#Alasdair || my heart’s in the highlands

[historia-vitae-magistras]

5, 10, 21 for Alistair?

5) A cherished personal belonging. 

With the way Alasdair's native Picts were completely overrun, his first language lost and then replaced first by Scots Gaelic and then English, he and Arthur have that very similar magpie-like emotional attachment to objects that borderlines on a hoarding disorder. He's got that energy of someone holding on to phone chargers from the early 1990s 'just in case' but make it span damn near 2,000 years. As for specific objects, I think the box he uses for his jewelry or other small objects was originally a saint's reliquary François gave him in 1295 for their 'marriage' is something he will NEVER give up.

10) How they deal with pain. 

Stoically, but in a slightly more sane way than, say, Arthur. He's mostly domesticated and more of a Edinburgh fianance bro than a highland warrior nowadays. He has been for centuries, but when he's in pain, there's something very Burn's Day or Walter Scott to him where he's very brave about it, and if you give him enough alcohol, he'll start telling anyone present this is nothing you should have seen the time he got x wound which was far worse. While also being extremely technical about the medical aspect of whatever is happening. He'll roll up to the A&E with a bottle of scotch in one hand and a prompt report of how "Hurricane Bawbag over here got us into a oblique motor collision and now we've both got flexion injuries of the neck." (Arthur hit the brakes too hard on a wet road during a storm, and they tapped a parked car at a weird angle. The force gave them both a bit of whiplash.)

21) Their fondest childhood memory

Probably the first time their mother set him to work with all the stones he could possibly want. He might have only built a shed that first time, but he would eventually go on to build a broch and wheelhouse to create the only family home they would ever have.

[a-luran]

A couple of simple scoteng headcanons that warm my heart and hopefully yours too in such a difficult time.

Alasdair likes to keep his hands busy when there's nothing going on. Just small and simple things like widdling small wood/soap figurines or braiding an intricate pattern from thin rope to form bracelets. Even in recent years, he's taken up learning origami in his free time. As they've gotten closer over the years. Alasdair began leaving those small works around Arthur's home. If Alasdair gets up before Arthur, he'll place a small wooden rabbit by his nightstand to wake to or even carefully place one of the many bracelets he made around his wrist. He's also began leaving small paper boats in the pockets of Arthur's pants or jackets. Arthur finds it endearing, but also an annoyance at this point because sometimes purposefully place tens or hundreds of these small boats in all the pockets of his wardrobe. It's happened more than once, where Arthur will be in a rush, put on a suit jacket, get to a meeting and as soon as he reaches into his suit's pocket; tiny paper boats overflow out and onto the floor infront of everyone.

Another headcanon is that before Arthur came to terms with his feelings for Alasdair. He may of secretly form a habit of secretly going to the highland games when he knew Alasdair would be participating. He would sooner throw himself off a cliff before admitting to anyone that he only came to ogle over a certain Scotsman physique the whole time. Did Alasdair notice him there? Yes. Did he ever tell him he knew? Only when they finally got together and he would tease him about it constantly.

aye they’ve warmed my heart <3 what treasures, thank you so much for sharing them

I’m in love with the idea of Alasdair folding paper ships to hide in the folds of Arthur’s clothes and the deep corners of his drawers. The recognition, in every fold of the page, that there is something in Arthur that belongs at sea—eyes to the sky, to the horizon, swaying with the heartbeat of the ocea. Like a reminder almost of a love that understands.

The care and attention to detail in his whittling and the deftness of his hands hhhh things that Arthur can wear and carry with him close to the pulse of his wrist. Oh you really speared my heart with these.

And who could blame the lad from wanting to steal a glance from such a bonnie man? ;) braw and strong, and flush with cheer.

[scotlandprincess]

( georgie henley, cis female, she/her, 25 ) ** ♔ announcing GEILLIS STUART,  the PRINCESS OF SCOTLAND ! in a recent portrait they seem to resemble GEORGIE HENLEY. it is a miracle that SHE survived the last five years, considering they are FIERY, STRONG-WILLED, and OPINIONATED. i hope the plague has not changed them. they are FOR working together with the other kingdoms

Hi everyone :) My name’s Sophie, I live in England, and I’m 25 years old

Here are a few of my favourite things: Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul, Doctor Who, Harry Potter, Elementary, finely-bound books, reading, cats, and vintage clothing

And here are a few things to note about my daughter, Geillis:

Geillis had a charmed childhood, running wild with her older brother, the soon-to-be King of Scotland, Alasdair, whom Geillis affectionately called “Alis”, and her friend, who would become her lady-in-waiting, the Lady Violet Muir of Clan Muir. She has fond girlhood memories of racing through the candlelit corridors of Edinburgh Castle, laughing as she was chased by her brother. It was a carefree time, the decades before the plague, and she remembers the dim, busy, clan meetings with nostalgia and fondness.

She was so proud and happy when her brother married Euphemia, and she and her sister-in-law have always had naught but love for one another. Geillis adores the daughters Euphemia bore, her nieces Alice and Agnes, and tries to be a good aunt to them when she can.

Shortly before the plague hit, her brother King Alasdair and Queen Euphemia lost their son, the would-be Prince Alexander. Geillis herself was not present when he passed, but she locked herself in her chambers for days and screamed and wept, and threw things at walls in a fit of rage that would not cease. The pain she felt at the loss of the future King, and of her own nephew, is still with her, but there was more tragedy yet to come.

When the plague hit Scotland, those carefree days of running through corridors and playing childish games on the highlands were long, long, gone. Scores of their people perished, food spoiled, and suffering ravaged the ancient land. Geillis was furious that England would not help their neighbour, and all she could do was carry on trying to be a symbol for the people. While her brother plotted ways to help the people, Geillis increased her charity work tenfold, giving alms outside the castle gates, and sharing what supplies she could with people who needed it. The royal family were lucky enough that the plague did not creep through their door, but, when it had finally passed, things had changed.

Now her brother had a mistress, and Geillis disapproved of this greatly, and still does. She has made no secret of the fact that she despises her brother’s relationship with his mistress. She is an outspoken and ardent supporter of Her Majesty Euphemia, and makes her feelings on the issue known at every available opportunity. She understands her brother’s suffering from the loss of his son, but believes that there is no excuse for infidelity.

She is strongly opinionated -- some would say too much so for a young woman -- and is prone to fits of temper, in which she shouts and spits and throws things. Her father used to call her a wildcat, after the feral animals that roam the Scottish Highlands. Her brother is proud of her wild ways, and Geillis has tried, since coming to France, to curb her true nature, for the sake of her country’s image.

Despite this, Geillis is incredibly religious, and takes her faith very seriously. She believed, without a doubt, that the plague was God’s judgement upon the entire world, and now it has passed, it is her brother’s moral duty to work to get Scotland back to its glory days. She is painfully aware of the losses her country suffered, and is determined to keep Scotland independent in these agreements, but is willing to work cordially with some of their close neighbours, to keep the peace.

Geillis has Scotland in her blood. She is wild, and always has been. She was raised to be a princess, and to find herself a good match in a man. But she could not be content with the bed and company of men. For as long as she could remember, she had preferred the company of her ladies-in-waiting, and other women. While this is not frowned upon publicly, Geillis herself knew that her duty was to marry and bear children, and this was not possible with the union between two women. Her feelings are a secret she has kept close to her heart.

My inspirations for Geillis are: Merida from Brave, Thirrin Lindenshield from The Cry of the Icemark by Stuart Hill, Geillis Duncan from Outlander, Anne Boleyn from The Tudors, Meg Tudor from The Spanish Princess, and historical research yet to be undertaken

Please feel free to reach out to me! I’ve got a lot of particulars to work out yet, and I’ll probably send in some WC’s soon. In the meantime, feel free to hit me up for plots, or just a chit chat! Super excited to write with everyone

[scotianostra]

The Battle of Philiphaugh was fought on 13 September 1645.

Having had a series of sensational victories against the Covenanter Army this was where it all came to an end for the Royalist cause in Scotland.

Montrose’s force was not a conventional army in any sense of the word. Its numbers were frequently in a state of flux, as he had accepted the natural conditions of his Highland levies. While these men were fierce in battle, their expectation was that they would plunder after an engagement and then carry their booty home.

While this happened, it seems that they more often than not returned to the fray with Montrose, led by the feared Alasdair Mac Colla. It is without doubt that Montrose had the Highlanders’ respect. However, Mac Colla’s priority was to recover McDonald lands from the Campbells, and early in 1645 at Inverlochy. Montrose may have won on the day but lost the Highland contingent of his force from that time, as Mac Colla insisted on remaining in the area, although the news of the battle did bring in some new recruits for Montrose.

Montrose began the journey south, with the intention of joining with his monarch’s army in England. However, by the time he had marched down to Philiphaugh,near Selkirk in the Scottish Borders, he lad learned that lieutenant-general David Leslie was marching north. The Covenanter army he had been winning against were outnumbering the Royalists, but with the religious zealots arguing amongst one and other and the generals they were hardly a creditable force. David Leslie was a different creature indeed and had a battle ready army.

It would seem that Montrose’s intent was to escape into the Border hills and meet Leslie’s force on his own terms, no doubt intending to operate the same type of guerrilla tactics which had served him well time and time before.

Leslie, however, was closer than Montrose knew. On the night of the 12th September 1645, James Graham and most of his officers were billeted in the town of Selkirk, with his cavalry camping on the plain of Philiphaugh, which, importantly, was over the river from the town, and his Irish infantry camped in the woods nearby.

When Leslie’s Covenanting force attacked on the morning of the 13th September, there were few officers present to muster the cavalry and infantrymen. The Irish dug in and fought on, while part of their cavalry support tried in vain to engage the enemy and then fled.

Montrose, it is said, was forced to quit the field and flee. The Irish finally had to surrender, with the promise of quarter being given. However, on their surrender, Leslie declared that quarter would only be given to the officers.

The remains of the infantry force, plus the camp followers (the women and children) were murdered. While this seems an act of barbarism, it was lawful – insofar as the fighting troops were concerned. The Irish colonels Thomas Laghtnan and Manus O’Cahan, who managed to organise and deploy their troops at Philiphaugh, were taken and hanged in Edinburgh.

The story of the battle is told in Child Ballad number 202, simply called The Battle of Philiphaugh

On Philiphaugh a fray began, At Hairheadwood it ended; The Scots outoer the Graemes they ran, Sae merrily they bended. Sir David frae the Border came, Wi heart an hand came he; Wi him three thousand bonny Scots, To bear him company. Wi him three thousand valiant men, A noble sight to see! A cloud o mist them weel conceald, As close as eer might be. When they came to the Shaw burn, Said he, Sae weel we frame, I think it is convenient That we should sing a psalm. When they came to the Lingly burn, As daylight did appear, They spy'd an aged father, And he did draw them near. `Come hither, aged father,' Sir David he did cry, `And tell me where Montrose lies, With al his great army.' `But first you must come tell to me, If friends or foes you be; I fear you are Montrose's men, Come frae the north country.' `No, we are nane o Montrose's men, Nor eer intend to be; I am Sir David Lesly, That's speaking unto thee.' "If you're Sir David Lesly, As I think weel ye be, I am sorry ye hae brought so few Into your company. `There's fifteen thousand armed men Encamped on yon lee; Ye'll never be a bite to them, For aught that I can see. `But halve your men in equal parts, Your purpose to fulfill; Let ae half keep the water-side, The rest gae round the hill. `Your nether party fire must, Then beat a flying drum; And then they'll think the day's their ain, And frae the trench they'll come. `Then, those that are behind them maun Gie shot, baith grit and sma; And so, between your armies twa, Ye may make them to fa.' `O were ye ever a soldier?' Sir David Lesly said; `O yes; I was at Solway Flow, Where we were all betrayd. `Again I was at curst Dunbar, And was a prisner taen, And many weary night and day In prison I hae lien.' `If ye will lead these men aright, Rewarded shal ye be; But, if that ye a traitor prove, I'll hang thee on a tree.' `Sir, I will not a traitor prove; Montrose has plunderd me; I'll do my best to banish him Away frae this country.' He halvd his men in equal parts, His purpose to fulfill; The one part kept the water-side, The other gaed round the hill. The nether party fired brisk, Then turnd and seemd to rin; And then they a' came frae the trench, And cry'd The day's our ain! The rest then ran into the trench, And loosd their cannons a': And thus, between his armies twa, He made them fast to fa. Now let us a' for Lesly pray And his brave company, For they hae vanquishd great Montrose, Our cruel enemy.

[ladywynneoutlander]

Letters of Outlander

Ian Murray to Jamie, Drums of Autumn Chapter 10, 1767 (Letter 1)

Dear Brother--

  All here are well, and give thanks to God for the news of your safe arrival in the Colonies.  I send this missive in care of Jocasta Cameron; should it find you in her company, Jenny bids you to give her kindest regards to her Aunt.

  You will see from the enclosed that you are restored to my wife’s good graces; she has quite ceased to talk of you in the same breath with Auld Scratch, and I have heard no recent references to Emasculation, which may relieve your mind.

  To put aside jesting -- her Heart is much lightened by news of Young Ian’s safety, as is my own. You will know the depth of our gratitude at his Deliverance, I think; therefore I will not Weary you with Repetitions, though in all truth, I could write a Novel upon that theme.

  We manage to keep all here fed, though the barley suffered much from hail, and there is a flux abroad in the village which has claimed two children this month, to their parents’ sorrow. It will be Annie Fraser and Alasdair Kirby we have lost, may God have mercy on their innocence.

  On a happier note, we have had word from Michael in Paris; he continues to prosper in the wine business, and thinks of marrying soon.

  I take joy in acquainting you with news of the birth of my newest grandson, Anthony Brian Montgomery Lyle. I shall content myself with this announcement, leaving a fuller description to Jenny; she is besotted of him, as are we all, he is a Dear Lad. His father, Paul -- Maggie’s husband -- is a soldier, so Maggie and wee Anthony bide here at Lallybroch. Paul is in France at present; we pray nightly he may be left there, in relative peace, and not sent to the dangers of the Colonies nor the wilds of Canada.

  We have had visitors this week; Simon, Lord Lovat, and his companions. He has come a-gathering again, seeking recruits for the HIghland regiment he commands. You will perhaps hear of them in the Colonies, where I understand they have established some small reputation. Simon tells great tales of their bravery against the Indians and the wicked French, some of which are doubtless true.

  He quite enthralled Henry and Matthew by his stories, and the girls as well. Josephine was so inspired, indeed, as to engineer a raid upon the chicken-coop, wherefrom she and her Cousins all emerged bedecked with feathers, mud from the kail-yard being employed in lieu of war-paint.

  As all wished to play Savage, Young Jamie, Kitty’s husband Geordie and myself were pressed into service as the Highland regiment, and obliged to suffer attack by Tomahawk (kitchen spoons and ladles) and other forms of enthusiastic assault, we essaying meanwhile a valiant defense with our broadswords (pieces of lath and willow twigs).

  I put a stop to the Suggestion that the thatch of the dove-cote be set afire with flaming arrows, but was obliged in the end to submit to being Scalped. I flatter myself that I survived the Operation in better case than did the chickens.

[celticbarb]

Book: Highland Champion

By Cynthia Breeding

Series: Children of the Mist, Book #3

Publisher: Entangled

Release Date: November 15, 2021

Book Rating: 5/5 stars

Blog Rating: 5/5 Saltire Stars

Scottish Highlands 1775

Lorelei Caldwell is thrilled as she is well on her way with her best friend and latest sister by marriage Fiona MacGregor. They are well on their way to their first season in London and Fiona is also thrilled that non of her overprotective and nosy brothers are acting as chaperones. They were planning all kinds of fun activities, as Lorelei and Fiona just want to dance, flirt a little and have fun. Yet neither one of them wanted a husband!

Yet this fantasy of freedom from annoying family member is short lived when the arrival of Fiona’s brother Alasadair arrives as their babysitter that some might call escort or chaperone. This totally killed the girls plans!

Little do they know know that Alasdair has ulterior motives that has nothing to do with clan business. The problem is that London is full of difficulties and stumbling blocks he didn’t plan on, furthermore he has to figure a way to maneuver these issues to receive his hearts true desire.

Of course Alasdair MacGregor has helped Lorelei out in a couple tight awkward situations she wasn’t going to mention . What they did not know is that Alasdair wanted to reclaim some lands that belong to his clan, but his biggest reason he came was he wants to marry Lorelei Caldwell! He was not going to let any other man have a chance to steal his lass away from him! Yet the worse thing happens as the lass of his dreams is trying to talk him into courting another woman which totally breaks his heart!

Now Lorelei is also regretting her actions and she is finding she now want this gorgeous Highlander all for herself . What was she to do as she put him in another woman’s path! Yet something happens because of Lorelei’s reckless yearning for freedom which could totally ruin and put her reputation in pieces.

Will Alasdair save the day and become her knight in shining armor. Read and find out.

This is the third book in Cynthia Breeding’s Children of the Most series. I have loved this entire series which I highly recommend but you can read as a stand alone book too. It’s a Scottish regency romance which is a fun read and watching how the main characters both make many mistakes wondering if they will ever accomplish a happily ever after? Read and find out what future is in store for Lorelei and Alasadair!

Children of the Mist Series

by Cynthia Breeding

Highland Renegade

Highland Hero

Highland Champion

Disclaimer: I received an advance reader’s copy from Entangled Publishing. I voluntarily agreed to do an honest, fair review and blog through netgalley. All thoughts, ideas and words are my own.

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

A Highlander in a Pickup by Laura Trentham

Highland, Georgia #2

 Anna Maitland has something to prove and believes that running the Highland Games for her town will do the trick and also help her win the mayoral race. She is not thrilled to have Iain Connors show up ready to help her…I mean…men take over and that is NOT going to happen to her! Only…over time her perceptions begin to be possibly wrong and if she is wrong about one thing could she be wrong about others? Will they succeed in pulling off the games and find friendship or more before the end of the book?

 What I liked:

* Iain: a gently giant who is so much more than he appears to be at first. I really REALLY liked him! Even when he made a decision based on a promise he gave his father and I wanted to tell him, “NO” – I still liked him.

* Izzy: a bit caustic but with a heart of gold. She loves to dance and her dance students and her town. She has ideas and hopes to implement them.

* The romance between Iain and Izzy – not too fast and gone into with open eyes – really wanted them to achieve their HEA

* The snippets about Izzy and Alasdair – and the name they chose for their child

* The side story about Gabby – hope to hear more about her and Keisha in the future

* The new kilt design…what fun!

* The fact that there were not BIG breakups that were thrown in just for a breakup to occur so they could make up.

* The epilogue – pulling it all together AND hinting at the next book that will be about Holt and Claire – can’t wait

 What I did not like:

* I can’t think of anything…just that the book ended with me wanting to know Holt’s story.

 Thank you to NetGalley and St. Marin’s Paperbacks for the ARC – This is my honest review.

 5 Stars

   BLURB

 A Highlander in a Pickup is the second book in award-winning author Laura Trentham's romantic comedy Highland Georgia series, full of love, laughs...and highlanders! When a gorgeous new man—in a kilt—comes to town, life in Highland, Georgia will never be the same… Iain Connors is the poster boy for the strong and silent type. Growing up a loner at Cairndow Castle in Scotland with only the cliffs and moors for company, it’s understood Iain will assume the mantle of Cairndow groundskeeper when his father is ready to relinquish it. But his stint in Her Majesty’s Armed Forces has opened up a whole new world—and now, rather than settle down, he accepts an invitation to travel to the States to take charge of the Highland Games. After all, he’s led men into battle, how hard can planning a party be? Anna Maitland is ready to step up for her best friend Isabel Blackmoor, who can’t run the Games in their hometown this year. Surely Anna, a dance instructor with boundless energy, spirit, and charm, is up for the challenge? What she doesn’t anticipate is a man in a kilt who turns up claiming he’s the one in charge. What’s worse about this Iain? He’s so infuriatingly handsome that she can’t help but fantasize about him whispering sweet-nothings in her ear in his rumbly, sexy brogue. . .

[ladystylestores]

Road Trip Through the Scottish Highlands

Scotland, UK is a breathtakingly beautiful country that can make you feel like you’ve taken a step back in time with the vastness of its untouched lands and the old style buildings you’ll see in the towns.

The best way I think in which to see it all is a road trip to the Highlands.

So, grab your snacks and buckle your seats for the ultimate road trip adventure.

  The Ultimate Scottish Road Trip

Preparing Your Road Trip 

Route: Edinburgh to Inverness Distance: 318 km Driving Time: Around 5 hours Length for Trip: 2-3 Days

  Road Trip Highlights:

Fun, windy roads, in great condition most of the way

Epic views on every corner with plenty of designated places to park and take some great shots

Fresh seafood if you’re feeling hungry

The friendliest locals around to help you if you get lost

  Renting a Vehicle

After years of collecting Aeroplan points, I was able to cash mine in with a one week car rental at Avis for 25,500 points. Yippee! For those of you who are still struggling to get those points, you can find cheap options on Skyscanner. Often if you want to rent for 3-6 days, it’s cheaper to just ask for a one week rental. My favorite rental companies are Avis and Enterprise.

  Tips:

Many credit cards often offer car insurance for rentals so check if your’s provides this option to avoid insurance fees at the rental office which can often cost you more then the rental itself!

You will need an international drivers permit to rent vehicles abroad. Getting a permit is very easy in most places. In Canada you can visit your local CAA and apply for $25.

If you are a Canadian renting a vehicle in the UK, you do not need to get an international driver’s permit and will only need to show your local driver’s license.

  Tunes for the Road

To make your road trip even better, make a Scottish playlist. Some great tunes for driving include:     •    Highlander’s Farewell by Alasdair Fraser & Natalie Haas     •    Johnny Tarr by Gaelic Storm     •    Hug air a’Bhonaid Mhois by Julie Fowlis     •    Hinba by Lau     •    The Cruel Sister by Old Blind Dogs     •    Celtic Pipes & Drums by Peatbog Faeries & Folk Police     •    Lough Erne’s Shore by Old Blind Dogs     •    Shooglenifty by McConnells Rant

  The Route

Road Trip – Scottish Highlands – Day 1

Start in Edinburgh and spend at least a day there before hitting the road.

  Fishers Leith

As soon as we arrived in Edinburgh, we headed straight to Fishers for a seafood lunch. Scotland’s seafood is so good, a large majority of it is actually shipped to Spain. We ordered some oysters, mussels, calamari which were all fresh and delicious. If you go Monday-Friday between 12:00-6:00 PM you can get a great deal with their set menu of 2 courses for £15 or 3 courses for £18.

  Old Town

Next on our stop was to head into old town to walk off our great meal. Old town is an architecture enthusiast’s dream with every building having its own unique look and dates back to the medieval times. Make sure to look out for the Castle of Edinburgh and the Royal Mile.

  Beer Sampling

As we strolled through old town, we popped into a few pubs to sample the local beers. Try the Fraoch which is a Heather Ale (Leann Fraoch) that’s been brewed in Scotland since 2000 B.C. Also try the Tennent’s Lager which is the local’s choice in pubs.

  Ghost Tour

When it got to the evening, we booked a free ghost tour with CityExplorers. Our guide was Max who somehow managed to turn stories of murderers, dungeons and witch hunts into a walking comedy skit which was a lot of fun.

  Road Trip – Scottish Highlands – Day 2

A Scottish Breakfast

The next day we started our morning at The Abbey, which is a proper Scottish pub offering a great breakfast starting at £4.95 and an unimaginable selection of whiskey (if you’re up for some early drinking). I went with the Scottish breakfast which includes egg, haggis, sausage, bacon, black pudding, white pudding, hash brown, tomato beans and toast. It was my first time trying haggis, and it  wasn’t’t bad at all!

In case you don’t know, haggis is made from sheep’s stomach and is stuffed with liver, heart and lungs of the sheep. Despite the name and what it’s made of, I would eat haggis again.

  Arthur’s Seat

After breakfast we headed to Arthur’s seat which is around a 30 minute hike to the top of a hill,and over looks the entire city for some fantastic views.

Unfortunately, as soon as we started hike it started raining…hard. On the positive side, there were very few tourists and those we did encounter were retreating down because the rain was making it difficult to hike up.

By that point we saw it more of a challenge against mother nature to make it up to the top and pressed on. By the time we reached the top, not a single person was there and we had the entire spot all to ourselves.

After hearing stories from the ghost tour the night before about people hiking to the top of Arthur’s seat and then falling off, it felt very eery to be there on our own. Not to mention being surrounded by fog, mist, and then getting hailed on (in the middle of summer) which is when we decided it was time to go!

  Tips

Arthur’s seat is located in Holyrood Park which is a great place to cycle in or have a walk around.

It’s also close to Holyrood Palace, which was the home for Mary Queen of Scott’s and is the official residence for the royal family when visiting Scotland.

Tickets for admission into the palace cost £12.50/adult.

If you don’t have much time, it might be worth just taking a drive around the road that circles the entire park and hill. The ride is no longer than 10-15 minutes and you can get some great views and spots for scenic pictures.

After conquering the hike up Arthur’s seat, it was time to hit the road to Inverness.

  The Cairngorms National Park

Our first stop on the road was to the Cairngorms National Park which is the largest national park in the UK. The park itself contains the ancient Caledonian forest which has almost been wiped out from all of Scotland. 

You can find many species of animals there including red squirrels and even wildcats. There are many different paths to go on for hikes, a couple estates to visit, Balmoral Castle and a steam train ride around the park. 

  Tips

We were short on time to catch a train ride but the Strathspey Railway runs a return trip from Aviemore through the heart of the Scottish Highlands which costs £14.25 for a 90 minute adventure.

If you are feeling like getting in touch with your nature side, you can find some great wild camping spots in the park.

  A Hidden Beach

Just as you exit the Cairngorms National Park on the A86, there is a beautiful sandy beach where you can stop for a picnic lunch, do some fishing or even spend the night camping if you can brave the midges! The beach is located on Loch Laggan in between Quad Bike Tours and  Ardverikie Estate, you’ll be able to see the beach through the trees as your drive by with a designated parking spot to stop at.

  Tip

Every encounter we had with Scottish locals they would always bring up “the midges”. They are similar to mosquitos but much smaller and will drive you crazy in the wild if you don’t have repellent on.

Apparently, the best form of repellent recommended by the locals is wearing Avon Skin So Soft. In truth we were fairly lucky considering the horror stories we heard about them, but we came prepared with repellant just in case, and you probably should too.

  Road Trip – Scottish Highlands – Day 3 

Glengarry Viewpoint

All along the road to Inverness you will find parking spots which are great to catch some epic views. As soon as you pass the sandy beach you will encounter three castle like buildings. Stop at Glengarry Viewpoint (about 1 hour after passing the hidden sandy beach) where you can stand on a rock and catch views of the entire landscape. Funny enough, one of the lochs is actually shaped like Scotland.

  Invermoriston Waterfalls

Next, head to the tiny town of Invermoriston and leave your car at the local parking lot. Cross the street and follow the sounds of running water. This will take you to a waterfall for some great shots.

  Searching for Nessie and Urquhart Castle

Head back to your car and make your way to Urquhart Castle which overlooks Loch ness for your chance to find Nessie. This is the site of an ancient ruined castle, one of the largest in Scotland which was built in the 13th and 16th centuries. Tickets to visit cost £9 per adult. Although we didn’t’t find the mythical sea monster we were able to catch the sun setting from the castle.

  Inverness

This is the final destination for the road trip and is about a 30 minute drive from the Urquhart castle. For the best views of the city, head up to Inverness castle.

  Exploring More in The Highlands

Your trip doesn’t need to end once you’ve reached Inverness. In the Highlands there are many things to see and do.

  Dolphin Watching

Unfortunately, we didn’t’t get the chance to personally catch views of the dolphins ourselves but if you head to Chancery Point along the loch of Moray Firth you will have a good chance of seeing them there.

  Glen Ord Distillery

You can’t visit Scotland without some Scotch tasting. Take a visit to Glen Ord Distillery which offers tours and tastings. We went on the most basic tour which cost £6 and includes a tasting of a 12 year old whiskey.  Interesting enough, this distillery only sells their scotch in South East Asia and is not available anywhere else, including the UK.

  Golf

Did you know that the modern game of golf was invented by the Scotts? There are a few courses around including Torvean Golf Club, Inverness Golf Club and Fairways Loch ness Golf Course.

  Watching the Indigenous Scottish Game of Shinty

An ancient game said to predate Christianity, shinty is a team sport that Highlanders play and was previously used to help train boys for warfare. Catch a game with local Highland teams.

  Continuing Your Road Trip

If you feel up for seeing more of Scotland, I recommend continuing your road trip through to the Isle of Skye. Skye is well known for its beautiful, unique landscape and best explored on a wild camping road trip.

  Travel tip shared by Jenn amapforkandcork.com

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[historia-vitae-magistras]

Is it too much to ask Matt has a good time of it for once 😭

It might! The cringe below might finally manage to kill me but I had a rum so enjoy if at all humanly possible I fucking guess lmao. No trigger warnings in this!

Liverpool, 1780s.

Alasdair didn't like Liverpool. Alasdair didn't enjoy anywhere below the borderlands if he was honest. The further south he went, the more English the accents and attitudes got. But his personal accounts and the Scottish economy were all bound up in Arthur's and England's. The city was an important center of commerce and shipping, but Christ was a hellscape to navigate. A massive barrel of what God only knew nearly flattened him as he ducked between burly stevedores carrying rolls of hammered copper and herring casks. Not ten paces later, he was doubling over to avoid decapitation and not by the preferred broad sword, but bolts of silk heaped over someone's shoulder that swung out like a branch a rider wouldn't see in the dark.

Eventually, the long solid jetty ran nearly half a mile with smaller wharves and docks jutting from it like teeth set in the skull of England. Barges, barques and brigantines floated both at their berths and sailed up the mouth of the harbour and down the throat of the River Mersey. The whole bloody circus acting as if it were the opening of Arthur's mouth, goods being swallowed into the belly of Britain.

He steered himself through the mob of elbows and shoulders, shading his eyes with a hand now and then to read the raised, painted letters on various sterns and bows until he found the ship he was looking for. HMS Triton was emblazoned in yellow. Loaded with cod and wheat for the warehouses, Arthur would be making land at any time and would want to know the state of their finances immediately. He would want to be bent over the tables, figures, and ship manifests and reports. He was always in a foul mood when he had to get off the ship and the profitable year would set his ire to rest before it came to blows at least. He found a post jutting up from the water hung with lanterns unused in the daylight and leaned against it, waiting for his ill-tempered brother to make his appearance.

A quarter of an hour later, they were finally lowering the gangplank. It scraped to a halt as two heaving sailors maneuvered into place. The planks were still skittering on the dock as he was assaulted by the smell of unwashed sailor, tar, fish and a knot of sharp elbows and joints that suddenly hung around his neck. Curses rose into his mouth, and then he was aware of the distinctly sweet smell of polar wind and pine wood. The rush of fondness that came was unconscious, automatic and as human as they ever felt.

"Holy Christ," He pinched limbs snaking around his neck and flung them off, gripping the slender creature giving him the world's most gentle, affectionate mauling and holding him at arm's length.

"Matthew?"

"Hello, Uncle Alasdair!" Matthew wriggled and looked overjoyed, stuck in an awkward shrug with all his weight hanging from Alasdair's hands under his armpits. Alasdair stared. Getting taller but still small for his age, he dangled there for a long moment as Alasdair stared. He was lighter than Alasdair could remember. Then, all at once, his brain started up again.

"What in hell d'ye think you're doing here?"

"Father's arranged it!" He said, chipper but increasingly nervous. He twitched in the awkward hold. "Did... Did Father not write and tell you?"

"He didn't!" Alasdair exclaimed, annoyed at his brother. He'd have words when the boy was in bed. Really, could Arthur not inform him of the basics? "Christ, Matthew, but you're a surprise!"

"An unwelcome one?" Matthew said a little sadly, and Alasdair recognized all at once that his hold must have been painful; Matthew had interpreted from Alasdair's tone that his presence was an annoyance as it was so often with Arthur.

Alasdair hugged him drawing his nephew and godson to his chest and shifting his insubstantial weight, so he sat on one arm, all affection for him overriding any annoyance for Arthur. "Not at all, wee one,"

He lost track of time momentarily, the curly-haired sprite hugging his neck taking up all the world. The boy's clothes were stiff with salt, but he was so sweet a sight for sore eyes; Alasdair didn't mind if any of the white chalky residues got on his second-best coat.

"How was your voyage? Your ships three weeks late, I half thought the Nuckelavee had gotten themselves a particularly poor meal of bony Englishmen and snapped a wee tender Canadian up for desert,"

"Oh no, just rough seas," Matthew said, looking back at Alasdair. He was smiling but a stone thinner than Alasdair remembered. "We spent a week off the coast of Ireland to let it pass. And made several stops since we weren't transporting anything important,"

Alasdair snorted. "Except your father I suppose,"

"Oh, did father arrive already?"

"I'm sure he'll be along in a moment," Alasdair said, more focused on shifting the weight to one arm and getting out of the way as cargo was unloaded. Activity was up, sailors busier now that the bottle neck of the gangplanks we're down. Alasdair sighed. Arthur could take a year and a bloody day to disembarque he so preferred being at sea sometimes.

Matthew's head popped up, wide-eyed and overjoyed and Alasdair lifted a hand to the head of salt-stiff hair and nudge him out of the way. But the question still came, vibrating with excitement. "Father came with you? To fetch me? Really?"

Alasdair frowned. "With me? Nay. Isn't he with ya, lad?"

The boy's enthusiasm sagged from him and he buried his face into Alasdair's shoulder. "No, sir,"

Alasdair sighed. Of course, he wouldn't spend that much time in close quarters. Sassenach bampot always preferred his own cabin, if not his own ship. He lifted Matthew's weight to his hands so he could be safely deposited onto his own two feet; he asked, "Where's your governess then?"

"Governess?" Matthew asked as Alasdair set him down.

"Aye,"

"Why would I have a governess?" He asked. His big blue eyes proved Alasdair's point. He was likely young enough in human terms to still have one.

"A tutor then?" The wind was picking up now.

Matthew looked at his feet. Alasdair sighed.

"Well, who minded you on the way over?"

"I suppose that'd be the captain. He never spoke to me but no one said ill of him." Matthew said. "I think Lord Kirkland said I should start learning the ropes without being coddled,"

Alasdair snorted. As if Arthur had ever coddled Matthew. Matthew shrank, narrow shoulders inching around his ears as he interpreted Alasdair's incredulity as criticism.

"I tried to do what I told," Matthew said quietly.

"I’m sure you did." Alasdair replied gently. "It's all right. Do you need to fetch anything?"

"No sir." Matthew responded, but he hesitated.

"What is it?"

"The bosun said he would tell father I've done well. Would you speak to him? And tell father? Please? If it's not a bother."

"Aye, of course," Alasdair said. "I don't think you could do anything less even if you’d tried. Let's get you out of the weather before it turns foul,"

"Shouldn't I help unload?" Matthew glanced back nervously

"No, I think you've done enough work," Alasdair bounced Matthew up so his weight sat comfortably on the flat of his forearm.

After a talk with the first mate and bosun, who reported Matthew's work on glowing terms, they returned to the house. Relatively new, it shared its northern wall with the warehouses but had its own water pump and a big copper tub he set the maids to fill with hot water. Peeling Matthew out of his salt-crusted clothes was an ordeal. The boy seemed to be covered in a salt rash from his narrow shoulders down, and his hands were practically in shreds, rope burns and salt welts everywhere on both sides. His ribs showed under his skin.

"Christ almighty, I'm going to clap your father into a stockade," Alasdair muttered as he gently tried to sponge the raw skin clean of salt. "What was he thinking?"

Matthew shrugged, stifling another wince as the sponge touched was looked like a particularly painful place of angry irritation.

"Sorry," Alasdair said. "We'll get something on these, but the salt—"

"I'm like salt-packed green beans."

Alasdair snorted. "And the beanpole. Honestly, did they forget to feed you?"

"Only sometimes!" Matt said chipperly, blowing at the suds and shaping peaks like merengue out of the bubbles. It was strange, sometimes, that even after a century and a half, children remained like their physical age. "I didn't have a friend to bring me anything when it was my turn on watch duty like the other lads, so I had to wait for breakfast a lot."

Alasdair sighed, filling the pitcher and telling Matthew to close his eyes as he dumped more water over his soapy hair and shoulders.

"What do you want for your first decent meal on land?"

Matthew looked up, a little uncertain. He hated requesting things, even when he was asked. Alasdair combed his fingers through the curls and despaired to find them still salt stiff.

"We can have whatever you like," Alasdair said, trying to reassure.

"I don't mind whatever you were going to have." He said quietly, patting absently at a particularly angry-looking patch of skin on the back of his hand. He looked like he wanted to say more, the slightly sad face that consistently predicted being told no even when he built up the courage for something.

"I'm asking what would you like?"

"Is there any fruit?" He asked, all in a rush, looking a little terrified. "Is that all right? Actually no, sorry. Whatever's being cooked is fantastic, I'm sorry."

"Matthew." Alasdair repositioned himself to the side of the tub instead of the back. The lad was still slight for his age and dwarfed by all the suds in the tub long enough for Alasdair to stretch out. For a bizarre moment, he recalled Arthur, even younger, even smaller, with terrified eyes in the waters at Aqua Sulis when he'd been playing and lost track of their mother. "Grapes or apples? Or there are some plums if you'd like those. Won't do to have you keeling over of scurvy on land."

That got him a surprised look.

"Both?" Alasdair asked.

A shy smile appeared, flickering like a candle before the flame found it's footing on the wick. "Thank you,"

"You're welcome. Now eyes shut, need to give you another rinse."

It took four water changes before he was rinsed as thoroughly as Alasdair wanted, and his short cropped curls were soft again. He ate exactly what Alasdair put in front of him, only took the plums Alasdair put on his plate and didn't ask for more but took them, slice by slice. He was a sweet boy. Alasdair put another sliced apple in front of him until it was plain the lad could barely keep his eyes open, properly fed and clothed.

Matthew, fed and sluggish, hung on for a long moment when given what Alasdair meant as a hug good night before he sent him to bed. Alasdair glanced down.

"Sorry." Matthew dropped his gaze to the floor. "Thank you."

Alasdair scooped him up. It's after sundown; the fire burned low when Matthew rolled over in the trundle they'd pulled out from under the primary bed. He was buried in blankets and three household eiderdowns, bundled snug against the night but not yet asleep. There was something stiff in the way he held himself, Alasdair decided as he rolled onto his back and sighed.

"What's on your mind?"

A long, inefficient pause. Not inefficient, Alasdair thought, but nervous.

"Whatever it is I won't be angry."

"Can I ask something of you?"

"You know you can, a bhobain."

"Would you please warn me if Lord Kirkland wanted to... exchange me?"

Alasdair went cold just thinking about it. Without thinking, he'd leaned towards the trundle and scooped the boy, blankets and all, to cuddle him close. In the light of the mostly banked fire, he was shocked to see Matthew wasn't upset.

"Your father wants you,"

Matthew snuggled in his blankets, wriggling until he was perfectly tight between Alasdair's arms.

"He doesn't mind me now so much. But... you'd warn me, right? Please?"

He thumbed Francis' curls off a sharp face that was too like Arthur's as a boy, with eyes as large as they were clever. It was strange how a child made of so much of the two great sources of disquiet in Alasdair's life could be so endearing.

"Listen to me. You belong to the British Empire. That means I get just as much a say as your sassenach bastard of a father, should he change his mind." He didn't want to test that particular statement anytime soon but it felt true enough, saying it. "And I'll never give you up, do you understand me? It's my name you bear and my name you'll keep, understand?"

He got a very fervent nod against his chest.

"No one will ever give you up if I have a say in it," Alasdair said, closing his eyes against the dampness suddenly there. History had taken his mother and all the sweetness Arthur ever had. He kissed Matthew’s forehead. "I can promise you that. You have my name."

"It's just... I had Lord Bonnefoy's too." Matthew said very quietly. "I was part of New France. Now I'm... Not."

Alasdair exhaled the urge to smash Francis' face into one of mother's standing stones and thumbed Matthew's face.

"I stood as your godfather when you were born. Did you know that?"

Matthew shook his head.

"You were too little to remember." Alasdair held him tighter. "But I am. And François... He's always had the gentler climate. Fair weather. Do you understand what I mean?"

"That I'm too cold." Matthew shivered, and Alasdair rubbed a circle in his back like he had when the lad was tiny, not that he was much larger now.

"No. That he can be a fair weather friend. We Scots are made of sterner stuff. You and I." He thumbed an idle curl, pondering the boy. Matthew glanced up, eyes wide and watery. Alasdair looked him in the eye, in what little light was left and repeated himself for emphasis. "You and I, both."

[senditothemoonn]

Ive read through this like 5 times and I cannot stop smiling, I just love the way you write Alasdair so much.

I love him being inadvertently funny, like I think he’ll tell jokes and make people laugh but then he’s also funny when he doesn’t even mean to be.

I can just imagine them at some stuffy event, both bored out of their minds, theyd rather be at home doing other things. Francis is only there because he has to be and Alasdair is only there because he’s not going to let Francis suffer through it alone. The boring old man giving a speech reaches a particularly dry spell and Alasdair leans down and whispers sth to Francis that makes him burst into laughter. They both get dirty looks but neither of them care ajhsjbsjs

Alasdair’s strength ! (⁎⁍̴̆Ɛ⁍̴̆⁎) I love to think of him as a heavily principled guy with loads of integrity but also…those muscles…not to be completely shallow but one of my favourite things to think about is Ali during the Highland games competing in the caber toss and his partner watching from beyond the field with heart eyes.

One of my favourite things abt scotfra is them being handsy w each other and just admiring each other physically…Francis in low cut tops and Alasdair in kilts…now I really want to draw Ali in a kilt…

May I request 90, 82, 79 (or just any u want to answer) w scotfra for the OTP asks

sorry for being tardy with this xx 90. Who makes the other smile with almost no effort at all? Alasdair does. He's a surly sort; comes across as stern at the best of times (and god spare you if you catch him in a mood) but there is something unassumingly earnest in how he acts towards Francis in a way that speaks volumes of the kind of man he is. He'll offer Francis his coat or the shelter of his arm over his shoulders when the weather turns. He'll stand at attention, a staid presence at Francis' side during official functions despite how much he chafes against the pageantry of it all. At home he is casually affectionate in ways that warm Francis to his core; tactile and loose. Alasdair's love is grounded in familiarity and that catches Francis off guard. It straddles the line between tenderness and roughness in a way that Francis is helpless against. There is also the fact that for all that Francis might be charming, Alasdair is funny. Almost effortlessly funny, what with that dry sharp wit of his same as his kin. 82. What do they love about each other the most? It is Alasdair's strength, for Francis; as much the strength of his back as the valour of his convictions. The steadfast way he's moved forward and kept his heart and his conscience despite it all. For Alasdair, it's the way Francis savours the world. How he relishes in each of his senses, every breath an indulgence because despite all the horror they have witnessed there is still beauty in the world and a lifetime to enjoy it. 79. What do they like to see each other in? Alasdair likes when Francis' necklines dip low, parting over his sternum and tempting Alasdair's knuckles, his lips. It makes him hungry for him the way few things do. The cologne that Francis favours seems to pool in the dip of his chest and Alasdair wants bury his nose in the dip of his throat, his collarbones. Lower, until the fur on his chest becomes sparse and darkens. Wants to part Francis' shirt further so he can kiss the softness of his stomach and nose down his treasure trail. Francis will very openly admire the sharp cut of Alasdair in formal wear. Always has. The heavy wool of his kilt suits the proud set of his shoulders; and it goes without saying that Francis is not blind to the dip of Alasdair's waist where it is cinched in by his belt nor is he blind to the curve of his calves. Alasdair's thighs, especially, and the way the drape of the fabric will hint at their shape and tease Francis with the breadth of them, is a weakness.

[scotianostra]

On October 26th 1911 the Gaelic poet, Sorley MacLean, was born on the island of Raasay, the same island my own ancestors originated.

Maclean was born at Osgaig on the island into a Gaelic speaking community. He was the second of five sons born to Malcolm and Christina MacLean. His brothers were John Maclean, a schoolteacher and later rector of Oban High School, who was also a piper, Calum Maclean, a noted folklorist and ethnographer; and Alasdair and Norman, who became GP's. His name in Gaelic was Somhairle MacGill-Eain.

At home, he was steeped in Gaelic culture and beul-aithris (the oral tradition), especially old songs. His mother, a Nicolson, had been raised near Portree, although her family was of Lochalsh origin her family had been involved in Highland Land League activism for tenant rights. His father, who owned a small croft and ran a tailoring business,[12]:16 had been raised on Raasay, but his family was originally from North Uist and, before that, Mull. Both sides of the family had been evicted during the Highland Clearances, of which many people in the community still had a clear recollection.

What MacLean learned of the history of the Gaels, especially of the Clearances, had a significant impact on his worldview and politics. Of especial note was MacLean's paternal grandmother, Mary Matheson, whose family had been evicted from the mainland in the 18th century. Until her death in 1923, she lived with the family and taught MacLean many traditional songs from Kintail and Lochalsh. As a child, MacLean enjoyed fishing trips with his aunt Peigi, who taught him other songs.[9] Unlike other members of his family, MacLean could not sing, a fact that he connected with his impetus to write poetry.

Sorley was brought up as a follower of the Free Presbyterian Church of Scotland, now if you think the Wee Free are strict, these guys think that The Wee Free are too lenient, but Sorley says he gave up the religion for socialism at the age of twelve as he refused to accept that a majority of human beings were consigned to eternal damnation. He was educated at Raasay Primary School and Portree Secondary School. In 1929, he left home to attend the University of Edinburgh.

While studying at Edinburgh University he encountered Hugh Macdiarmid who inspired him to write poetry. However, Maclean chose the Gaelic of his childhood rather than Scots.

After fighting in North Africa during World War II he embarked on his life-long career as a school teacher - working in Mull, Edinburgh and Plockton.

Maclean was one of the finest writers of Gaelic in the 20th century. He drew upon its rich oral tradition to create innovative and beautiful poetry about the Scottish landscape and history. He was also an accomplished love poet. However, writing in Gaelic limited his audience so he began to translate his own work into English. In 1977 a bilingual edition of his selected poems appeared - followed by the collected poems in 1989.

His fame as a poet began to spread during the 1970s - helped by the appearance of his work in Gordon Wright's Four Points of a Saltire. Seamus Heaney, who first met Maclean at a poetry reading at the Abbey Theatre Dublin, was one of his greatest admirers and subsequently worked on translations of his work.

One of Maclean's most celebrated poems is Hallaig which concerns the enforced clearance of the inhabitants of the township of Hallaig (Raasay) to Australia. A film, Hallaig, was made in 1984 by Timothy Neat, including a discussion by MacLean of the dominant influences on his poetry, with commentary by Smith and Heaney, and substantial passages from the poem and other work, along with extracts of Gaelic song

In 1990 Maclean received the Queen's Gold Medal for poetry. He died in 1996 at the age of 85.‘.

Tha tìm, am fiadh, an coille Hallaig’

Tha bùird is tàirnean air an uinneig

trom faca mi an Àird Iar

’s tha mo ghaol aig Allt Hallaig

’na craoibh bheithe, ’s bha i riamh

eadar an t-Inbhir ’s Poll a’ Bhainne,

thall ’s a-bhos mu Bhaile Chùirn:

tha i ’na beithe, ’na calltainn,

’na caorann dhìrich sheang ùir.

Ann an Sgreapadal mo chinnidh,

far robh Tarmad ’s Eachann Mòr,

tha ’n nigheanan ’s am mic ’nan coille

a’ gabhail suas ri taobh an lòin.

Uaibreach a-nochd na coilich ghiuthais

a’ gairm air mullach Cnoc an Rà,

dìreach an druim ris a’ ghealaich –

chan iadsan coille mo ghràidh.

Fuirichidh mi ris a’ bheithe

gus an tig i mach an Càrn,

gus am bi am bearradh uile

o Bheinn na Lice fa sgàil.

Mura tig ’s ann theàrnas mi a Hallaig

a dh’ionnsaigh Sàbaid nam marbh,

far a bheil an sluagh a’ tathaich,

gach aon ghinealach a dh’fhalbh.

Tha iad fhathast ann a Hallaig,

Clann Ghill-Eain’s Clann MhicLeòid,

na bh’ ann ri linn Mhic Ghille Chaluim:

chunnacas na mairbh beò.

Na fir ’nan laighe air an lèanaig

aig ceann gach taighe a bh’ ann,

na h-igheanan ’nan coille bheithe,

dìreach an druim, crom an ceann.

Eadar an Leac is na Feàrnaibh

tha ’n rathad mòr fo chòinnich chiùin,

’s na h-igheanan ’nam badan sàmhach

a’ dol a Clachan mar o thus.

Agus a’ tilleadh às a’ Chlachan,

à Suidhisnis ’s à tir nam beò;

a chuile tè òg uallach

gun bhristeadh cridhe an sgeòil.

O Allt na Feàrnaibh gus an fhaoilinn

tha soilleir an dìomhaireachd nam beann

chan eil ach coitheanal nan nighean

a’ cumail na coiseachd gun cheann.

A’ tilleadh a Hallaig anns an fheasgar,

anns a’ chamhanaich bhalbh bheò,

a’ lìonadh nan leathadan casa,

an gàireachdaich ‘nam chluais ’na ceò,

’s am bòidhche ’na sgleò air mo chridhe

mun tig an ciaradh air caoil,

’s nuair theàrnas grian air cùl Dhùn Cana

thig peilear dian à gunna Ghaoil;

’s buailear am fiadh a tha ’na thuaineal

a’ snòtach nan làraichean feòir;

thig reothadh air a shùil sa choille:

chan fhaighear lorg air fhuil rim bheò.

Hallaig

Translator: Sorley MacLean

‘Time, the deer, is in the wood of Hallaig’

The window is nailed and boarded

through which I saw the West

and my love is at the Burn of Hallaig,

a birch tree, and she has always been

between Inver and Milk Hollow,

here and there about Baile-chuirn:

she is a birch, a hazel,

a straight, slender young rowan.

In Screapadal of my people

where Norman and Big Hector were,

their daughters and their sons are a wood

going up beside the stream.

Proud tonight the pine cocks

crowing on the top of Cnoc an Ra,

straight their backs in the moonlight –

they are not the wood I love.

I will wait for the birch wood

until it comes up by the cairn,

until the whole ridge from Beinn na Lice

will be under its shade.

If it does not, I will go down to Hallaig,

to the Sabbath of the dead,

where the people are frequenting,

every single generation gone.

They are still in Hallaig,

MacLeans and MacLeods,

all who were there in the time of Mac Gille Chaluim:

the dead have been seen alive.

The men lying on the green

at the end of every house that was,

the girls a wood of birches,

straight their backs, bent their heads.

Between the Leac and Fearns

the road is under mild moss

and the girls in silent bands

go to Clachan as in the beginning,

and return from Clachan,

from Suisnish and the land of the living;

each one young and light-stepping,

without the heartbreak of the tale.

From the Burn of Fearns to the raised beach

that is clear in the mystery of the hills,

there is only the congregation of the girls

keeping up the endless walk,

coming back to Hallaig in the evening,

in the dumb living twilight,

filling the steep slopes,

their laughter a mist in my ears,

and their beauty a film on my heart

before the dimness comes on the kyles,

and when the sun goes down behind Dun Cana

a vehement bullet will come from the gun of Love;

and will strike the deer that goes dizzily,

sniffing at the grass-grown ruined homes;

his eye will freeze in the wood,

his blood will not be traced while I live.

)

[authenticislaammichistory]

Lady Zainab, pictured on her estate in the Scottish Highlands, was an accomplished angler and deerstalker. Courtesy of Angus Sladen. It Was Said:- As possibly the first British-born woman to make the Haj pilgrimage, Lady Evelyn Cobbold blazed a trail for others to follow. Alasdair Soussi looks at the life of the Scottish noblewoman, also known as Lady Zainab, who embraced Islam She was buried in accordance with the principles of Islam on a distant hillside on her estate at Glencarron, Wester Ross, in the Highlands of Scotland, on a bitter day in January 1963. Britain was in the grip of a vicious winter. A lone piper, shaking from cold, played MacCrimmon's Lament while an imam, who had travelled from London to perform the burial rites, stood firm against the biting Scottish chill as he recited verses from the Holy Quran. It was an extraordinary moment for one of the most remarkable women of 20th century Britain. Born 145 years ago, Lady Evelyn Cobbold, who, in 1933, became possibly the first British-born woman to make the pilgrimage to Mecca, was a Scottish aristocrat, a Mayfair socialite, an accomplished angler and renowned deerstalker. Most incredibly of all, she was not only literate in the Arabic language but also claimed to be a Muslim for as long as she could remember, taking the name Lady Zainab as her Muslim name. Her groundbreaking journey to the Arab world's holiest of places cemented her unique position as a British woman who considered herself a Muslim living in a western society. But her overall contribution to western understanding of Islam and the east almost faded into obscurity and was only brought back into the public sphere four years ago, with the re-release of her book Pilgrimage to Mecca. Originally published in 1934, the volume documents her physical and spiritual passage to the very heart of the Islamic world. She was born Lady Evelyn Murray in Edinburgh on July 17, 1867, the eldest child of the Scottish peer, Charles Adolphus Murray, 7th Earl of Dunmore, and Lady Gertrude Coke, daughter of the 2nd Earl of Leicester. Suffering from a heady degree of travel fever, the young Lady Zainab's perennially hard-up father was forever dragging his family off to the more exotic climes of North Africa where, surrounded by domestic servants of Egyptian and Algerian origin, she spent her childhood winters and was fully immersed in the ways of Islam and Arab life and traditions. Lady Zainab met John Dupuis Cobbold, a member of a wealthy brewing family from eastern England, in Cairo. There, they married - when Lady Zainab was at the relatively (for then) late age of 24 - in April, 1891. Three children followed between 1893 and 1900, but a life of domesticity in her husband's home in Suffolk was not congenial to a woman who, so steeped in the sights and sounds of the east, had already developed more exotic tastes than the English county's comparatively sedate surroundings. Though she was able to indulge her lust for travel after her marriage, by the turn of the century she was travelling without her husband. In 1912, Lady Zainab published her pro-Islamic, Wayfarers in the Libyan Desert, and with her attentions now very much turned to her travels in North Africa, it was clear that her attachment to the Middle East and to Islam was less a keen interest and more a way of life. In 1922, she and her husband separated - but never formally divorced - and Lady Zainab received a substantial financial package, including the deer forest of Glencarron. Now independently wealthy, Lady Zainab spent much of the 1920s hunting game but it wasn't until the death of her husband in 1929 that she committed herself to making the greatest of all journeys for a Muslim, doing so at the age of 65. "It was clearly a tremendously important achievement," says Alexander Maitland, friend and authorised biographer of the Middle East explorer Wilfred Thesiger. "As a British traveller - and as a Scotswoman, of course - she was clearly important enough to be part of that heritage of British women going back to Hester Stanhope (1776-1839), followed by Lady Anne Blunt (1837-1917), Gertrude Bell (1868-1926) and Freya Stark (1893-1993). She was very much a part of that. She was very interesting in that her visit prefaced another visit of some importance made in 1938 by Princess Alice, Queen Victoria's longest-living granddaughter, who went with her husband across Saudi Arabia from west to east. "One should not underestimate the importance of Lady Evelyn doing the journey - being the first British-born woman to make the Haj - and of course the book she wrote about her journey." Despite never officially converting to Islam, and with no record of her doing so in front of an imam, Lady Evelyn's Muslim faith - as the Scots-born daughter of a British aristocratic family - was nevertheless quite remarkable, not least in an era when Islam possessed a somewhat exotic reputation within British society. "She was certainly unusual, being a Muslim," Maitland says. "Changing from being a Roman Catholic to a Protestant or a Protestant to a Roman Catholic, or even diverging from Christianity towards Buddhism - all these were comprehensible and had some precedent. On its publication, Pilgrimage to Mecca, taking the form of a diary, was favourably received by the British press. The Manchester Guardian, for instance, wrote that the "book has a rare appeal of its own … If she may be thought to be a little prejudiced in favour of her adopted faith, we have been accustomed to hear in its disfavour so much which is based upon pure ignorance and antipathy that a little over-praise, if such it be, comes as a welcome relief." And, indeed, with passages that included a vivid account of her relief at finally being granted special permission by King Abdul Aziz of Saudi Arabia to perform the Haj pilgrimage - "I had for so long lived in alternate fits of hope and despair, that I can scarcely credit that my great wish is at last to be fulfilled" - and of entering the Mosque of Mecca for the first time - "I am lost to my surroundings because of the wonder of it … I had never imagined anything so stupendous" - the critical acclaim appeared entirely justified. So, why did this exceedingly intelligent woman's contribution to the west's understanding of Islam - not to mention her groundbreaking journey - almost disappear from view? "There are a number of reasons," says Angus Sladen, Lady Zainab's great-grandson. "My suspicion is that in British society - the British establishment - she was regarded as a very major eccentric, and maybe a bit snobbish. And, probably in the academic world and the theocratic world in the UK, I think she was regarded as somewhat lightweight. They didn't think she was that serious and was perhaps doing things for effect rather than for reality. Those who were studying the Muslim world probably thought she hadn't been well-educated in their view. Her education was from governesses and that was it. So I don't think they took her seriously at all." William Facey, editor of the 2008 publication of Lady Zainab's Pilgrimage to Mecca, concurs with this assessment, adding that her "three publications were regarded as lightweight travel writing - as indeed they are, if compared with works by Gertrude Bell and Freya Stark. What is remarkable about her books is not any quest for objective description, but how personal and heartfelt they are, qualities that in her case come across to the sophisticated modern reader as naivety." Lady Zainab's journey may have shown her to be a committed Muslim, but, as her great-grandson explains, her Islamic faith was largely personal in nature. "I don't remember my father ever talking about her praying so many times a day," says Sladen, who possesses the cast of a 20-kilogram salmon, which his great-grandmother hooked in Norway. "I think she probably had the Muslim religion somewhat on her own terms. "Having said that, she was definitely a serious person about it because all her notebooks and what she was reading all had a philosophical edge to them. She was definitely interested in the religion and almost had a contempt for Christianity. I wouldn't say anti-Christian, but certainly she didn't think that it answered a lot of the problems (of the world) - in fact, some of it, in her view, probably caused some of the problems of the world rather than solved them. And, you can see that from her writings." So, what of her legacy? Despite her accomplishments being greatly overshadowed by the likes of Bell, the midwife of modern-day Iraq, and Stark, that doyenne of Middle East travel writers, the recent re-publication of Pilgrimage to Mecca has led many to argue for a greater appreciation of Lady Evelyn's achievements. "Lady Evelyn definitely has a place simply because of who she was and what she did," contends Maitland. "Women, at that time, were becoming increasingly empowered and Lady Evelyn was very much part of that post-First World War era of empowered women. In a feminist sense it was almost a 'British Spring'. And, Lady Evelyn was very important in that context, even if she didn't have the same passion for literature that we find with other travellers like Freya Stark or like Gertrude Bell, who had humanitarian and political objectives in mind."

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Anglo-Celtic character aesthetic round up.

Alfred

Matt

Jack

Zee

Alasdair

Brighid

Rhys

Arthur

[historia-vitae-magistras]

what was it like when alasdair realized matthew has become taller than him? from smol starving babie to tol moose, maybe this was in the 1900s, etc.

Matt shot the fuck up in the early 1800s, I think. When he was little, he stabbed people in the kidneys, a very petite 11-12, probably weighing about a third of what Alfred did then. He got a little taller with the Loyalists, and then in the early 19th century as just absolute shitloads of people poured into North America, and 10% stayed in Canada! And he just fucking shot up. Alasdair and Arthur both pleased in a "well done, you might actually make it to adulthood!" way. Arthur still is very effective at keeping Matt in line and much smaller in a metaphysical sort of way and he's a bit cross he was outgrown by yet another son but very smug.

But man, probably that last inch or two in the 1940s has Alasdair giving Jan the side eye like, "you could wait until the wee tadpole's fully grown, cradle robber." He knew it was going to happen, just look at the size of Canada, but he was still a little "noooooo I won't be able to pick him up anymore soon" for as proud as he was. A bit of a crow about it, really, when he's drunk. "Look at that absolute mess, he's alive and kind of functional because of me! Engineer extraordinaire, I am!" but sober, its very restrained half smile watching Matt throw diplomatic hands with half the world's empires on the floor of the UN. And a sigh of "I did my best." as he writes Matt yet another prescription for an anti-depressant lmao.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

I would love to see some more of Scotland being a loving caring uncle to Mattie in modern day 🥹 scot loves him so much

This is short, and it is sweet. Brighid is a roast machine, Alasdair is tenderhearted for the wee frozen maple, and Arthur never heats his goddamn house. Also, I have no idea what Matt's anxious about, so your guess is as good as mine. TW for a brief nightmare/panic and Brighid gently roasting Matt like a chestnut. Enjoy.

21st Century

He woke feeling electrocuted. His eyes were open, but he could see nothing. All the world narrowed to his body, merely a twisting, jerking live wire of pain as he folded upright with a cry.

"Hush, wee one." He heard his uncle's voice and collapsed against a familiar shoulder. "Only a nightmare."

"Wee one?" He heard another, slightly less familiar accent and jolted, embarrassed to be discovered not only in bed, even if his phone did display a time of three am, but panting against his uncle's shoulder, still struggling to catch his breath. His aunt swung about the room, and the light caught on the metal zip-up of her leather jacket. "Taller than you, so he is." She laughed.

"Madame Kelly," Matthew blurted, clutching the covers to his chest.

He heard a laugh like harp strings. "Bloody hell, listen to the poor thing. Forgotten English have you? And who sleeps in a sweater like that? Forget where you parked the U-Boat, love?"

Still short of breath, Matthew flushed. He'd been cold all day, and sometimes, the most fatherly thing about Arthur was his dominion over the thermostat. Embarrassed, he tried to curl back under the covers.

"Ach, leave the poor boy alone, Bridgie," Alasdair pat his back, and his aunt laughed at him. He flushed, embarrassed. "You'll send him into fits,"

Brighid gave a snort and patted her brother on the shoulder. "Aye."

"You're cold," Matt muttered, trying to avoid another pointed comment from his aunt. She was hilarious, but he was very tired. There was the smell of outdoors in the room and they both wore their coats.

"Aye, only just traipsed home from the pub. Your aunt's done herself in properly. Pay her no mind, lad."

"Now that's no fair," Brighid laughed. "You're the one so hammered we took a cab. Can ye believe that? Ol' 'thrift will win us the war' here shelled out for a ride home, and I'm not even French."

"Brighid," Alasdair shook his head.

"I'm celebrating, Arth— Alasdair. Bloody baby brothers. And their babies."

Matt didn't know what to say to any of that. He watched, a little stunned, as Brighid disappeared down the hall, lurching from side to side.

"Do you want a hand?" He whispered.

"Pffftt," Alasdair waved him off. "No, I just heard you fussing in your sleep." He ran a hand through Matthew's hair. "Sound like you've run a marathon."

"Just an odd dream."

"Have you been eating enough?" His uncle pushed his bangs back, and Matthew shrugged.

"As much as I ever do."

He got a downright maternal cluck in response. "As bad as your father,"

"I eat!"

"Aye, sure you do. That's why you're waking up in a panic and sleeping in layers again. Been doing that since you were a bairne. Two sweaters to bed and I know there's something wrong with ye." He shook his head and Matt didn't have an answer to that. Because his uncle wasn't wrong.

From the trunk at the end of the bed, his uncle pulled another blanket, piled it on, and squeezed his shoulder, tucking it in. He tapped Matt's chin, gently as ever. "Whatever's got you anxious, it'll be all right. And we'll talk it through in the morning. Nothing's the matter between here and breakfast, lad, I promise."

[historia-vitae-magistras]

"He's probably the best emotionally adjusted brother too."

You're making me fall for him even more

I mean the bar is on the floor here. Below the floor really. If Arthur is somewhere in the seventh circle of hell, Rhys and Brighid somewhere above that, Alasdair is in the top soil. He's a practical, ambitious bastard.

He's supremely flexible. His own original Celtic language of Pictish was supplanted by Gaelic originating in Scotland in his late teens. Scotland got fucked up by the Vikings but there's evidence that has been used to argue that the Gaelic-Norse fared better than the Anglo-Scandinavians and ties to Norway continued well into the medieval period and in other forms, into the modern day.

And while England and then Wales got brought under Norman rule fairly early on, Scotland repulsed them multiple times. Alasdair will find a way forward somehow. To many Scots, firmly Presbyterian by the end of the 17th century the acts of union in 1707 prevented a potentially absolutist catholic monarchy and contained a way to fill the ambition of an overseas empire. Though it must be said the Jacobean revolts show there certainly wasn't consensus.

But Arthur paid off the debt's remaining from nightmares such as the Darien Scheme and Alasdair took up something of the role of head of household. Power was always firmly vested in England. Do not mistake Alasdair's role as being that of the power-broker. He isn't but with their childhood birth order and the conventions of Georgian Britain it fits. While Arthur preferred the navy and the roving half wild across the ever expanding empire usually the role of a younger son in a human family, Alasdair was somewhat (emphasis on the somewhat) content to take interest in the financials and the running of things. As would happen in a human family. It's much more complicated than this, he and Arthur have gut each other plenty. But he's also fucked around and found out with Brighid and Rhys plenty too. Outside looking in, the arrangement suited him. He's detail and numerically oriented in that way. The Empire cost him dearly, but he also projected a lot of power across the world via that very same British empire. And I think that often limited but very real agency gave him a bit of a steadier head on his shoulders. The ability to look himself in the mirror and say he made the best of it while now looking back and trying as hard as his siblings to recover what he gave up is really important.