#MacKenzie Clan

[lifewithaview]

Sam Heughan in Outlander (2014) The Gathering

S1E4

The Gathering shows Claire's attempt at her first real planned escape. The run-ins she has with various characters on the way include a major run-in with Dougal, and yet another moment with Jamie alone - building their relationship. Also an oath-taking ceremony could have awful results if not handled carefully...

*Diana Gabaldon: The author of the Outlander series has an appearance as Iona MacTavish, a wealthy merchant's wife who exchanges words with Mrs. Fitz on the balcony in the hall.

[fernvehx]

“I prayed all the way up that hill yesterday. Not for you to stay; I didna think that would be right. I prayed I'd be strong enough to send ye away. I said, 'Lord, if I've ever had courage in my life before, let me have it now. Let me be brave enough not to fall on my knees and beg her to stay.'”

[paradoxolotl]

Katelyn being listed as Aaron’s queen has healed my soul in ways I cannot describe

[theseekeroftruth]

The forest around them fell silent, absorbing the sounds of their voices, as if the sky and earth were holding their breath, listening to what was about to happen. Claire stood before Jamie, feeling the cold seep into her fingers, but he, as always, was the first to embrace her hands with his, wrapping her in his warm palms as if to block the fear and despair that had taken hold of her heart. He looked at her as though he was trying to memorize every line, every feature of her face, to carry her image with him into eternity.

"Ye must go, Sassenach," he said softly, his voice holding such strength that the mountains themselves might tremble. "Feumaidh tu falbh, a’ bhana-choigreach. You must return to yer own time. Here, there's naught left for ye but darkness and war."

Claire looked at him, struggling with despair, with the force that seemed to draw her back to the stones. She did not want to leave him; she could not bear the thought of abandoning him to face a battle that would erase his presence from this world.

"I can't leave you, Jamie," she whispered, her voice shaking. "You are my life, my love, my light. I want to stay with you, even if it means the end."

He touched her cheek, running his warm hand over her face as if trying to wipe away her tears and at the same time remember the feel of her skin. Sadness flashed in his eyes, deep as the very ocean that would separate them. But Jamie would not allow himself to show weakness, understanding that his strength was her only anchor now.

"Ye must live for both of us, Claire," he said, his voice quiet but as firm as granite. "Fiù ged a tha sin a’ ciallachadh gum feum thu falbh. I need to ken that ye’ll be safe, that ye’ll live, breathe, despite all that lies ahead for me here. Air ar son fhèin, airson ar pàiste."

Her soul resisted. She tried to hold back, but tears rolled down her cheeks anyway. Claire reached for him as if lost in a desert, yearning for the last drop of water. But he continued to warm her hands, his fingers like an anchor, holding her in the moment, keeping her steady.

"I'll wait for you," she whispered, almost soundlessly, like a prayer sent to him and to fate. "In every moment, in every life. We will meet again. Come back to me, soldier."

Jamie released her hands but then embraced her shoulders one last time, pulling her close, as though his embrace could tear through the very fabric of time and space, saving them both from the inevitable. Then, slowly, carefully, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers in a final kiss, full of despair, love, and forgiveness that would not die, even in the face of death.

"I will find ye, Sassenach," he said, letting her go, his voice steady and strong as the mountains surrounding them. "Ann an saoghal sam bith, ann an àm sam bith. Bidh mi gad shireadh gus an ruig mi ort a-rithist. Gus am faigh sinn a chèile."

[theoutlanderevangelist]

1x04 “The Gathering”

[scotianostra]

On 16th April 1746, the Jacobite army was defeated by Hanoverian forces in the Battle of Culloden.

I've covered the battle in depth many times over the years so I thought today I would tell you about a man many of you will not have heard of, Roderick MacKenzie.

In the terrible aftermath of the battle when Government troops were searching the hills looking for Prince Charlie with the promise of a £30,000 reward being offered for his capture, the garrison at Fort Augustus became suspicious that Charles was somewhere in the district. Patrols and search parties were constantly out combing the area. Certainly the Prince was at large in the hills around Glen Moriston for weeks, staying for part of the time in a cave at Corridoe, protected by the eight men of Glen Moriston.

The stories differ a little, one says that young Roderick, the son of an Edinburgh jeweller was with the Prince's party when they came across Government troops and he drew them away from Charlie and his men, another says that the Redcoats happened upon him as they were going about their "work" of killing any jacobites they should encounter after the rout at Drummossie , both stories tell of Roderick on being challenged, did not turn and flee, giving himself a slight chance of survival, the brave man turned to face his enemy, who fired a volley of shots cutting MacKenzie down and fatally injuring him, BUT with his last vestiges of breath displaying a courage and quickness of thought amazing for a dying man he called out 'You have killed your Prince."

Roderick MacKenzie is said to have been the same build and of similar looks to Bonnie Prince Charlie, and the patrol, deceived by the words and the resemblance, were sure that they had killed the Prince, and no doubt were already thinking of how they would spend that £30,000 reward. They cut the head off the body, and carried it proudly back to Fort Augustus. It happened that Cumberland, the Butcher in command of the Hanoverian forces, was there. Cumberland was uncertain about the head. It certainly looked like the Prince. He had the head sent of to London to be identified but there was no one in London able to do that. Only one man, it was thought, could be certain, and that was Peter Morrison, the Prince's batman, and he was lying in Carlisle Castle, awaiting execution. So Peter Morrison was sent for, but by this time it was too late, the head was far too decayed for identification. Something good did come out of it, for Peter Morrison's sentence was commuted, and eventually he was freed.

Cumberland himself was was either convinced enough by the severed head, or he had enough of Scotland and returned to London shortly after and back to the "high society" he so sorely missed. With the Butcher gone, the vigilance and enthusiasm of the troops was lessened, and Prince Charles Edward was able to break through and win to the west.

Legend has it the headless body of Roderick Mackenzie lies in a quiet grave just off the A887 on the road to Invermoriston. Certainly there is a memorial to this very gallant young man by the side of the road a cairn was erected nearby which reads:

'At this spot in 1746 did Roderick Mackenzie, an officer in the army of Prince Charles, of the same size and similar appearance to his Royal Prince. When surrounded and overpowered by the troops of the Duke of Cumberland, gallantly died in attempting to save his fugitive leader from further pursuit.'

Each year Clan MacKenzie members meet at the grave for a memorial service.So we salute Roderick MacKenzie, one of the unsung heroes who died, maybe not at Culloden, but certainly in the days afterwards.

[blackvoidspace]

I find it so poetic that the MacKenzies and Frasers are destined to be together.

[clancarruthers]

CATHERINE DOUGLAS OR KATE BARLASS - CLAN CARRUTHERS CCIS

CATHERINE DOUGLAS OR KATE BARLASS – CLAN CARRUTHERS CCIS

 History, Myth and Modern Folk Tale   Historical Sources and the Legacy of one Dodgy Dundonian   THIS CATHERINE IS NOT THE CARRUTHERS ANCESTOR   Romance, myth and history have been closely interwoven in the many re-tellings of the life and reign of King James I that began almost immediately after his brutal slaying in Perth. James I, both as a ruler and as a man, had a character suited to…

[sassenach77yle]

|| COUNTDOWN || SEASON 1 EPISODE 04 || THE GATHERING ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

Rupert surveyed Jamie critically, with an eye to the oatstraws in his hair and the stains on his shirt. I saw his glance flicker to the oatstraws in my own hair, and a cynical grin split his face. “No wonder ye’re late, laddie,” he said, digging Jamie in the ribs. “Dinna blame ye a bit.” “Willie!” he called to one of the men outside. “We need some clothes, here. Something suitable for the laird’s nephew. See to it, man, and hurry!” Jamie looked around, thin-lipped, at the men surrounding him. Six clansmen, all in tearing high spirits at the prospect of the oath-taking and brimming over with a fierce MacKenzie pride. The spirits had plainly been assisted by an ample intake from the tub of ale I had seen in the yard. Jamie’s eye lighted on me, his expression still grim. This was my doing, his face seemed to say. He could, of course, announce that he did not mean to swear his oath to Colum, and head back to his warm bed in the stables. If he wanted a serious beating or his throat cut, that is. He raised an eyebrow at me, shrugged, and submitted with a fair show of grace to Willie, who rushed up with a pile of snowy linen in his arms and a hairbrush in one hand. The pile was topped by a flat blue bonnet of velvet, adorned with a metal badge that held a sprig of holly. I picked up the bonnet to examine it, as Jamie fought his way into the clean shirt and brushed his hair with suppressed savagery.

The badge was round and the engraving surprisingly fine. It showed five volcanos in the center, spouting most realistic flames. And on the border was a motto, Luceo non Uro. “I shine, not burn,” I translated aloud. “Aye, lassie; the MacKenzie motto,” said Willie, nodding approvingly at me. He snatched the bonnet from my hands and pushed it into Jamie’s, before dashing off in search of further clothing. “Er … I’m sorry,” I said in a low voice, taking advantage of Willie’s absence to move closer. “I didn’t mean—” Jamie, who had been viewing the badge on the bonnet with disfavor, glanced down at me, and the grim line of his mouth relaxed. “Ah, dinna worrit yourself on my account, Sassenach. It would ha’ come to it sooner or later.” He twisted the badge loose from the bonnet and smiled sourly at it, weighing it speculatively in his hand. “D’ye ken my own motto, lass?” he asked. “My clan’s, I mean?” “No,” I answered, startled. “What is it?” He flipped the badge once in the air, caught it, and dropped it neatly into his sporran. He looked rather bleakly toward the open archway, where the MacKenzie clansmen were massing in untidy lines.

“Je suis prest”

he replied, in surprisingly good French. He glanced back, to see Rupert and another large MacKenzie I didn’t know, faces flushed with high spirits and spirits of another kind, advancing with solid purpose. Rupert held a huge length of MacKenzie tartan cloth. Without preliminaries, the other man reached for the buckle of Jamie’s kilt. “Best leave, Sassenach,” Jamie advised briefly. “It’s no place for women.” “So I see,” I responded dryly, and was rewarded with a wry smile as his hips were swathed in the new kilt, and the old one yanked deftly away beneath it, modesty preserved. Rupert and friend took him firmly by the arms and hustled him toward the archway. I turned without delay and made my way back toward the stair to the minstrels’ gallery, carefully avoiding the eye of any clansman I passed. Once around the corner, I paused, shrinking back against the wall to avoid notice. I waited for a moment, until the corridor was temporarily deserted, then nipped inside the gallery door and pulled it quickly to behind me, before anyone else could come around the corner and see where I had gone. The stairs were dimly lit by the glow from above, and I had no trouble keeping my footing on the worn flags. I climbed toward the noise and light, thinking of that last brief exchange.

“Je suis prest.” I am ready. I hoped he was.

Cap 9 The gathering ~outlander

[fernvehx]

a love like theirs 🫶

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Ghost From The Barrow

Source for pic

Word Count: 6049

Tags: Fem!Reader, NSFW - Oral - you giving and creampie, alternate universe - Scotland, 13th century - cursing, angst, angst without happy ending, gore, blood, death, MDNI!!! 🔞

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You are the daughter of a clan chief in the Highlands, though you are more trouble than you are worth. Some thugs capture you and attempt to demand a ransom, but things don't exactly go their way when their leader, Kid, discovers what you are truly made of.

Notes: This was heavily inspired by the song “The Ghost From The Barrow” by Paddy and the Rats. It was going to go in a very different direction, much similar to the lyrics of the song, but the story took its own turn and I liked it like this! I hope you do too. Also, the research I did was very shallow, so if you're from Scotland and I got something wrong, I'm so sorry! Also, I had to go with Kilt wearing Kid. 🥴�� Have fun! 

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 (if you don't want to be tagged for other stories other than the meet-cute, please tell me!)

Sidenote: I used a real sigil for the reader’s clan: Clan MacKenzie. 

Terms: 

Barrow - An ancient burial mound;

Tartan - A woolen cloth with a specific design associated to a specific clan;

Laird - A lord, someone who owns a large estate;

The early morning mist left a familiar dampness upon your hair. Rolling hills of verdant expanse stretched lazily before you. Ancient stone markings of softly defined borders marked one pasture from another, the neighbours, practically family, not caring if the cattle meandered from one side to the other. Heavy tendrils of fog still permeated the mountains and mounds above and you had to cut your morning walk short. You knew those barrows like the back of your hand, but the legends of ancient restless souls still lurked freshly in your mind. 

Turning back around, you gathered the skirts of your woollen dress, which hung loosely over your chemise, so you wouldn’t wet the hem of the dress this early in the day. You wore the clan’s tartan over your shoulders to protect you from the earlier chill. The blues and greens of the plaid fabric contrasted heavily with the simple brown you chose to wear. Your mother would be sick to her stomach upon your sight, once more. You were the unruly daughter, the one that could not be tamed and you knew your parents cursed the day you were born. 

As wild as the Highlands, as stubborn as a mare. Your father used to jest that no man would ever want you for a wife because you were not docile enough to be domesticated. Respect came with a heavy price in your household and you held your tongue back from lashing at him. But the sting his words left upon you was enough to completely destroy the bundle of hay you used to practise your archery shots. 

Your father was a laird of the most prominent households of the Highlands, and the current head of the clan. You were the daughter of the chief. You were supposed to act with the status that your lineage carried. Except you very rarely did. And you had the nagging feeling your father wished to have killed you at birth, as they do with unwanted kittens. 

This was a day like any other. You fled your castle without the consent of your family, escaping through one of the many passages you knew by heart, so you could absorb the peace that the morning brought you. The eerie quietness of the barrows, the rustles of the leaves from the forest and, here and there, the lonesome call of the ravens. 

Your father had warned you a million times not to leave without guards.

Your mother had forbidden you a million and one times from walking out the door at all. 

Your older brother had always counselled you to take your bow anywhere you went.

You heeded none of them.

Yet, it was still with some surprise and with a heavy pounding of your heart, that you realised you were being surrounded. Four mighty horses as black as the night approached fast, their nostrils flaring and smoking. You didn’t even try to outrun them for it would have been an impossible task. The men mounting them surrounded you quickly, using the horses to keep pacing a tight circle around you. There were grins on their faces, each taller than the last, each scarier.

Scars and untreated wounds, long unkempt hair, one even had a rudimentary mask over his face. They were terrifying. You searched for a tartan but the plaids they wore belonged to no clan. You had never seen the yellow and black in any of your father’s gatherings and the sigil they wore was clearly one of outcasts and thieves: a burning skull with the same yellow and black plaid tied to the head.

“What do we have here?” The one in the mask asked, his voice thick with delight, a hint of a mischievous smile you were not privy to. 

“A little lass, eh?” The tallest one replied. He was the only one without a smile on his face, his voice thundering around you.

“She seems sweet.” The one with hollow eyes and scars on his mouth spoke softly.

Your hands shook and the shiver that coursed through you had nothing to do with the biting wind of the Highlands. The red-headed man pursed his lips as he looked you over. If they found out you were the chief’s daughter, you would surely be used as ransom bait.

Or worse. 

Inhaling deeply, you fought to find your voice. “I am a mere villager, good sirs. I was going to collect some herbs for healing, nothing more. Some lavender and calendula. Chamomile to soothe aches. Please let me return to my home. I have young children to care for.” You tried your best to lace your voice with humility and sweetness, fighting against all of your instincts to spit at their feet and demand their heads for this outrage. 

The one who spoke with a soft voice smiled at you. “Poor thing, she looks scared, Captain.” He was looking at the redhead. He was the leader then. So he was the one you had to reason with.

“Yes, Captain, I am so very frightened. Please, I just want to return home.” Trying your best to look terrified - which wasn’t that hard since you were frightened - you warmed your features and fell to your knees, adding dramatics to your reaction. 

“Maybe we should let her go.” The one with the mask replied, tilting his head to one side. “She does look like a commoner.”

The captain dismounted his horse and you gulped as he approached you. He was tall and bulky, with an impressive figure. His lips were tinted red and he wore a piece of cloth on his head to keep the hair out of his eyes with the same yellow and black plaid of their sigil. His kilt was of dark brown plaid, resembling dried blood, and his legs were as thick as logs. 

“Sir…” You whimpered and tried to appear small. His face kept drawing near and you held your breath as his cloak slipped and you realised he was missing an arm. “Please…” Another whimper.

His lips pursed further as he raised an eyebrow and he sniffed you.

A gasp left your lips at the outrage and your cheeks flushed crimson. How dared he? His hand darted forward and he pulled the tartan off your chest, revealing the brooch you had on your dress, the one with your father’s sigil: a mountain in flames with the words ‘I shine, not burn’ engraved.

His lips pulled back to reveal a frightening set of sharp canines and he finally spoke. It was akin to a roar and it managed to bristle all the hairs on your body. “Take her, ya fools. She smells clean. She’s highborn, for sure.”

You made sure the whole of the Highlands heard you screaming and you wouldn’t go down without a proper fight. You bit and sank your nails into flesh, you kicked and punched all while sputtering curses upon curses over the group. Vile words, not fit for a lady of your status, filled with hate, brimming with rage.

And they all laughed at you.

Your efforts were for naught. You were easily captured.

-*-

You were held like a sack of potatoes, hanging limply over the masked man’s shoulder. They had subdued you easily and tied your hands behind your back. You were still kicking, so with more rumbling laughs, they tied your feet for good measure. 

They rode with you on their horses for the entire day, placing a blindfold over your eyes to disorient you to where their hideout was. You were passed around from mount to mount - never to the leader’s horse, though - as if you were a plaything and a new toy for them to play with. 

You should be trembling with fear, yet all the trembling came from pure rage. You wanted to punch something, claw, bite, anything! This feeling of helplessness was overwhelming and intensified by the second.

The masked man set you down ungracefully by a fire and removed the blindfold, making you blink to adjust your vision. 

“Here we are, lass. Make yourself at home.” He chuckled low and you gritted your teeth. They hadn’t roughed you up, but you were still sore from the daylong horse ride. Your throat was dry and your lips were cracked. 

“Can…” You cleared your throat to find your voice again, but it was raw from screaming. “Can I get some water?”

He tsked and turned his back on you, leaving you slumped and looking defeated. Your wrists and ankles were sore from the tightness of the rope and you were pretty sure there was blood as well. 

They left you alone in that position for a while, until the man with the scars on his mouth approached you slowly. Using a knife, he cut the ropes from your ankles and then the ones on your wrists.

Whimpering you brought your hands close to your chest and rubbed your wrists softly. You were right, they were bloodied and bruised. 

“Here.” He extended a wooden bowl filled with water, which you immediately downed with a heavy sigh.

“Thank you.” You mumbled noticing your voice was less coarse now. 

He smiled softly and took out some mashed herbs from a leather pouch, applying the mixture to your wrists. You could smell lavender, calendula and yarrow in the mixture. Someone knew what they were doing, for they were healing herbs. 

“You did this?” You asked softly. Clearly this man was the one you could easily approach since all the others were too closed off. He nodded proudly and you patted his hand. “Thank you. What’s your name?” You gave him your name as well so he felt more confident in sharing his.

“I’m Heat.”

“That is a lovely name. Thanks for helping me, Heat.” Another smile. Maybe you could work him well enough to flee.

“Get away from her.” The leader’s orders made Heat stiffen up and he got up with a slight jump, leaving your side without looking back.

“I know what yer doing, lil’ lass.” His thick accent became more enunciated because he was angry, you noticed. So you decided to make him angrier and see where that would get you. Crossing your arms over your chest, you offered him your best annoyed look.

“I’m afraid I do not know what you mean. Thug.” You finished with a smirk.

Grunting, his lips curled upwards, drawing that dangerous smile that made your heart pound.

“Ya want to domesticate my men, lil’ lass, ya can’t! They obey my command.” His figure towered over yours and he was intimidating you. Wincing in pain and discomfort, you got up, still nowhere near his face, fists clenched into tiny little balls of fury as your eyes sparkled with rage.

“What do you want from me? A ransom? Well, send the letter! I’m sure my father will be more than happy to pay you scoundrels to get me back! Or do you not know how to write?” You stomped your foot right in the middle of his parted legs and stood almost flush to his frame, a snide crossing your lips, taunting him. “I’m not afraid of you!”

Yet, you were. Pretty scared, actually. Even more so because you doubted your father would care enough about you to pay a ransom. 

You could feel rage seething from his body in short waves. His orange eyes flaming like burning fire, the same fire you felt coursing through your veins in defiance. He gave no warning as his hand wrapped around your throat, tight enough to prevent almost all of the air from coursing freely, enough to leave a bruise, but not enough to truly hurt and cut your air supply.

He lifted you up to his eye level easily, as your nails scratched and clawed at his forearm, leaving red angry trails on his skin, yet he showed no signs of being hurt by your flailing.

“Ya should be. Ya should be pissin’ yer pants.” His jaw kept clenching and unclenching as his eyes raked over your body. He took out his long, wet tongue and licked a stripe from your neck to your ear, making your insides burn and your legs clench together with want. “Tasty.” He grumbled as your eyes bore into his.

“Taste this, then.” You grunted between gasps and, clenching your own jaw, you bent your knee and hit him right in his balls, making him grunt and bend forward, letting go of your neck at the same time as he curled, his hand holding his dick tight.

You coughed and wheezed for air, falling on your knees and taking deep gasps to try and steady your breathing. Your hands pressed and soothed the burn in your throat. 

“You lil’ whore!” He grumbled as he strode towards you again.

“I’ve been called worse!” You grinned with bravado you didn’t have, waiting for the blow to come, for his hand to strike, or his feet. Whatever he wanted to use, and you knew it would hurt. Your eyes shut in anticipation as your heart created its own insane rhythm in your chest.

Yet the blow didn’t come.

All you heard was the leader’s rumbling laugh echoing in the forest as he paced away from you.

-*-

Days passed and you remained a prisoner. They left you unbound because there was no way you could ever escape their watch. Heat brought you food and water and sometimes talked with you, when the leader wasn't around to scold him. 

You learned that the letter had been sent to your father, yet he still hadn't responded. So they sent another one. 

There was a feeling of dread coiling around your stomach. What if your father didn’t want to pay your ransom? You had more brothers and sisters. What good would a bratty child who obeyed no orders do in his household? Perhaps it was better for him to say that you lost your life to the whims of thieves.

It might even grant him more support. 

You spent a restless night worrying about this and you cried your heart out. Heat noticed your forlorn expression and defeated demeanour in the morning and returned to you with clean clothes. A plain dress and a worn out man’s shirt. You looked at him warily until he grabbed your hand and led you to the forest.

For a moment you thought he might be setting you free. A rush of happiness spread its tendrils across your heart and you grinned. Until you realised he was only taking you to a lake.

He seemed so happy, though, that you still smiled softly at him. “You can bathe.” He whispered your name softly. “I’ll keep watch.”

His offer was tempting. There was grime under your fingernails, caked blood on your wrists, knees and ankles and your hair… you didn’t even want to get started on your hair.

So you thanked him politely and he turned to give you some privacy, leaving a bundle of soapwort in your hands. A plant that, if wet, creates a lather that can cleanse grime and leave a nice herbal scent behind. You were sure he would turn around as soon as you took off your clothes, but he was still the sweetest of the thugs and you had warmed up to him. You doubted he would try something with you. 

Leaving your stained clothes in a pile so you could wash them later, you dipped your toes in the water. It was ice cold, despite the warm weather outside. Still, you really needed to bathe. So, closing your eyes, you dove gracefully, emerging only once the burn settled against your lungs from lack of air. 

Letting out an unbridled laugh, you splashed a bit of water before using the soapwort plant to cleanse yourself properly. You used it on your hair as well and, after a little bit, you started to make your way back so you could wash your clothes. You didn’t want to take too long in the lake because you didn’t want to cause any trouble for Heat. 

However, the sight that greeted you when you turned around made you freeze as your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat. The leader, the captain. He was staring at you, his back leaning against the trunk of a tree and his lips pursed. Heat was nowhere to be found. He must have discovered both of you here and sent Heat away. 

You swallowed a lump in your throat but made no motion to cover yourself. Your breasts were out of the water, nipples erect from the cold and goosebumps all over your skin. He was close enough to see the way you were shivering and the way your chest rose with each gasping breath. 

He pulled away from the tree and with nimble fingers began to untie his kilt. First the knot over his shoulder, then he started untucking the sides until it finally fell down in a heap. The shivers that shook your body now had definitely nothing to do with the chilliness of the lake. He took a long stride forward and with one swift movement of his arm, the shirt came off. 

Biting your lower lip you took in his muscular form. He was bulky and heavy, built like a strong bull. His chest was made of ripped muscles and heavy scars. Lowering your eyes, you couldn't stop your thighs from clenching together, seeking some friction. His cock was big, girthy and already half hard. It would be monstrous at full length. 

He took off the cloth holding his hair back and finally entered the water with a hiss. His eyes never left you nor did yours leave him. 

You were no stranger to desire and intercourse. You were the chief's daughter, but you were no maiden. And what you felt for your captor now was true, unbridled desire. And you could see that he felt the same toward you. 

Would either of you act upon it? 

Shaking your head and gulping, you strode forward, aiming to leave the lake, perhaps? Yet he blocked your path easily. The water hit him around the knees and a quick look down told you he was now standing at full attention. 

Screw it. 

You were wound as tight as a rope and release would probably do you some good. Besides, he seemed like a good lay. 

You approached him, slowly climbing out to the shallow part of the lake, the water lowering until he could see your mound. His lips curled up and he licked them at a leisurely pace. 

“Kneel, lil’ lass.” He grunted and, for once, you obeyed him willingly. 

Falling forward on your knees, you wasted no time. Using your hands to pump his cock a few times, you gathered the precum at the top and then used your tongue to lather it around his girth. He hummed low when you brought your other hand to cup his balls and squeeze. 

“Fuck. That's good.” 

His praise made you mewl into him as you hollowed your cheeks and fought against the gag reflex to take all of him inside your mouth. It was a stretch, but you could do it. 

Hissing, he tangled his fingers in your wet hair, holding your head in place as he took over and fucked your mouth with relentless thrusts. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes when his tip bullied the back of your throat. Heat began pooling in your abdomen, its tendrils spreading slowly and steadily, burning at your core, demanding attention. 

You used one hand to grab his thick, hairy thighs for purchase, and another to friction against your throbbing clit, moaning into him, the vibrato of your mewls making him fasten his pace with sloppier thrusts. “Fuck, fuck. Open wide lass.” And that was all the warning you got before his thick, salty cum dripped down your throat as you swallowed and he pulled out, a small string of saliva connecting him to you still. 

He stared at your face, swollen lips, teary eyes and jaw standing open as your hand continued to press and circle against your clit, small moans leaving your parted lips. 

“Fuck. C’mere.” Resting his large hand on your chin, he motioned for you to stand up, and you obeyed. He pried your fingers away from yourself and pressed your hand so you could spread them open. A string of your own slick connected your index and middle fingers and you blushed. The Captain chuckled and swirled his tongue around them, collecting any remaining drops of your juices as you gasped and stifled a moan. “Hmm, none of that lil’ lass. Yer going to scream my name. Don't ye dare hold back.”

“I don't know your name.” You said, your eyes sparkling with mischievousness. 

Curling his lips back, he grasped your wet hair again, pulling you for an open mouthed kiss, combining your juices with the lingering taste of his cum until your head was spinning and begging for air. “It's Kid.” He panted as he pulled apart from you. 

“Fuck me, Kid.” Your hand found his cock already hard again and you had no doubt that this man had the stamina of a horse. 

“Will do, lass.” His fingers dug into your mound and you moaned as they descended to your swollen clit. “Let's see how ready ye are for me.” His fingers were long and thick and as he inserted one inside you to collect some slick, you arched your back and rolled your hips against his touch. “Hmm, needy, are ye?”

He rolled his wet finger against the bundle of nerves and then inserted two digits, stretching them and then letting them go further, deeper. Your nails dug into his chest as your head fell back in abandonment. “Kid!” You panted, his fingers filling you up deliciously. A gasp left you breathless as he inserted a third finger, using his thumb to press against your clit as he stretched you further. “Gods! Kid!”

“I know, lass, I know.” He grunted near your ear and the deep rumbling that came from his voice made you snap as you came in his hand. Arching your back and clawing his chest you moaned loud, repeating his name in a crescendo as you reached your high. “That was a good one, lass.” He sucked at your neck and bit hard to bring you back but you mewled again as you leaned into him, too dazed out to do anything else. 

But he was not done. Using his arm, he lifted you up and with a swift motion, impaled his cock inside your slick hole, making you scream as you clenched your legs around his waist. 

“Hold on, lass, this will be a rough ride.” His digits dug into your flesh as his arm circled your hips holding you in place as he pounded relentlessly, his pace brutal, and you didn't know how he could stay standing up because you could barely open your eyes, let alone stand. 

The pleasure built in waves that kept crashing and chasing away your sanity. You had never been fucked like this before. Captain Kid was fucking you senseless. Your pants increased in fervour as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to coming again. His dick filled you perfectly and hit spots inside you that made you see white. 

“Kid, fuck, gods!”

“Scream louder!” He growled and thrust faster, making your toes curl as you crushed him in a hug, thighs clenching tight against him and nails drawing blood from his back. You did scream. Loud as a banshee and you were positive his entire camp heard you scream his name like a whore.

His release was not far behind, and you knew that because there were beads of sweat on his temples, his thrusts were sloppier and he was grunting heavily. But you were so close again. “Harder.” You begged against his ear, your fingers circling your burning and overstimulated clit, trying to chase that last high. 

“Lil’ whore.” He growled and gave you what you wanted. Three fast thrusts that made you shake and come with a flash of white as he followed suit. You felt his release inside you, filling you up and dripping down your legs into the lake in soundly, heavy plops. 

You were still clinging to him like he was your lifeline, both panting and sweating, chests heaving and legs trembling. 

“I'm putting ya down, now.” He said between pants and you whined when he pulled out of you, leaving you empty. You were not steady on your legs so he still held your waist. 

“Fuck.” You muttered, still catching your breath, a wave of dizziness overcoming your senses. 

“I thought maidens didn't curse.” He chuckled. 

“Yeah? Well, maidens don't suck cocks either. So why do you think I'm one?” His genuine laughter made your heart tingle and constrict against your chest and you were not quite sure what this foreign feeling was. What you did know was that you wanted to hear it again. 

-*-

Days passed, yet you didn't really think you were a prisoner anymore. You slept with Kid every night and he took you whenever he felt like it, making good on the claim that you were his good little whore. You couldn't care less. You felt free. 

One night, after screaming his name until your throat was raw - you've come to realise he loves it when you scream his name - you asked him bluntly. 

“My father refused to pay the ransom, did he not?” The scoff that left your throat was meant to be dismissive and aloof, yet there was also the bitter taste of tart tears in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. 

“Aye.” He grunted as he pulled your naked body closer to his. “I'm sorry.”

You didn't want his compassion, it wasn't what you were looking for. Yet, it felt nice. As if you meant something more to him than just his prisoner whore. 

“I was never good for anything but to cause trouble for him, anyway. Like this he doesn't need to find me a husband.” You snorted. “You know what I did to the last one he tried to set me up with? The one who said I couldn't be ‘domesticated’?” Kid's gaze fell on yours, an amused expression wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “I bit off his balls when he tried to fuck me into submission.” Shrugging, you threw out your tongue as Kid burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Aren't ya a feisty lil’ lass?” His chest heaved until his laughter died down. You felt droopy and your eyes started to close, drifting closer and closer to sleep. “Maybe ya can be my wife. We'll see if I can domesticate ya.”

You didn't quite know if he was kidding or not, but sleep claimed you with a smile on your lips at the thought of being Kid's wife. 

-*-

You were woken up in the middle of the night by loud screams and the clangs of swords and axes. Kid wasn't by your side when you rolled over and got up, hastily dressing in your chemise and dress. It sounded like a battle, so you grabbed the bow you kept by your side of the bed. Kid made you that bow once he realised you were very good with it. 

You had been by his side for over a year now. He made you his wife, as he said he would, and there were more nights when you actually made love instead of just fucking. 

You had come to love him. Deeply. And you were positive he loved you back, even though he wouldn't admit it to a soul. He would say love made you weaker or something like that. Times had been kind for your new clan and you had all found peace. 

Yet that thought was quickly swept away once you stepped outside of your hut and were greeted with the sight of burning buildings, slaughtered people and Kid and his men fighting. 

Gripping your bow harder and tighter, you found a secluded perch by climbing onto the roof of the hut and started to take out man after man. They didn't even realise what happened until they were left bleeding on the floor, meeting their final demise at the hands of one of Kid's men or Kid himself, who saw you immediately when an arrow whizzed past his ear. 

It wasn't until the tenth body hit the floor that you realised that these men belonged to your father's clan. Their tartan was clearly the pattern you were so familiar with. That realisation gave away your location and in a heartbeat you were being dragged by your hair, your body hitting the ground with a loud oof, as the air was sucked out of your lungs. As the assailant grabbed his sword, ready to pierce you with the blade, you kicked him hard in the shin and you heard the sickening crunch of bone breaking before he screamed. 

Getting up with a pained grunt, you realise that you must also have broken a few ribs as you were pulled down from the roof, because it hurt to breathe. Still clutching your bow to your chest, you made your way forward, shooting arrows as you went, aiding people in their escape. All the while your eyes were searching for Kid as your heart hammered against your chest. He was nowhere to be seen and that left you anxious. 

And distracted. 

A sharp pain travelled from your thigh to your groin and shot everywhere in short stabbing bursts of pain. There was a blade protruding from your leg and hot droplets of tears threatened to escape your eyes. “Fuck.” You grunted as you turned around, searching for whoever was responsible for this, bow stretched and arrow already in place. 

“It's true, then.” The familiar voice of your brother left you breathless for a moment, making you lose your focus. “You really have become that scoundrel’s whore. I couldn't believe it until I saw it.”

Your jaw clenched as you inhaled short breaths, trying to focus on something other than the throbbing pain in your thigh. He was standing too close for a proper arrow shot and your vision was getting blurry. You would never make the shot even if you wanted to. 

“I'm not his whore. I'm his wife.” You spat at him, rage making your voice tremble. 

Your brother's cackles were like another knife piercing your heart. 

“That's precious. You're still dying. You're no longer family.”

And he lunged forward, sword raised in the air in a stance you'd known your whole life as you'd watched your brothers learn how to fight in the shadows. You knew when to duck, when to move away, and when to jump. He was predictable and his moves were still the same after all these years. You could win this. 

If you weren't bleeding and your movements weren't impaired. 

He struck forward and you knew you had to move left. It was all you had to do, really. But your leg gave out, and he stabbed his sword into your sternum. 

You had never felt pain like this before. It started slowly, in the middle of your chest, but then, as if in waves, it began to spread, leaving you numb and cold. As you fell to your knees, you could see the snicker spreading on your brother's lips. Until it turned into a grimace and blood started to sputter from his mouth as he grunted. 

There was a heavy blade sticking out of his chest, followed by a pained grunt as the sword climbed up his torso, ripping him in two right before your eyes. 

You saw the panting figure of Kid behind him, his breaths coming out in shaken gasps as his face contorted into a pained frown when he laid eyes on you. “No! No, no, no!”

He rushed forward, letting his blade fall to the ground, and his arm circled you desperately. 

You were dying. You knew that. 

A smile found its way to your blood-stained lips as your eyes locked with bright orange ones. Caressing his cheek left a red streak of blood on his skin, but it was quickly washed away by a stream of tears from his eyes. 

“Hey, no crying.” You whispered slowly. The pain was drifting away. “Thank you.”

“No, no. Ye can't leave lil’ lass! I didn't give ya permission!”

Your chuckle turned into a coughing fit, blood spurting everywhere as Kid cradled you in his big arm. Around you shouts were heard, soldiers sounding the retreat. The threat had been thwarted for now. 

“Kid.” Your voice could barely be heard, but you needed to get his attention. “Kid, please. Don't hold a grudge. Please.” You whined and closed your eyes as the numbness relented and gave way to the pain. 

He pulled you against him, trying to hold you carefully but, at the same time, holding you firmly as if it were the last time - it was the last time - his kilt was now completely soaked in your blood. 

“Promise me.” You said firmly, your hand trying to find his cheek again, but failing miserably as you could barely find the strength. “Grudges create lost souls. I can't have you away from me in the afterlife. Promise.” You admonished him. 

He nodded against your face, taking your lips with his, trying to stifle a sob as his shoulders heaved and rocked with the effort. 

“I love you…” Your whisper got lost somewhere in the limbo of eternity as the sparkle of life burned away in your eyes. There was a moment of stillness, Heat, Killer and Wire gathered behind Kid, still as logs. The forest ceased its rustling, and even the animals stopped their sounds. The world stopped spinning when you left it, and Kid lost a piece of himself. 

It was his piercing agonising scream that brought the world back, crashing into rotation, but never the same. 

-*-

Kid didn't really promise you not to hold a grudge. He just nodded. And even if he had made a promise, he was a thief and a scoundrel. Lying was a part of him. 

He did hold a grudge. 

A huge one. He hunted down every single member of your family and slaughtered them all. No one associated with your clan was left alive to tell the tale. Be they elderly or children, Kid was merciless. 

He would not rest until his vengeance was fulfilled. He had never felt love the way he did for you. He had never felt affection the way he did for you. 

And he had never grieved harder. 

If he was suffering, those that caused that suffering should be put to the same misery. 

And he fulfilled that vow. Until he was caught and sentenced to hang in the gallows. 

Yet, he would hang with a smile upon his tainted lips. He had avenged you. None of your clan was left alive to tell the tale, he had made sure of it. And he was hopeful that once his body turned cold and lifeless, he would meet you, in the afterlife. 

So you could spend eternity together, as it should have been. 

The clock struck the hour and Kid was hanged. Killer, Wire and Heat stood watching, heads low and hidden behind cloaks, as their captain paid the price of vengeance. 

Killer was proud of his fearless friend. 

Wire was saddened that it ended this way. 

Heat was worried, because he knew vengeful spirits could not find rest in eternity. 

Heat was right. 

The spirit of Eustass Captain Kid roamed the Highlands. A ghoulish spectre haunting the barrow, searching for his lost wife, forever aiming to find her in the eternity of the afterlife. 

Yet she had warned him. 

Grudges create lost souls. 

So if you find yourself roaming any barrow in the Highlands, whether at night or during the day, know that the wailing you hear is that of the captain, grieving his lost love and the life he was denied. 

Though he avenged her in the end. 

But at what cost? 

[nightingale2004]

Twilight next generation: Bella x Edward version

Elizabeth Rosaleise Swan Cullen

Faceclaim: Katie Douglas

Oldest daughter of Edward Cullen and Bella Swan and the firstborn triplet

Elizabeth is a vampire human hybrid, otherwise known as a Dhampir in her family

She looks more like her mother with a bit of her father

Elizabeth prefers to be called Liz, Lizzy, Elly, or Eliza for shirt

Like most of her family, she is gifted and she has the ability of mind control

Elizabeth and her siblings were born in Forks Washington, but as soon as they were born, her family immediately packed up and made their way straight to Alaska with the help of Jacob and his pack

Liz has a love for dancing, and her family comes all to her dance shows. Her favorite is ballet, the waltz, and also playing "Just Dance"

Has more control over her thirst for blood than her siblings

She's not really close with her parents but feels more close with the rest of her family.

She always wanted to meet her mom's parents. After they moved back to Forks, she developed a very great relationship with her grandfather Charlie Swan and his new wife, Sue Clearwater

Feels closer with her aunt Rosalie and her Uncle Emmett.

She always challenges her uncle Emmett to a dance off (which she always wins)

Loves her sister Renesmee

She is a bookworm like her dad and also has a major collection of music records

Loves her family very much

She often dances in private to let off a little steam or when she needs to clear her head

Has a great sense of fashion (thanks to her aunt Alice)

She's a loner like her dad and prefers her solitude, but there are times when she loves the comfort of her family

Is also a lover of yoga

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

E.J (Edward Jr.) Masen Swan Cullen

Faceclaim: Timothée Chalamet

E.J. is the second born triplet and firstborn son of Edward Anthony Masen Cullen and Isabella Marie Swan

Like his sisters, he is also a Dhampir

He is called Eddie, Ed, mini Ed, or mini Edward by his family (mostly by his uncle Emmett)

He has a gift as well, which is telekinesis (moving things with his mind)

When E.J. shared his mother's womb with his sisters, the three of them could communicate with each other through their minds

E.J. and his sister's still have psychic conversations with each other in case they don't want their parents hearing them

E.J. takes after his father in appearance but has his mother's awkward introverted personality

E.J. is an artistic soul and loves painting, drawing and sketching.

He is a big loner.

Prefers silence but loves hearing his younger sister Nessie play piano

Loves playing chess with Edward

He often sketches his family or anything he sees

Loves training with his uncle Jasper

He is a little gentleman and modern feminist

A big bookworm

He is Esme's favorite (don't tell anyone🤫)

He is closer with his dad and often seeks him out for advice along with his uncle Jasper and Grandfather Carlisle

He is a baseball champion and one of the fastest runners in the Cullen clan

°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°▪︎°

Renesmee Carlie Swan Cullen

Faceclaim: Mackenzie Foy

Renesmee is the youngest child of Edward and Bella Cullen and the third triplet out of her siblings

She is a mommy's girl

Takes after both her parents but has her father's beauty in Bella's opinion

Also a Dhampir

Unlike her older siblings, she is actually very social and loves interacting with her family and making new friends

She loves playing piano and is a piano protege

She is very close with almost all her family

She is called Nessie, Ren, Nes and Beautiful by her family

She and her siblings grew up in Alaska, but when the triplets became teens, Bella wanted to go back to Forks and managed to convince everyone to join her

Renesmee has a bit of difficulty controlling her thirst and can sometimes go into a spiral, which is a risk to her family.

When Ness and her family moved to Forks, it wasn't an easy adjustment, but they soon grew comfortable. At least until the wolf shifter and Volturi drama happened.

Renesmee writes her own music and original pieces. She also plays music for Lizzie to dance to.

She hates seeing her family argue with each other or see her parents fight

Her gift is shield penetration and thought transmission. She can also have psychic conversations.

Renesmee tries to see the bright side of things and tries to make everyone happy.

(Before anyone asks: No! JACOB DOES NOT IMPRINT ON RENESMEE IN THIS UNIVERSE AND I REFUSE TO MAKE IT CANON!!!)

[the-clawtake]

I am working on responding to Glimpses of the Past asks, but it may take be a bit to get answers I'm happy with (And that actually fit the prompts. My first attempt at one, I like, but doesn't actually fill the prompt it was supposed to. Whoops.)

Also, a disclaimer. Jehan MacKenzie and the Clawtake were originally conceived of for the Clan Invasion and the lore I have for the formation of the unit is kinda dependent on them starting there, so their timeline is probably going to be more than a little screwy.

[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of fics that I think should be movies (that are not already movie AUs) as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave the kudos comments and kudos. You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

—Louis/Harry—

✧ Darling, so it goes by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 195k, royal au) Harry Styles is a world-famous actor at the height of his career but a personal low point when he meets His Serene Highness Prince Louis of Monaco by chance. 

✧ Love After the End of the World by @mercurial-madhouse

(E, 168k, dystopian au) When staying alive is already a constant battle, the deadliest weakness is to be in love. For Harry and Louis, finding each other sits on top of the endless list of What Else Could Go Wrong.

✧ Wild And Unruly by gloria_andrews / @gloriaandrews , @100percentsassy

(E, 123k, farm au) Harry is a cowboy sitting on the biggest oil reservoir in Wyoming, and Louis is the paralegal assigned to pressure him into selling his land.

✧ I'll Fly Away by @juliusschmidt

(E, 122k, small town) Harry and Louis grew up together in Lake County, Harry with his mom and stepdad in a tiny cottage on Edward’s Lake and Louis in his family’s farmhouse a few minutes down the road. But after high school, Louis stuck around and Harry did not

✧ Have Love, Will Travel by @kingsofeverything

(E, 97k, road trip au) Rather than spend the summer working at their desks, Louis and Harry are given the opportunity to crisscross the country together in a tiny camper, filming their adventures for a YouTube series.

✧ Flightless Bird by audreyhheart

(E, 97k, ballet au) AU where Louis Tomlinson is a principal dancer with The Royal Ballet. When his rival from ballet school, moody dance prodigy Harry Styles joins the company, old wounds are reopened and old passions reignited.

✧ Black with Autumn Rain by whimsicule

(T, 93k, magical realism)  Harry is a journalist, Louis has lots of secrets and the moors aren't exactly the ideal place to rekindle a lost romance.

✧ After Dark, After Light by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(E, 71k, historical) Harry Styles is the laird of Clan Edwards who is just trying to keep his clan afloat when they get word that the Mackenzies have been cutting a swath through the Midlands and beyond, and their sights are set on the northern Highlands next. In an attempt to garner extra protection for his clan, Harry sets out to mend his father's past wrongs and ally with their neighbors to the west, Clan Sutherland.

✧ this charade (was never going to last) by @scrunchyharry

(E, 68k, spy au) As if the whole ‘industrial spy’ business was not stressful enough, Harry found himself in a hatred-at-first-sight relationship with one of his new coworkers, Louis, a man intent on detesting Harry.

✧ Adore You by @isthatyoularry

(M, 66k, historical au) Against his wishes, Harry spends the holidays at his family’s summer estate, and is reluctantly pulled into a courtship he didn’t ask for. 

✧  Unveiled by @phdmama

(M, 60k, a/b/o) There are no robes. And not a single one of them is veiled.

✧  Old Photographs & Times I’ll Remember by @jaerie

(E, 54k, time travel au) A camera, a suitcase, and a relationship forged through time.

✧ Tied Down by HamPalpert / @ham-palpert

(E, 48k, crime au) The most interesting case in Liam and Niall's careers falls directly into their laps, courtesy of an epic fuck-up of one Harry Styles, partner to the almost-infamous drug dealer Louis Tomlinson. 

✧ That’s What I’m Here For by @taggiecb

(E, 46k, farm au) Louis needs help running his business but has no idea where to even start looking. Luckily for him his children know just the man for the job.

✧  Counterbalance by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(E, 44k, racing au) Harry Styles loves two things: teaching ballet and racing motorcycles. Those two worlds collide when his greatest rival on the track, Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson brings his tiny siblings to Harry’s class.

✧ The Haunting of Louis Tomlinson by @helloamhere

(T, 31k, ghost fic) Louis is a plucky Gothic Heroine, Harry is a Mournful Spirit, and Big Country Houses are full of mystery and suspense, as Big Country Houses ever are!

✧ I Am the Blinking Light by @dearmrsawyer

(G, 19k, ghost fic) There is a legend of a lighthouse far out to sea. It can’t be found on any map, and those who do find it never return. 

✧ No One Like You by myownspark / @myownsparknow

(M, 19k, historical) Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.

—Rare Pairs—

✧ Untamed Hearts by Layne Faire  / @laynefaire

(E, 68k, Zayn/Liam) In the end, though, it all came down to two meddling friends, a touch of Prince, a bit of Keats, and the moon over the ocean. Its a recipe for disaster. Or love. Probably love.

✧ We Used To Wait by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(E, 56k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) Louis has an accident, but nobody even knows he and Nick are going out.

[scotianostra]

On August 23rd 1913 work began on the rebuilding of Eilean Donan Castle.

The castle, at Loch Duich was destroyed by the Royal Navy during the minor Jacobite Rising of 1719, when Jacobites and their Spanish supporters garrisoned the stronghold. A number of Spanish soldiers were taken hostage with the remainder fighting at the Battle of Glenshiel in June 1719, which ended in a defeat for the Jacobites.

Eilean Donan Castle, once the traditional seat of Clan Mackenzie, lay a ruin for the next 200 years. Lt. Col. John MacRae-Gilstrap (on the left in the second picture with the kilt) of the MacRae’s of Conchra, the traditional bodyguards to Clan Mackenzie, bought the castle in 1911 and launched the restoration in 1913. The job was to take almost 20 years. Stones, some weighing about 1.5tons, were taken from the hills by Lochlongside and carried to the castle by horse and boat. Those working on the long restoration job were charged with rebuilding walls that were 13-feet deep in parts.

The restoration was praised at a time when Scottish castles were facing wholesale demolition given the rising costs of maintaining such properties. I love the pic of members of the MacRae-Gilstrap family check in on progress - along with the family dog. Lt Col MacRae-Gilstrap was praised individually for his vision and his never-dying love of the Gael…and determination that the clan spirit shall live.

The restoration of Eilean Donan has been described as a “phoenix rising from the ashes. Over two decades, one of the most recognisable landmarks in Scotland took shape.The final piece of the job was adding the now-famous bridge to the island castle.

The opening ceremony on a rainy day in July 1932 drew hundreds of people from this part of the Highlands. An account from the opening queried whether any castle in the world could surpass the "natural grandeur of the the rugged setting” of Eilean Donan. Today, Eilean Donan Castle attracts in the region of 550,000 visitors every year and in 2019 reported its highest ever August visitor numbers, it will probably take some time to reach the pre-pandemic numbers.

If you want the latest from the castle visit their web page here https://eileandonan.wordpress.com/

Pics show the castle as it was before restoration, and how it now looks.