I thought the force of my wanting must wake ye, surely. And then ye did come. . .” He stopped, looking at me with eyes gone soft and dark. “Christ, Claire, ye were so beautiful,...

No, you wouldn’t. You love my arse, darling!”, he walked backwards few feet in front of me.His big smile was enough to make me grin and roll my eyes again at him.

Her breath caught when his erection shot to rigid. “Merciful Father, Ye’re like a stallion with a mare in heat.

Laith took off his boots and set them next to a tree. “We’ve been here since the dawn of time. We’re no’ going anywhere, Rhys. We’re supposed to be protecting the humans, remember?””The humans doona...

Scotland consistently produces world-class writers.

For 3 million you could give everyone in Scotland a shovel, and we could dig a hole so deep we could hand her over to Satan in person (on Margaret Thatcher)

The village lay in the hollow, and climbed, with very prosaic houses, the other side. Village architecture does not flourish in Scotland. The blue slates and the grey stone are sworn foes to the picturesque;...

Bite me, love.

A peaceful refuge in which to rediscover each other, we thought,, not realizing that, while golf and fishing are Scotland’s most popular outdoor sports, gossip is the most popular indoor sport.

We Slovenians are even better misers than you Scottish. You know how Scotland began? One of us Slovenians was spending too much money, so we put him on a boat and he landed in Scotland.

Were ye sent by the fairy folk? Do no’ lie to me.

I doona understand them,” Ryder said as he stopped beside Laith. “Doona get me wrong. I love the feel of a woman’s thighs around me, but to be bound to a single woman for eternity?”...

An I mo chridhe, I mo ghraidh. – In Iona that is my heart’s desire, Iona that is my love.

Ah sortay jist laugh whin some cats say that racism’s an English thing and we’re aw Jock Tamson’s bairn up here . . . it’s likesay pure shite man, gadges talkin through their erses.

Doomed to Hell. Every last one of you.

You need to wear less clothing, lass.

If I ever see an alien fishing in Scotland, and witness it catching the Loch Ness Monster, I’d probably assume the world would want me to write a poem about the event, rather than take...

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here;My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.

I do no’ think ye should lick me leg.

You keep doing that, and you’ll find yourself mated quick enough.””It’s no’ for me. I’m perfectly content just as I am.”Ryder made a face. “Are you insane? why say something like that and temp the...

I’m proud of the culture I come from – we’re a small country and a close-knit community.

In the Scotland of the early seventeenth century, an old woman living alone in Kirkcudbrightshire was accused of witchcraft and on conviction was rolled downhill in a blazing tar barrel. One of the charges against...

The drinking dens are spilling outThere’s staggering in the squareThere’s lads and lasses falling aboutAnd a crackling in the airDown around the dungeon doorsThe shelters and the queuesEverybody’s looking forSomebody’s arms to fall intoAnd it’s...

Symbols, for me and for many, of freedom, whether it be from the prison of over-dense communities and the close confines of human relationships, from the less complex incarceration of office walls and hours, or...

Battles against Rome have been lost and won before, but hope was never abandoned, since we were always here in reserve. We, the choicest flower of Britain’s manhood, were hidden away in her most secret...

Learning to pipe isn’t easy. At first it always sounds worse than a chicken yard full of squawking adolescent roosters.

She felt something missing in her soul. It wasn’t until she landed in Edinburgh that she realized that missing piece was the wild, mystical land.

Edinburgh is a great big black bastard of a city where there are ghosts of all kinds.

The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it.

We sat still, our breathing loud and rhythmic, its music melancholy, a traditional song of sorrow.