by fives, then broke his cousin’s nose with his fist.

  CHAPTER 32

  I stared at Dr. Peabody. He was serious about Rowan and me marrying to break the curse. “I don’t even know him.”

  “Oh, on the contrary. If you are really the descendant of the Minory, then you’ve known him for hundreds of years.” Peabody said it as if that were the most rational thing.

  “No. I have just met Rowan James Douglas MacLaoch. Your clan may have known about the Minorys for centuries but I can safely tell you that my family never heard of the MacLaochs until I got here.”

  “Consciously, yes. But your blood is the same as the blood that flowed through the veins of your Nordic ancestor who took Lady MacLaoch to be his bride. That same blood flows through Rowan—he is a direct and the last, I should add, descendant of Lady MacLaoch. No one else can share the bond that is between the two direct descendants of the curse.”

  “Wait a sec. What about Kelly Gregoire?”

  “Oh yes, Kelly,” Peabody said disdainfully; apparently he and I were of the same mindset on the heir to the MacLaoch throne. “His bloodlines were traced back to a distant cousin of Lady MacLaoch—not her direct descendant, but a relative.”

  “OK, but how am I a direct descendant? I didn’t think the Minory had children. I thought that I was related through another branch of the Minory family.”

  “Oh! I see. No, they both did.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And how do we know this?”

  Peabody opened his mouth to respond and then thought better of just jumping in. “The long version or the short version?”

  “Short, please.”

  “Lady MacLaoch, after being ‘rescued’ from the Minory, was forced to marry the man her father had gifted her to. They only had one child—she died after it was born. The Minory”—Peabody smiled—“you are not going to believe me, but I hope you’ll understand that with this short version, I’m leaving out the extensive research that was done. Though if you ever get curious, it’s all there.” He pointed to the box on the counter behind him. “The Minory had two children before he met Lady MacLaoch. Whether he had one or two wives prior, it’s uncertain, but it is extensively documented that the Minory was a widower. He was about to take his third.”

  I sat there, mouth agape, looking at Peabody then to Deloris. “Does this make sense to you?”

  “Aye, well,” she said, standing, “I’ve heard rumors to that extent. Though I don’t need to believe in that tae be able to tell ye that ye and the chieftain were meant tae be together.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked as she made her way to the box on the counter and began sorting its contents.

  Peabody leaned back in his chair to take in her words as well.

  “I might be old and spend most of my time down here, but I’m no’ blind. From the first moment ye were here, both ye and Rowan came in here complaining of butterflies in your stomachs and humming in your veins. Then ye meet and Rowan does something that he’s never done before, an that’s take ye as his date to the Gathering gala.” Deloris put down the file she’d pulled out of the box. “He has never—and I’ve known him since he was a wee boy—taken a date to the opening gala. Oh aye, he’s had more than one woman in his life before he was chieftain, but none that have mattered enough tae him.” She reiterated what I’d heard from Wanda just days before.

  Just then it felt like a freight train was moving through me, taking my breath with it. Rowan’s voice sounded in my mind, Cole, where are ye? Stunned, I simply thought back, The library.

  “I know it’s a lot tae take in, Cole dear, but don’t look so surprised. Ye must have known on some level that Rowan and ye are more than just acquaintances?” Deloris asked.

  “What?”

  “Are you OK, Cole?” Peabody asked.

  “Yeah. I’m fine,” I said. “I just had the strangest sensation that Rowan was asking where I was. It was really weir—”

  Deloris looked to the room’s doors just as they were yanked open. Rowan walked in.

  “Deloris, Edwin.” He nodded to them; they were both transfixed.

  I had barely turned in my seat when Rowan grabbed my arm and pulled me up, out the double doors, and up the steps to the main entrance.

  “Stop!” I said and, in one deft movement, twisted my arm free, surprising Rowan. “I need my things, just wait.” I threw over my shoulder: “Then I expect an explanation.”

  CHAPTER 33

  I found myself getting into a boxy old Mercedes SUV, and I said a little prayer in the library parking lot as Rowan and I tore out of it and down the street. We came to a halt several miles down the road, across from the B&B.

  Shutting off the engine, Rowan spared me a glance as I reached for the door handle. “Stay.”

  “No.”

  A long arm shot past me and yanked the door shut. “Please stay in the car. I’ll be right back.”

  I turned to face him, only to find he was already out his door and jogging down the sidewalk. I watched as he slowed his approach to the B&B and placed a hand on the hood of a black car. He paused for just a moment there and then continued into Will and Carol’s. I waited. He would have to come back and get my key from me. And I wouldn’t be so nice about it either, I thought—I’d make him tell me what was happening before I’d fork it over.

  I looked at my watch. It had been too long since Rowan left—he didn’t need that much time to get to my room, find it locked, and come back for the key. And to make matters worse, it was harder and harder to not think that it was ridiculous that I had been told to stay in the car—and that I was! Reaching for the door handle, I saw Rowan emerge from the B&B with my black suitcase, fabric from hastily shoved clothes visibly fluttering as he approached. Had he just checked me out of Will and Carol’s?

  Rowan placed the bag in the back of the Mercedes and then got in himself, reaching silently for the ignition.

  “Start explaining or I’ll start screaming. Because this is kidnapping.” I grabbed his hand to prevent him from turning the key. His knuckles where wet.

  “Ugh!�
� I said, involuntarily pulling my hand away.

  Rowan wasted no time with my distraction, whipping the vehicle from its spot and heading away from town.

  I looked down. His hand wasn’t just wet—it was wet with blood, as was mine, now. Several of his knuckles were raw and oozing, and if I knew anything about the MacLaoch chieftain, only some of that blood was his.

  “There was an obstruction I had to get through to get your bag.”

  I swallowed bile down as I rubbed my palms clean on my jeans, without caring whether they stained. “You, you struck Will? Carol?”

  “What? No, Cole—what do ye take me for?”

  I looked incredulously at him. “Just last night you were a guy who stormed away after Kelly pointed out that you have violent nightmares from your time in the military. Now I’m sitting in some ex-military vehicle, speeding down the road away from town, after you broke into a bed-and-breakfast to steal my suitcase.” I took a deep, stabilizing breath. “Right about now, I’m wondering if I should be lunging for that rifle case in the back, or if I’d have more luck just leaping out of the car.”

  A small and unreassuring smile curled at the corner of his lip. “Neither. Rifle’s empty. You’d be better off hitting me in the head with the butt of it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Gregoire was in your room. If he was your guest, then I’m sorry for what I did tae him. No, actually, I’d no’ be then either.”

  “What? What was he doing there?”

  “Ye didn’t invite him up then?” he asked snidely.

  “How dare—no. To hell with you, Rowan—you know damn well he was there uninvited. Answer my question. What was he doing there? Or did you bludgeon him to death before you asked?”

  Rowan was quiet. Something most of my family had never learned: silence holds truth better than noise.

  “Oh god.” I put my head in my hands as Rowan took a left turn off the main road onto a rutted dirt road. “You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t,” I mumbled into my hands.

  “No. Unfortunately, he’s still alive, despite the fact that he broke into your room and was waiting for ye to return, and no’ with a handful of flowers.”

  “You’re so damn cryptic. What does that even mean?”

  “He had a bloody sgian-dubh, Cole.”

  “A what? Something was bleeding?” I heard my voice rise a click on the volume control to match his.

  Rowan waited a few beats, his jaw tightening and untightening. “A fucking short blade.”

  My stomach dropped and I felt the distinct urge to vomit. I rolled my window down and leaned my head against the frame, taking in deep quantities of mountain air as we flew through it. Concentrating on simply breathing, I blocked out all other thoughts; the rest would come soon enough.

  The road wove back and forth through fields of heather, the soft-pink flowers of the stiff shrub exploding against the gray sky, climbing the low hills above Glentree and then up into the mountains. Cold fog shifted as we drove, lifting then thickening again over the road. Eventually a large stone lodge loomed out of the swirling white. Rowan brought the car to a stop in front of a red door that matched the heavy shutters closed tight over the windows.

  “Where are we?” I asked quietly, rolling up my window.

  “The MacLaoch hunting lodge. The Gathering’s hunt, meant for tomorrow, has been canceled, and we’re keeping guests at Castle Laoch.”

  Not that the answer really mattered to me—I didn’t understand the bigger picture. Mind numb, I grabbed my things and headed after Rowan into the lodge.

  “Rowan? What are we doing here, and shouldn’t we call the police or something?”

  “They’ve been contacted.”

  We kept hustling along the buffed dark wood floors, past massive stone fireplaces, leather furniture, animal-hide tapestries, and the mounted heads of hard-won kill. There was no mistaking the place for anything but a hunting lodge, and I wasn’t sure if that comforted me or not. I wasn’t yet sure which side I’d gotten myself onto—the hunter’s or the prey’s.

  Rowan disappeared through a cellar door in the kitchen; I tried to follow, only to have him return and shut the door. I reached for the doorknob, and just let my hand rest there. I was still focused on my breathing.

  “I’ve got the generator going,” he said when he returned. “Lights will work now—should take some time before the radiators are warm. Ye should make a fire if ye are cold.”

  I followed him back to the entrance and watched as he unzipped a bag, confirmed its contents, then grabbed it and the rifle case and headed for the door.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No. I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

  I was done paying attention to my breathing. I had regained enough energy to be angry. “Stay? I’m not a goddamn dog Rowan—if I need to stay, you need to tell me why, and not just strong-arm me.”

  Rowan whirled on me, his storm-blue eyes flashing lightning. “It’s not safe for you to come.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m making sure we have safeguards in place before it gets much darker outside.”

  “Well, it seems safer having someone with you—safeguards and all.” I said in what I hoped was a rational tone.

  This made Rowan’s face twitch. “Ms. Baker,” he said, all patience lost. “I’m going to booby trap the fuck out of the hillside so tha’ if anyone comes up here, their cover is blown. And I’ll do better if I’ll no’ have tae worry about ye. So ye will do what I say and tha’ is to stay.”

  By the time I got to the door, Rowan—and the car—were gone.

  • • •

  Despite the furnace’s efforts, the lodge seemed to be growing colder as the day progressed. I’d calmed my initial agitation by giving myself a tour of the floors, so I set to making a fire in each of the fireplaces I’d seen. Supplies had been stacked neatly next to each stone behemoth.

  And then I was done with that and agitated again, with everything. Going to my pack, I pulled out the only hair tie I had, a cashmere scarf. Even my hair had become an agitation.

  I tied my hair back, then looked at and replaced book after book in the main living room—war, warcraft, political prowess, historical idealism; herbology, zoology, and gun cleaning. Finally, all I could do was sit and wait. Which I did, on the edge of a chair, closest to the door. This, of course, gave my thoughts center stage, and those were not calming or distracting.

  What in the world had brought Gregoire to my room with a sword, and why wasn’t Rowan more surprised about that? How had Rowan known where to find me? And the most irritating, heaviest thought of all: if Rowan truly knew I was in danger—if Gregoire had divulged some crazy plan to him last night—why wouldn’t he have told me? Unless he was in on it, or didn’t believe Gregoire would really do it.

  Tires crunched on the gravel outside the lodge, followed by a door slam. I was so deep in terrifying thoughts that the noises nearly sent me out of my skin.

  Rowan was unloading his gear in the front hallway and, like an escaping cat, I slipped through the shadows and out the door. As I went I pocketed the keys that had been carelessly tossed on top of one of the bags. I had my pack on my back and my suitcase in hand.

  “Cole!” Rowan called from behind me.

  I ignored him and worked quickly, tossing my things into the muddied vehicle. It looked like it had plunged through a bog and then been washed with a mudslide.

  I got the driver’s door open just as Rowan came up behind me and slapped a hand on it, closing it again.

  “What are ye doing?”

  With all my stored up adrenaline, I hollered at him, “I’m getting the fuck off this mountain and away from anyone named MacLaoch—Gregoire, Kelly, or who-gives-a-fuck! You all are insane and I’m getting on the next goddamn plane home!”

  Rowan was wound tight, too, and just sneered, “A little too late for tha’.”

  “You can’t just keep me here against my will, Rowan.”
>
  “If ye knew the whole story, ye wouldn’t be here against your will,” Rowan growled back at me.

  “Which is exactly what I’ve been asking for this whole time! Go ahead! Enlighten me, Rowan—why the hell am I here?”

  “Come back inside, Cole. Ye need to be sitting down when I tell ye all tha’ happened.” His eyes glinted coldly in answer to my challenge.

  I buried my need deep so that it didn’t betray me on my face. Instead, I gave a short nod and started walking toward the lodge. Rowan strode past me, his foul mood radiating, making him seem larger and darker than he actually was.

  “This had better be good,” I snipped at him as he passed, playing my part.

  I watched until he reached the lodge door; then I pivoted and sprinted back to the Mercedes.

  I wrenched open the door and slammed it shut behind me. In the driver’s seat, everything was backward from an American car—the gear stick was on the left, as well as the parking brake, I slid the keys from my pocket and into the ignition, which thankfully, was still on the right. The door locks were manual and I elbowed the lock down just as Rowan hit the door and yanked. I cranked the motor to life.

  Rowan wasted no time with words or demands. He slid over the vehicle’s hood in one effortless move to get to the passenger door before I could. Instinctively, I reached to slam the lock down, knowing it was going to take me more than a second to find reverse, but missed—the interior was wider than I thought. I wrenched myself out of my seat to hit at the lock again but got nothing but air.

  Rowan reached in and grabbed ahold of my wrist, pulling me from the driver’s seat.

  “Let go of me!” I said between clenched teeth and tried to yank my hand back.

  Rowan’s grip on my wrist was like an iron band. “No,” he said, pulling me forcefully over the parking brake and passenger seat.

  I clawed at the beaten leather seats and dashboard with my free hand but could hold on to nothing.

  I changed tactics. Just as my feet hit the passenger seat, I pushed off for all I was worth into Rowan, sending us both into the heather-covered slope next to the driveway. Rowan hit the ground and I hit his belly, with my elbow. He had been ready for it, but not enough so—his grip on my wrist loosened and I wrenched free.