Free Cauldstane by Linda Gillard

to the surface because it sits on a rocky outcrop. That disguises the fact that the river’s deep in the middle. In any case, there’s nothing much to see. There are red veins in the rock that look something like a faint cursive hand. But I’ve no doubt a geologist could account for the marks.’
    Struggling to absorb the impact of Sholto’s grim story, I looked down at my notebook , scanned my list of prepared questions and adapted one. ‘What was it like growing up with all these tales? Being surrounded by magic stones and ancient swords… You must have been less sceptical as a child, surely?’
    ‘My father believed in the curse, so naturally I didn’t, as a matter of principle. Two staid and fearful parents produced three non-conformist children who were det ermined to live life to the full. I suppose we were all explorers in our different ways. Zelda was perhaps the bravest.’
    ‘ You mean marrying a racing driver?’
    ‘No, my dear – marrying a foreigner . My father would have preferred to see her enter a nunnery than marry a Frenchman. Zelda had no choice but to live abroad. And poor old Torquil was told he’d driven his father into an early grave with his homosexual exploits. It was made clear to me that I should be the one to produce a proper Cauldstane heir. As I had no intention of doing anything other than marrying for love, I couldn’t afford to believe in the curse. But I do remember as a boy being tremendously excited by the legend of the Cauldstane claymore.’
    ‘ There’s a legend as well?’
    ‘Yes. You must get Alec to tell you about it.’
    ‘I want to know now!’
    Sholto rolled his eyes and muttered, ‘Will I ever get my morning coffee?’ Then he grinned, obviously enjoying himself. ‘The claymore is supposed to have supernatural powers, power to protect the MacNabs from evil, but as is usually the case with these magical devices, there’s a strict limit to the number of times the magic can be invoked. Our sword can be used only once more to defend the lives and honour of the MacNabs, then, inexplicably, its power expires.’
    ‘How many times has it been used?’
    ‘Twice. The execution of the adulterous wife was the first time.’
    ‘And the second?’
    ‘1975. When Torquil attacked a burglar.’
    I couldn’t help laughing. ‘He attacked a burglar with a priceless antique?’
    ‘It was probably the priceless antique the burglar was trying to steal. God knows, we don’t own much else of any value. Not any more. And there’s quite a market for old weapons now.’
    ‘What did Torquil do?’
    ‘He said he was too drunk at the time to realise the implications of using up the sword’s magic quota. He just grabbed the nearest heavy object. He hadn’t a clue how to handle the thing – a claymore would make the strongest of fellows look limp-wristed – but the intruder thought Torquil knew what he was doing and turned tail, then broke his neck falling down a turnpike stair. There’s an uneven step, designed to trip the unwary – one of those built-in security measures you get in castles. The family know about it and outsiders don’t. Simple but effective. The poor fellow went flying head first and that was that.’
    ‘ So the claymore apparently exerted its power again.’
    ‘That’s what believers said.’
    ‘ But now, thanks to Torquil, it can only be used once more.’
    ‘ According to the legend.’
    ‘ This is wonderful stuff, Sholto! It can go straight into the book, just as you tell it.’
    ‘You think so? W ill readers be interested in these ridiculous stories?’
    ‘Of course they will! ’
    ‘Well, if you say so. It all seems a bit ho-hum to me because I grew up with it. I never really took any of it seriously.’
    ‘Never?’
    ‘No. Well, not until Meredith died.’ Sholto clasped his stick tightly. ‘I did wonder for a while then. I mean, losing two wives… It would make you think, wouldn’t it? But accidents happen. Especially when people are