with a magic herbal draught, but this claim could have been made afterwards to protect MacNab reputations. I doubt any herbal draught was required. To the best of my knowledge, no Cauldstane MacNab ever became a monk, or even a minister. Despite the curse, celibacy is not a path any of the males has chosen. Some of us – my brother Torquil and I, for example – have erred in quite the other direction. But I digress… When the cuckolded laird found out what his wife had been up to, he had her put to death. The usual version of the story is that she was struck down with the Cauldstane claymore.’
‘Claymore?’
‘It’s a huge sword. Ask Alec to show it to you.’
‘It still exists ?’
‘ Oh, yes. It lives on the wall in the Great Hall. If you catch Alec in a good mood, he’ll give you a demonstration.’
‘Really?’
‘Certainly. Historical swordsmanship is his passion. He’s not too keen on the idea of this book, but I’m sure he’d be happy to show you the claymore. If you’re interested.’
‘ I most certainly am.’
A n image of Alec came to mind: Alec as he sprang across the courtyard, attacking the air with a rapier. That image was succeeded by another: a snapshot Sholto had shown me of Liz with her two small boys, in which an eight-year old Alec appeared to defend his family against a foe the others couldn’t see. I wasn’t looking forward to asking Sholto about the accidents that killed both his wives. I would probably have to talk to Alec too, despite the possibility he didn’t want me around. Undaunted, I returned to the cheery subject of summary execution.
‘So the errant MacNab wife was despatched with the Cauldstane claymore?’
‘ Correct. Probably had her head lopped off. Or she might have been sliced in two. Ask Alec. He’d know exactly how you kill someone with a claymore. Not something he learned at Gordonstoun, I hasten to add… Anyway, that’s when the real trouble started.’
‘It gets worse?’
‘But of course!’ Sholto said gleefully. ‘The wife’s mother was reputedly a witch. When she heard what had happened to her daughter, she cursed all MacNabs, past, present and future. She declared that early death or barrenness would befall any bride not of the blood. So then the mother was condemned as a witch – and probable supplier of the aforementioned herbal draught – and they drowned her in the river, here at Cauldstane. She died cursing the family. Comprehensively.’
We sat in respectful silence for a moment – I felt slightly stunned – and I noticed that when Sholto wasn’t talking, I could hear the sound of the river in the distance, rushing over the rocks. It wasn’t a soothing sound, so I focussed on work again.
‘Do you know the actual wording of the curse?’
‘No . It belongs to an oral tradition. If it was ever written down, the document would have been burned or lost. But I doubt any MacNab would have dared commit the curse to parchment or paper. Asking for trouble! In any case, tradition has it the words were preserved on the Blood Stone.’
‘ The Blood Stone? Oh, now you’re teasing me, aren’t you?’
‘Not at all ! The Blood Stone is the one in the middle of the river bed. By the bridge. It’s visible whenever the water level is low. The condemned witch was tied up, then hurled from the bridge, into the river. She smashed her skull on this stone. Legend says, once her blood and brains were washed away, the words of her curse were visible, etched on the stone in blood-red letters. They’re conveniently illegible now of course, but there are strange reddish marks on the stone, even I have to admit that. Believers in the curse say the marks are all that’s left after hundreds of years of the river eroding the stone.’
‘Y ou must point it out to me. Could I wade in and have a look?’
‘Don’t you dare! Not without being attached to a rope with someone on the othe r end. The river’s fast-flowing. The Blood Stone’s close
‘Claymore?’
‘It’s a huge sword. Ask Alec to show it to you.’
‘It still exists ?’
‘ Oh, yes. It lives on the wall in the Great Hall. If you catch Alec in a good mood, he’ll give you a demonstration.’
‘Really?’
‘Certainly. Historical swordsmanship is his passion. He’s not too keen on the idea of this book, but I’m sure he’d be happy to show you the claymore. If you’re interested.’
‘ I most certainly am.’
A n image of Alec came to mind: Alec as he sprang across the courtyard, attacking the air with a rapier. That image was succeeded by another: a snapshot Sholto had shown me of Liz with her two small boys, in which an eight-year old Alec appeared to defend his family against a foe the others couldn’t see. I wasn’t looking forward to asking Sholto about the accidents that killed both his wives. I would probably have to talk to Alec too, despite the possibility he didn’t want me around. Undaunted, I returned to the cheery subject of summary execution.
‘So the errant MacNab wife was despatched with the Cauldstane claymore?’
‘ Correct. Probably had her head lopped off. Or she might have been sliced in two. Ask Alec. He’d know exactly how you kill someone with a claymore. Not something he learned at Gordonstoun, I hasten to add… Anyway, that’s when the real trouble started.’
‘It gets worse?’
‘But of course!’ Sholto said gleefully. ‘The wife’s mother was reputedly a witch. When she heard what had happened to her daughter, she cursed all MacNabs, past, present and future. She declared that early death or barrenness would befall any bride not of the blood. So then the mother was condemned as a witch – and probable supplier of the aforementioned herbal draught – and they drowned her in the river, here at Cauldstane. She died cursing the family. Comprehensively.’
We sat in respectful silence for a moment – I felt slightly stunned – and I noticed that when Sholto wasn’t talking, I could hear the sound of the river in the distance, rushing over the rocks. It wasn’t a soothing sound, so I focussed on work again.
‘Do you know the actual wording of the curse?’
‘No . It belongs to an oral tradition. If it was ever written down, the document would have been burned or lost. But I doubt any MacNab would have dared commit the curse to parchment or paper. Asking for trouble! In any case, tradition has it the words were preserved on the Blood Stone.’
‘ The Blood Stone? Oh, now you’re teasing me, aren’t you?’
‘Not at all ! The Blood Stone is the one in the middle of the river bed. By the bridge. It’s visible whenever the water level is low. The condemned witch was tied up, then hurled from the bridge, into the river. She smashed her skull on this stone. Legend says, once her blood and brains were washed away, the words of her curse were visible, etched on the stone in blood-red letters. They’re conveniently illegible now of course, but there are strange reddish marks on the stone, even I have to admit that. Believers in the curse say the marks are all that’s left after hundreds of years of the river eroding the stone.’
‘Y ou must point it out to me. Could I wade in and have a look?’
‘Don’t you dare! Not without being attached to a rope with someone on the othe r end. The river’s fast-flowing. The Blood Stone’s close
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