One of the places that inspired several scenes in my new release,
My Brave Highlander, was the Assynt area of northern Scotland in what is now Sutherland. Ardvreck Castle inspired my Munrick Castle which I placed on Loch Assynt. I did an
earlier post about Ardvreck Castle where you can see a few more pics.
The area is hauntingly beautiful and incredibly scenic. Ardvreck Castle sits on a promontory which is almost like a small island. Water from the loch seems to keep encroaching on the narrow walkway leading to the castle.
Sorry this photo ended up a bit tilted. But you can see how the castle seems somewhat scary. This is the mood I used in the scene where I introduce Isobel MacKenzie, the heroine in My Brave Highlander.
Here you can see the castle ruin from a different angle, from further back on the island. On the right side, in the background you can see Calda House, where the MacKenzies moved after leaving Ardvreck.
The narrow walkway leading to the castle.
The mystical view across the loch from the castle is beautiful.
Another view from the castle but in the opposite direction, toward Calda House. I like to be able to visualize what my characters see when they look out a window.
Another view of the castle from a different position on the island. This is the best preserved portion which makes it easier to imagine what the castle must have looked like when it was in use.
If you click on the two photos below, you can see the on-site signs at a larger size and read about the history of the castle and the area. The drawings of what the castle is believed to have looked like when constructed are interesting.
The road and landscape leading down to Loch Assynt and Ardvreck Castle. The yellow flowered bushes are gorse.
In my story, I attempted to bring this stunning and beautiful area to life. Of course, My Brave Highlander takes place in November instead of May, so visualize snow instead of green grass. :)
Excerpt from My Brave Highlander which takes place in this area:
Gusts of chill wind flung icy
snowflakes into Dirk's eyes. After several days travel on galleys up the west
coast, he and Rebbie had disembarked at Ullapool. With the strong winds, it had
been unsafe to sail further north. Then, they had traveled north on horseback.
'Twas slow going on a narrow
footpath through the rugged countryside. He glanced up at the Assynt Mountains
surrounding them, their rocky peaks hidden in the low-hanging clouds. Snow
blanketed even the lowest slopes in white.
"Is the weather always so
inviting here?" Rebbie called out several feet behind him.
Turning in his saddle, Dirk
glanced back and smirked. Rebbie had become spoiled in the temperate Scottish
Lowlands and England. Snowflakes littered his friend's dark hair. Breath fogged
from his mount's nose.
Of course, Rebbie had insisted
on bringing his manservant, George Sweeny. He'd wanted to bring two servants
but Dirk had to say no. It would've been more difficult for a large entourage
to secure passage on a galley.
"I was thinking you were a
Highlander," Dirk called.
"I am, indeed. But from
much further south."
"Use the mantle's cowl."
The plaids and mantles Lachlan had given them had come in handy. The wool over
his head would catch the water from the melting snow and hold in the warmth
from his body heat. Beneath that, Dirk wore a piece of metal-studded leather
armor—because one couldn't be too careful in the Highlands—and a belted wool
plaid over his trews.
Rebbie generally dressed like a
Lowlander. But now they both had on several layers of clothing, both Highland
and Lowland.
Evening was upon them and the
temperature was dropping. They needed to reach Munrick Castle before nightfall.
The MacKays and MacLeods had ever been allies, most of the time, anyway. He
hoped the chief would provide them shelter for the night.
No doubt word had circulated
through neighboring clans that the MacKay heir had died several years ago and a
younger brother was set to inherit. Dirk wasn't yet sure how he would explain
that he was indeed alive.
During his twelve year absence,
he'd forgotten exactly how forbidding the weather in the Assynt region could
be. If anything, MacKay Country, on the north coast was even harsher.
The trail through the Highlands
only handled single file horses and foot traffic. He inhaled the bitter peat
smoke trailing from nearby crofters' cottages. What he wouldn't give right now
to be sitting beside one of those smoldering fires. The smoke scent blended
with the damp air off the nearby bog and frost-bitten plants created a scent
that reminded Dirk of his childhood.
When he was a lad, he had
visited this area a few times with his father as they had dealings with the
MacLeods. Generally, they got on well, but most Highland clans were canny
enough not to trust another clan with one hundred percent conviction.
A movement out ahead caught Dirk's
attention. What was that? Not a red deer. He thought he'd seen a flash of
plaid. The trail turned uphill and passed through low-growing gorse bushes.
Someone was hiding behind that boulder.
Dirk stopped and turned.
"Rebbie," he said low. "Someone's lurking up ahead."
Rebbie nodded. They both quietly
dismounted and withdrew their swords.
"Hold the horses,"
Rebbie murmured to George. "But if they come out fighting, give us a hand."
George nodded. "Aye, m'laird."
With the wind blowing
constantly, Dirk could hear naught above it.
"Who's there?" he
called out. "I'm a MacKay, just passing through."
No response. The knave was still
hiding. Might be more than one of them. Was this an ambush by highwaymen or
desperate outlaws?
Gripping his sword, Dirk sneaked
along the trail, trying to avoid kicking loose stones. Rebbie followed a few
feet behind.
The wind picked up, whistling
through the gorse branches and stinging his face. Good. This would cover any
sounds they made, especially since they were downwind of whoever lay in wait between
the bushes and rocks. If he could sneak up on them, he could gain the upper
hand.
If they were members of the
MacLeod Clan, he'd have to assure them he was a MacKay ally. He prayed there
hadn't been any clan feuds since he'd last been here. His uncle hadn't mentioned
any in his missive, but then his message had been brief and to the point.
Each step took Dirk closer and
closer to their hiding place. He held his basket-hilt broadsword at the ready,
fully aware two or more men could leap out at any moment.
At last, he reached their
hidey-hole and stole around the side of the boulder. Naught but snow-covered
heather and low-growing plants greeted him.
Damnation, where had they gone?
He crept forward, down an
incline and around a bush. There, two forms in drab plaid huddled, one standing
upright, back pressed against a giant boulder, and the other crouched.
Dirk froze, as did the two
strangers.
A lass? Dark fierce eyes met his from beneath a cowl, but the face
was definitely female and so was the clothing—a long arisaid. Despite her bulky and voluminous clothes, he could tell
her shoulders were slender. Her eyes narrowed, and her stance was defensive. He
glanced down at her hands, partially hidden in the folds of her skirts, but he
did not miss the glint of a dagger clutched in one fist.
His gaze darted to the other
figure. Also a woman, but a few years older.
"What the devil?"
Rebbie muttered, coming up beside him.
"What are the two of you
doing out in this weather?" Dirk asked in Gaelic, his tone harsher than he'd
intended. Were they mad? Gloaming was approaching, and the snow and wind would
only worsen.
"Leave us be," the
lass said, her voice strong.
He exchanged a confused glance
with Rebbie. He was surely wondering the same thing Dirk was. Why were they here,
far from the nearest village, croft or castle?
"'Tis not safe for two
women to be wandering about. Do you not ken of the outlaws and thieves in these
parts?" At least there had been twelve years ago, and he doubted things
had changed much.
"We're not troubling you,
and we have no need of your help. Not much further and we'll reach our
destination." The glint of her dagger taunted and irritated him.
Undoubtedly, she was afraid of them.
Dirk returned his broadsword to
its scabbard. "And where would that destination be? It's been a long while
since we passed through a village." And even longer since they'd left the
keep they'd stayed in the night before.
"'Tis none of your
concern."
Ah. So the lass had an
impertinent mouth on her. Even more interesting, she had the speech of the
Highland aristocracy, the dialect of somewhere south of here, but Western
Highlands for a certainty. He nodded. "Well, I cannot leave you out here
in the elements. I'll take you and your companion to Munrick Castle. The MacLeods
will help you."
"Nay," she snapped and
turned about, helping her friend—or her maid—rise to her feet. "Leave us.
We are well."
"We mean you no harm,
m'lady." He watched for her reaction to the title.
"I thank you for the offer
of assistance, but we have no need of it."
She didn't notice the title, so
clearly she was used to being called lady.
Aside from that, her speech spoke volumes about her social station. And her
status meant he definitely couldn't leave her unprotected in a snowstorm. She
would not be as accustomed to the elements as a hardier crofter maid might be.
Was she some chief's daughter who'd run away?
"Which clan are you
from?" he asked.
"Does that matter?"
"Aye." He always liked
to know who he was dealing with. Helping her would no doubt have repercussions.
The shape of her lips and the
curve of her jaw line gave Dirk a sense of déjà vu. Though he could tell her
eyes were dark, he could not see the shape clearly beneath the cowl and curtain
of her dark brown hair. Had he seen her somewhere before?
"Are you a MacLeod? A
MacKay?" he asked. Those were the two main clans in the area. But if she
was from somewhere further south, as her dialect indicated, no telling which
clan she'd come from.
"Nay," she said. Why
the devil wouldn't she reveal her clan name at least?
"Are you running from
someone?"
She froze, staring at him
wide-eyed. That was it. Who was she running from and why?
A sharp gust of wind grabbed her
cowl and flung it back, revealing more of her face and long dark hair.
Indeed, she was familiar. Was
she someone he'd met during his youth? The familiarity niggled at the back of
his mind, tormenting him.
"I've seen you
before," he said.
My Brave Highlander copyright 2012 Vonda Sinclair
Thanks so much for checking out my pics and excerpt! What is your favorite area of the northern Highlands of Scotland? Do you enjoy learning what inspires certain scenes or settings in stories?
Vonda
www.vondasinclair.com
