The Lady of the Loch

Elena Collins

Description

'Although I believe I will die here in this castle, my spirit will never be silent.’

Ravenscraig Castle, Scotland. 1307

When the castle she works in is sacked by the army of Prince Edward of England, kitchen maid Agnes Fitzgerald manages to escape north of Inverness to throw herself at the mercy of the Lord and Lady at Ravenscraig Castle. Although safe for now, the people of Scotland are fighting hard for their independence, and the threat of the English hangs heavy over the land. But when Agnes spies Cam Buchanan swimming in the loch, her mind turns away from war and towards love. Agnes even dares to dream of a happy future, until she learns that Cam must go and fight alongside Robert de Brus.

Present day

Twins Leah and Zoe need a change, so caretaking at Ravenscraig Castle is the perfect opportunity to get away from it all. Surrounded by rugged Highland countryside, and bordered by a loch, the picturesque setting is everything they dreamed of. But the locals are reluctant to visit Ravenscraig, and there are whispers of ghosts and lost souls. The sisters quickly dismiss such superstition, but soon the overwhelming sadness they feel coming from the tower grows too hard to ignore.

Can the sisters finally right the wrongs of seven hundred years of heartbreak, seven hundred years of betrayal…

USA Today bestselling author Judy Leigh writing as Elena Collins, brings you this heart-breaking and unforgettable timeslip novel,perfect for fans of Barbara Erskine, Diana Gabaldon and Louise Douglas

Praise for Elena Collins:

'Very highly recommended.’ Louise Douglas

'The Lady of The Loch held me spellbound from the first page to the last. With two storylines beautifully woven together to create a seamless tale of love, loss, betrayal and, above all, hope, it’s a must-read. Collins’s detailed knowledge of the period trickles through the tale wrapping the reader in a vivid shifting world as it moves between the 14th century and present day. Cleverly researched and exquisitely written, The Lady of The Loch is a timeless story of hope, family and love. I loved it.' Alexandra Walsh

What readers are saying about Elena Collins:

‘I couldn't put it down and I cried at the end. A terrific read.’

‘A rollercoaster of emotions reading this book...from the life of a young woman let down in her relationship (we've all been there)! running parallel to the complete un-justified vitriol against a young woman in the late 1600's. It was amazing, a very powerful novel. Brilliant.’

‘A book that that left me tearful at the end, but a very good story that had me hooked from the first page. Well thought out and the characters very believable.’

‘Loved this book so much, the story grips you from start to finish, leaving you wishing for more of the story to magically appear so that it never ends.’

‘Absolutely delightful read! One found oneself utterly captivated by the characters - of flesh & spirit alike - the Author has the ability to conjure a physical reaction in the reader - of a scent or a chill - a rare gift.’

‘Stunning. Loved this book. Interesting, really fabulous read that bought lots of emotion, gladness, spookiness, history and sadness with lovely clever story-telling. I loved it.’

Sujets

• Romans historiques
• Moyen-Age
• Multiple Timelines
• Mashups
• Historical Fiction
• Siblings
• World Literature
• Medieval
• Historical
• Women
• Twins
• Escocia
• Edad Media
• Friendship
• Historical romance
• Sibling
• General officer
• 14th century
• Woman
• Robert the Bruce
• Middle Ages
• The Women
• General
• Ghost
• Family Life
• Romance
• Scottish
• Scotland
• Robert Bruce
• Gothic
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 23 février 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9781802800296
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE LADY OF THE LOCH


ELENA COLLINS
For G, Liam, Maddie, Cait, (remembering our trip to the Highlands.)
CONTENTS



King Robert de Brus’ family tree

Ravenscraig Castle

Scottish Gaelic Vocabulary


Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Epilogue


Author’s Note

More from Elena Collins

About the Author

About Boldwood Books

Acknowledgments
KING ROBERT DE BRUS’ FAMILY TREE

Pronouncing Scottish Gaelic:


Sealgair, Cam’s horse, meaning ‘hunter’, is roughly pronounced Shall-eh-garr.
Eaun, Hendrie and Maidlin’s son, is roughly pronounced Yoo-ihn.
Allaidh, ‘wild one’, is roughly pronounced All-i.
Réidh ri Dia, ‘Rest in Peace’, is roughly pronounced Ray-eh ree Jee-ah.
Glossary


Scotia. Scotland north of the Forth, from the eleventh century.
Queynte. A coarse obsolete English word meaning vagina.
Gie it laldy. Give it your best shot.
PROLOGUE
RAVENSCRAIG CASTLE, SCOTLAND. 1307

My Scotland is untamed, wild, a warrior who knows no fear. The rugged landscape of mountains and mists, climbing firs and clambering heather, shows no mercy to the unready stranger who ventures too far across the border. The endless lochs run deep with secrets. My Scotland is heroic and stout-hearted, sharp as the kiss of a Highland champion with strong ale on his breath, wild as the flash of a lassie’s eyes when she spurns the advance of an enemy soldier. Aye, and I’d know all about that.
Scotland is the blood in my veins, the dense forests and snow-clad mountains. The home of the proud stag, his antlers held high, and the wild boar running free. Starved of my homeland, I fade away. If ye deny a flower water, it will shrivel and perish, even a thistle, such as I.
Aye, I am not your conventional flower: there is more to me than a blossom that pleases the eye. My prickle-sharp tongue has oft brought me a beating and oft saved me from danger. I had no father to tame my spirit and my mother repeatedly warned me as a child, Agnes, ye will never learn . And she was right.
But now I ache for the sustenance of the rivers and the mountains, and without it, I grow weak. From a high window up here in the tower, there is a view of the loch. I can feel the wind against my face. I can see the edge of the water, the smooth grey light of the morning as a new dawn comes, the shifting mists that glide across the surface. I glimpse the rise of the hills, and I cry to be there again among the heather.
If the window was lower and the gap wider, I would hurl myself out, feeling the freedom of the fall before I plummet to the depths of the loch. I’d catch my breath with the cold of the bitter water until it filled my lungs, then I’d sink like a stone to the bottom. I could lay my head on the depths and dream forever of the Scotland that fills my heart. I am not afraid of that.
But I am kept within these walls. I hear people come and go, talking in low voices, but I see no one. It is bitter cold here and the hours are so long, they stretch for an eternity. All I have is the narrow window, the stars each night, and I watch the wandering moon until dawn creeps in with a grey shroud across the loch. I watch and wait and hope.
I cannae barely breathe for the fear of it all. I have witnessed much in my twenty-three years: love, betrayal, bloodshed. But now, I fear the walls that hold me, the intense cold that makes my body shiver, even as my heart stays strong.
Because my heart is not my own. I gave it away the first time we met. I remember him in each moment that passes. He is my soul and I am his: we swore that we would be together for eternity. Although I believe I will die here in this castle, my spirit will never be silent.
I wither away because I want for the warrior who is beyond my arms, until we are together in that place where we have promised to meet. I will keep searching and waiting and crying out loud to him if it takes forever. I willnae find peace until then.
1
BIRMINGHAM, ENGLAND. THE PRESENT DAY

Zoe’s feet pounded rhythmically against the canal path, her breath leaving a speech bubble of vapour in the autumn air. She ran past the Gas Street Basin crammed with narrowboats, a few pubs and cafés on either side, before jogging along Broad Street, Brindley Place, past the aquarium. She’d already covered three kilometres – she’d intended to do her normal four-kilometre run, but the cold air was clearing her head and the path was quiet, so she decided to keep going. It was after three o’clock: the light would be good for at least another hour. She’d go on to St Vincent Street and head up the Birmingham and Fazeley Canal. She was warm enough in Lycra, a beanie covering her dark curls, loping steadily along the towpath past the pretty moored boats flanked by grass and bushes, her feet crunching gold and russet leaves.
Another jogger was going in the other direction, a man probably her own age, thirty, perhaps younger. He paid her no attention; she noticed that he was handsome and then immediately forgot about him. Her thoughts moved to plans for the evening; she’d go back to the flat, shower and head into town to meet friends in a wine bar as she usually did on Saturdays. She’d go through the regular pretence of asking Leah to come with her and Leah would avoid her eyes and make sounds of disinterest, then she’d say she’d be happier by the fire with a book and a takeaway. Their friends always said the same thing – they were twins, but they were so very different.
Zoe increased her pace; she felt good, heart and lungs and legs thrumming in harmony. She’d jog the two kilometres towards the university and then head home, another kilometre. She felt the familiar feeling of belonging as she passed the landscape she knew so well. She’d been a student there, completed a degree in philosophy and remained in the city, where her career had gone from strength to strength. She loved Birmingham, the lively bars and clubs, the warmth of the people, the bustle of buildings in the daytime and the vibrant pulse of the nightlife.
Leah had been there at her elbow and Zoe had always given support. But recently things had become more difficult. She wondered when things had started to deteriorate. It would be easy to put it down to the disastrous relationship Leah had had with Aaron, which ended a year ago. But, before that, Leah had been clingy, unsure of herself. Perhaps it was Zoe’s fault; she’d been popular, the more sociable one, and Leah had hovered nearby. She’d gone to uni in Birmingham because her twin was there; her heart was never in it; she was just treading water. Perhaps Leah’s last job had been the catalyst for the downward plummet: it had been wrong for her and she had left last July feeling a failure. Since then, things had certainly become more strained.
Zoe increased her pace as she settled on the old familiar solution; she, Zoe, was the problem. Born first by an hour, she seemed to have been dealt all the lucky cards: Zoe did better at school, she had more boyfriends, she was successful. Leah had so much potential – more than Zoe in some ways: she could be determined, single-minded – but she simply stood watching from the sidelines. Zoe felt responsible and, as ever, she racked her brains, not knowing how to help. She wondered if Leah should go home to their parents in Winchester, but at thirty years old she was past returning to the fold. Besides, when their parents weren’t working, they were busy with their own lives and, at almost sixty years of age, they deserved it.
Zoe was ten minutes from their first-floor flat in a smart terraced street close to shops and cafés, a cosy two-bedroom with all mod cons that she had found. She paid for the mortgage, the car, holidays, nights out; Leah simply went along with it all. The muscles in her legs tingled as she increased her pace and her body moved rhythmically towards home.
Zoe pushed keys in the front door, headed up the small flight of stairs and paused at the door to her flat. No sound came from inside. A twist of a key and she was in, through the narrow hall, standing in the living room. She tugged off the beanie, shook her curls free and called out ‘Leah?’ She waited, then tried again. ‘Leah?’
There was no reply.



* * *
Leah Drummond wore a coat and boots over her pyjamas: no one would notice what she was wearing in the supermarket. She wandered aimlessly up the aisles, pausing at the frozen section. The wire basket containing two bottles of cut-price Prosecco banged against her hip.
She glanced around, wondering if she’d see Aaron, if he’d be there with a new girlfriend. It wouldn’t bother her if she did. He’d told her she was holding him back and he needed to move on, but, in truth, it was only after they were apart that she realised that she’d been walking around with constant tension between her shoulder blades. His relentless criticism had done that to her; even now, some of his caustic comments came back to her when she least expected it.
But she didn’t care enough about Aaron now to mind if she saw him. That was the trouble: she didn’t care very much about anything. She wondered why she’d even thought about Aaron as she selected a family-sized pizza with double cheese. The cardboard box lodged against the sides of the basket, squashed ag