for Christina, Professor,” Ian said. “She has diabetes.”
Frowning, I glanced at Ian. Why had he pointed that out? I didn’t ordinarily include my medical condition over luncheon conversation. I opened my mouth, ready to explain that diabetes wasn’t the debilitating illness most people thought it was, when I saw the professor’s face. His ruddy complexion had paled and his water glass hung precariously in his hand halfway between the table and his mouth.
“Professor.” I touched his arm. “It’s all right. Really it is. I’ve had it all my life. You would never even have noticed if Ian hadn’t told you.”
“All of your life?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
He raised the water glass to his lips with a shaking hand. When he placed it on the table, he appeared much calmer. “I’m terribly sorry, my dear. Ian’s announcement shocked me, you see.”
“But why?” I was determined to leave the restaurant with answers.
The waiter arrived, and once again I chose the salmon. Boston has its own wonderful seafood, oysters, scallops, and quahogs, a type of large clam they serve fried in batter and sell in paper bags from concession stands all over the Cape. But there is nothing in the entire United States to compare with salmon caught fresh from the glassy waters of the River Tay.
Ian was content to drink his stout and let the professor dominate the conversation.
“Seven hundred years ago, Mairi Maxwell became the mistress of Edward I of England.” He smiled. “I don’t have to explain the difficulties of such a union to an expert in Gaelic history. Historians tell us that when the king tired of her, she became the wife of David, earl of Murray. David was a proponent of independence for Scotland and followed Robert the Bruce. Meanwhile, Edward became a strong king. For years he held off the Bruce. It wasn’t until his death that Robert was allowed to take his throne.” Professor MacCleod shook his head. “One can’t help but wonder how the history of Scotland would have changed if Robert had died before Edward.”
“What does this have to do with the Maxwells and Traquair House?” I asked, watching the waiter set the mouthwatering plates in front of us.
Ian was already sampling his scallops. For all his teasing about my eating habits, he didn’t have what anyone would call a small appetite either.
The professor continued. “Don’t forget that Robert the Bruce was once Edward’s loyal vassal. When Robert was crowned king of Scotland at Moot Hill, Edward was furious. He rode into Scone, the Murray stronghold, with the intention of removing Scotland’s Coronation Stone. It was his right, as overlord of Scotland, to remove the Coronation Stone of Scottish kings. When he learned that Mairi had taken it to Traquair, he followed her there. Most likely he was furiously angry to be thwarted by a woman, especially a woman who had once been his. David Murray was away with Robert, but Mairi was there. To save her life and the life of her child, she gave up the stone to Edward. There was nothing else she could do.”
“No,” I whispered. “She wouldn’t have done that.”
“I’m afraid she did, Christina,” the professor said grimly, “and in the end, she paid a terrible price for her defection. David’s mother, Lady Douglas, claimed she witnessed Mairi’s removing the stone from Moot Hill. She told Robert, and he had her pressed to death before an angry mob of peasants.”
The food tasted like chalk in my mouth. I knew for a fact that I had never before come across the story of Mairi of Shiels in my research. I was equally sure that this was the first time anyone had spoken of it to me. How, then, could the events of my nightmare at Traquair House so closely parallel the professor’s story? Obviously, it was a tale he was very familiar with. But it wasn’t exactly the way I remembered it. Had Professor MacCleod left anything out or was he relaying the facts as modern historians knew of them? I was willing to wager that they didn’t have the same version of the story I did.
“Is there anything else?” I prompted him.
He sipped his tea and peered intently at me over his old-fashioned spectacles. “There is. Lady Douglas placed a curse on the Murrays descended from Mairi Maxwell. We have no record of the nature of her curse, but in my research, I found some interesting similarities in the Murray women who died early.” He laughed self-consciously and took out a