The Curse of Lyongate Hall

 

In a land steeped in legend and lore, few souls would doubt the existence of curses. How could they when stones were known to weep, banshees mourned the dead, green and even pink ladies floated along castle corridors, phantom pipers strolled ancient battlefields, and almost every river and loch was said to have its own scaly serpent swimming deep below the wind-rippled surface? The evil eye was also known and dreaded, as were many other dangers believed to lurk everywhere.

Indeed, many would say Scotland was famous for suchlike.

Some even boast the fact.

Those whose actually touched by these things, well, they often found little joy in the tales.

They knew the truth.

The MacRaes of Lyongate Hall in northern Scotland were such folk, their clan’s fortune decided not by the goodness of their souls or even their hard work and ambition, but by the whim of a centuries-old curse the family referred to as ‘the situation.’

They did so because the matter wasn’t exactly harmful, however much they wished to rid themselves of its influence. But after so many centuries, they knew that doing so was impossible.

That, too, was so typically Scottish.

To stoically endure what they couldn’t change or end…

It began back in the mists of time when the first MacRae laird chose to build his stronghold on a rugged cliff overlooking the North Sea. The undertaking cost him years and much coin, and by the time he finished, he was so depleted that he could not decide what to call his new home.

Weary and frustrated, he settled on Amdone, finding the name appropriate if not grand.

But if the name didn’t impress, the castle did. Claiming the highest point of a long line of sheer, towering cliffs, Amdone stood like a proud sentinel guarding both the restless sea and the darkly brooding moors. Huge, forested mountains also loomed near and it was there that the situation started.  

Leastways, the lion that one day appeared at the castle gate was thought to have come from the surrounding woods. And with the poor beast’s arrival, the clan was faced with a terrible decision for all knew lions didn’t generally roam the Scottish countryside.

They were, however, sometimes kept at royal castles and palaces, caged and displayed to entertain the court.

A practice that didn’t sit well with the first MacRae laird of Amdone.

As a lover of dogs, cats, horses, and just about every other creature he knew, the MacRae took one look at the scraggly, half-starved and nettle-ridden lion and knew he would not return the beast. To do so would damn the lion to the life he’d surely struggled so valiantly to escape.

His decision made, the MacRae used his last coin to purchase passage for the lion on a foreign ship sailing to the distant lands from whence the kingly creature hailed. A great sum also bought the crew’s silence. Several trusted MacRae guardsmen went along to make certain all went well. These men eventually returned to Amdone with the joyous news that the lion – now known as Conley – once again dwelled in the place he belonged, and was hale, happy, and clearly grateful.

The MacRae was most pleased.

Especially when, a short time after the homecoming of his men, it was noticed that an outcropping of rock at the Amdone gate had mysteriously taken on the proud face of a lion.

An omen if ever there was one.

Sure enough, from that day onward, the clan’s fortune improved. Year by year, their wealth and standing increased, as did their blessings.

The MacRae laird – his name was Renton, should anyone ask – knew Conley the lion was responsible. In thanks, and with a nod to the stone lion face, he changed the castle name, making it Lyongate Hall.

If legend is to be believed, Renton MacRae lived a long and fruitful life, passing peaceably in his sleep at a ripe old age much marveled at by many.

But men will be men, and the vast wealth he’d amassed eventually came to instill a sense of ease in the hearts of his descendants.

Not all, to be sure.

But every century or so, a not so stouthearted laird or heir came along, falling prey to a variety of vices and bringing ill upon the clan.

And so the family’s wealth ebbed and flowed like the swift North Sea tides. Now and then, drink or gambling cost lives. Over time, even Lyongate Hall’s high stone walls began to suffer.

Whenever that happened, before the castle found itself empty and abandoned, the shadow of a large cat would be seen at the gate, lurking about the stone lion face.

Then the situation would improve. But only if the current MacRaes recognized the warning and acted to avert disaster.

And so the curse was recalled when, many centuries after Renton’s day, another MacRae laird abused his privilege, bringing Lyongate Hall to near ruin.

The heir left to sort matters wasn’t happy. But he was a good Highlander and he loved his home fiercely. So much, in fact, that he would do anything to save it. Uprooting mountains, if need be. Or, worse, venturing into the sulfurous flames of hell itself – a place most people called London.

He had no intention of staying there long. Worse things than family curses were known to visit Highlanders who ventured south into the land of Scotland’s old enemies.

But he would tend to family business.

He’d do his duty.

His name was Angus Lucian Duncan Forbes MacRae.