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Oh, what tales of romance lay waiting for those who venture here!

Rowan had always wanted to escape the legacy of her family - owning the Bonnie Bell Inn at the edge of Culloden Moor. But it came at a price. The ghosts of Jacobite soldiers did not rest easy. Rowan had known she was different as a child, but in an odd twist of fate, it becomes apparent just how powerful she is. Would she also find love in the process of returning to claim a birthright she had never wanted?

Meet the women of the Bell family, in this exciting new series from renowned author Fiona Knightley which explores familial bonds, the supernatural and Scottish history with a hint of romance.

Preview:

Watching the fog crawling over the green hills as she drove away from Edinburgh before the sun rose, Rowan shivered as she recalled the dream she'd had the night before. Was it an omen? She had been in the basement of her family's inn in the village of Culloden, The Bonnie Bell, where she had found an old trunk filled with assorted objects. Sifting through the odd assortment of treasures, she had picked up an old copper bell. Its delicate peal rang out in her hand as it slowly transitioned into the chiming of her cell phone.

Awakening, she answered her phone, trying to make sense of the caller's devastating news. Someone named Dr. Cutler was on the other end, saying Rowan's mother had suffered a severe fall and would require full-time care as she was currently paralyzed from the waist down. Not having spoken to her mother in years, Rowan was surprised that she had been listed as the emergency contact because they had had a falling out over the family business. Rowan had always dreamed of being a teacher in the city, but her mother continually pressured her to move back to Culloden and prepare to take over the inn. Not intending to be tied to the inn or the tiny village, Rowan had told her mother that she planned to sell it when she inherited it, but her mother couldn't understand why. Destined to follow in her mother's footsteps, Rowan, unhappily, had always felt that she had little choice in the matter.

The Bonnie Bell had been in the Bell family for generations. Elspeth Bell, Rowan’s great great great grandmother had founded it with her husband, and she passed it down to her daughter. Rhiannon, Rowan's grandmother, was her favourite person. She had acted as a buffer between Rowan and her mother, Rory, but after Rhiannon passed, mother and daughter grew apart. Eventually, Rowan began teaching and fell into her new life in Edinburgh, something she could never have experienced if she had stayed behind.

Rowan had the gift of magic in her blood. All the women in her family did. It was either a curse or a blessing. She couldn't hide or run away when she was in Culloden. Being surrounded by her family's antiques and artifacts strengthened her powers, and Rowan couldn't avoid them. Growing up, she had always craved a normal life but was constantly picked on and bullied for being eccentric.

Her mother was proud of their family lineage and never pretended to be anything other than who she was, a witch. She smelled of rosemary and incense, wore amulets and crystal pendants, and had an altar in many rooms at the inn, causing the villagers to talk. Rowan had always been embarrassed to bring friends over, fearing they'd be scared or think she was strange. All she ever wanted was to invite her classmates over for sleepovers and be an average teenager watching movies and making prank phone calls.

She tried not to dwell on it but couldn't help feeling like her mother's refusal to act normally impacted her life in many ways. It had been hard for Rowan to socialize, even after she left home. Deep down, she was always worried people would find out about her gifts and think she was odd. Rowan had a hard time dating because of it. If she couldn't expect a friend to accept it, how would a man who might someday father her children deal with it? Rowan was 24 and had never been in a serious relationship. It was hard to admit, and she didn't like to think about it, but she worried she'd wind up as the cliché spinster schoolteacher.

Despite all the reasons she was estranged from her family, she still worried about her mother. Yet, Rowan knew her mother was resilient and had the spirit to return from anything. However, if her mother was in the condition Dr. Cutler had spoken about, she would need extensive physical therapy and a live-in caretaker.

Rowan arrived at the hospital in Inverness just before 8:30 am and tried to prepare herself for what she might see as she signed in for a visitor's pass. Bracing herself, she made her way slowly through the halls. When she reached room 213, she lightly knocked and entered. Her mother lay in her hospital bed with the rails up, staring at the ceiling. Rory looked frail, a shell of her former self, not at all how Rowan remembered her. In Rowan's mind, Rory was still young with long auburn hair and animated blue eyes, fueled by a passion she could never understand. Now her colourless eyes were sunken into her face, her grey hair long and unkempt with white streaks.

"Hi, mum," Rowan said after a moment. Tears welled in her eyes as she took in the gravity of the situation.

"Rowan," replied Rory weakly. “You came.”

Walking across the room, Rowan pulled a plastic chair closer to the bed and sat down. She reached her hand towards Rory’s outstretched arm and gently rested it there. “What happened?” Rowan asked quietly as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I was coming down the stairs at the inn last night and tripped over the cat, and I tumbled down more than a few steps. Thankfully, a gentleman was having tea in the lounge, and he tried to help, but I couldn't move. I was very embarrassed, causing such a stramash."

“What exactly did the Doctor tell you?”

Rory gestured to her legs and shook her head, "A fractured pelvis. I will need rest and a lot of therapy to try and get back to myself."

“How are you feeling otherwise?”

"I'm tired. It's hard to sleep here in the hospital with all this noise, and my back is sore from laying in bed so long," Rory said ruefully. "I can't wait to get home."

It occurred to Rowan that her mother would need more than a bit of help at home. The Bonnie Bell was a three-story stone building over three hundred years old with very narrow passageways and many stairs. It would be nearly impossible for her to get around alone, much less tend to the guests. "What is your plan?" she asked cautiously. She knew the inn could be made more accessible and wondered if her mother had already made any arrangements.

"I haven't given it much thought yet," Rory replied sullenly. "Hopefully, with the proper therapy, I will be up and about before long. I can't afford to lose the income from the inn."

Before Rowan could respond, a young doctor walked in with a clipboard and began checking her mother’s vital signs. “Good morning Miss Bell,” he greeted her. “This must be your daughter.”

"Dr. Cutler, I presume," Rowan said with a nod. "Thank you for calling me. I am grateful for the care you are providing for my mother."

He continued his assessment and asked Rory questions. Rowan began daydreaming, thinking about how to address the issue of her mother's home. The only conclusion she reached was that she would have to stay and help Rory. At least for a few weeks until they could find a suitable caretaker or until they knew when she'd be mobile, if ever.

“Rowan?” her mother said impatiently.

"I was just thinking, sorry." She blinked a few times and looked around the room, startled, as she realized Dr. Cutler was gone.

"Oh, I'm very used to that face," her mother said with a wans mile.

“What do you mean?”

"That's the face you make when you have your visions," Rory said matter-of-factly. Rowan quickly looked around to make sure no one had overheard. Discretion regarding their abilities was not something her mother found necessary. She grimaced slightly after she ensured the room was empty. Rowan hadn't had any visions or dreams since she moved away, and she hoped it would stay that way ...

 

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Yesterday was the 277th anniversary of Culloden, the last battle fought on British soil. A devastating end for the Jacobites who wished to see a Stuart king reclaim the throne, the Battle of Culloden Moor evokes strong emotions amongst the Scottish people still today. Historians say that it was the end of the Scottish traditional way of life. Yet it isn't as clear cut as Scottish vs English or Protestant vs Catholic but a power battle between two royal families at the expense of everyone else.

While Culloden is a place of great historical significance, it is also a graveyard. Mass graves are still visible to mark the carnage. 1500 Jacobites and 50 Hanoverian soldiers' lives were lost in 45 minutes on April 16, 1746. Walking over the haunting moor was an experience in itself. 

Culloden was the inspiration for my new series, Spirits in Time: The Forgotten Highlanders and my trip to Scotland last summer for research. Currently the first three books are in the last stages of publishing and should be in your hands soon. I am very excited for you to read them and let me know if you too dream of visiting the Bonnie Bell Inn and encountering your very own lost highlander.

The battlefield in July of 2022. It would have been much more wet, muddy and cold on that grey April morning in 1746.

Clan Campbell marker. These stones were erected in Victorian times and do not reflect where the men actually lie. Clan Fraser is the most popular (due to the Outlander effect) and just recently they have stopped allowing people to visit it, in order to preserve the surrounding environment.

Large cairn erected by the landowner in Victorian times.

 

Is it spring where you are yet?

Here in the northern hemisphere, astronomical spring arrives in the third week of March with the equinox. Unfortunately the astronomers were a little off this year and it is still winter where we live. I know I have spoken before about the long, hard winter we have been experiencing on the Canadian prairies but it seems never ending at this point.

My brain is having a hard time wrapping itself around the fact that it is light outside when I go for my early morning walk. Yet I am still layered up in ski pants, heavy winter jacket, toque and mitts to fend off the wind chill that is perpetually sitting below -20C.

Spring in the United Kingdom arrives on the meteorological calendar on March 1st and I find it both rejuvenating to see pictures of snowdrops, daffodils and hyacinths filling my social media feed. But it is also frustrating.

I would like to see more than pictures. I want to walk out my front door and experience the grass beginning to green, plants emerging from the earth and smell the blossoms filling the air with their fragrance. Sadly with a forecast of below zero temperatures for the long range forecast, I fear we will miss out on spring all together.

My favourite spring flowers - although it is hard to choose just one - would have to be tulips. Unfortunately, I am unable to grow many as the local squirrels like to dig up the bulbs and (literally 😉) squirrel them away. Occasionally I will have the odd tulip pop up and it brings such joy. I think I would have vases of tulips in my house year round if that were an option.

What is your favourite spring flower and why? Looking forward to hearing from you to help lift me from the winter doldrums,

With St. Patrick’s Day approaching and North America’s obsession with leprechauns, I decided this week’s post should reflect mythical spirits. Every culture seems to have a representative magical being that is mischievous and used to explain unknown phenomena. Growing up, I was exposed to stories of pixies, sprites, brownies, goblins, fairies and leprechauns. As we discovered on our travels this past summer, the mystical Isle of Skye is full of fairies.

To reach our rented house on the Waternish Peninsula, we had to travel past the Fairy Bridge.

While it may seem like just another stone bridge, and not a very majestical one, it does have special significance. It is the meeting point of three streams with its Gaelic name is Beul-Ath nan Tri Allt meaning Ford of the Three Burns.

Legend tells of a chief from Clan MacLeod falling in love with a fairy princess. However, her father, King of the Fairies, would not allow her to marry a mortal man. As a compromise, they were handfast for a year and a day, but then she was to return to the fairy realm forever. During the year she gave birth to a son and when the time came for her to leave, she wrapped her son in a silk shawl and parted ways where the Fairy Bridge is now located. This shawl then became known as the Fairy Flag and has featured prominently in several other well known Skye stories (I will feature these in a separate post at a later date). The Fairy Flag is currently on display at Dunvegan Castle and is thought to have originated in Persia between the 5th and 7th centuries.

Another magical place on the Isle of Skye is the Fairy Glen. This has become a very famous location because of social media. However, what you see online is not reality. The Fairy Glen is an interesting geographical phenomenon created by land slips. Conical hills, rock castles, stunted trees and shimmering pools are found throughout this whimsical area. There are no fairies associated with this place other than the inspiring name. Lately, many tourists have taken to creating spirals on the ground with rocks (some claim fairies have moved them) and it is causing great distress to the Skye locals who remove them as they want to keep the special place as natural as possible. These Fairy Glen spiral photos are the ones most often seen online and attracts people to the site.

I’ll include a photo of the Fairy Pools (we visited one cool, misty morning) and I took a quick dip in 6C water but I’ll save that story for another time.

I hope that you remember the wonder that you had as a child for these special creatures and that you still believe in a little magic.

A couple of weeks ago, my blog post was about the oldest Wych Elm in the UK and its demise (see here for post). I received a lot of feedback from many of you and it really lifts my spirits in these dark months of winter to hear from my wonderful readers. It seems as though the pictures from my research trip this past summer sparks many memories and conversations and I am so thrilled when you share with me.

So, I resolved to do more. More little musings about my travels or things that spark my interest. I hope that you will indulge me. But because it is January and I am finding it hard to motivate myself at times, it hasn’t happened as quickly as I had wished. That is why today’s ponderings are about snails.

Snails, Fiona, you say? How can snails possibly have much to do with Scotland? Because I am feeling rather like a snail and this summer I was reminded why taking time to appreciate the world at a snail’s pace is important. One of our stays was on the Isle of Skye just outside the tiny village of Stein on the Waternish peninsula. Each morning I would go for an early walk before anyone else had arisen, often in the scotch mist – not quite raining, but definitely not dry. I had the roads to myself. There was not a soul around and it was incredibly peaceful. On one of my journeys, I came across a snail crossing the road.

Now, we do not have snails that carry their houses on their backs where I live. We have garden slugs which apparently are gastropods and pond snails, but nothing so exotic as land snails. In the British Isles there are 99 different varieties of snails!

But back to my snail. He was working his way across the road and I feared that a car might come along and impede his progress or end his journey all together. I resolved to wait and watch. It was so peaceful. My attention was fully engaged with time essentially standing still. It reminded me that we need to take the time to appreciate the small things in life and celebrate victories, be they large or small. In the end, he made it and his risk was worth it.

I hope you take the time to welcome the stillness that January can bring after a hectic holiday season.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Europe’s oldest Wych Elm tree finally succumbed this past week. Located in Beauly near Inverness, this wonderful specimen has stood watch over Beauly Priory for 800 years. References to this magnificent tree, known as the Beauly Elm, have been found in records dating back to the medieval times.

Read more about it here: https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-scotland-highlands-islands-64176914

 

This was our home for a week, Kinnaird Castle near Brechin, Angus.

Home of the Carnegie family for more than 600 years, the Duke and Duchess of Fife reside here on their 7000 acre estate. Close relatives of Her Majesty the Queen this was truly an amazing experience. We stayed in one of two self-catering apartments within the castle…..Europeans know how to holiday!

 

The “back” of the house which looks out onto the deer park.

 

Stables entrance (our front door).

 

Boathouse on the lake (not in use currently) of the private gardens.

 

I saw two large herd of deer (at least 30+ in each) on my walk, as well as grouse that are bred for shoots. For some reason I was under the impression when people participated in a shoot it was wild animals. Not so confident in that assumption any longer.

 

Saw many of these types of markers with Royal connections.

 

Part of the private gardens. No stinging nettle to be found here, unlike the wilder areas where I got lost. And yes, it really does sting!

 

One of the many drives to access the castle, massive trees lining the way, with a gatehouse at each entrance.

 

Went for a ramble, got lost, found this lake and some swans as the sun was going down. Kind of magical when there is literally not another soul around.

 

Front of house where the important people arrive under the porte cochere (not us, we went in the stables entrance). The clock on the tower works.

 

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Imagine being wealthy enough to have your own tomb house carved of stone for yourself, your spouse and all 8 children and to store the heart of another of your relatives!

Culross is a living example of a village from the 16th and 17th centuries. An abbey was established in here in the 1200’s.

 

Edinburgh loves a good statue, celebrating the Queen’s Jubilee florally, the Ross Fountain in Princes Street Gardens, a view of Edinburgh Castle, Fleshmarket Close and our accommodations - above 2 pubs!

 

 

Edinburgh never met a statue or monument it didn’t like, unless it was of a woman. They have more statues dedicated to animals than women! There are monuments literally on every corner and so many I could not find a number, not even a ballpark figure. I have no affinity for Livingstone, just enjoyed the seagull pooping on him.