There's no place on earth with more of the old superstitions and magic mixed into its daily life than the Scottish Highlands.
The black of the ocean waves was the color of the sorrow in my breast, a sorrow that was never far away and always visible.
Americans may say they love our accents (I have been accused of sounding 'like Princess Di') but the more thoughtful ones resent and rather dislike us as a nation and people, as friends of mine have f...
I talk to you as I talk to my own soul, he said, turning me to face him. He reached up and cupped my cheek, fingers light on my temple. And Sassenach, he whispered, Your face is my heart.
Tis best to weight the enemy more mighty than he seems. Or she, as was this particular case.
Samantha imagined that in another life, she and Alison could have, indeed, been friends. Had she not been about to rob the train.
The writing talent of Edinburgh is textured - we have poets, novelists, non-fiction writers, dramatists and more.
To see the years touch ye gives me joy", he whispered, "for it means that ye live.
But I do like Scotland. I like the miserable weather. I like the miserable people, the fatalism, the negativity, the violence that's always just below the surface. And I like the way you deal with rel...
The infinitesimal seedlings became a forest of trees that grew courteously, correcting the distances between themselves as they shaped themselves to the promptings of available light and moisture, tem...
When he awoke it was dawn. Or something like dawn. The light was watery, dim and incomparably sad. Vast, grey, gloomy hills rose up all around them and in between the hills there was a wide expanse of...