tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50984772586627713902023-11-16T11:20:19.331+00:00Deborah Macgillivray natteringAward-Winning Author for Montlake/Amazon Publishing, Prairie Rose Publications, Kensington Zebra Romances and Dorchester Love SpellDeborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.comBlogger1051125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-71121829401472873922022-06-18T00:46:00.000+01:002022-06-18T00:46:00.917+01:00Funniest Cat Video ever!!<p> </p>v<iframe src="https://www.linkedin.com/embed/feed/update/urn:li:ugcPost:6943571651338891264" height="521" width="504" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" title="Embedded post"></iframe>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-91963082596384487502022-04-14T18:18:00.003+01:002022-04-14T18:18:50.900+01:00Articles on the Women of Bruce and Dunbar<p><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><i><span>Coming in 2022<br /></span></i><i><span>Women of Bruce - Part 7 - Daughters of Robert the Bruce - Marjorie Bruce Stewart, Elizabeth de Brus Oliphant of Gask, Margaret de Brus of the Glen, Christian de Brus of Carrick, Maud de Brus de Issac, Margaret de Brus Countess of Sutherland,</span><span> </span></i></i></span></p><p><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzY46yj9vI69eqgqZ_i3WZ4bMazjb0GqXJOqIjcjmdwQD1uXmRhOe8gD8eFRxSNExoyb6q1fnMg0mrEkVyhktvF21CR20pPhJHzkaeHAP7PgMgb8Ah97hzBp0fliqoqNnqWxnmAdLtOfq8/s876/Margerie+Bruce.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="876" data-original-width="637" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzY46yj9vI69eqgqZ_i3WZ4bMazjb0GqXJOqIjcjmdwQD1uXmRhOe8gD8eFRxSNExoyb6q1fnMg0mrEkVyhktvF21CR20pPhJHzkaeHAP7PgMgb8Ah97hzBp0fliqoqNnqWxnmAdLtOfq8/s320/Margerie+Bruce.jpg" width="233" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;">Coming 2022<br />Women of Bruce Part 7 and 8<br />The Sisters of Robert the Bruce: Maud and Marjorie</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ia925eIgPxi3HDf07DtXkDvVPfoXFB47Q10VHRRwAcsTWD7zAv1MqQm4mwBl8dxxI5qidS-LcB4ag3o6zi3j4UtQYY4oKcdJF4hgPyjVM0YWVP1A3H2mpE_1mstHD9yyPAfwyuGGAF2o/s434/riders.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="434" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ia925eIgPxi3HDf07DtXkDvVPfoXFB47Q10VHRRwAcsTWD7zAv1MqQm4mwBl8dxxI5qidS-LcB4ag3o6zi3j4UtQYY4oKcdJF4hgPyjVM0YWVP1A3H2mpE_1mstHD9yyPAfwyuGGAF2o/w200-h176/riders.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><br /></span></div><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i>Coming in 2022<br /></i><i>Women of Bruce - Part 6 - The Oft Forgotten Sisters of Robert the Bruce--Mary</i></span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinU-uqB69BljPhP5wHrJTtj696IcdtkfZMVMForBVOyeSP91fMrQlCM2Hlrz4fo2qbXhdhUuqXkkwyarItdVvYZwHiTVD6l1xeWO5-SdVJnQTSUuP4XTIiPOCwX9iEf9EQvCXDAiw-xC9Z/s705/Mary+de+Brus2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="690" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinU-uqB69BljPhP5wHrJTtj696IcdtkfZMVMForBVOyeSP91fMrQlCM2Hlrz4fo2qbXhdhUuqXkkwyarItdVvYZwHiTVD6l1xeWO5-SdVJnQTSUuP4XTIiPOCwX9iEf9EQvCXDAiw-xC9Z/w196-h200/Mary+de+Brus2.jpg" width="196" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;"> Isabel Douglas Drummond Stewart, Countess of Mar and Garioch<br />Great-Grandniece of Robert the Bruce</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2022/01/isabel-douglas-drummond-countess-of-mar.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="674" data-original-width="650" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirE1Gtl6ILU_fxaI1XGQzufk5b8srA4he9RsOBwdTZuQiCXHQWp77njYKrllUjnUmP7rlXurAH_WDg4u0VyAKapy0sxbeGxwenjrTfOxL1FDD8ZmBQm9QIY25vnyhVy7FwM7LtuIy2cI8wfxFL7UzQu_9gzoUE2pAOQPq6Q9TTmtw7QQrXlWrR8sZKZQ=w193-h200" width="193" /></a></div></i></div><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /><span><i>Wyntoun's War of the Rough Wooing of my 16th Great Grandmother (and cousin to Robert the Bruce)</i></span></span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #f6b26b;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><a href="https://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/09/wyntouns-war-or-rough-wooing-of-my-19th.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="1053" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZU0Z6CV2E6ceWDOpe6DDze3Bp39PNWhxfkvRDXsZ8dZBc7WrWiY8SVVqsCkeZaiMg5M8sdyb5BOPnxECqm-RFSfWRDl1_rP8RbTlEcNuDeJZr03rfJomPBz9lCYnPWbeerM-XH1woLba/s320/Wyntouns2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><br />Women of Bruce - Part 5 - Sisters of Robert the Bruce--A Tale of Two Isabels</span></i></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><a href="https://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/08/women-of-bruce-part-5-sisters-of-robert.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="372" data-original-width="234" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAUEXubUjUPmWb89urNG12-MRN_JKABMpuq0aBA537JtwraU6XcDOC7fBge64i7ouSkth9eql2yrOape-FdfYlvxwfezXKSr3HU_LXkQLKg5O-nyPO3AC-qARZqN4UtvzhOPX5obho9YN/s320/2+Isabels.jpg" /></a></i></span></div><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><br /><span><br /></span></i></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;">Women of Bruce - Part 4 - Sisters of Robert the Bruce--Christian</span></i></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/07/the-women-of-bruce-part-4-sisters-of.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="563" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYTvc6VPq_1tyX0Qv1Eau5L_9R3lsnAsLdiK2POKJpJXLMYJyTTnjb9yfNvYnQ6o8_vyV03uaCURDC4VNXNz-qmytjhjg9sIJu6OOvKn4rP6IeUStoWpCsnbIstAxuw6_k3-K5zcOb-aGb/w200-h199/christina+bruce.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;"><br /><i>Women of Bruce - Part 3 - The Wives of Robert the Bruce</i><i><br /></i></span></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/06/the-women-of-bruce-part-three-two-wives.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1088" data-original-width="2027" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_NN16IADuFA6nFD5UukGq7QVUeqm-wTDCPPNl4O8UQGRW_ev9RMYADHshn6Isbjr7F_Qt0dSABlR8e990PSoPbdp45udZRwRgbJUYaeivWvHqMGBM2OtmoDs3Zliaof6aR-K29-a46DyI/s320/BruceWives.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><span>Women of Bruce - Part 2 - Isabel Macduff, countess of Buchan, a woman who crowned a king</span></i><span><br /> - </span></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/05/women-of-bruce-part-2-isabel-macduff.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="700" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDl9TS7WK-J9R-P9evZ8Uik1jPgQl67EOKZ55AohcPe9GQl_7kgIVftG7M_2_H_3uh6sK4RfPeurOa1klh2tdldjsA75ITUQoVKl8t7JdKH4_9ov4ypS-9yg0jX7xj_sRFgXGBW_-8vEwV/w200-h169/Isabella+castle2.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/04/the-women-of-bruce-part-one-marjorie.html" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i>The Women of Bruce Part One -- Marjorie Carrick, countess of Carrick</i></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/04/the-women-of-bruce-part-one-marjorie.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="550" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS1EEPEbDiAbyUSHmiqp249ojF3JSX1R4m9w4Q2rIShFxEXHdYKuXNQfvU9M3S1UR1Hle-oL84fAHII1FZDnpfXM0Z3Y2CLIj6JDGqswzuNP36-BfpQMojo-wlp0NslX8gW7HTKCuO-1cb/w190-h200/Marjorie+Carrick.jpg" width="190" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A Tale of Two Women and One Castle - The Ladies of Dunbar - Part Two - Agnes Randolph</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/03/a-tale-of-two-women-and-one-castle.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="500" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBblEr6UH6aQFIkJJNCwvhIhPEU3I4d7eRXo1dG1uWc6nZKh7DuU7eE4pJsnLwJ5Gfk3oVpmEe-CyqnwU1fkT2-AiRQMzfmr5WTCpWFB4_73mzh5aSJ9p5x6lIGfQBoso-IljgfwUtdZT/w200-h173/Agnes2.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A Tale of Two Women and One Castle - The Ladies of Dunbar - Part One - Marjorie Comyn</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/02/a-tale-of-two-women-and-one-castle.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="577" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfz8RvApCQA537jgdyzvPS8q2JAlSWmFy17qCf6kuc4zTBsTjsDTPDJdE1HTtPt7iEub2UcWOgLMyEVyWME7zAZZI5pZ3Kdwn68-1BBKWuzsuhlbmN85YTVxhlGWs-DpC1FZnOfFDkj4T_/w120-h200/Marjorie+Comyn+pic.jpg" width="120" /></a></div></i><i><br />Countess Mabel Montgomerie -- a woman ahead of her times, or a monster in men's eyes</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/01/countess-mabel-montgomerie-woman-head.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="550" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0pDlPsj4HDOHHGlKvbHZO9VYdaRG7wJDPJrXL7v5jo1J266RfN2oyhVp57RUBcg3iEM398czXplvZpVD3uqBYLBXGzWupcI6fOoxxegpjiJK-WJG3TX4N6AgZRJoo8b2DOywvO5FWZf9B/w161-h200/Ladyfair.jpg" width="161" /></a><br /><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: large;">(Just a note -- images are stock images or digitally created images, not meant to be taken as real images of the Bruce women...lol. Actor portrayed, you might say)</i></div><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-82497439129088159862022-03-17T21:07:00.003+00:002022-03-17T21:08:24.615+00:00Giddy-Up Go!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFISOGG8P6NGbNGPZv34YzAvDWJyEfTfm7LLxHGFlE9zdKam8U5jY2Vom11z4b4iW2vhgWEj4O-6nvfsItYIJi-NKKGkodbo25mvrzyofrMNPW2FqcVSvSAeGs_eueYlQ92or1hlU2uj9W018TeA0EnjLFNM43Eb4-Bql8e3qujBeM60Km7-_GTiCt_g=s960" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="946" data-original-width="960" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFISOGG8P6NGbNGPZv34YzAvDWJyEfTfm7LLxHGFlE9zdKam8U5jY2Vom11z4b4iW2vhgWEj4O-6nvfsItYIJi-NKKGkodbo25mvrzyofrMNPW2FqcVSvSAeGs_eueYlQ92or1hlU2uj9W018TeA0EnjLFNM43Eb4-Bql8e3qujBeM60Km7-_GTiCt_g=w400-h394" width="400" /></a><br /><br />Me about 3 years old sitting on the back of "Little Fella"</div><br /><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-68750095058065918092022-03-11T05:00:00.002+00:002022-03-11T23:19:06.079+00:00 “Well, Little Girl, what do you want to be when you grow up?”<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5L9NQafZD36ZqobNh5Ag_I2xwUuJA8s-av0SR6qPaOWjf7FdLiXLzwbT6X1qxp3wDSF6P5Qc6hComJRc1qCgJiyFgRJr3BRCOlZbBSKGYG6nJufUffWDwMl649rIwEqToUHuMTTEuChdHLXsMUxOlUGEsZ6DiuUHYuTxvpcVFh0jCTQOKuROYPyqPAg=s1510" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1510" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5L9NQafZD36ZqobNh5Ag_I2xwUuJA8s-av0SR6qPaOWjf7FdLiXLzwbT6X1qxp3wDSF6P5Qc6hComJRc1qCgJiyFgRJr3BRCOlZbBSKGYG6nJufUffWDwMl649rIwEqToUHuMTTEuChdHLXsMUxOlUGEsZ6DiuUHYuTxvpcVFh0jCTQOKuROYPyqPAg=w508-h640" width="508" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: georgia;"><i>Shards of Destiny</i></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; line-height: 107%;">
<br />
</span></i><span style="font-family: "inherit",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic";">A
fellow author wrote a very interesting blog last month:<br />
<br />
</span><a href="https://prairierosepublications.blogspot.com/2022/01/blog-post.html"><span style="font-family: "inherit",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic";">https://prairierosepublications.blogspot.com/2022/01/blog-post.html</span></a><span style="font-family: "inherit",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "inherit",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic";">Kaye
Spencer's favorite childhood toy</span></i></b><span style="font-family: "inherit",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic";">. Check it out. For me, her words brought up distant
memories...and good ones.<br />
<br />
When I was a small child I recall people asking me, “<i>Well, little girl, what do you want to be when you grow up?”</i> Most children were quick with an answer. <i>A
nurse. A ballerina. An astronaut. A cowboy or a policeman.</i> Those children seemed <i>so sure</i> of their futures.
Yet, when those queries came to me, I felt nothing but confusion. I would shrug and think myself stupid for not
having an answer. Always a bit of a
rebel, a loner, and most definitely a daydreamer, none of the typical
professions seemed to call to me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "inherit",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic";">However, there were two points when destiny revealed itself
to me—a special shard in time that whispered, <i>“pay attention, lass</i>...<i>this
is a turning point in your life.”</i> I
was too young to fully understand when they occurred, yet in hindsight, the
signposts were <i>so </i>clear.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYBgXEOfBeI7dEBqPrOKvwQlSr5ldD_TG9M7s7Neh9pehTqjc5KUpl6sJbVwXuIzotcaBIBsik37l1RltYd0OV9KNhWPpibtxA61_VynCPvNvO65E6fd0LCg3t0fLlGau4d0q_cVBv1zaqJefVNvAq4xAvEdlvRrj-SjyJWFII9Otmy9ho7JuRb2ebBA=s1440" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYBgXEOfBeI7dEBqPrOKvwQlSr5ldD_TG9M7s7Neh9pehTqjc5KUpl6sJbVwXuIzotcaBIBsik37l1RltYd0OV9KNhWPpibtxA61_VynCPvNvO65E6fd0LCg3t0fLlGau4d0q_cVBv1zaqJefVNvAq4xAvEdlvRrj-SjyJWFII9Otmy9ho7JuRb2ebBA=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcJCxv1GQZIjgHcBYhVjGPutaSeGUtdUw6TTLch3O-e5vgFrF_6gb_iShs4QQh1fDoKTPmH0Cp5MtqHRFSgwa66m7brQXxjDblwTpnQdIGNL_m6lrdmqi-ouBINXWqoMUSUHYuoiCQcNQ0dIBStPQB79dpKDXl9jebkJozwtrKEcBNtmoLTLR_ctzwRA=s1440" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcJCxv1GQZIjgHcBYhVjGPutaSeGUtdUw6TTLch3O-e5vgFrF_6gb_iShs4QQh1fDoKTPmH0Cp5MtqHRFSgwa66m7brQXxjDblwTpnQdIGNL_m6lrdmqi-ouBINXWqoMUSUHYuoiCQcNQ0dIBStPQB79dpKDXl9jebkJozwtrKEcBNtmoLTLR_ctzwRA=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "inherit", serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "inherit",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic";">
<br />
The first time the <i>Hand of Fate</i>
touched my young life was in 1958. It
came in the form of a magical toy—<i>at
least it was magical to me</i>—one that I could only obtain by collecting box
tops from <i>Kellogg’s</i> cereal. That special toy leapt to mind when I read
Kaye Spenser’s blog. Obviously, it wasn’t
the value, since it was something you earned by eating cereal! Yet, to me it was the most precious treasure. </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "inherit",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic";"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeMEFJn7aKmbOCAZXLdDnRko5tIX4MviUsk3R-1LjJhlISKruYjHgSdwbH7v3fJx7GJj2fGy7qbketH8IRAKaIZYRFwpq6OOIArPw_u3WxfiJMy6zJ4-r4k5VyK0knCN5iE1fr4k-cFrr3yiUObhQ35YHxITY6DZPqjrz08LLDCsJhYk6ntdYg0WPC6A=s819" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><img border="0" data-original-height="509" data-original-width="819" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeMEFJn7aKmbOCAZXLdDnRko5tIX4MviUsk3R-1LjJhlISKruYjHgSdwbH7v3fJx7GJj2fGy7qbketH8IRAKaIZYRFwpq6OOIArPw_u3WxfiJMy6zJ4-r4k5VyK0knCN5iE1fr4k-cFrr3yiUObhQ35YHxITY6DZPqjrz08LLDCsJhYk6ntdYg0WPC6A=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
In the 1950s you often could earn items by collecting box tops, or even found
items concealed inside boxes of products.
I recall my mum collecting a set of plates, cups and saucers from boxes
of soap flakes (NO such thing as liquid soap back then!). Each box had one of the pieces of pottery. Sometimes, it would be tumblers. And you could save the box tops to get bigger
pieces like salad bowls, or serving platters, or a cut crystal pitcher. I guess it was an adult’s version of <i>Cracker Jacks</i> with their “surprise”
inside. For kids, there were other items
you could earn with your box tops.
Recall in the movie <i>The Christmas
Story</i> when Ralphie sent off for his Ovaltine’s Little Orphan Annie’s
decoder ring? Well, now you have how an
idea of kids of my era eagerly munched <i>Kellogg’s</i>
cereals, trying to save enough box tops before an offer’s time ran out. I never tried before. The gifts of toy cars,
dolls and such didn’t interest me enough to keep eating the same cereal for
months. <i>One day that changed.</i> My indifference vanished when I picked up a
box of Kellogg’s <i>Corn Flakes </i>and happened
to glance at the back. I felt as if I
couldn’t breathe. For a heartbeat the
earth stopped rotating and all around me receded to shadow. All I could see was
a very colorful image of ladies and warriors, and two armoured knights
jousting. As my surroundings receded
about me, I heard the sounds of the huge destriers, their snorting, hooves
pounding, the crash of the lances against shields. I’m sure they intended them as a promotion
for boys, but I <i>wanted</i> those toys so
much. They offered two knights—one in
black armour on a black barded horse, and one in silver on a silver charger. The knights were detachable from the horses,
as were the knights’ shields and lances.
You could wind them up, and set them hurdling toward the other so they
actually jousted. A very sophisticated
toy for a box top offering. I was
determined to earn those toys!<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "inherit",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic";">When I told my mother that I wanted them, she arched an
eyebrow and rolled her eyes. I could
clearly read her thought,<i> “That’s your
grandfather’s doing.” </i>Well yes, he
did teach me to love history, especially the <i>Middle Ages</i>. Knights,
Scotland, Robert the Bruce, James “Black” Douglas and Thomas Randolph, earl of
Moray were tales with which he filled my hungry mind. He read me stories about them instead of fairytales. So true, he planted the seeds.<br />
<br />
Yet, it was something <i>more.</i> A feeling as if the <i>Hand of Destiny</i> was touching my young life. I had no idea what it truly meant, or how it
would shape my future, but I knew it was important that I earn those toys. One stumbling block—such a sophisticated item
required a higher number of box tops. My
heart feared I would never be able to consume enough corn flakes in the time
allotted. When I emptied my first box, I
cut out the painting of the ladies and knights at the tournament on the back
and kept it close. I slipped it under my
pillow at night and dream beautiful stories of ancient times. At Christmastime when I went to my
grandfather’s there were toys—expensive toys.
Oddly, I don’t recall what presents I received that year. I <i>do</i>
clearly recall the knights that I wanted so badly and sadly knew they wouldn’t
be under the tree.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgD9cr9IiiCsUQwS0oEDkJjx9xB9jOGqHT9q2H4KlcmayOyyBbv0hCKLcD2cgfu-pbSsMDL0PLHb-4OW21VzdcBsYhZ_79UahCdAJ_gE4lC0Uv0FNVKyWB13QuP-aPGDseuFV3zbajZcMBqph3G-2m9mEJLFgelmp0AeloCN66T7bXIt3xSFYDiZIhqRA=s1396" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1396" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgD9cr9IiiCsUQwS0oEDkJjx9xB9jOGqHT9q2H4KlcmayOyyBbv0hCKLcD2cgfu-pbSsMDL0PLHb-4OW21VzdcBsYhZ_79UahCdAJ_gE4lC0Uv0FNVKyWB13QuP-aPGDseuFV3zbajZcMBqph3G-2m9mEJLFgelmp0AeloCN66T7bXIt3xSFYDiZIhqRA=s320" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><br /><span style="font-family: "inherit",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic";">Late one night, I was sitting up in the dark, cuddled in the window seat with a
tartan blanket, and watching the night sky.
I hoped to spot a shooting star so I could make a wish—one that I would
somehow get those knights. I often
talked to myself, or sometimes imaginary friends—signs of an intelligent child,
I have since learned. So when I did see
the star streaking across the night sky, I made my wish<i>. “Star light, Star bright, wish
I may, wish I might...”</i> My
grandfather came in minutes later and said if I got in bed, he would tell me a
tale of the valiant James Douglas. I
didn’t know then that he had overheard my wish.<o:p></o:p></span></span><p></p>
<span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "inherit",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">As I had worried, I failed
to save enough box tops. My heart ached,
despondent that I would never get those toy knights. Easter came, then school let out. One day, I got a notice to pick up a parcel
at the post office. Sometimes, my uncles
would send me things, small remembrances.
Curiosity was burning as I ran home with the box. Breathlessly, I opened
the package wrapped in brown paper and string, and imagine to my surprise, <i>my utter delight</i>, when I discovered
nestled in a bed of tissue paper where the two knights. After hearing my wish, my grandfather had
gone out and bought twenty boxes of corn flakes to get the box tops. Bless him!
At times, in my small child’s eyes he seemed so formidable. As an adult, I never doubted the love in his
heart.<br />
<br />
My hands were shaking as I wound them up, and sent them to jousting. Merely cheap plastic toys gained by eating
corn flakes. <i>Yet, they were so much more</i>.
As I played with them, I didn’t see toys designed for little boys to
enjoy. Instead, I saw handsome James Douglas and Thomas Randolph jousting
before King Robert Bruce. In my mind’s
eye, I envisioned Bruce’s wife, Elizabeth de Burgh, or another countess at
court, tying their ribbons of favor to Douglas’ or Randolph’s sleeves. Those toys were touchstones that carried me
into a magic realm of adventures, of handsome knights and lords, beautiful
ladies, and love.<br />
<br />
My treasured toys were carefully protected through the decades. But<i>
Fate </i>isn’t often kind. They were
lost in a house fire ten years ago. I
lost many precious items in that fire.
They were just little plastic toys.
Yet, I mourned their forfeiture.
They were and had been so much more to me. One day, after I moved into my new home in
another town, I was prowling a secondhand shop with Candy Thompson, looking for
unusual finds. Imagine my shock when
sitting there in the middle of a big bowl were the two knights! While not the original ones, it felt like a
piece of the past had come back to me.<br />
<br />
The second time, I felt <i>Fate</i> touch me
was when I was almost thirteen. It was
summer and I was in place in the middle of nowhere Kentucky, standing before a
turn-rack of paperback books, browsing novels by Victoria Holt, Barbara
Michaels and Phyllis Whitney. Faintly,
in the background, I heard a tune playing on a radio—The Beatles’ <i>Paperback Writer</i>. Once more, for that long heartbeat the world
held its breath, and all I could see was the Gothic romance in the rack before
me.</span><div><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "inherit",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxEbbqiZtWD8e9_bp3A0GR0zUWf53zWSWFga97gfGbmOtsRSVt1ou0G10nJN7F1ZoAp0hHtIH0HTtaTvn13g-3goZNWLd5Ybao3prvbU3-ontGXVebmW0lEU2MFpPK-QOy-eu5AuOYryYb43wm4j-0MtFBlqnXgnOPn6HXuYYSLL2w-CdyvpyV15Yd5A=s610" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><img border="0" data-original-height="610" data-original-width="275" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxEbbqiZtWD8e9_bp3A0GR0zUWf53zWSWFga97gfGbmOtsRSVt1ou0G10nJN7F1ZoAp0hHtIH0HTtaTvn13g-3goZNWLd5Ybao3prvbU3-ontGXVebmW0lEU2MFpPK-QOy-eu5AuOYryYb43wm4j-0MtFBlqnXgnOPn6HXuYYSLL2w-CdyvpyV15Yd5A=s320" width="144" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><br /><span style="font-family: "inherit",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">As I listened to the lyrics, <i>I knew</i>...I
wanted to be a paperback writer. Not a
bestselling author, not Jane Austin, simply a paperback writer, with a means to
allowing others to follow me on my distant adventures. Suddenly, that little six-year-old shrugging
when someone asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up was
vanquished. I understood I wanted to be
a writer, and I wanted to pen tales of handsome warriors and beautiful ladies in
a time gone by.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "inherit",serif; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXym4dI6ZSQOTsdgzqHD7pCiM95821Cu09n-lrxbnscX6uH2Ni3XZPaI1aQGU3wOntkQwfGMnJm8TLWh2QfQqMLGoBghwp_tASDKU4xl31z19E22u9c2nugR_ffIXcG1n4852xk3RGFuG1ZSUlGyBCMelXh8yxTJg914zkck6VwOiRHnxcsOIhgBEKmQ=s500" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="500" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXym4dI6ZSQOTsdgzqHD7pCiM95821Cu09n-lrxbnscX6uH2Ni3XZPaI1aQGU3wOntkQwfGMnJm8TLWh2QfQqMLGoBghwp_tASDKU4xl31z19E22u9c2nugR_ffIXcG1n4852xk3RGFuG1ZSUlGyBCMelXh8yxTJg914zkck6VwOiRHnxcsOIhgBEKmQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "inherit", serif;">So what did you want to be when you grew
up?</i><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "inherit", serif;"> Did you have special toys that
touched you in some way? Did you have
someone kind enough and understanding enough to feed those dreams?</span></div></div><div><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjEZl7IBc07tFMVkCcZnXFA1ffbrh-doSywhqLX4Rst-a290_q5nELbaEYgzaeYPIGDfrh3_LTZ1O-TsDirCx9cRjQzsQxNLpcSDDoiARGBf9XQihFf3Wu1hPBdMRCuSLxAKTgr3ph7Yu5Ubpegtz_uF03CeOyq26M3oCB2ENSRMdYxOm75Ep8zBUAAdg=s1510" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1510" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjEZl7IBc07tFMVkCcZnXFA1ffbrh-doSywhqLX4Rst-a290_q5nELbaEYgzaeYPIGDfrh3_LTZ1O-TsDirCx9cRjQzsQxNLpcSDDoiARGBf9XQihFf3Wu1hPBdMRCuSLxAKTgr3ph7Yu5Ubpegtz_uF03CeOyq26M3oCB2ENSRMdYxOm75Ep8zBUAAdg=w508-h640" width="508" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Historic"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div></div>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-46123363863587438932022-01-14T04:32:00.003+00:002022-02-03T02:18:59.473+00:00Isabel Douglas Drummond, Countess of Mar and Garoich<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPBuVP7OWfooIsRBUFQH5bYIcJz37LW4ZxI76EEtuamCxlaEHCmIpY5ULKANL1TcALDJGXng71OMjg2iSbmaWeg02D355kHyBPyKzzhsNIOC2tlk_p1vr1uTyW6qC-IBRvEypfv8NS2Yw0SAZNoHYjVn0yrW3dax071-szyE9HSOFgmcjzMLUlPzUpYw=s674" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="674" data-original-width="650" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPBuVP7OWfooIsRBUFQH5bYIcJz37LW4ZxI76EEtuamCxlaEHCmIpY5ULKANL1TcALDJGXng71OMjg2iSbmaWeg02D355kHyBPyKzzhsNIOC2tlk_p1vr1uTyW6qC-IBRvEypfv8NS2Yw0SAZNoHYjVn0yrW3dax071-szyE9HSOFgmcjzMLUlPzUpYw=w386-h400" width="386" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Isabel Douglas Drummond,</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Countess of Mar and Garoich</span></i></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">When I research the people in my family tree I often fall in love with them as I did with James Douglas or Thomas Randolph. How could I not? They were men perfect to be heroes of the romance novels I pen. Or I see their lives unfold, almost as if designed for a movie as in the romance of Margaret de Seton and Alan de Wynton— a love and marriage that nearly sparked a war. Sometimes, I am overcome with sadness at the fate of my ancestors. Such as the valiant hero Alexander Ramsay, who was abused and starved to death by William Douglas of Liddlesdale (who was then killed by another William Douglas—his uncle, the first earl of Douglas—in revenge for Alexander’s horrible death). Another poor soul that touched me was my second great-grandmother, Rebecca Ellen Knight Montgomerie, who starved to death in 1937 in Nicholasville, Kentucky, ten years after her beloved husband had died and left her alone and destitute. My grandfather remembered both Rebecca and Toby—his grandparents, and spoke of them with love and pride. No one cared about her fate.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">One that especially haunts me is Isabel Douglas, my cousin eighteen times removed. Born in Scotland, Isabel was beauty, a rich woman, well-titled and endowed with castles and money. She came with a rich heritage, so vital to the forging of Scotland into a nation. And yet, all that power, wealth and influence failed her in a most spectacular, and horribly sad fashion. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Her bloodlines came from the great Scottish houses of nobility. Her great- grandfather on her father’s side was William ‘le Hardi’ Douglas – the valiant commander of Berwick Castle, who gave his life supporting William Wallace. He was the first noble to back Wallace in his rebellion. His son went on to be the fiercest fighter Scotland has ever known—Sir James ‘the Black’ Douglas. Yes, Robert the Bruce’s most trusted commander was her great-granduncle. But then, on her mother’s side you can see the ancient Stewart and Mar lines, going back to Bruce himself. She was his great-grandniece, as well. Her father was William Douglas, 1st earl of Douglas, Mormaer of Mar (the very one who killed his nephew William Douglas over the murder of Alexander Ramsay). Her mother was Margret Stewart Swinton Mar, Countess of Douglas (through her husband), but also Countess of Mar and Garioch, in her own right. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Isabel was thus courted by all the men in the Highlands, the most sought after woman in all of Scotland, looking to align themselves with these royal houses of Douglas, Stewart, Bruce and Mar. Of all the swains vying for her hand, Isabel chose Sir Malcolm Drummond, the son of John Drummond, 11th earl of Lennox, to be her husband, a fine match. He was brother-in-law to King Robert III of Scotland. Matters went along well for the couple for nearly a decade. Her husband was a trusted advisor to the king, and was often traveling on business of the realm. They seemed happy, outside of Isabel bearing no children. That last detail would soon come back to haunt her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDwLNp1fCNuL9R6qyOF1qajLeQenSvgCmljEnoruab-7LuHuGCQcmabUtxFkVw3Ychriu0GX7Vx3r7to45D8HrlnUpeXQLl_Banb2ZBDTkfxS1B9lkI3w60tmZ8ogzL9eE19Der6uxkTZHknT71Iz9gzREdzgcn5Y1KwQ2rT7CnKLwNkTSDplGsbK76A=s600" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="545" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDwLNp1fCNuL9R6qyOF1qajLeQenSvgCmljEnoruab-7LuHuGCQcmabUtxFkVw3Ychriu0GX7Vx3r7to45D8HrlnUpeXQLl_Banb2ZBDTkfxS1B9lkI3w60tmZ8ogzL9eE19Der6uxkTZHknT71Iz9gzREdzgcn5Y1KwQ2rT7CnKLwNkTSDplGsbK76A=w182-h200" width="182" /></a><br />arms of James Douglas, 2nd earl of Douglas</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She was a prize, indeed, but she expected all the castles and titles that went with her family name to go to her older brother, James Douglas. He became the 2nd earl of Douglas and Mar upon the death of their father. She was married, so beyond the covetous eyes of Scotland’s power-hungry men. However, her heroic and dashing brother gave his life leading the Scots to victory at the Battle of Otterburn in August 1388. He died without leaving any legitimate children, and with his death, all his titles and wealth, outside the Douglas entailment, were left to his sister. She also inherited the titles through her mother, Countess of Mar and Garioch. Like her brother, Isabel had no children—heirs, and worse, no powerful husband, brother or father to protect her. Suddenly, she was left wide open to plots and devious plans to seize her and control the fortune, castles and the prestigious titles that came with her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxm5iB5nTyP62dQ3pNZdGVulkV9kxaW-mUpkHY87oEJLpxmmE8iMq_emVkimTmkmVU8NjGSqzEKOoCo3U2d7o94qp7V5ey_TUmQ_NbWM_jsmWTpxAcxHN0kSryr-6JrFix1nLhtmkd7AOjFWTxTE0n9jTnE60FAFMPOb9jaqW900MqpJumY4GRwNhgoA=s1041" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="1041" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgxm5iB5nTyP62dQ3pNZdGVulkV9kxaW-mUpkHY87oEJLpxmmE8iMq_emVkimTmkmVU8NjGSqzEKOoCo3U2d7o94qp7V5ey_TUmQ_NbWM_jsmWTpxAcxHN0kSryr-6JrFix1nLhtmkd7AOjFWTxTE0n9jTnE60FAFMPOb9jaqW900MqpJumY4GRwNhgoA=w640-h430" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Death of James Douglas, 2nd earl of Douglas at Otterburn</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">In 1402, Isabel was left behind at Kildrummy Castle, the seat for the Earldom of Mar, while Malcolm was off for business at one of their other castles. No sooner had he reached his destination than he was set upon by a band of Highlanders, led by Alexander Stewart, the illegitimate son of Alexander Stewart, earl of Buchan, ‘the Wolf of Badenoch’. Alexander tossed Malcolm into the dungeon of his own castle, where he soon died at the hands of his captors. Isabel was left alone and increasingly isolated.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A crime such as this would have been dealt with swiftly in better times, but Scotland was undergoing a period of upheaval. The king was old and sick, nearly infirmed by this point, and the real power in the country was Robert Stewart, Duke of Albany, who virtually was king from 1388 to 1420, during the final years of reign of his brother Robert III, and even into the early reign of James I, who had been imprisoned in London. His nephew David, duke of Rothesay was heir to the crown, but he died after Albany imprisoned him at Falkirk. When one plays fast and free with laws and decency, I suppose it’s not surprising that he turned a blind eye at what his nephew Alexander did to Malcolm Drummond. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDh-Bw4usdmnJ2LKh8UZllASCjKkVNilNx4zs7p6153ZW3Q3CuI4XpFClR8xdHsJI62JO7ZCgsLJ9-fbuLCV3NIj5OzDX62jI6xJMcZ_Oo0SOOlA_XTZ_eIHkTr5Apb3_02_DvTYVJfwbunWpK3BhzM1A0qrScfale4XYi6qy5H6gel9VvtPxeQIwIfA=s1332" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="799" data-original-width="1332" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDh-Bw4usdmnJ2LKh8UZllASCjKkVNilNx4zs7p6153ZW3Q3CuI4XpFClR8xdHsJI62JO7ZCgsLJ9-fbuLCV3NIj5OzDX62jI6xJMcZ_Oo0SOOlA_XTZ_eIHkTr5Apb3_02_DvTYVJfwbunWpK3BhzM1A0qrScfale4XYi6qy5H6gel9VvtPxeQIwIfA=w400-h240" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Kildrummy Castle</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In August of 1404, Alexander and his gang fell upon Kildrummy Castle and forced Isabel to sign over the earldoms of Mar and Garloich to him and his descendants. I am sure after Alexander murdered her husband, she signed anything put before her just to save her life. The next month, she anticipated that the charter would be invalidated for reason of duress. It’s unclear what happened, whether the charter was voided or not, but in the summer of 1404 Isabel Douglas Countess of Mar and Garioch and Stewart held a major meeting in the fields in front of the gates of Kildrummy Castle. The "purpose" was to "consider the needs of the state and local government" with Alexander, Bishop of Ross, Andrew Leslie of Sydie, Walter Ogilvy of Carcary, William Chalmers, Richard Lovell, Thomas Gray and all the people of the neighborhood. In presence of this noble assembly, Isabel agreed to marry Alexander Stewart, and handed over to him the castle of Kildrummy, with all its charters and rich goods and the earldom of Mar. Oddly handled affair, for if she was marrying him of free will, then why make a demonstrations of giving him all her money, titles and castles? The marriage took place 9th December 1404 sealing her fate. Since she was now legally his wife, the king (Alexander’s cousin) confirmed Alexander as the earl of Mar and Garloich.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The events shocked the kingdom, but Alexander escaped any punishment due to his close relationship with the royal family. Isabel was held prisoner for the last four years of her life, dying in Douglas Castle in 1408. No one cared that the murderer of her husband forced her to wed him so he could usurp her titles and inheritances, or kept her prisoner during the final years of her life. After all, she was just a woman. She was barely forty-seven years old when she died. She died childless. Totally alone.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglxNIK7Jj6EevMpk1qRM3fbzTG6JRWjNUxtjJWYv_TNyaHeL_6XjPkew7vkwsNSRQL6W54y15zS886b2JIBZc5YVAXnpyzlnR1lACzEHwIuaQXhAf9-bHYHXT6merPmxCZ4TXRTt7J6h_uUdifaaDPbVWxuXOfWRU1d1zHB4sXLh2VXAdJhVc6nOXU1Q=s1000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglxNIK7Jj6EevMpk1qRM3fbzTG6JRWjNUxtjJWYv_TNyaHeL_6XjPkew7vkwsNSRQL6W54y15zS886b2JIBZc5YVAXnpyzlnR1lACzEHwIuaQXhAf9-bHYHXT6merPmxCZ4TXRTt7J6h_uUdifaaDPbVWxuXOfWRU1d1zHB4sXLh2VXAdJhVc6nOXU1Q=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Castle Douglas</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">In 1424 his self-styled titles of earls of Mar and Garioch were regularized by James I, his cousin. Alexander Stewart lived on, dying in August of 1435. He had remarried in 1410, to Marie van Hoorn, daughter of the Lord of Duffel. She failed to give him any heirs. He did have an illegitimate son, Thomas Stewart, who married Elizabeth, daughter of Archibald Douglas, 4th earl of Douglas, duke of Toraine, and great-granddaughter of James ‘the Black’ Douglas. However, since he was illegitimate he could not inherit the titles his father had stolen. Oddly enough, Alexander was on a jury of twenty-one knights and peers that convicted his first cousin, Murdoch Steward, 2nd duke of Albany and two of his sons for treason just before his death, destroying the Stewarts of Albany. Another son, James fled to Ireland to escape the same fate.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Since the earldom could not pass to Thomas, it reverted to the crown, and was later given to John Erskine, 6th Lord Erskine, whose descendants hold the title to this day. I have a feeling Isabel perhaps found some measure of peace in Stewart losing in the end what he fought so hard to gain.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">My writer’s imagination can envision the terror of a woman finding herself alone in the world, and her only value is the material things she can offer a man. I often wonder about her death, how she died at such an early age. I can see her in my mind’s eye, walking a dark corridor and knowing there was no saving herself. As I said, she haunts me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHUFFT1RhWmhl5fYIpyDHoB85E_pdP_IDpjge9RgJss6nyyKAP73Uq0lTeCVJ8P_3wIdkYVVXcZXgruoq_ojjW3TN6K7_Xb4KSI-ziGc5800OTQlReFmhrnZwhKcsUpayhRnUnkYRKbJsj0XHpx6pRCcxhWuY48c7IMGKBE-3ilVm0p99JkA6Si2ys0w=s799" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="799" data-original-width="585" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHUFFT1RhWmhl5fYIpyDHoB85E_pdP_IDpjge9RgJss6nyyKAP73Uq0lTeCVJ8P_3wIdkYVVXcZXgruoq_ojjW3TN6K7_Xb4KSI-ziGc5800OTQlReFmhrnZwhKcsUpayhRnUnkYRKbJsj0XHpx6pRCcxhWuY48c7IMGKBE-3ilVm0p99JkA6Si2ys0w=w293-h400" width="293" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div style="text-align: justify;">There is an interesting side note to this, and just my supposition. Isabel's brother, James, the 2nd earl of Douglas, married Isabella Stewart, the illegitimate daughter of Robert II and Elizabeth Mure. Like her brother Alexander Stewart, the Wolf of Badenoch, when Robert II married Mure, both Alexander and Isabella Stewart were made legit. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">However, after James Douglas' death at the Battle of Otterburn, the bulk of his monies went to his sister, along with all lands not entailed to the Douglas line. I have to ponder if Isabella, now a "princess" of the Stewart line, and was forced to wed a second husband after James' death, wasn't a bit jealous of Isabel Douglas, her sister-in-law. Isabel was younger by a decade, considered the most sought after woman in Scotland, beautiful, with dozens of castles and the most wealthy woman in Scotland, thanks impart to her brother.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">It was the son of Isabella's brother who murdered Murdoch Drummond, and took Isabel Douglas hostage, later forcing her to marry him. Maybe it's the writer's mind in me, but it makes me curious what, if any, part Isabella Stewart Douglas played in the plotting for her nephew to seize control of Isabel Douglas Drummond?</div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhw2rj1sCzIYKBW4pfPs7qhpgyFITns9-BwkUkKeJ4ufx3Q6AWbZoJB6cmC_zZ7vf1qacGgohkJ4Gv8_kK4jxDyX729d86WA-uazN0n6dwCv6EXtjITGJ0cpcP0ydAuEIDQMxHijDB9G2p1kluU-GF1hPn-3kAg3apk80w3HbKqbkyRz_A89QGKGRybnA=s1838" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="249" data-original-width="1838" height="54" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhw2rj1sCzIYKBW4pfPs7qhpgyFITns9-BwkUkKeJ4ufx3Q6AWbZoJB6cmC_zZ7vf1qacGgohkJ4Gv8_kK4jxDyX729d86WA-uazN0n6dwCv6EXtjITGJ0cpcP0ydAuEIDQMxHijDB9G2p1kluU-GF1hPn-3kAg3apk80w3HbKqbkyRz_A89QGKGRybnA=w400-h54" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="1074" height="116" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL7UXsc35If8SqkyYP7ZCaESppASljdlO4EPJGKtMqc4Swsi2OdmYgi-34UZgcF3sHvAno-9rynd9RZE0L14l-3yh9VWeZokX9J-Rx24xhlsIAiDie0oubnzSNuODjOPXAS0QWiNEsC3vR/w400-h116/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Deborah writes a Scottish Medieval Historical series the Dragons of Challon in the time of Robert the Bruce,<br />and Contemporary Paranormal Romance series </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the Sister of Colford Hall.</div></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><p><br /></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-86320456103807034752022-01-06T20:51:00.005+00:002022-01-06T23:34:50.549+00:00The Tragic loss of my cousin Mary Folk<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2XcowTiLqrgIhQf-i0Du7UVG6e8RHJKPpHFgGShKLPgcefiK9w1UN8UPkR4ibj9z7W6s4_1au91fEyiuAo8ya-c7bfBHYmTTY49RLUVhKOxiQpIKblLykxi1NHSGtD1kcjlj6EymUb0QkF9QscLHQt32ic6WWGCI8gCl7YNbBEn87IARWMTwI2Eh5mQ=s1135" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1135" data-original-width="1125" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2XcowTiLqrgIhQf-i0Du7UVG6e8RHJKPpHFgGShKLPgcefiK9w1UN8UPkR4ibj9z7W6s4_1au91fEyiuAo8ya-c7bfBHYmTTY49RLUVhKOxiQpIKblLykxi1NHSGtD1kcjlj6EymUb0QkF9QscLHQt32ic6WWGCI8gCl7YNbBEn87IARWMTwI2Eh5mQ=w634-h640" width="634" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Mary Irene Elizabeth Folk</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">(7th February 1957 - 5th January 2022)</span><br /><br /><span>It is such sad news. My second-cousin, Mary, died yesterday. Mary was born with cerebral palsy. She endured many operations trying to help her legs, leaving her unable to bend her knees and ankles. She was independent lady, who saw the loss of three brothers, one her twin, and a sister over the years. Her father, a vet who served in Vietnam, died in the 1990s. Then her mother, Jewel was lost over a silly accident--a stubbed toe that caused a secondary bone infection, which eventually claimed her life. Her younger brother, Richie, broke his back in a diving accident when he was in his teens and was left a quadriplegic. Mary helped care for him until his death. <br /><br />So many times, so many turns, life was not kind to Mary. She walked with a cane, but kept her mobility until a bad fall several years ago. At that time I began a campaign to get Mary to move from Corona California, where she lived most of her life, to be closer to me. I tried to help her make plans to sell her house, and help her buy a home here. I didn't like her being alone. She refused flatly, citing she had better medical benefits in California and not wanting to lose them. I tried for months to change her mind, but Mary could be quite stubborn when she chose. I think, in truth, she didn't want to leave her home, because the cemetery where where beloved brother, mother and step-father was just across the street from her home. She couldn't leave them.<br /><br /> She began to have a problem with her ankle, it split open and the wound wouldn't heal. Another bout in the hospital to help heal that brought another specter -- she caught Covid while in the hospital. She seemed to recover, but she was never back to normal. From that point she stopped walking. As of late, she was confided to her bed, with a caregiver coming daily to aid her. <br /><br />Somehow, a fire started behind the hospital style bed. Mary had no escape. The fire department reached her, but she was horribly burned by then. They took her to the hospital where she died later that day. After barely escaping a house fire myself, I shudder at the nightmare way this kind soul was lost. <br /><br />Life was never kind to Mary. It seems death was not either. I am in shock. She was the kindest person, so full of laughter and love. No matter what life threw at her, she was always laughing and looking for the bright side of things. Life is never fair, but for Mary it seems so cruel.<br /><br />Words cannot express the deep sorrow within me...<br /></span><br /><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjyPTgTUFWHmRUqAkWqv-CsorkuZqDc2St9H1MaY2NCxPXpirHezIoZ4ITL7J9xpFQnuf7f0AvZscwpam6vc0pfTOZaZ5HlK8YrK-enzefFqGuAdiaV-pOJoPGGR8JWq1zPbKloxepJEPCLpcHdeSqTYmTj_yi1Zy6uc3daYZzq2avQPhv23e8K3qGUVg=s1230" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="1230" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjyPTgTUFWHmRUqAkWqv-CsorkuZqDc2St9H1MaY2NCxPXpirHezIoZ4ITL7J9xpFQnuf7f0AvZscwpam6vc0pfTOZaZ5HlK8YrK-enzefFqGuAdiaV-pOJoPGGR8JWq1zPbKloxepJEPCLpcHdeSqTYmTj_yi1Zy6uc3daYZzq2avQPhv23e8K3qGUVg=w640-h226" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-47529810544227264772021-12-27T13:28:00.005+00:002021-12-27T13:28:58.739+00:00Happy Boxing Day<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7LcuEERucCYcL1RUeb05BNN1ctD426dTwdvkt2FM5pkJcOKA7unrbAjKo1RBRq2iaDUGDeLJolCiPr9u2onTkyC-EyffoqLSdaXMHFlh1C1rSvKBR1HPDlrf1PI-7kzNlaZYnUBQMsOaZ//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="410" data-original-width="738" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7LcuEERucCYcL1RUeb05BNN1ctD426dTwdvkt2FM5pkJcOKA7unrbAjKo1RBRq2iaDUGDeLJolCiPr9u2onTkyC-EyffoqLSdaXMHFlh1C1rSvKBR1HPDlrf1PI-7kzNlaZYnUBQMsOaZ/w640-h356/image.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Yeah, yeah, it was yesterday, but I was busy...lol. I took lunch to Candy and we celebrated Boxing Day. I also took her a box of some small treats. I had found about a dozen postcard from 1907-30 era of Bay Shore NY -- images of a time when her grandmother and mother would have been around. I also found an amazing bottle from Bay Shore Bottling Company (early version of ginger ales, mineral waters, and other soft drinks. The bottle was made in Bay Shore in 1880-1890. Another I gave her on Christmas was a vase made to look like a store Entenmann's. While you can find their goods nationwide now, their original store was in Bay Shore. They used to get her birthday cakes there. Her sister's wedding cake was done there.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEileQiCQn0OYmBxhQKUt30GJnZEmiG1GWB9p_DsrebwdtTClMlBSnJWxxDoXRJDOWSYlLRxyXlVQjZ21_m9mlS6WFgbAyL_4IaFNLSBUkgDMP2DvwMCMf7M9C6g6SnyDJo4FzifG3gsEnmgr262rQWIG88bFXaLrmIa1gzzteIkB2AXXEh0jPD5ZMeRJQ=s738" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="738" data-original-width="575" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEileQiCQn0OYmBxhQKUt30GJnZEmiG1GWB9p_DsrebwdtTClMlBSnJWxxDoXRJDOWSYlLRxyXlVQjZ21_m9mlS6WFgbAyL_4IaFNLSBUkgDMP2DvwMCMf7M9C6g6SnyDJo4FzifG3gsEnmgr262rQWIG88bFXaLrmIa1gzzteIkB2AXXEh0jPD5ZMeRJQ=s320" width="249" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiq1eDK-vv_9vWc3ID9VUfWxoom7A3YvcQ6DigDDhYfWKZd4Pc16Cfq-GQ0BojBiAmH99tpV2Axx8b6ym-ILDuPMEEgQYPIwW8p4yx7S5Oz3C40BPYYFDaUaPYOpEhY7MxkvlBk3kn_8IVKbSnqIbCPlmDvIvUKo4DzMT4KmVBl9FD20XJaDDx1aC-vzw=s762" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="762" data-original-width="583" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiq1eDK-vv_9vWc3ID9VUfWxoom7A3YvcQ6DigDDhYfWKZd4Pc16Cfq-GQ0BojBiAmH99tpV2Axx8b6ym-ILDuPMEEgQYPIwW8p4yx7S5Oz3C40BPYYFDaUaPYOpEhY7MxkvlBk3kn_8IVKbSnqIbCPlmDvIvUKo4DzMT4KmVBl9FD20XJaDDx1aC-vzw=s320" width="245" /></a></div> <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">She loves it here in Kentucky, but it's always very nice to visit memories, so these things gave her a "touchstone" to do so.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">She made me the most beautiful sleeved cape, in white and gold, with a matching winter hat. LOVE THEM.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj15K3MR5ddItiXvAVLdv6BCwkgrl6QY0rBo4pBv2KjWiobQtNv_wuv2ggE4-AICpF371fVNAvmq1f0NvHdp8QanMTgJbMDo5BjeEl83dWFcu_Cn7l3EfNc1nxhpCxmbTpP_lL17yFarnL7dtHwEFl22izhQdr4rtyInZLUp5yM9FJ41RtvF-eTXU4W8A=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj15K3MR5ddItiXvAVLdv6BCwkgrl6QY0rBo4pBv2KjWiobQtNv_wuv2ggE4-AICpF371fVNAvmq1f0NvHdp8QanMTgJbMDo5BjeEl83dWFcu_Cn7l3EfNc1nxhpCxmbTpP_lL17yFarnL7dtHwEFl22izhQdr4rtyInZLUp5yM9FJ41RtvF-eTXU4W8A=s320" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1i0ZzllwBf0q4tbpaGzCsp_1HVlYR6bUTc3PeDTMFHZBOI_GdDqnLP1mGCG4p8rBisA34ukvLUHR-L9uxJyVczFy4MiD4jGu1_iahSHWrsvFwxx5Bzt5SY8Lk3DXySCyuqqzWjiGZx8Wg1H5IbOgLVvsY8i-LeKM7WaHOWUG-pD0B2lh2mi3Ahq1UCg=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1i0ZzllwBf0q4tbpaGzCsp_1HVlYR6bUTc3PeDTMFHZBOI_GdDqnLP1mGCG4p8rBisA34ukvLUHR-L9uxJyVczFy4MiD4jGu1_iahSHWrsvFwxx5Bzt5SY8Lk3DXySCyuqqzWjiGZx8Wg1H5IbOgLVvsY8i-LeKM7WaHOWUG-pD0B2lh2mi3Ahq1UCg=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Missing my husband, naturally, but this gentle fun days of giving and sharing with my dear friend Candy makes the holidays pass easier.</div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><p><br /></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-32920706969512526752021-12-25T15:00:00.004+00:002021-12-25T15:00:58.664+00:00Wish you the Happiest of Holidays!!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjV8GxYmN-7vmQq0GSAotKkaNX6KvL5uZg_anTFbs4Z7Kk1_sWW0waR3SJlAT8647YXrnwn7C5bJca9QlyL46EL9ZlT9Jko6xjaA5hbfpMWdso9XlhAky_hKfmPjoaQzCPdm0GYZGvLewv1hQ29xR4OGzaEs4Hoej-nv9P62X8Sd0H4q0DJ7uDnX-OwHg=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjV8GxYmN-7vmQq0GSAotKkaNX6KvL5uZg_anTFbs4Z7Kk1_sWW0waR3SJlAT8647YXrnwn7C5bJca9QlyL46EL9ZlT9Jko6xjaA5hbfpMWdso9XlhAky_hKfmPjoaQzCPdm0GYZGvLewv1hQ29xR4OGzaEs4Hoej-nv9P62X8Sd0H4q0DJ7uDnX-OwHg=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-77962887740689133042021-12-21T07:41:00.001+00:002021-12-21T07:41:11.249+00:00Wishes for the new season<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSMTbPA69MLAUX8mpdGRYekONlz_AbvlO9hiUpG1wJYkccfPMAlsdrXDPj6daLNN1AicOL1t-hw9p6BZkuw1DsugVM1er6yr0G1cjAQDm2bOQqb8aiSPuNYb0x_-pXZJ-5127HfuubHJxBPyuVF8sxVfs8I7aCH5UPwoohBJ5alBzKzIXV3T_-4qfJog=s900" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="765" data-original-width="900" height="544" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSMTbPA69MLAUX8mpdGRYekONlz_AbvlO9hiUpG1wJYkccfPMAlsdrXDPj6daLNN1AicOL1t-hw9p6BZkuw1DsugVM1er6yr0G1cjAQDm2bOQqb8aiSPuNYb0x_-pXZJ-5127HfuubHJxBPyuVF8sxVfs8I7aCH5UPwoohBJ5alBzKzIXV3T_-4qfJog=w640-h544" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-37858250880577840542021-12-02T05:38:00.002+00:002021-12-02T05:38:27.270+00:00Remembering<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRCPLElcy_juqlaCAfUgGIV_Z1w4SqkOfSnXbXanK9-7J62h3rg_b45TlmR4HMXdHmjK2yKATZrsj7O8s7gNZEoR4yde4xJQM4iUQuxOLeI_2qZOYuNNV5KNysBSwdyqTJppMQ3iyOB9jV/s687/mom2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="687" data-original-width="571" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRCPLElcy_juqlaCAfUgGIV_Z1w4SqkOfSnXbXanK9-7J62h3rg_b45TlmR4HMXdHmjK2yKATZrsj7O8s7gNZEoR4yde4xJQM4iUQuxOLeI_2qZOYuNNV5KNysBSwdyqTJppMQ3iyOB9jV/s320/mom2.png" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So very hard to believe she passed away this night thirty-four years ago.<br /><br />My mother was a special person, so full of life, so full of sadness.<br />And I miss her.</div><br /><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-43966566169603602182021-11-03T01:53:00.004+00:002021-11-03T01:55:30.830+00:00The ideal Christmas gift for that Romance lover<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwwFcoxHhDFtri5fjqujI-j8uAlJGzS2AV2yAtL2bvvHxBu2kZEBJWjWqc8YjMT_wGaQWxf76doRKFbu2WS-4IDFsD0JVGcMlWYSsjV1-Qp7bt809EhZ9akR9jAULXQkL_XkShnJVu2kGC/s1600/PerfectOSK1000.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="647" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwwFcoxHhDFtri5fjqujI-j8uAlJGzS2AV2yAtL2bvvHxBu2kZEBJWjWqc8YjMT_wGaQWxf76doRKFbu2WS-4IDFsD0JVGcMlWYSsjV1-Qp7bt809EhZ9akR9jAULXQkL_XkShnJVu2kGC/w413-h640/PerfectOSK1000.png" width="413" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span><span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;">Turning back to the man on the ground, she once again had
to wipe the gathering flakes from his face.
She attempted to tug him to a sitting position, thinking she could wrap
her mantle around them both, and lend him what little body heat she still
had. When she went to lift him, she
realized he still had his broadsword lashed crosswise over his back. Finding the strap’s buckle on the center of
his chest, she released it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Then, froze as
the howl came</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;">It was close by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The man groaned as she urgently rolled his dead weight, enough to drag
the sword out from under him, and then dropped the leather sheath as she freed
the blade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holding the sword in her
right hand, she used her left to release the clasp of her mantle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She would need her arms free to swing the
sword.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keeping her eyes fixed upon the
trees, she dragged her woolen cape over the man’s unmoving body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;">The deep growl sent a chill to her marrow as the threat
of the snowstorm had failed to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Low
tree limbs rustled and then parted as the set of glowing yellow eyes peeked
through the wintry foliage.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;">Swallowing hard, Skena brought the sword up, preparing to
swing, and praying she had strength enough to wield the mighty sword true.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwIou5sz69qUY0ikYf2SobcqfU5l-CgfiyuDaaa2nOLRyXfrqti82r6RUEZ4981C-XJMDMD52hOlf-ewNRzcFA6haN_poD6L9Kp9S_34cwl3z9VKPi9yoaqx03ElB1qQ6jSnufjQDXNpV-/s1600/forest.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwIou5sz69qUY0ikYf2SobcqfU5l-CgfiyuDaaa2nOLRyXfrqti82r6RUEZ4981C-XJMDMD52hOlf-ewNRzcFA6haN_poD6L9Kp9S_34cwl3z9VKPi9yoaqx03ElB1qQ6jSnufjQDXNpV-/s640/forest.png" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;">Skena stood trembling, from the cold, aye, but more so
from dread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the specter of famine
looming across the land, she feared wolves would soon be a threat they would
face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Foolishly, she had hoped the
menace would not come this early in the season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Swallowing to moisten the dryness in her mouth, she watched the feral
eyes narrow on her, judging how much a threat she presented holding the
sword.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plainly, she posed nary a concern
to the creature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shoulders lowered,
teeth bared, he edged forward, a low growl of intent rising deep in his
throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The animal scented her
fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her weakness only emboldened
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;">Keeping her attention on the black wolf, her eyes quickly
scanned to see if there were others coming up behind him or circling
around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where you found one, usually
there lurked a small pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her luck
holding, thus far no other pairs of bright eyes appeared; no dark forms skulked
through the unmoving undergrowth around the dense pine trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;">“Oh, please let him be a lone wolf,” she offered her wish
to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the Auld Ones</i>, before whispering
dark words to weave a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Charm of Protection</i>,
drawing upon what little powers she possessed to sustain her through this
ordeal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a small woman,
her Ogilvie blood showed in her tall body and strong bones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even so, to hold the heavy broadsword—which
took years for a man to master—was tiring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Her arms vibrated; tremors racked her muscles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A mix of terror and cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The winter storm slowly leached all the
strength from her body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She fought
against the quaking, still the sword wobbled in her grip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;">Baring his fangs, the wolf crept slowly forward, more
daring with each step.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Skena had trouble
keeping her vision clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Falling flakes
and those kicked up by the spindrift continued to stick to her long lashes,
adding moisture to the tears she valiantly labored to hold at bay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was vital to see the wolf when he leapt,
in order to time her swing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She sucked
in a hard breath of terror.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The creature
was so much bigger than she expected!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzTCBOKQLKAA8O5D5O2-ngiUpgm0M1pJLO5ohrnhB1et09R6qbUw-q8CCIlkGtYzuP3gyAzZNO_BIs9LZGSheNbYJJD6Ub1mfCLqzsXkQBCWcWn-UGLC44VnmWE_i8nm06AyWK_Mq6RfPN/s1600/black+wolf.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="1066" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzTCBOKQLKAA8O5D5O2-ngiUpgm0M1pJLO5ohrnhB1et09R6qbUw-q8CCIlkGtYzuP3gyAzZNO_BIs9LZGSheNbYJJD6Ub1mfCLqzsXkQBCWcWn-UGLC44VnmWE_i8nm06AyWK_Mq6RfPN/s400/black+wolf.png" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Off with you, evil </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">foal-chû</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">You shall no’ be making a meal of this
warrior or me.”</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">She spoke false courage,
hoping the sound of her voice might frighten him into backing off.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Instead, his body coiled, preparing to
spring.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;">So intent upon the wolf, Skena hopped slightly when long
arms enclosed about her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Startled and
yet unwilling to take her eyes off the black creature, it was several
heartbeats before she comprehended the stranger had awakened and was on his
feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, in his strong embrace
she was not so scared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;">“Be still, my lady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I lend my strength to your swing.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The warrior’s cold hands closed over hers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He leaned against her back; his powerful
muscles caused her shaking to lessen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;">Skena had little chance for the details of his nearness
to filter through her thoughts, for with a feral snarl the wolf leapt at
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frozen in terror, she was unable
to move, yet she felt the warrior wielding the sword.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bared teeth snapped close to her throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She cried out and then flinched when the
great blade caught the beast in the neck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Blood splattered across her clothing and her face. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its heat shocked her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Numb with the horror, she stared at the
animal writhing on the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the
gathering darkness, the pooling blood oddly appeared black upon the pristine
snow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The coppery smell set her stomach
to roiling; revolted, she choked back rising nausea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her grip slackened about the hilt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The knight’s fingers closed
tighter around hers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nay, my lady,
never leave a wounded animal alive...sometimes, not even a man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>’Tis when they are most dangerous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They risk all for they have naught to
lose.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span><br /></span>
<br />
</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvOwJknT-mHgc9HkSDd9fwpGl6hSgzY3Hqx-UTltCeQWtQeOjJMvjL1tI0B1JFMvEKb_Yf_f2oF35aOrGDPQr6Tmj7FRTRWmpHk0v0PYEVVCHTrZfkHdUqCMyIct2Q8C_-oaLXxA69EmY/s1600/Skena+back13Asmall.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="580" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvOwJknT-mHgc9HkSDd9fwpGl6hSgzY3Hqx-UTltCeQWtQeOjJMvjL1tI0B1JFMvEKb_Yf_f2oF35aOrGDPQr6Tmj7FRTRWmpHk0v0PYEVVCHTrZfkHdUqCMyIct2Q8C_-oaLXxA69EmY/s400/Skena+back13Asmall.png" width="257" /></a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;">One Snowy Knight, Dragons of Challon, Book 3<br /><br /><br /><i><b>Prairie Rose Publications</b></i><br /><br />#DragonsofChallon #ScottishRomance #MedievalRomance #Historical Romance</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOHwDtjEmMMVoL7iltPzBaC54JTvgcMZ2MnL0mtmE22h6td3IXe693I4Mms2yaITzwGR2aTUJFIHRh71Djvv1GwgBN0o2Lj_34f-3ztO3Jy54EI9SCcIQqSH9Ed7bgQd7jhDJPSLqYKH5H/s1600/OneSnowyKnightFull+NEW13small.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="985" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOHwDtjEmMMVoL7iltPzBaC54JTvgcMZ2MnL0mtmE22h6td3IXe693I4Mms2yaITzwGR2aTUJFIHRh71Djvv1GwgBN0o2Lj_34f-3ztO3Jy54EI9SCcIQqSH9Ed7bgQd7jhDJPSLqYKH5H/w640-h454/OneSnowyKnightFull+NEW13small.png" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<br />Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-58893977234618744522021-11-01T09:04:00.004+00:002021-11-01T09:07:37.624+00:00RIP sweet Loki<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJpTPMXyD0rHXnXq42X2_R0UiDGbzcR38UefQj3AQCAfc7puRsapPbiXku1mxXRbCacgzIkffUAEZqMOhUkuYL8ezQTI6h_fDVBJlNv1NeYGGgCxxOxuByCkQAtJo6lQcmVwS5SUlH2Twe/s1176/Loki3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1176" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJpTPMXyD0rHXnXq42X2_R0UiDGbzcR38UefQj3AQCAfc7puRsapPbiXku1mxXRbCacgzIkffUAEZqMOhUkuYL8ezQTI6h_fDVBJlNv1NeYGGgCxxOxuByCkQAtJo6lQcmVwS5SUlH2Twe/w640-h440/Loki3.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">RIP<br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i>Loki</i></span><br /><br />He came to me in 2013. A stray someone tossed away. My friend Candy had been feeding him, but she broke her back in November of that year, so I took over putting food out for him. One night, I heard the start of a cat fight outside. He was cowering against the bottom of the stairs, while another orange kitty was going to beat on him to get the food. I told him to come to me and I would protect him. He hesitate a moment, and then dashed to me and hid behind my legs. I have have dozens of kitties in my lifetime, but never one that came running to me at the start of the fight.<br /><br />The next day, he came down the hill in 6 inches of snow to get food. I had just lost my kitty Algie. So as I watched Loki make his way down the steep hill, I thought I could save him -- if he would let me. He came up on the porch and I quickly got Candy's pet carrier. I asked him if I could pick him up and he let me. He wasn't happy about the carrier, even less about being take in the truck to my house. But he just about cried when he saw I was taking him to a bedroom. Clearly, he had been an indoor kitty. He knew what a bed and little box was. I slept in the spare room wth him for a couple nights to get him used to being in a new house.<br /><br />I never regretted making him a part of my family. He never did anything wrong, no clawing, spraying, or scratching etc. He was just so happy to have a warm, safe home. He was such a gentle kitty. And he loved me for saving him.<br /><br />He was with me for just shy of eight years. I had hoped to have him longer.<br />The last two and half years have been rough for me, with losing my husband and then my surgery on my jaw. He slept beside me and would reach out during the night, and put a paw on me, like "It's okay, you're not alone. Everything is going to be fine."<br /><br />Tonight, that ghostly paw isn't there to reassure me. And I miss his so much.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHpGYEvfdYawn1A4QNrmL0YiPaQ8p3OmYm93JwRpMDh2-bw7RynIstU1HKfikMn0BGStEDq6ImX0PMuqllJaAIazxDEHyDr1EPx5tiwf0PPm5DydOU8ji_6aeeTql9yjC3SeTM8si_jxsy/s960/Loki2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHpGYEvfdYawn1A4QNrmL0YiPaQ8p3OmYm93JwRpMDh2-bw7RynIstU1HKfikMn0BGStEDq6ImX0PMuqllJaAIazxDEHyDr1EPx5tiwf0PPm5DydOU8ji_6aeeTql9yjC3SeTM8si_jxsy/w352-h640/Loki2.jpg" width="352" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-69419820438783005612021-10-03T02:29:00.006+01:002022-04-06T05:16:29.487+01:00Links to my articles on the Women of Bruce and Dunbar<p><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><i><span>Coming in 2022<br /></span></i><i><span>Women of Bruce - Part 7 - Daughters of Robert the Bruce - Marjorie Bruce Stewart, Elizabeth de Brus Oliphant of Gask, Margaret de Brus of the Glen, Christian de Brus of Carrick, Maud de Brus de Issac, Margaret de Brus Countess of Sutherland,</span><span> </span></i></i></span></p><p><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzY46yj9vI69eqgqZ_i3WZ4bMazjb0GqXJOqIjcjmdwQD1uXmRhOe8gD8eFRxSNExoyb6q1fnMg0mrEkVyhktvF21CR20pPhJHzkaeHAP7PgMgb8Ah97hzBp0fliqoqNnqWxnmAdLtOfq8/s876/Margerie+Bruce.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="876" data-original-width="637" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzY46yj9vI69eqgqZ_i3WZ4bMazjb0GqXJOqIjcjmdwQD1uXmRhOe8gD8eFRxSNExoyb6q1fnMg0mrEkVyhktvF21CR20pPhJHzkaeHAP7PgMgb8Ah97hzBp0fliqoqNnqWxnmAdLtOfq8/s320/Margerie+Bruce.jpg" width="233" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;">Coming 2022<br />Women of Bruce Part 7 and 8<br />The Sisters of Robert the Bruce: Maud and Marjorie</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ia925eIgPxi3HDf07DtXkDvVPfoXFB47Q10VHRRwAcsTWD7zAv1MqQm4mwBl8dxxI5qidS-LcB4ag3o6zi3j4UtQYY4oKcdJF4hgPyjVM0YWVP1A3H2mpE_1mstHD9yyPAfwyuGGAF2o/s434/riders.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="434" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ia925eIgPxi3HDf07DtXkDvVPfoXFB47Q10VHRRwAcsTWD7zAv1MqQm4mwBl8dxxI5qidS-LcB4ag3o6zi3j4UtQYY4oKcdJF4hgPyjVM0YWVP1A3H2mpE_1mstHD9yyPAfwyuGGAF2o/w200-h176/riders.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><br /></span></div><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i>Coming in 2022<br /></i><i>Women of Bruce - Part 6 - The Oft Forgotten Sisters of Robert the Bruce--Mary</i></span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinU-uqB69BljPhP5wHrJTtj696IcdtkfZMVMForBVOyeSP91fMrQlCM2Hlrz4fo2qbXhdhUuqXkkwyarItdVvYZwHiTVD6l1xeWO5-SdVJnQTSUuP4XTIiPOCwX9iEf9EQvCXDAiw-xC9Z/s705/Mary+de+Brus2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="690" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinU-uqB69BljPhP5wHrJTtj696IcdtkfZMVMForBVOyeSP91fMrQlCM2Hlrz4fo2qbXhdhUuqXkkwyarItdVvYZwHiTVD6l1xeWO5-SdVJnQTSUuP4XTIiPOCwX9iEf9EQvCXDAiw-xC9Z/w196-h200/Mary+de+Brus2.jpg" width="196" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;"> Isabel Douglas Drummond Stewart, Countess of Mar and Garioch<br />Great-Grandniece of Robert the Bruce</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2022/01/isabel-douglas-drummond-countess-of-mar.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="674" data-original-width="650" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirE1Gtl6ILU_fxaI1XGQzufk5b8srA4he9RsOBwdTZuQiCXHQWp77njYKrllUjnUmP7rlXurAH_WDg4u0VyAKapy0sxbeGxwenjrTfOxL1FDD8ZmBQm9QIY25vnyhVy7FwM7LtuIy2cI8wfxFL7UzQu_9gzoUE2pAOQPq6Q9TTmtw7QQrXlWrR8sZKZQ=w193-h200" width="193" /></a></div></i></div><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /><span><i>Wyntoun's War of the Rough Wooing of my 16th Great Grandmother (and cousin to Robert the Bruce)</i></span></span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #f6b26b;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><a href="https://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/09/wyntouns-war-or-rough-wooing-of-my-19th.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="1053" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZU0Z6CV2E6ceWDOpe6DDze3Bp39PNWhxfkvRDXsZ8dZBc7WrWiY8SVVqsCkeZaiMg5M8sdyb5BOPnxECqm-RFSfWRDl1_rP8RbTlEcNuDeJZr03rfJomPBz9lCYnPWbeerM-XH1woLba/s320/Wyntouns2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b;"><br />Women of Bruce - Part 5 - Sisters of Robert the Bruce--A Tale of Two Isabels</span></i></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><a href="https://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/08/women-of-bruce-part-5-sisters-of-robert.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="372" data-original-width="234" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAUEXubUjUPmWb89urNG12-MRN_JKABMpuq0aBA537JtwraU6XcDOC7fBge64i7ouSkth9eql2yrOape-FdfYlvxwfezXKSr3HU_LXkQLKg5O-nyPO3AC-qARZqN4UtvzhOPX5obho9YN/s320/2+Isabels.jpg" /></a></i></span></div><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><br /><span><br /></span></i></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;">Women of Bruce - Part 4 - Sisters of Robert the Bruce--Christian</span></i></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/07/the-women-of-bruce-part-4-sisters-of.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="563" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYTvc6VPq_1tyX0Qv1Eau5L_9R3lsnAsLdiK2POKJpJXLMYJyTTnjb9yfNvYnQ6o8_vyV03uaCURDC4VNXNz-qmytjhjg9sIJu6OOvKn4rP6IeUStoWpCsnbIstAxuw6_k3-K5zcOb-aGb/w200-h199/christina+bruce.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;"><br /><i>Women of Bruce - Part 3 - The Wives of Robert the Bruce</i><i><br /></i></span></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/06/the-women-of-bruce-part-three-two-wives.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1088" data-original-width="2027" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_NN16IADuFA6nFD5UukGq7QVUeqm-wTDCPPNl4O8UQGRW_ev9RMYADHshn6Isbjr7F_Qt0dSABlR8e990PSoPbdp45udZRwRgbJUYaeivWvHqMGBM2OtmoDs3Zliaof6aR-K29-a46DyI/s320/BruceWives.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><span>Women of Bruce - Part 2 - Isabel Macduff, countess of Buchan, a woman who crowned a king</span></i><span><br /> - </span></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/05/women-of-bruce-part-2-isabel-macduff.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="700" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDl9TS7WK-J9R-P9evZ8Uik1jPgQl67EOKZ55AohcPe9GQl_7kgIVftG7M_2_H_3uh6sK4RfPeurOa1klh2tdldjsA75ITUQoVKl8t7JdKH4_9ov4ypS-9yg0jX7xj_sRFgXGBW_-8vEwV/w200-h169/Isabella+castle2.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/04/the-women-of-bruce-part-one-marjorie.html" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i>The Women of Bruce Part One -- Marjorie Carrick, countess of Carrick</i></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/04/the-women-of-bruce-part-one-marjorie.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="550" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS1EEPEbDiAbyUSHmiqp249ojF3JSX1R4m9w4Q2rIShFxEXHdYKuXNQfvU9M3S1UR1Hle-oL84fAHII1FZDnpfXM0Z3Y2CLIj6JDGqswzuNP36-BfpQMojo-wlp0NslX8gW7HTKCuO-1cb/w190-h200/Marjorie+Carrick.jpg" width="190" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A Tale of Two Women and One Castle - The Ladies of Dunbar - Part Two - Agnes Randolph</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/03/a-tale-of-two-women-and-one-castle.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="500" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBblEr6UH6aQFIkJJNCwvhIhPEU3I4d7eRXo1dG1uWc6nZKh7DuU7eE4pJsnLwJ5Gfk3oVpmEe-CyqnwU1fkT2-AiRQMzfmr5WTCpWFB4_73mzh5aSJ9p5x6lIGfQBoso-IljgfwUtdZT/w200-h173/Agnes2.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A Tale of Two Women and One Castle - The Ladies of Dunbar - Part One - Marjorie Comyn</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/02/a-tale-of-two-women-and-one-castle.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="577" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfz8RvApCQA537jgdyzvPS8q2JAlSWmFy17qCf6kuc4zTBsTjsDTPDJdE1HTtPt7iEub2UcWOgLMyEVyWME7zAZZI5pZ3Kdwn68-1BBKWuzsuhlbmN85YTVxhlGWs-DpC1FZnOfFDkj4T_/w120-h200/Marjorie+Comyn+pic.jpg" width="120" /></a></div></i><i><br />Countess Mabel Montgomerie -- a woman ahead of her times, or a monster in men's eyes</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/01/countess-mabel-montgomerie-woman-head.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="550" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0pDlPsj4HDOHHGlKvbHZO9VYdaRG7wJDPJrXL7v5jo1J266RfN2oyhVp57RUBcg3iEM398czXplvZpVD3uqBYLBXGzWupcI6fOoxxegpjiJK-WJG3TX4N6AgZRJoo8b2DOywvO5FWZf9B/w161-h200/Ladyfair.jpg" width="161" /></a><br /><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: times; font-size: large;">(Just a note -- images are stock images or digitally created images, not meant to be taken as real images of the Bruce women...lol. Actor portrayed, you might say)</i></div><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-85338805185476470942021-09-11T09:29:00.006+01:002021-09-11T09:35:20.568+01:00Anniversary of the Battle of Stirling Bridge<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9s4mBuaXg26oERwjFcLcxl1tFXLJcgwZSqSNALjILtQyo0Jp-ybRtOi1oUVdVAmmRKbwWLLorgOZ9BymkT0jaQAF5qRYL-lK4wGOl_fhq-dB-mb_gXlmkPOr9_8vcnQuQXR-t3_8Yz14v/s539/de+Moray+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="539" data-original-width="381" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9s4mBuaXg26oERwjFcLcxl1tFXLJcgwZSqSNALjILtQyo0Jp-ybRtOi1oUVdVAmmRKbwWLLorgOZ9BymkT0jaQAF5qRYL-lK4wGOl_fhq-dB-mb_gXlmkPOr9_8vcnQuQXR-t3_8Yz14v/w453-h640/de+Moray+2.jpg" width="453" /></a></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 18.75px; text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #f4cccc; font-family: times;">11 September 1297: <i>Andrew de Moray </i>and <i>William Wallace</i> comprehensively defeat the English army at <i>The Battle of Stirling Bridge</i>. Moray subsequently dies of wounds suffered during the battle, and the lion's share of the victory goes to Wallace instead of Moray. History might look very different had Moray lived. The Bishop of St Andrews, the most powerful seat in Scotland, <i>William Lamberton</i>, along with Bishop <i>Robert Wishart,</i> were eyeing putting Moray on the throne of Scotland, since he was of Auld Scot blood and could rally the Highland nobles to the cause, while the Bruces were squarely backing Edward Longshanks at this point.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9jjxex5U3s4GGEo47iIr8MkCegZidbz_yFPuVG8VUcv605EPDXe4PIrSD2QQEEvtov3AEMKTDjucqMurWxggupbwuhsSWC2J_pIqSk5dcYjMTFnVN8VRadAjhL5JrhRTV-fzuDZvP8vR_/s600/Battle+of+Stirling+Bridge.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9jjxex5U3s4GGEo47iIr8MkCegZidbz_yFPuVG8VUcv605EPDXe4PIrSD2QQEEvtov3AEMKTDjucqMurWxggupbwuhsSWC2J_pIqSk5dcYjMTFnVN8VRadAjhL5JrhRTV-fzuDZvP8vR_/w640-h426/Battle+of+Stirling+Bridge.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguSn13GZNpFGlPdMKW0H0ItoqPTqJVLLGr_caUMehusZo7zDuOs6wRROUcoTiXSOpEo5KHYan6R_jUZn0qHJBwChkRPNzfXQa3oRQPItiT7JttVMIpRoClIH1UQwQ-tisqiHpZl5oN-jY7/s450/Wallace.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguSn13GZNpFGlPdMKW0H0ItoqPTqJVLLGr_caUMehusZo7zDuOs6wRROUcoTiXSOpEo5KHYan6R_jUZn0qHJBwChkRPNzfXQa3oRQPItiT7JttVMIpRoClIH1UQwQ-tisqiHpZl5oN-jY7/s320/Wallace.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLeOyonkXzQxXKA53Y98WnoPwBj3fD6PjKuub_VNoAb5klbKOQqyYBc_AsNvdz6wK0c8U5UxcZ61LWmBkoLNHwgDQoRdNorEv5x0kgboMEeN97_UH1tMociA3_C_oQ05vmbWL5-fix1539/s263/demoray.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="192" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLeOyonkXzQxXKA53Y98WnoPwBj3fD6PjKuub_VNoAb5klbKOQqyYBc_AsNvdz6wK0c8U5UxcZ61LWmBkoLNHwgDQoRdNorEv5x0kgboMEeN97_UH1tMociA3_C_oQ05vmbWL5-fix1539/w292-h400/demoray.jpg" width="292" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-21764254463598777662021-09-11T08:43:00.001+01:002021-09-11T08:43:06.931+01:00Remembering on 9 11<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJ4JLpuQ8rdy7TqhaEMEBJpFUKld5oTHek3UcDYIOsq-6nQyjJn-LWSzMC_GXf77zKZeDncwkN-KSYGlvTz22FpiR0BhlzydWRzpzh1n1XgPWYWQ6SEXSAQGS0elZJec7dtP6HxyiDPmd//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJ4JLpuQ8rdy7TqhaEMEBJpFUKld5oTHek3UcDYIOsq-6nQyjJn-LWSzMC_GXf77zKZeDncwkN-KSYGlvTz22FpiR0BhlzydWRzpzh1n1XgPWYWQ6SEXSAQGS0elZJec7dtP6HxyiDPmd/w456-h640/image.png" width="456" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-60475108034340835652021-09-10T11:29:00.001+01:002021-09-10T11:29:45.777+01:00Wyntoun's War or the "Rough Wooing" of my 19th Great Grandmother<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW4S39Am4Sib9mpPmdUPEHftiIT3MRd6KJesYHAKrK0dqFmW4lDpAUColwMyar5g9qI133XYfJRrmSmEuUuEsk7JByaVUvfQ31wR1Khz9DNNR4mVj7SfKGffwpJ4OsxjXTmKdm2XdFcO7p/s1053/Wyntouns2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="1053" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW4S39Am4Sib9mpPmdUPEHftiIT3MRd6KJesYHAKrK0dqFmW4lDpAUColwMyar5g9qI133XYfJRrmSmEuUuEsk7JByaVUvfQ31wR1Khz9DNNR4mVj7SfKGffwpJ4OsxjXTmKdm2XdFcO7p/w640-h426/Wyntouns2.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>I’m taking a small break this month from the Bruce sisters. I promise to finish up next month with Maud, Margaret and Mary de Brus. Due to two new roofs and other demanding needs, I just wasn't able to devote the time I need for the remaining trio. Instead, I will speak of some Bruce relations, for they are of the blood, cousins. But, more importantly, this tale is about love, romance, and a lovers dash to Edinburgh Castle—that may or may not have been a kidnapping—and the man and woman who were my 19th great-grandparents.</i></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Wyntoun's War <br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">or the Rough Wooing of my 19th Great-Grandmother.</span></span></i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">At the start of 1343, Lady Margaret de Seton was suddenly thrust into the role of heiress to her father, Lord Alexander de Seton, governor of Berwick Castle. The Setons were longtime supporters of Clan Bruce, and even married into it. Alexander was the brother of Sir Christopher Seton, who wed Christian de Brus (sister to Robert the Bruce). You might recall from my previous article about this Bruce sister that Christopher was Christian’s second husband, and he gave his life defending the Bruce women when they were trying to flee the English in 1306. Over the decades, the Setons were recognized for their loyalty and rewarded by Bruce, and they continued to support his son David II at the cost of their lives.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbWnZQx6K6Emb720C4bER3ZcS0-sa-0xh_A6rcwdTKbaW4jPt4kWsRRjCSpZff7jEmMpMfW-miUNd3WOPHPMZneYgpZruvdyMm3ngh7eydn-b0pQNNJaP7iVMqREmpbNnhFcFKnnVd6ao/s1161/Margaret+Setonq.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="958" data-original-width="1161" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbWnZQx6K6Emb720C4bER3ZcS0-sa-0xh_A6rcwdTKbaW4jPt4kWsRRjCSpZff7jEmMpMfW-miUNd3WOPHPMZneYgpZruvdyMm3ngh7eydn-b0pQNNJaP7iVMqREmpbNnhFcFKnnVd6ao/w400-h330/Margaret+Setonq.jpg" width="400" /></a></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Margaret de Seton, born around 1330, was Alexander’s last child and only daughter. She became heiress to her father’s vast wealth at a young age, and not a position she had anticipated inheriting. She had four valiant warriors for older brothers—Alexander, John, William and Thomas. If one fell, another would assume the titles and lands rightfully his. Some historians dismissively list her as Alexander Seton’s granddaughter, and instead, put her as the daughter of her brother, Alexander. A couple try to fix her as daughter of John, another brother, (likely because she became heiress after John’s death). These careless mix-ups really cause snarls, which few show interest in fixing. Both Alexanders</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">—</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">father and son</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">—wer</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">e at Berwick Castle at the time of the siege of 1332-3, so for starters, they tend to blur the two Alexanders into one person, which they are not. The father outlived the son by over a decade. Margaret clearly was the daughter of Alexander the elder and Christian le Chenyne (granddaughter of Isabella Macduff, countess of Buchan—the woman who crowned Bruce king). However, the confusion doesn’t end there. Her mother’s name was Christian, and her uncle Christopher married Christian de Brus, thus many are now listing Christopher and Bruce’s sister as her parents, which they are not. Christopher died in 1306, long before Margaret came along.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWcDvTKgj4tb5NXQzrLdFjSe-JozpfrhOsWrElJDpMczpgfVP5-woWgcbiZCd-qPXZlXX3_LRzeevlcWO4Hu18eXs9oFNtYmjBLHjL9ZQQtOzPS-qNbNdSSkHKArSC3G9oCe19QWPLZGDZ/s700/Seton.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="644" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWcDvTKgj4tb5NXQzrLdFjSe-JozpfrhOsWrElJDpMczpgfVP5-woWgcbiZCd-qPXZlXX3_LRzeevlcWO4Hu18eXs9oFNtYmjBLHjL9ZQQtOzPS-qNbNdSSkHKArSC3G9oCe19QWPLZGDZ/w368-h400/Seton.jpg" width="368" /></span></a></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In the late summer of 1332, Alexander—the father—was governor of Berwick Castle, when a siege was laid. His defense of the fortress cost him three of his sons. Margaret’s brothers died valiantly in the continued struggle against Edward Balliol and Edward III. Alexander, was killed in the <i>Battle of Kinghorn</i>, where the son of John Balliol was trying to land in Scotland so he might claim the Scottish crown for himself. William also died in the same fight, drowned in repulsing the landing. A third brother, Thomas, was captured. Seton called for a truce, which was granted, but only on condition that he surrender if not relieved by the Scots before the 11th of July. They were relieved by riders, men under Sir William Keith, Sir Alexander Gray and Sir William Prenderguest. Only Edward III of England said the riders came from the English side of the border, not Scottish, so the castle was not<i> “relieved from Scotland”</i> and thus he proceeded to execute Thomas and ten other men held prisoner. Alexander and his wife were forced to watch as Thomas was hanged, drawn and quartered before the gates of the town. Keith took command of the town from Alexander (small wonder), and negotiated a second truce which held—an unconditional surrender to the English, but it allowed all the Scots to leave unharmed.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Around the mid-1340s tragedy again strikes the Setons. Twice. First, Sir Alexander dies around 1343, and the title goes to the remaining son, Sir John. Only, three years later, John dies at the <i>Battle of Neville’s Cross</i> in Durham, England. And dies without issue. Some list him as marrying a Margaret Ruthven and having a son, Alexander, but that is likely an echo of the mess they have created with Seaton and his son, who died at the Battle of Kinghorn. I believe this to be false, because had there been a son, that child would’ve inherited the estate of his grandfather, not his aunt, Margaret. For Margaret to become heiress it clearly means John didn’t have a child for the estate to go to, and as John’s younger sister, Margaret was next in line.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">So, there in a space of less than three years, she loses her father, and his final son, John, dies in battle. A lot of heartache facing a young woman. With the passing of her father and brother, she is suddenly a very rich heiress—and target of greedy young men everywhere.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As you might assume, Sir Alexander was popular in the hearts of the people of East Lothian, in his never failing support around the Bruce family. He had sacrificed a brother and three sons in protecting Bruce’s rule and his legacy, and finally the fourth son had died in the same service. The prominence of the Seton family had risen, along with that of the Stewarts and Bruces. Thus, the people of East Lothian felt a protectiveness toward young Margaret. Only, others hoped to latch onto her wealth and the power of her name, so the young woman was nearly crushed in the stampede of suitors for her hand.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFAm5os9z-m4ObAxpzFoa5ISmHNAfLYSPjb6uR0yiZPr3DhJ8Ehy7NHkp_slve7XDQPNIosNQA8Z1fRrzm9b00AhbEiORxF3yiEDgKr-2i9wOSBgm5dQhs5QEaCCiuI5B_3cIGT9fbjlB/s1144/Alan.jpg" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1144" data-original-width="927" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFAm5os9z-m4ObAxpzFoa5ISmHNAfLYSPjb6uR0yiZPr3DhJ8Ehy7NHkp_slve7XDQPNIosNQA8Z1fRrzm9b00AhbEiORxF3yiEDgKr-2i9wOSBgm5dQhs5QEaCCiuI5B_3cIGT9fbjlB/w324-h400/Alan.jpg" width="324" /></a></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Into the middle of this story rides one dashing and handsome Baron Alan de Wyntoun, son of Alan de Wynton and Margaret Murray (de Moray). This new Margaret really complicates matters in trying to keep things reasonably straight, because she<i> is</i> the granddaughter of Christian de Brus. Yeah, <i>Excedrin headache 113,</i> and it only gets worse! She was also the granddaughter of Thomas Randolph, 1st earl of Moray—Bruce’s nephew. I know you are really hating all these tangled lines, but I needed to demonstrate why a small knight, a vassal of Sir Alexander Seton, would take it upon himself to swoop in and abduct Margaret. I am assuming, though the Wyntouns, who took vows of homage and fealty to the mighty Setons, they felt they had as much right to status and position through their close lineage to the Bruces and the Randolphs.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Emboldened by the blood in his veins, Alan carried off Margaret in what the Scots called a<i> “rough wooing”.</i> Well, hadn’t Marjorie Carrick snatched Robert Bruce, lord Annandale in this fashion? And let’s not forget about William<i> le Hardi</i> Douglas, who executed a raid to abscond with his second wife, Eleanor Bagot de Lovayne. Alan and Margaret grew up hearing these stories around fireside. Alan was akin to the royal family, and was in fact cousin to the Setons. I am guessing Alan saw the chance to raise the Wyntouns up to the level they had been heretofore denied by forcing the then seventeen-year-old woman into marriage. <i>At least, some said forced.</i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzlFlcE6g3UOMMvRCWcGHkL8XSqtoZbt40zfAmVSJk9ERc0zv8M_GsKS9sGTX3TglNCzJ8l4atEetPWQsd57yHracaQ5pAHq688wpjXkrxhZIf4hpVgKEriJ2KtRY9BPvmYYr6Izep7TRp/s1228/Elopse3.jpg" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="799" data-original-width="1228" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzlFlcE6g3UOMMvRCWcGHkL8XSqtoZbt40zfAmVSJk9ERc0zv8M_GsKS9sGTX3TglNCzJ8l4atEetPWQsd57yHracaQ5pAHq688wpjXkrxhZIf4hpVgKEriJ2KtRY9BPvmYYr6Izep7TRp/w640-h416/Elopse3.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Alan wasn’t the first, nor the last Scotsman, to take this quick route to winning the hand of an heiress. Only, it was another thing to pull this stunt so closely following Sir John’s death at <i>Neville's Cross,</i> and as they say, poor Alexander barely cold in his grave. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Since the Wyntouns were close cousins to the Setons, and a cadet branch of her own family, there arose cries of consanguinity—mostly from the disappointed rivals, who still hoped to get their chance of being husband to the valuable heiress if they broke the marriage. There is scant enough material to make a good judgment call on whether this was a kidnapping or an elopement. I come down on the side that Margaret was a party to the plan, and was determined to marry whom she wanted before a king stepped in and forced her to wed someone she didn’t care for. Maybe it’s the romantic in me, but how the event unfolded only reinforced that belief they were in love and wanting to control their own fate.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Inadvertently, the two lovers seemed to set half of East Lothians out for blood, while the others were ready to hold a wedding feast. A bit of an exaggeration, perhaps, but it was said her abduction caused a war—the <i>Wyntoun’s War</i>. Still, whether or not this was an actual abduction to force a marriage, or something Margaret actively participated in so she could marry Alan, was hotly debated at the time. The one telling fact that sticks out in my mind—his uncle, William de Moray, brother to Alan’s mother, took the young couple into Edinburgh Castle. He was governor there, and granted the lovers protection within the castle walls, barring the angry mob that was following in their wake.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRKo_AMEiYpiW5K5WOToFnhNVQ6MWBuLH8eM9eS7_qDEIqAvLQ05PORYY-_AR6Rp3_tIfG86cM61U1x0iSucmlvjzixe4W44dLlvdOt0fDGB0oEjQOOq4ef7G_nNGgfcHdr6QEh4TGMNKL/s885/Edinburgh.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="885" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRKo_AMEiYpiW5K5WOToFnhNVQ6MWBuLH8eM9eS7_qDEIqAvLQ05PORYY-_AR6Rp3_tIfG86cM61U1x0iSucmlvjzixe4W44dLlvdOt0fDGB0oEjQOOq4ef7G_nNGgfcHdr6QEh4TGMNKL/w640-h404/Edinburgh.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">One chronicler. Fordun, proclaimed that <i>'a hundred ploughs were laid aside in Lothian while the matter was discussed.’ </i>Half favored “the ravisher” and applauded Wyntoun for taking the situation in hand. Others were armed and ready to bring him in for punishment for daring to steal the daughter of his overlord. And the jilted suitors likely screamed the loudest! Citizens of Lothian grew into an angry mob and fell upon the castle, demanding Wyntoun be handed over. When Wyntoun’s uncle refused, an objection quickly made it all the way to the ear of King David II, and a call was sent out for Alan to be arrested—<i>cousin or not!</i></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Keep in mind, Alan and Margaret are my 19th great-grandparents, so I am possibly a <i>bit </i>prejudiced. <i>Be still my heart</i>—for after much arguing and various threats, Margaret was required to perform <i>The Ring or The Sword</i> ceremony. I wrote about the rite and ritual in <i>A Restless Knight</i>— when Tamlyn marries Julian Challon in the old ways. Family lore says the couple I based them upon went through this ceremony when they wed, but they haven't been fully documented yet. So, imagine my thrill at finding proof of yet another set of great-grandparents going through this very same ceremony! One tale says Margaret was blindfolded and made to choose between a sword and a ring, each resting upon a pillow. She did not get to feel these objects, by the way, but had to touch the pillow upon which they rested to determine Alan's fate. This was seen as a <i>Trial by Ordeal</i>—God’s hand would decide Alan’s fate through her selection. Other tales say she made her own choice—knowingly, and had from the start. Whichever you wish to believe, Margaret picked the ring, and she and Alan were officially wed. They lived together as man and wife, and had two children*** —a son William and a daughter, Christian.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">*** I put the stars here to make note there is extreme conflict on the number of children. William and Christian are fully recognized and well-documented as Alan and Margaret’s children—<i>their only children.</i> However, some genealogy sites list the couple as having two other sons—Alexander and Henry. Some list the men as Margaret’s sons, half-brothers to William and Christian, implying they were fathered by another man after Alan left. However, this doesn’t hold water for me since both of these sons inherited Wyntoun lands and titles, and chose to use the Wyntoun name, not the Seton name and honours. The conflicts arise because both are shown as born years after Alan’s death. I sincerely believe the date of Alan’s death is off by a decade, and these two are his legitimate sons, which jives with proof to them inheriting his holdings and electing to use his surname. Even sites that run by the Seton family recognize both of them as Alan’s. If you take the stance, as I believe, Alan died ten years later than they record, then these are his legitimate sons.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Alexander de Wyntoun of Seton married Jean Halyburton, daughter of Sir Thomas Halyburton of Dirleton. The youngest son, Henry de Wyntoun, retained his father's surname and inherited Wrychthouses in Edinburgh. Henry married Amy Brouna of Coalston, and he went on to be one of the heroes of the <i>Battle of Otterburn</i>, August 19, 1388. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Margaret’s daughter Christian (though they start up with muddling things again by often calling her Margaret, too), went on to do well, marrying George Dunbar, the 9th earl of Dunbar and March—son of Gelis Isabelle Randolph and John Dunbar, of Derchester & Birkynside, earl of Fife—and grandson of Thomas Randolph, earl of Moray. They went on to have nine daughters and sons.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYQwWyXUAMqWpquSrofC1Fvaf4Rl_qjYzIG7tFB-NGHWXaRONN0IOutgooIYP3ej0DHieRQZsVUbZK4A_Mv38_zBuqI1TrBQGUel8z0HSjYXsNdAZGrfXgLE0McwjhC3O6oEyHRFDWWgA/s433/ARKsmall.png" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-indent: 0.5in;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="433" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYQwWyXUAMqWpquSrofC1Fvaf4Rl_qjYzIG7tFB-NGHWXaRONN0IOutgooIYP3ej0DHieRQZsVUbZK4A_Mv38_zBuqI1TrBQGUel8z0HSjYXsNdAZGrfXgLE0McwjhC3O6oEyHRFDWWgA/w400-h278/ARKsmall.png" width="400" /></a></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">After the marriage, Alan changed his name to Seton, and used the title of Lord Seton, <i>jure uxoris</i> (by right of wife). Even so, rumors held that Margaret’s family tended to make life such a continuing hell for Alan that by his early fifties he took to the cross, joining the <i>Knights Hospitallers</i> and <i>went off on a crusade.</i> Since the last crusade had ended long before this time, it’s assumed he went to the Holy Lands as a pilgrim. He is recorded as leaving 400 ducats of gold for safe keeping with a Venetian merchant, Nicholas Zucull, in London as he departed England, but that is the last anyone hears of Alan de Wyntoun de Seton.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In 1363 his son, Lord William Seton authorized Adam Wymondham, a citizen, and Nicholas Nogrebon, a Venetian, to recover the money. The document states that Alan had died on his way to </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Mount Sinai, when about to visit the tomb of St. Katherine there. The date of Lord William seeking to recover the money in 1363 seems to support Alan “vanishing” around 1357. There is no reason they would wait sixteen years to recover the gold.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Little is mentioned of the remainder of Margaret’s life. She died around 1360, about four years after the disappearance of her husband.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I am sorry such a pale hangs over the end to their story, both vaguely fading into the mists of history without a definitive end to their lives, or what happened to turn Alan against his family and to leave. But the romance writer in me loves having a real life set of grandparents who went through <i>The Ring and the Sword</i> ceremony, just like my beloved Tamlyn and Julian.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSZppx23bqgIJllIUgDDvXYRNxWu-A3-QVQzVsmWGTc18vysXXiHeQYg2DY5dGteWfwSl8csKe0W1U-pnicVm5xVp1JIz6F2EgdRYA00sG1zhbT6NP3LTdeociZgDdbCmtx-zPqBWoN6Wk/s897/Sword+and+the+Ring3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="813" data-original-width="897" height="363" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSZppx23bqgIJllIUgDDvXYRNxWu-A3-QVQzVsmWGTc18vysXXiHeQYg2DY5dGteWfwSl8csKe0W1U-pnicVm5xVp1JIz6F2EgdRYA00sG1zhbT6NP3LTdeociZgDdbCmtx-zPqBWoN6Wk/w400-h363/Sword+and+the+Ring3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmtnEjZnYROPcCFHqlY6lOmHhONIEEWfz0cQn1w37sp2FUADWQzaDRiqEBVY8-SXvbfTPwZuxD0qOAHM8ABUYVxOMFIUOZBf9-x6C1uWXVE7f0eGd1M_wK2eQvjXzpm8RcdDJy4_mzyvgf/s1894/Margaret+19GGM.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><img border="0" data-original-height="265" data-original-width="1894" height="90" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmtnEjZnYROPcCFHqlY6lOmHhONIEEWfz0cQn1w37sp2FUADWQzaDRiqEBVY8-SXvbfTPwZuxD0qOAHM8ABUYVxOMFIUOZBf9-x6C1uWXVE7f0eGd1M_wK2eQvjXzpm8RcdDJy4_mzyvgf/w640-h90/Margaret+19GGM.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQTy2PmTRvkqAMAlWEYYi_tHR9F3kv6dN4xPocp2ahW87GWCiFspN6EemAwoCojkcM8mTu3dqGMuVVWk2Z7vfj13k566RJYZIlep-WRgIC7t0l5B2Z8ggn85w5vEN1S2pqzrT8ebasZ4vg/s1888/Alan+Seton.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="1888" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQTy2PmTRvkqAMAlWEYYi_tHR9F3kv6dN4xPocp2ahW87GWCiFspN6EemAwoCojkcM8mTu3dqGMuVVWk2Z7vfj13k566RJYZIlep-WRgIC7t0l5B2Z8ggn85w5vEN1S2pqzrT8ebasZ4vg/w640-h88/Alan+Seton.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-40280724418360468062021-09-10T11:22:00.000+01:002021-09-10T11:22:05.761+01:00Anniversary of the Battle of Pinkie Cleugh<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiONTcByOdAoBZdKXr-eMHboKFUCv_WD9qzOD336g3Q288HNV59Xp4cYilb88ZBeEsd9PLReLZy8M0XbOFvxfN8OhEBXB7kYkqLm6PkJm5_DVOHdCA1ApIpDU792ZV_9OqiZLcAuhmzJHN3/s917/Pinkie.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="460" data-original-width="917" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiONTcByOdAoBZdKXr-eMHboKFUCv_WD9qzOD336g3Q288HNV59Xp4cYilb88ZBeEsd9PLReLZy8M0XbOFvxfN8OhEBXB7kYkqLm6PkJm5_DVOHdCA1ApIpDU792ZV_9OqiZLcAuhmzJHN3/w640-h322/Pinkie.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">On this day -- 1547, Scots were resoundingly defeated by the English at the Battle of Pinkie Cleugh on the banks of the River Esk near Musselburgh close to Edinburgh.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The battle was came about because of the the “Rough Wooing” (attempt at a forced marriage), The English king demands that the ten-year-old Edward VI should marry Mary Queen of Scots, aged five, to unite the two crowns.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The military campaign on the Borders, was provoked by the Scottish Parliament reneging on a previous agreement that the wedding to would place. The Scots backed out because they saw the move for what it was -- putting Edward VI on the throne of Scotland to rule in Mary's place.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The battle was fought at Pinkie Cleugh (cleugh meaning narrow glen in Gaelic) outside Musselburgh. The Scottish forces numbered about 36,000 against the 16,000 English. However James Hamilton, Duke of Châtellerault, 2nd Earl of Arran, and Regent of Scotland lacked the training and discipline to wield such a large army, so they were hampered from the very start. In contrast, the English troops were ably led by the ambitious and experienced Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, Regent of England. The Scots were slaughtered, primary for their lack of cavalry.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">It was estimated that 15,000 Scots were killed, and 1500-2000 were captured, whereas English fatalities amounted to only 500. However, the battle proved counter-productive for the English. The “rough wooing” of the infant Mary precipitated her marriage to the French Dauphin, dashing English hopes. Queen Mary was smuggled out of Scotland to France, where she would later marry Francis, Dauphin of France, in 1558.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The Battle at Pinkie Cleugh can be regarded as the first “modern” battle on British soil; featuring combined arms, co-operation between infantry, artillery and cavalry and, most remarkably, a naval bombardment in support of land forces.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyr78NSfwHOMbteOdMe963gJXhyiiu1zkHwM09Q0DthCTZfdqBtjgrYzdx2UhBA2kg3tUNVG4ymPRfygOXre2E6F4c7_qNrzfQcm4706DTZ5LTtBZm9ItBkFM4PPyzOzpun9ERaO18UAn-/s450/Somerset.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="400" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyr78NSfwHOMbteOdMe963gJXhyiiu1zkHwM09Q0DthCTZfdqBtjgrYzdx2UhBA2kg3tUNVG4ymPRfygOXre2E6F4c7_qNrzfQcm4706DTZ5LTtBZm9ItBkFM4PPyzOzpun9ERaO18UAn-/w276-h311/Somerset.jpg" width="276" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgktZlMvGJXQE6_618AMEotAZDzitw40DvKhTfGkJ9EtPtX2kdxm0YHMTykgO6ubfW3CmQKQYfarHkme8hoBr9LCGsdm4g6dMWRibLvZhOu14G8Bzqv94VwRVNm6ubWNkQ_MhV7QmAu8buC/s598/Arran.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="409" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgktZlMvGJXQE6_618AMEotAZDzitw40DvKhTfGkJ9EtPtX2kdxm0YHMTykgO6ubfW3CmQKQYfarHkme8hoBr9LCGsdm4g6dMWRibLvZhOu14G8Bzqv94VwRVNm6ubWNkQ_MhV7QmAu8buC/s320/Arran.jpg" width="219" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Duke of Somerset Duke of Chatellerault </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_yqAv2oWSwUCQ_WKGYYa2t6criQs8dlsQ8IkwhA0gHhwNalOc3x23GbSd08rrOOO8FcpIHtSv68mA7N0TJYK1wRu5OgVehKO2k4aAkx-i0Gqkd8cplC2zNci4mp2Tjy_Yzwbip6ctQGm/s2000/Death+Roll+for+Battle+of+Pinkie+Cleugh.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_yqAv2oWSwUCQ_WKGYYa2t6criQs8dlsQ8IkwhA0gHhwNalOc3x23GbSd08rrOOO8FcpIHtSv68mA7N0TJYK1wRu5OgVehKO2k4aAkx-i0Gqkd8cplC2zNci4mp2Tjy_Yzwbip6ctQGm/w480-h640/Death+Roll+for+Battle+of+Pinkie+Cleugh.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-74138428995290541762021-09-09T05:00:00.049+01:002021-09-11T12:23:59.759+01:00The Battle of Flodden Anniversary<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghY-Z6m8ldJUPuY091ifRevocmP9wZI7rRuPfVjgzdSJRF0HK69oaczbeM8sGpU8UqiJDhNTQjExDBWHVsWVdsS_9rVXo66k1P4Vsew4pGAYPK6hZHg5zHHgxVtLWTm4JkMIIuy69K49pN//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="965" data-original-width="752" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghY-Z6m8ldJUPuY091ifRevocmP9wZI7rRuPfVjgzdSJRF0HK69oaczbeM8sGpU8UqiJDhNTQjExDBWHVsWVdsS_9rVXo66k1P4Vsew4pGAYPK6hZHg5zHHgxVtLWTm4JkMIIuy69K49pN/w499-h640/James-IV-of-Scotland-17-th-century-by-Daniel-Mijtens-after-original-c-1500-C.png" width="499" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: large;"><i>King James IV of the Scots </i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2aCFTjZqi2CA5bmdcOmQhzWk2F_vPEyEvQEPKu_tJ2d1V_WZyvG7n0VpVT6nUwCU3dm8SFeLHIfq2v_jjSFRttZbycFq-tm9u_Eq3cy1rNN-vgvkvxqwfsLJMxYj5AC3Z9U4xHhy9e2TE/s1176/Flooden+relief.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="582" data-original-width="1176" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2aCFTjZqi2CA5bmdcOmQhzWk2F_vPEyEvQEPKu_tJ2d1V_WZyvG7n0VpVT6nUwCU3dm8SFeLHIfq2v_jjSFRttZbycFq-tm9u_Eq3cy1rNN-vgvkvxqwfsLJMxYj5AC3Z9U4xHhy9e2TE/w400-h198/Flooden+relief.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></span></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcgkyrCbeRzZnTVLN50gfJiH_Oe4hFSNiERV9qUfIeFMTcp87iJqfw69WqyI-alC5ttQogKvaeMlcEPxyCQutGMKxRoeLrLuhwqCwnc5RWD_kS4nmKG3w4hRTfVfHIpBvoWcnbfr43a5PS/s857/Screenshot+2021-09-08+102000.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="857" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcgkyrCbeRzZnTVLN50gfJiH_Oe4hFSNiERV9qUfIeFMTcp87iJqfw69WqyI-alC5ttQogKvaeMlcEPxyCQutGMKxRoeLrLuhwqCwnc5RWD_kS4nmKG3w4hRTfVfHIpBvoWcnbfr43a5PS/w640-h348/Screenshot+2021-09-08+102000.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;">Battle of Flodden Memorial </span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="sans-serif" style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #fce5cd; font-size: 13.6px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fce5cd; font-size: large;"><i>Battle of Flodden Noble Death-Roll<br />9th September 1513</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fce5cd; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVcqmTfMy7ZavBpOWsJdxnwqb5YQbU7l0mA74t1m5OKoHIg89bukDv7GtAABLE11uTLEd719oEtG96U6Tq8_kQ3HhfWb_6pW04MhLrJNL7IEEgxHKNpFxm08DLcBbAwzppfGm-NW0cfKi3/s2048/Flodeen+death+rolls+new.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1247" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVcqmTfMy7ZavBpOWsJdxnwqb5YQbU7l0mA74t1m5OKoHIg89bukDv7GtAABLE11uTLEd719oEtG96U6Tq8_kQ3HhfWb_6pW04MhLrJNL7IEEgxHKNpFxm08DLcBbAwzppfGm-NW0cfKi3/w390-h640/Flodeen+death+rolls+new.jpg" width="390" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">A big part of my family was lost this day.</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">(the list is clickable to enlarge)</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZnIz2kcHVKpBt78V61Hngprf6VOniXUmt13hiJV5NNulg2P5juRWe5cEx85mesWfVcsgmtNNZNFLNnhPj4zOpShV4_IBL_jYNTXREeb8QNoeFU0UAqZJNryDu3-3hZ6CMI6GlmO-83V55/s538/Riders.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="538" data-original-width="507" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZnIz2kcHVKpBt78V61Hngprf6VOniXUmt13hiJV5NNulg2P5juRWe5cEx85mesWfVcsgmtNNZNFLNnhPj4zOpShV4_IBL_jYNTXREeb8QNoeFU0UAqZJNryDu3-3hZ6CMI6GlmO-83V55/s320/Riders.jpg" width="302" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="sans-serif" style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #54595d; font-size: 13.6px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 28.5333px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGfH5E0P5HhaqCGTxg9uvFQjgxpMkgGX7SHr05POrGOLtKBZYG0hgtW_o4YMQQGVpubS66THUn_hfHL7h-6rkX3Up_osIxzaw_f_Q1vSk1hFYpA9cnAwUy5Qh4Rd1Vn4jH5LD1lj2YdDT/s472/Flodden+battle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="472" height="453" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGfH5E0P5HhaqCGTxg9uvFQjgxpMkgGX7SHr05POrGOLtKBZYG0hgtW_o4YMQQGVpubS66THUn_hfHL7h-6rkX3Up_osIxzaw_f_Q1vSk1hFYpA9cnAwUy5Qh4Rd1Vn4jH5LD1lj2YdDT/w640-h453/Flodden+battle.jpg" width="640" /></a><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-A3l5M6g8A5uLimeA9jRSlrSV0yKuidpMYjRg1KMOuZHS27mDeS2Ta_4HnkRjUPLBgVArhrgIUVxWXHsRTgnbNNRpN8PsGinw3hWTcqpdB5gZAXteMhhI0KLBIDc6yT_Kam7opuXJXVBe/s380/Flodden.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="380" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-A3l5M6g8A5uLimeA9jRSlrSV0yKuidpMYjRg1KMOuZHS27mDeS2Ta_4HnkRjUPLBgVArhrgIUVxWXHsRTgnbNNRpN8PsGinw3hWTcqpdB5gZAXteMhhI0KLBIDc6yT_Kam7opuXJXVBe/w640-h424/Flodden.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcrPgn4LIXHmK8abBk3JO55xds-qc3Yu9OUBhIcu-wLpxrAzeFDu5EEBiQxyqD1p2tGWyyr2ixDZIyfqNBof-JqfPIiHuPmgZq5Zjuh4Fl_Fg2it_9NldcMV2fqTeFA9y41J6XurpKmi2H/s752/7b31efc036ce03671f3b18942a2824c1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="752" data-original-width="564" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcrPgn4LIXHmK8abBk3JO55xds-qc3Yu9OUBhIcu-wLpxrAzeFDu5EEBiQxyqD1p2tGWyyr2ixDZIyfqNBof-JqfPIiHuPmgZq5Zjuh4Fl_Fg2it_9NldcMV2fqTeFA9y41J6XurpKmi2H/w300-h400/7b31efc036ce03671f3b18942a2824c1.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><br /></span></div><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-54156360765524357102021-09-07T14:39:00.003+01:002021-09-12T11:12:33.393+01:00Links to my articles on my ancestors, The women of Dunbar and The Women of Bruce<p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><i><span style="color: #ffe599;">Coming in November<br /></span></i><i><span style="color: #ffe599;">Women of Bruce - Part 7 - Daughters of Robert the Bruce - Marjorie Bruce Stewart, Elizabeth de Brus Oliphant of Gask, Margaret de Brus of the Glen, Christian de Brus of Carrick, Maud de Brus de Issac, Margaret de Brus Countess of Sutherland,</span><span style="color: #f9cb9c;"> </span></i></i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzY46yj9vI69eqgqZ_i3WZ4bMazjb0GqXJOqIjcjmdwQD1uXmRhOe8gD8eFRxSNExoyb6q1fnMg0mrEkVyhktvF21CR20pPhJHzkaeHAP7PgMgb8Ah97hzBp0fliqoqNnqWxnmAdLtOfq8/s876/Margerie+Bruce.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="876" data-original-width="637" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzY46yj9vI69eqgqZ_i3WZ4bMazjb0GqXJOqIjcjmdwQD1uXmRhOe8gD8eFRxSNExoyb6q1fnMg0mrEkVyhktvF21CR20pPhJHzkaeHAP7PgMgb8Ah97hzBp0fliqoqNnqWxnmAdLtOfq8/s320/Margerie+Bruce.jpg" width="233" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /><i style="color: #ffe599;">Coming in October<br /></i><i style="color: #ffe599;">Women of Bruce - Part 6 - Sisters of Robert the Bruce--Maud, Margaret and Mary</i></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDeDwlTeZWppRYLJQ30IlDHLUSEWpGj0sYryG8-n6d68CdETxRA7Z2DbQ0Eh2GftL3gUBi3w00hr2cXcKM2CzwCaE8eLX8DZAgPsn44kuD_mchvTc2Nq9SyXbkpgvscTe-205i9p3vZYUp/s793/sisters+of+Bruce.jpg" style="font-style: italic; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span><img border="0" data-original-height="793" data-original-width="674" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDeDwlTeZWppRYLJQ30IlDHLUSEWpGj0sYryG8-n6d68CdETxRA7Z2DbQ0Eh2GftL3gUBi3w00hr2cXcKM2CzwCaE8eLX8DZAgPsn44kuD_mchvTc2Nq9SyXbkpgvscTe-205i9p3vZYUp/w170-h200/sisters+of+Bruce.jpg" width="170" /></span></a><br /><br /><span style="color: #ffe599;"><i>Wyntoun's War of the Rough Wooing of my 16th Great Grandmother</i></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><a href="https://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/09/wyntouns-war-or-rough-wooing-of-my-19th.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="1053" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZU0Z6CV2E6ceWDOpe6DDze3Bp39PNWhxfkvRDXsZ8dZBc7WrWiY8SVVqsCkeZaiMg5M8sdyb5BOPnxECqm-RFSfWRDl1_rP8RbTlEcNuDeJZr03rfJomPBz9lCYnPWbeerM-XH1woLba/s320/Wyntouns2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i style="color: #ffe599;"><span><br />Women of Bruce - Part 5 - Sisters of Robert the Bruce--A Tale of Two Isabels</span></i></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAUEXubUjUPmWb89urNG12-MRN_JKABMpuq0aBA537JtwraU6XcDOC7fBge64i7ouSkth9eql2yrOape-FdfYlvxwfezXKSr3HU_LXkQLKg5O-nyPO3AC-qARZqN4UtvzhOPX5obho9YN/s372/2+Isabels.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="372" data-original-width="234" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAUEXubUjUPmWb89urNG12-MRN_JKABMpuq0aBA537JtwraU6XcDOC7fBge64i7ouSkth9eql2yrOape-FdfYlvxwfezXKSr3HU_LXkQLKg5O-nyPO3AC-qARZqN4UtvzhOPX5obho9YN/s320/2+Isabels.jpg" /></a></i></span></div><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><br /><span><br /></span></i></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"></span></div><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Women of Bruce - Part 4 - Sisters of Robert the Bruce--Christian</span></i></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/07/the-women-of-bruce-part-4-sisters-of.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="563" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYTvc6VPq_1tyX0Qv1Eau5L_9R3lsnAsLdiK2POKJpJXLMYJyTTnjb9yfNvYnQ6o8_vyV03uaCURDC4VNXNz-qmytjhjg9sIJu6OOvKn4rP6IeUStoWpCsnbIstAxuw6_k3-K5zcOb-aGb/w200-h199/christina+bruce.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: medium;"><br /><i>Women of Bruce - Part 3 - The Wives of Robert the Bruce</i><i><br /></i></span></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/06/the-women-of-bruce-part-three-two-wives.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1088" data-original-width="2027" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_NN16IADuFA6nFD5UukGq7QVUeqm-wTDCPPNl4O8UQGRW_ev9RMYADHshn6Isbjr7F_Qt0dSABlR8e990PSoPbdp45udZRwRgbJUYaeivWvHqMGBM2OtmoDs3Zliaof6aR-K29-a46DyI/s320/BruceWives.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><span>Women of Bruce - Part 2 - Isabel Macduff, countess of Buchan, a woman who crowned a king</span></i><span><br /> - </span></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/05/women-of-bruce-part-2-isabel-macduff.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="700" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDl9TS7WK-J9R-P9evZ8Uik1jPgQl67EOKZ55AohcPe9GQl_7kgIVftG7M_2_H_3uh6sK4RfPeurOa1klh2tdldjsA75ITUQoVKl8t7JdKH4_9ov4ypS-9yg0jX7xj_sRFgXGBW_-8vEwV/w200-h169/Isabella+castle2.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/04/the-women-of-bruce-part-one-marjorie.html" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i>The Women of Bruce Part One -- Marjorie Carrick, countess of Carrick</i></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/04/the-women-of-bruce-part-one-marjorie.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="550" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS1EEPEbDiAbyUSHmiqp249ojF3JSX1R4m9w4Q2rIShFxEXHdYKuXNQfvU9M3S1UR1Hle-oL84fAHII1FZDnpfXM0Z3Y2CLIj6JDGqswzuNP36-BfpQMojo-wlp0NslX8gW7HTKCuO-1cb/w190-h200/Marjorie+Carrick.jpg" width="190" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A Tale of Two Women and One Castle - The Ladies of Dunbar - Part Two - Agnes Randolph</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/03/a-tale-of-two-women-and-one-castle.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="500" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBblEr6UH6aQFIkJJNCwvhIhPEU3I4d7eRXo1dG1uWc6nZKh7DuU7eE4pJsnLwJ5Gfk3oVpmEe-CyqnwU1fkT2-AiRQMzfmr5WTCpWFB4_73mzh5aSJ9p5x6lIGfQBoso-IljgfwUtdZT/w200-h173/Agnes2.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">A Tale of Two Women and One Castle - The Ladies of Dunbar - Part One - Marjorie Comyn</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/02/a-tale-of-two-women-and-one-castle.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="577" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfz8RvApCQA537jgdyzvPS8q2JAlSWmFy17qCf6kuc4zTBsTjsDTPDJdE1HTtPt7iEub2UcWOgLMyEVyWME7zAZZI5pZ3Kdwn68-1BBKWuzsuhlbmN85YTVxhlGWs-DpC1FZnOfFDkj4T_/w120-h200/Marjorie+Comyn+pic.jpg" width="120" /></a></div></i><i><br />Countess Mabel Montgomerie -- a woman ahead of her times, or a monster in men's eyes</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><a href="http://nattering.deborahmacgillivray.com/2021/01/countess-mabel-montgomerie-woman-head.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="550" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0pDlPsj4HDOHHGlKvbHZO9VYdaRG7wJDPJrXL7v5jo1J266RfN2oyhVp57RUBcg3iEM398czXplvZpVD3uqBYLBXGzWupcI6fOoxxegpjiJK-WJG3TX4N6AgZRJoo8b2DOywvO5FWZf9B/w161-h200/Ladyfair.jpg" width="161" /></a><br /><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i>(Just a note -- images are stock images or digitally created images, not meant to be taken as real images of the Bruce women...lol. Actor portrayed, you might say)</i></span></div><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-91026983178951164752021-09-03T14:00:00.009+01:002021-09-03T14:04:28.219+01:00Celebrating my sixth year at Prairie Rose Publications!!<p> <br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQK3cAvWKJtXfPvjMghv4-JbFbFNA3YoVDd2P3TimYmgv7h2lYysAd7WPAfOqrlK79OOtKL2Xz1yEvAhuOlwCMgVaLCrYK32bHfpvs_WZhRMeOiCM5lKMCz9QdMeoO0jUbbou-tZXxVz4O/s708/One+Snowy+Knight+DMacgillivray1000A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="708" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQK3cAvWKJtXfPvjMghv4-JbFbFNA3YoVDd2P3TimYmgv7h2lYysAd7WPAfOqrlK79OOtKL2Xz1yEvAhuOlwCMgVaLCrYK32bHfpvs_WZhRMeOiCM5lKMCz9QdMeoO0jUbbou-tZXxVz4O/w640-h452/One+Snowy+Knight+DMacgillivray1000A.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Celebrating six years with happy writing at </span></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Prairie Rose Publications!!!</span></i></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7-GPfRjUJ5Sopd7GdKK9h2_Go5BvTRe0PcUAroFrKOwDXz9_iHl-lSvhsBFhz4oiWID_UoD5IZef8u2laDFqaLufWewvD4l6BW-t4A3tj-gzBiwrRFtJUlTQToMW2Mmk4JYlr3fuQYRr9/s1000/PRPRavenhawke21000ABC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="684" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7-GPfRjUJ5Sopd7GdKK9h2_Go5BvTRe0PcUAroFrKOwDXz9_iHl-lSvhsBFhz4oiWID_UoD5IZef8u2laDFqaLufWewvD4l6BW-t4A3tj-gzBiwrRFtJUlTQToMW2Mmk4JYlr3fuQYRr9/w438-h640/PRPRavenhawke21000ABC.jpg" width="438" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhLb_Yfw3LyTLF15oH4ImcxRWI8_lOFtKwzaHJHQ6BPKIPjAZpcdPXhf_iGAKVcM99AWUKuZMtEC8ypRS2YPUxd3_gwsjDOPirIVukp6XBaH2Ksg9ZHlKN8HS_gxhTRokTA1QQkXNpiVbl/s1360/71H1xA0FavL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="893" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhLb_Yfw3LyTLF15oH4ImcxRWI8_lOFtKwzaHJHQ6BPKIPjAZpcdPXhf_iGAKVcM99AWUKuZMtEC8ypRS2YPUxd3_gwsjDOPirIVukp6XBaH2Ksg9ZHlKN8HS_gxhTRokTA1QQkXNpiVbl/w263-h400/71H1xA0FavL.jpg" width="263" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdorhQxyY_DS-rvBxb0EKya8pUaygu3_8BGWqDorcPZNkyCjLMB-bdBVyQOV2qkah2WOZYliPN_5qZ0VynxrwP64cdk24uVCZTqOXhdwaxe6U4ypbYBdHPvppXmRXOKkj3AbnPv2UVXZv/s700/PRPARK21007.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="507" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdorhQxyY_DS-rvBxb0EKya8pUaygu3_8BGWqDorcPZNkyCjLMB-bdBVyQOV2qkah2WOZYliPN_5qZ0VynxrwP64cdk24uVCZTqOXhdwaxe6U4ypbYBdHPvppXmRXOKkj3AbnPv2UVXZv/w290-h400/PRPARK21007.png" width="290" /></a><br /><br /></div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-13267290565491507712021-09-01T08:41:00.004+01:002021-09-07T10:45:02.694+01:00Say Hello to Harley Quinn <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmqjYCxZk7wPHvBg0Oq9cIWU-fWZxjAWnIHG2F_yB9Ci1HUspbhcOI_vT9FC3jMXppS1xVayEFo0VZwY0axq2yHI2xpN5_XCNZzcxmxAAnpQOyS1q-GA4w6JWnYarj_ItUenbQnQjmdPs//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmqjYCxZk7wPHvBg0Oq9cIWU-fWZxjAWnIHG2F_yB9Ci1HUspbhcOI_vT9FC3jMXppS1xVayEFo0VZwY0axq2yHI2xpN5_XCNZzcxmxAAnpQOyS1q-GA4w6JWnYarj_ItUenbQnQjmdPs/w480-h640/image.png" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcdmeDMSGnuBjttu_6PQa2cAaAPBQXhptZqF1d1E1PQEP3ZyPJZW6NULKFXO2oHOA0f2L7DR2Z9g0krpm_QhDiXNPiqDxJqGiQk6tf2ofL3xpT6lGDsKBuXz4XowsvrCOe-pKt_Ar8xghz//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcdmeDMSGnuBjttu_6PQa2cAaAPBQXhptZqF1d1E1PQEP3ZyPJZW6NULKFXO2oHOA0f2L7DR2Z9g0krpm_QhDiXNPiqDxJqGiQk6tf2ofL3xpT6lGDsKBuXz4XowsvrCOe-pKt_Ar8xghz//" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjXZFoqDLh5qJJ8DDuErNBrzYEF6ZD2-IcOeI8Px7iIz0k2B6AvucxSvel67bHKRCDoBLYpZvqs5-zGiJoTGnNQlmHIH8nVoxy_4L2oKGKlR9ZPJCgQesyvPO4pOKkC8JuhEmfE-YuEeyq//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjXZFoqDLh5qJJ8DDuErNBrzYEF6ZD2-IcOeI8Px7iIz0k2B6AvucxSvel67bHKRCDoBLYpZvqs5-zGiJoTGnNQlmHIH8nVoxy_4L2oKGKlR9ZPJCgQesyvPO4pOKkC8JuhEmfE-YuEeyq//" width="180" /></a> </div> <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IHmWAYFcdMWYbHDUC5e3l6c7OOH-uvuez58Wpl-fDffwI1EICcBKfokWChxf0O56OYHCPzKMvxvRxaQeWQ5V8d9gWEgEHljEk8CrBqL4FMJG9S9UzXymA6IOG7X0pYSiIQU7zMbRdhl2//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IHmWAYFcdMWYbHDUC5e3l6c7OOH-uvuez58Wpl-fDffwI1EICcBKfokWChxf0O56OYHCPzKMvxvRxaQeWQ5V8d9gWEgEHljEk8CrBqL4FMJG9S9UzXymA6IOG7X0pYSiIQU7zMbRdhl2/w300-h400/image.png" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light",serif; font-size: 14pt;">Harley
Quinn came to me in January of this year.
All my foundlings tend to show up then—cold, hungry, thirsty. I simply hate to see them suffering. Harley is barely a year old, and clearly has
been a housecat until someone tossed him away in the dead of winter. At the time, Mamadoodle, Munchkin and Maisie were
the “official porch cats”. I took them
in 8 years ago, when my friend, Candy Thompson, had to move and couldn’t take
them with her. They lived in my heated
carport room and stayed mostly on the porch.
They had a big heated dog igloo they used on most days. But Maisie died suddenly this year, and I
brought them in for fear of losing the other two, which had become so dear to
me. Munchkin had been injured when about
seven months old, and the ache of the old wound really caused him pain during
the colder months. He had to come
inside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light",serif; font-size: 14pt;">So Harley Quinn immediately moved into the
heated igloo. I didn’t need another
cat. I was going to say “want” another
cat, but that isn’t true. I love them
all, but the “inn was full”. So Harley
was welcome to stay on the porch and use the igloo and get feed four meals a
day—he is a hungry baby. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light",serif; font-size: 14pt;">But
last week, I had a new roof put on my house.
The crews arrived at 7am ready to work, and didn’t quit until 9pm. <i>Citadel
Roofing and Construction</i> are simply THE best. Love my new roof. Only, I feared Harley would be terrified, so
I brought him in and housed him in the laundry and exercise rooms. Just for a couple of day...lol. The third day they were done, but they had
kicked up a beehive along one gutter, and they were swamping. I was advised to keep all pets away from the
porch until the bees moved on. Well,
that meant four days of Harley being inside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light",serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
knew. Yeah, SUCKER is stamped on my
forehead, I suppose. Harley would come
and wrap his legs around mine and just hang on and purr and purr. Clearly, thanking me for taking inside...forever. Ah gee.
Poor lad thought he had a forever inside home again. I cannot do what someone else did to him —
toss him out. So he will stay. Harley gets his wish of being a forever
inside kittah.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<span style="font-family: "Footlight MT Light",serif; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Just what I didn’t need.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">But what my heart wants.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Harley will be one of the fortunate ones,
safe and well-cared for the rest of my life.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I keep saying no more kitties for I am the age, where I feel mortality
breathing down my neck. Perhaps, this was the Queen of the Cait Sidhe telling
me I am going to be around a few years longer than I figure.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgiJfWQEO6ZeRfjX9P4aPZuTAWG5ssEGq4O0QN9rc5fyk3h9bQeOL9eF2TGEbsz8Al-jbSkf0-LPLVNH3O8J1Scxb36VsvJT0nrcD3GiBZd8S6wnetPjSgYQYZ_tXzYiePzqNOouWl68M//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgiJfWQEO6ZeRfjX9P4aPZuTAWG5ssEGq4O0QN9rc5fyk3h9bQeOL9eF2TGEbsz8Al-jbSkf0-LPLVNH3O8J1Scxb36VsvJT0nrcD3GiBZd8S6wnetPjSgYQYZ_tXzYiePzqNOouWl68M/w300-h400/image.png" width="300" /></a></div></span></div></span></div></div></div></div><br />Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-80056470753815391802021-08-29T22:55:00.003+01:002021-08-30T08:46:32.543+01:00Katrina, Ida, and a golden day in my personal history<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7_3zOlWb64q7arsV0TLxskDIkr7IlNzlhg4oohOj5Na55Pro7A85Xubz90NW-w-B-Q3XSkS56Eu82yFq6ZOVfquufgLk8XZsZkeYKlRnnXsiEkMipEaFWcNWgiT53TIVoTb6DXxpItlRL//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="284" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7_3zOlWb64q7arsV0TLxskDIkr7IlNzlhg4oohOj5Na55Pro7A85Xubz90NW-w-B-Q3XSkS56Eu82yFq6ZOVfquufgLk8XZsZkeYKlRnnXsiEkMipEaFWcNWgiT53TIVoTb6DXxpItlRL/w400-h249/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The
29<sup>th</sup> of September, 2005, is a rare day in my personal life, which I
shall never forget. Sixteen years ago, I was listening to the <i>Weather Channel</i> and watching a monster
hurricane, Katrina, make landfall in Louisiana.
So clearly, this is brought to mind as I am now watching another
hurricane, Ida, historically land on the very same day all these years later. In 2005, Katrina was already sending heavy
rains to our area—over a thousand miles away.
Where we lived (in the house that burnt down) we had a creek on either
side of us. Neither were more than a dip
in the landscape, and were generally bone dry in the summer. However, when heavy rains came, they could
flash flood, and were suddenly rapidly moving mini rivers, and their width and
depth could block us from getting out. My
hubby suggested we go to the store and stock up before that happened. So, Mackintoshes on, we went out in the heavy
downpour to shop.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">While
the day lives on for many because of the memories of Katrina, for me it was one
that would impact my life with a force just as powerful. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A life altering event—it was the day I got <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Call.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I came in from shopping, I was nearly
soaked in spite of the rain slicker, for the blowing storm was so heavy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Going into the study, I noticed the light on
the answering machine blinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
flipped on play, figuring it was just another sales pitch for something I didn’t
want or need. Instead, I heard the sparkling voice of Hilary Sares, editor at
Kensington Books, saying please call her because she wanted to buy my novel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">As
you can imagine my world was shaken with the impact of the raging Katrina!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been trying to sell my historical
novels, and I felt like I was battling the world to get it done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had entered quite a few RWA contests in
preparation—won several, finaled in more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Only, I had people telling me Scottish books were<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> done</i>, over with, that no one was buying them anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had one author, who had close to thirty
books out, tell me it was sad I was winning so many contests because no editor
would buy it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How discouraging!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">So
for a couple moments, I almost thought someone was playing a joke on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat down and copied the phone number on my
pad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I googled Kensington
Books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The number seemed legit. So I called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to my surprise, I was put through to
Hilary Sares.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yes, she wanted to buy
my book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Challon’s Lady.</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My
dream come true!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They say selling to a traditional
publisher is on par with winning a lottery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I, who was never lucky at anything, just hit that magical event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a year of trying, I sent the package to
Hilary on a Friday afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been
tracking what she bought for Kensington, and had a feeling she would love my
tale of Julian and Tamlyn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The outline
and first chapters had landed on her desk Monday morning, first thing (thank
you, US mail, for actually delivering it so fast), and within hours she was
calling.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">That
lovely lady changed my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She took me
from a nervous writer to author.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
gave me a brand that sells worldwide, and is translated in a dozen different
languages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I wish to thank the
pretty lady, who loves to dance and push “virgins” to jump into volcanos, and
for seeing in the talent in me, for giving me that golden moment of opening the
huge box of author’s copies and holding my own book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot thank you enough.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Challon’s Lady</span></i><span style="font-family: georgia;"> was published nine
months later as <i>A Restless Knight</i>.</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkBVZtPrWod-v3tW1q_5pyyDFnmGYoH-p1ol8ZqWn1r1Ca8SW8GQ9hrSZ71VXWyvyX4r00pBKe9LiHaLKk1vNDrA0LMyFH3YVNdpLMrYilFqXYlA-EXFNdYORREjIdXZtYiN-lyif1uKLI/s350/ChallonOriinal.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="226" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkBVZtPrWod-v3tW1q_5pyyDFnmGYoH-p1ol8ZqWn1r1Ca8SW8GQ9hrSZ71VXWyvyX4r00pBKe9LiHaLKk1vNDrA0LMyFH3YVNdpLMrYilFqXYlA-EXFNdYORREjIdXZtYiN-lyif1uKLI/w414-h640/ChallonOriinal.png" width="414" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>original Kensington cover</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQcYGwCjmMBOCpulkhWOX1M727vJd4u6qpbw1iivVucsGFYfQvKucTkYCkCQoMqB1rMB8CxjP1-UgYkwl7zyV1yHHAMtlkaoK3AkrwM30fkADFckf5WvVU-MVTOfIPZcmBPAnotjD4m7If/s900/BrazilARK.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="590" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQcYGwCjmMBOCpulkhWOX1M727vJd4u6qpbw1iivVucsGFYfQvKucTkYCkCQoMqB1rMB8CxjP1-UgYkwl7zyV1yHHAMtlkaoK3AkrwM30fkADFckf5WvVU-MVTOfIPZcmBPAnotjD4m7If/w263-h400/BrazilARK.jpg" width="263" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Brazilian translation cover <br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFRLBG9xKjtca6I_DnQl4wQLheCLQGahAJHqRwuwXpuKArr_2gr_FJmjc-X_YuIV3RU7hYnSFfU0gC1BLy_5Np7yq44cv8qWjSbyQsQyXuvfCbHWy9aVUrrhdxB2g-62DZ7z0YuY1ap0_w//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="191" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFRLBG9xKjtca6I_DnQl4wQLheCLQGahAJHqRwuwXpuKArr_2gr_FJmjc-X_YuIV3RU7hYnSFfU0gC1BLy_5Np7yq44cv8qWjSbyQsQyXuvfCbHWy9aVUrrhdxB2g-62DZ7z0YuY1ap0_w/w255-h400/image.png" width="255" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFRLBG9xKjtca6I_DnQl4wQLheCLQGahAJHqRwuwXpuKArr_2gr_FJmjc-X_YuIV3RU7hYnSFfU0gC1BLy_5Np7yq44cv8qWjSbyQsQyXuvfCbHWy9aVUrrhdxB2g-62DZ7z0YuY1ap0_w//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsu6CrptVBq4QMiUa7oWUsxWPhCKLB1EPh5y03bjmYPttHTs6V3qXqJcXqjYsS5WlBoEYFO09o7edUrnb4VtxIRKRwuk_zfMIxPGlo_LNHYqHCgoDw08j0iUKouebNrr-dBWOS7FPBcT1l//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="227" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsu6CrptVBq4QMiUa7oWUsxWPhCKLB1EPh5y03bjmYPttHTs6V3qXqJcXqjYsS5WlBoEYFO09o7edUrnb4VtxIRKRwuk_zfMIxPGlo_LNHYqHCgoDw08j0iUKouebNrr-dBWOS7FPBcT1l/w283-h400/image.png" width="283" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">German cover and Japanese cover<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCay20Qi08IgCp0eJcTC3b4oHI8XK9xMDZkmuza_j9v92M5Bu0a-nNPG8VIB1zfDN5fqDEuu8SQZXNZ69SUDuTqIDQwgaMBpIAa-x9UVqOio8gneg6kzDWz5ahsyW9MpjYWDAppI3UtaLv//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="253" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCay20Qi08IgCp0eJcTC3b4oHI8XK9xMDZkmuza_j9v92M5Bu0a-nNPG8VIB1zfDN5fqDEuu8SQZXNZ69SUDuTqIDQwgaMBpIAa-x9UVqOio8gneg6kzDWz5ahsyW9MpjYWDAppI3UtaLv/w461-h640/image.png" width="461" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Current cover</i></div><br /><br /></div><br /></div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-26931188060079873612021-08-25T07:59:00.007+01:002021-08-25T10:06:24.791+01:00Anniversary of the death of Sir James "the Black" Douglas
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwL7RWCUC1b-dwhqcsRsmobVMdz8NDWUyFW2mp2fH5bu6fCpjlf0ZBgwHVe5XDMioqg00GSiXWOT_vqsSZo8W0VaFj65gAIaM7W5gNozjaW3eHAYwQaoMQCPtAxALFLUcTm1csI0UTTlis/s700/33aabf4c4b05474267dbd5a7a387c60d.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="558" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwL7RWCUC1b-dwhqcsRsmobVMdz8NDWUyFW2mp2fH5bu6fCpjlf0ZBgwHVe5XDMioqg00GSiXWOT_vqsSZo8W0VaFj65gAIaM7W5gNozjaW3eHAYwQaoMQCPtAxALFLUcTm1csI0UTTlis/w510-h640/33aabf4c4b05474267dbd5a7a387c60d.jpg" width="510" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="color: #fce5cd; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">Battle Image is</span><span style="color: #f4cccc; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><a class="oajrlxb2 g5ia77u1 qu0x051f esr5mh6w e9989ue4 r7d6kgcz rq0escxv nhd2j8a9 nc684nl6 p7hjln8o kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x jb3vyjys rz4wbd8a qt6c0cv9 a8nywdso i1ao9s8h esuyzwwr f1sip0of lzcic4wl py34i1dx gpro0wi8" href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2FMarkChurm.com%2F%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR2Vnjn_hXJ24KIIbFTnm8feAexyB4MTXJO3eA_wJPAKrtrLXD7hoEV88io&h=AT0G23KEOL2niu5eOnWtFIKIQQcRJPVckk1ktIY5I5t_MQJTr5ZIH6BVSejla88bddjokrEOC8ItTvPPxVM7m9sy5lRiLxRJxFoFgqOKFi4Nphu8OS9WMbBtmDgXbDH1e79hZK4Iq5qhn0_xyg&__tn__=-UK-R&c[0]=AT1LWtem7Zj8hPaE51JA7sBOxzhwinKJ0cNpUN5iyYIKwB4PKvb89OT1YfzkQcN8DkYvuGkQqQXJhSxuXRaQK3sKFs0XiLVCZ-Sl6lkfmPhh96M2aRJ0pEjuQCC6Zka5jfR7qZef6OUNsbat77QGQjZHH_BEbSqBIdw" rel="nofollow noopener" role="link" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; touch-action: manipulation; white-space: pre-wrap;" tabindex="0" target="_blank"><span style="color: #f4cccc;">MarkChurm.com</span></a><span style="color: #fce5cd; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"> painting of the fight to the death where
James Douglas slays Robert Neville, the Peacock of the North, 1319</span></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGnGUpFNMiCmOdg1_R09HKE9Bdp0AVV2iGG4TlUbzT0EiElCFp-uc3Yt_opkYfqVSm8cPqzGh2MwyTsJ7D1KsZXLDXxVcaTukEd3DAeOSKDoGj6mHojV-0CG0yK0hmE268qDMbGsff9wS9/s564/fa598dbce33b6fbaf7b17903bb5beffd.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="374" data-original-width="564" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGnGUpFNMiCmOdg1_R09HKE9Bdp0AVV2iGG4TlUbzT0EiElCFp-uc3Yt_opkYfqVSm8cPqzGh2MwyTsJ7D1KsZXLDXxVcaTukEd3DAeOSKDoGj6mHojV-0CG0yK0hmE268qDMbGsff9wS9/w640-h424/fa598dbce33b6fbaf7b17903bb5beffd.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: georgia; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">
</span><span style="color: #fce5cd; font-family: georgia; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">On this day in 1330, Sir James Douglas, known as “The Black Douglas“, died. The champion of King Robert Bruce Douglas died in Spain fighting the Moors, whilst on a pilgrimage carrying the dead king’s heart to the Holy Land. This final act of loyalty to Bruce led to the appearance of a heart in the Douglas coat of arms.</span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg85WcvIS0zgEyFJ91yqM7rWMJp_6LmEKS7sTDYJh238j21GCRo7r7U3PJ4RXOW8ReUYjMDSO4EfH1GG7SuafIMJawOc9w_6MfqP279bnuWVWpDoAeU25yVKStDr-91Udf86n1LV_jQWFbY/s500/douglassirjames5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="335" data-original-width="500" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg85WcvIS0zgEyFJ91yqM7rWMJp_6LmEKS7sTDYJh238j21GCRo7r7U3PJ4RXOW8ReUYjMDSO4EfH1GG7SuafIMJawOc9w_6MfqP279bnuWVWpDoAeU25yVKStDr-91Udf86n1LV_jQWFbY/w400-h268/douglassirjames5.jpg" width="400" /></a><br /><br /><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></span></div><span style="color: #fce5cd; font-family: georgia; font-size: large; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I am proud to say he is my GGFather 7 times </i></div></span><p></p><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #fce5cd; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">James "Black" Douglas "The Good Sir"</span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #fce5cd; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">1286–1330</span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #fce5cd; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">BIRTH 1286 • Douglas Castle, Douglas, Lanarkshire, Scotland</span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #fce5cd; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">DEATH 25 AUG 1330 • Teba, Málaga, Andalucía, Spain (Battle of Tepa)</span></div><div dir="auto"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fce5cd; font-family: georgia; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;">19th great-grandfather</span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlrjrmG8FlT4LUQwuy9kZbHP-7kq8JXlZXcGkiMpfMfg2m4Gm2pDsxP-orcC2fAR3wVDklmcvQrrorY3gMtg1hjdlK0RFwei-9m1IxoVsA2NDyFjIxoR44Yb4QBHmVsMvz8_hs_N1C2LvZ/s798/a5245a6824b1ae18dfb00f723893dc34.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="798" data-original-width="564" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlrjrmG8FlT4LUQwuy9kZbHP-7kq8JXlZXcGkiMpfMfg2m4Gm2pDsxP-orcC2fAR3wVDklmcvQrrorY3gMtg1hjdlK0RFwei-9m1IxoVsA2NDyFjIxoR44Yb4QBHmVsMvz8_hs_N1C2LvZ/w283-h400/a5245a6824b1ae18dfb00f723893dc34.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPdsDVTorHuvf0E2iyKuauw3xsov4-Y4Lj23OcbwuT1GUTiw9dFjJbzYL2-OZ60WDsAHTMw_J6RmVn8M-aw_NLzj4vvi-nUGhjM26CpctXNBrzzzuYxP7MSRyJTUBOXCcgDNubk_vfRzuc/s1868/Screenshot+2021-08-25+024818.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="302" data-original-width="1868" height="104" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPdsDVTorHuvf0E2iyKuauw3xsov4-Y4Lj23OcbwuT1GUTiw9dFjJbzYL2-OZ60WDsAHTMw_J6RmVn8M-aw_NLzj4vvi-nUGhjM26CpctXNBrzzzuYxP7MSRyJTUBOXCcgDNubk_vfRzuc/w640-h104/Screenshot+2021-08-25+024818.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="color: #050505; font-size: large; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span></div></div>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-7780631878630072522021-08-23T05:11:00.000+01:002021-08-23T05:11:27.744+01:00The Anniversary of the Execution of William Wallace<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4fgCm7X-vOvrcf7qcDgkRCHIHoin2eH6uWtenmDYfUwMRLBxipKf-H12NQqMTCeYsJdRfnQBKtaX6r0ElOl6WcNv-UrNhg9_BsO8UFvU_9EHBfU6pbuIyxyV4C2IVKwvOWPGElaJTaM2d/s605/Mell.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="605" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4fgCm7X-vOvrcf7qcDgkRCHIHoin2eH6uWtenmDYfUwMRLBxipKf-H12NQqMTCeYsJdRfnQBKtaX6r0ElOl6WcNv-UrNhg9_BsO8UFvU_9EHBfU6pbuIyxyV4C2IVKwvOWPGElaJTaM2d/w640-h428/Mell.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: medium;"><i>Mel Gibson portraying William Wallace in the movie Braveheart</i></span></p><p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdD1cLdv3Ktemp7JeaUvBKk0K1toYS3tOXMcQiO2E0UAOwMG4g4auF9r7pDROp8C72VFGu4QDjGL_BTh_zbje6Frsk26fP1rAnYY86l2vEa2jMfon5OfXNglnl46RfV8f_Ueq1nZc7oidv/s532/240447775_10159053431525709_2137021918264058275_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="532" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdD1cLdv3Ktemp7JeaUvBKk0K1toYS3tOXMcQiO2E0UAOwMG4g4auF9r7pDROp8C72VFGu4QDjGL_BTh_zbje6Frsk26fP1rAnYY86l2vEa2jMfon5OfXNglnl46RfV8f_Ueq1nZc7oidv/w400-h294/240447775_10159053431525709_2137021918264058275_n.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="text-align: start; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: medium;">23 August 1305: The trial and execution in London of Sir William Wallace, one time Guardian of Scotland. After the execution of William Wallace, his body was cut into four separate pieces and shown around the country to demonstrate what would happen to rebels and traitors of the King. Wallace’s head was put on display upon a pike on London Bridge. Wallace’s limbs were sent separately to Berwick, Stirling, Perth, and Newcastle.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtO-CnjhZqR2XWu6c-o83G6pICSBeiNp1dhgmMPARkFlO92xajYikJlqYQsv6r7GWw3SuwsLToDktZIV5ZqzRMK2nw4RHF1-ofvqB6Mi_pPPbxuZkp2d97AmtjLklPgRRjIYvfryfXql8b/s824/240593376_10159053432210709_8683248178734128208_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="824" data-original-width="590" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtO-CnjhZqR2XWu6c-o83G6pICSBeiNp1dhgmMPARkFlO92xajYikJlqYQsv6r7GWw3SuwsLToDktZIV5ZqzRMK2nw4RHF1-ofvqB6Mi_pPPbxuZkp2d97AmtjLklPgRRjIYvfryfXql8b/w286-h400/240593376_10159053432210709_8683248178734128208_n.jpg" width="286" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW6z69zeEau6uHbQ685n-9q4WeDD6cj4YXYzJ4U27sPqRI720UGol5y0V4ocOiI9qH-vzS1BaSAX-nNHfwmqNlwq4t7KnsjIOg4WFj444Vtz2y7GzA5Swi9pahHGTf9BTbo9skqEYaMUIU/s637/240584017_10159053430685709_1280138018546709023_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="637" data-original-width="404" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW6z69zeEau6uHbQ685n-9q4WeDD6cj4YXYzJ4U27sPqRI720UGol5y0V4ocOiI9qH-vzS1BaSAX-nNHfwmqNlwq4t7KnsjIOg4WFj444Vtz2y7GzA5Swi9pahHGTf9BTbo9skqEYaMUIU/w406-h640/240584017_10159053430685709_1280138018546709023_n.jpg" width="406" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5098477258662771390.post-39017804747492114372021-08-21T06:35:00.005+01:002021-11-04T19:50:33.007+00:00Spotlighted at Kentuckiana Authors<header style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><h3 class="post-category" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Open Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.3; margin: 0px 0px 5px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-transform: uppercase;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><span class="fa fa-file" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; font-family: FontAwesome; font-size: inherit; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 1; margin-right: 5px; opacity: 0.8; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-rendering: auto; transform: translate(0px, 0px);"></span><a href="https://kentuckianaauthors.com/category/articles/" rel="category tag" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-decoration-line: none;">ARTICLES</a>, <a href="https://kentuckianaauthors.com/category/authors/" rel="category tag" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-decoration-line: none;">AUTHORS</a>, <a href="https://kentuckianaauthors.com/category/fiction-writing/" rel="category tag" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-decoration-line: none;">FICTION WRITING</a>, <a href="https://kentuckianaauthors.com/category/authors/historical-fiction/" rel="category tag" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-decoration-line: none;">HISTORICAL FICTION</a>, <a href="https://kentuckianaauthors.com/category/historical-romance/" rel="category tag" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-decoration-line: none;">HISTORICAL ROMANCE</a>, <a href="https://kentuckianaauthors.com/category/kentuckiana-authors/" rel="category tag" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-decoration-line: none;">KENTUCKIANA AUTHORS</a></span></h3><h1 class="entry-title" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lobster, cursive; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.2; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffe599; font-size: large;">Deborah Macgillivray – My Passion for Writing Historical Fiction</span></h1><h2 class="entry-meta" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lobster, cursive; font-size: 12px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.3; margin-top: 5px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></h2></header><p></p><div class="entry-content" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; overflow-wrap: break-word; width: 575.264px;"><div class="wp-block-image" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 1em; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><figure class="aligncenter size-full" style="box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; display: table; margin: 0px auto; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: center;"><span><br /><span style="color: #fce5cd;">Check out this wonderful showcase I was given by the <a href="https://kentuckianaauthors.com/deborah-macgillivray-my-passion-for-writing-historical-fiction/?fbclid=IwAR3YhlIn68-h4_myaZFHbdDBKL7_A2CnyJP-D8xjPeyN34Z-nsGrSxL3FmA" target="_blank">Kentuckiana Authors</a><br /><br />I wish to thank them for giving me the opportunity to express my love for history and historical romances<br /><br /></span><div class="entry-content" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: start; width: 605.591px;"><div class="wp-block-image" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 1em; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><figure class="aligncenter size-full" style="box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; display: table; margin: 0px auto; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-911" height="136" loading="lazy" sizes="(max-width: 468px) 100vw, 468px" src="https://i1.wp.com/kentuckianaauthors.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Picture1.jpg?resize=468%2C136&ssl=1" srcset="https://i1.wp.com/kentuckianaauthors.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Picture1.jpg?w=468&ssl=1 468w, https://i1.wp.com/kentuckianaauthors.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Picture1.jpg?resize=300%2C87&ssl=1 300w, https://i1.wp.com/kentuckianaauthors.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Picture1.jpg?resize=195%2C57&ssl=1 195w" style="border-radius: inherit; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; height: auto; max-width: 100%; overflow-wrap: break-word;" width="468" /></span></figure></div><p style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;">The past was never distant to me.</em> I have thought or said this so many times throughout my life. <em style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;">With small wonder. </em>When I was a child, both my grandfathers filled me with wondrous stories of my Scottish ancestors. While at bedtime mum was spinning faerytales and <em style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;">Billy Goats Gruff</em>, my grandfathers used my mind as a repository for history that should not be lost. Little did I comprehend they were cultivating my growing imagination, feeding my fascination with the past, and hoping to create the next historian in the family. To me, the lore and legends they regaled me with were not too different from <em style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;">Snow White and Rose Red</em>. Knights, ladies, lords, and kings all danced through my hungry mind, awe-inspiring fables of adventures, quests, and loves that overcame all obstacles. Especially compelling were tales of Sir James the Black Douglas or Thomas Randolph, 1<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 0; overflow-wrap: break-word; position: relative; top: -0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">st</span> earl of Moray—generals to Robert the Bruce. Their hard fighting ways in trying to free their kingdom from the grasp of the evil Edward Longshanks were more enthralling than anything I could see at the movies or on television. I confess; I fell deeply in love with James Douglas and Thomas of Moray, and to this day that love has never faltered.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;">While my grandfathers foresaw a future for me as a historian or archaeologist, they little understood that my heart had been captured by the romance of that historical period. Not the battles, dates, and places, but of the people who lived, loved, and died for their beliefs. It wasn’t the dusty history that possessed my thoughts but the questions— who were these people?…were they happy?…how did it feel sending your husband off to fight in the Battle of Dupplin Moor or Halidon Hill, knowing so many of your uncles, brothers, grandfathers, and fathers before them had died in such a manner? The images glittered in my mind’s eye of the couples meeting for the first time, their courtships and marriages, births of their children, and the sorrows of losing a wife to childbirth or a husband to war.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;">Yes, they poured their knowledge, their passion for the past into me, yet perhaps they discounted my mother’s influence forming me as well. She was a true bard in the ancient ways. At family reunions, children would flock to her, begging for her to tell her stories. You would find her by fireplace or out in the side yards in the summer with them sitting about her feet as she wove her tales of myths and lore or personal adventures and the antics of her brothers and sisters. I watched as she held them spellbound, saw their eyes aglitter with magic, their imaginations engaged, <em style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;">seeing </em>what she was describing to them. It was easy to envision her in a medieval gown, spinning similar tales to the castle’s people at night, and holding them breathless and enraptured by the magic she conjured with simple words. Yes, I believe that part of her mixed with my grandfathers’ devotion to ancient times, so it was hardly surprising that my heart wanted to be a writer. I wanted to create tales of ancient days, of knights in shining armor, of ladies fair, who were capable of seizing their destinies and fighting for what they wanted in life. That desire was the “child” borne of all their influences.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;">My mum never lived to see me published, dying young from liver cancer. My Montgomerie grandfather died from a heart attack when I was very small though I clearly carry all he told me in my heart. So that left me with facing my grandfather, a historian, to hear the news of me wanting to write historical romance. Of course, he was quite disappointed. He had envisioned me being a great historian, making some great discovery for the ages—such as finding the grave of Boudicca! Here I was telling him I planned to take all that astounding knowledge and use it to write romances. Grudgingly, he understood I was following my heart. It didn’t mean he approved; he just understood why.</span></p><div class="wp-block-image" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 1em; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><figure class="alignleft size-full" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: table; float: left; margin: 0.5em 1em 0.5em 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-912" data-recalc-dims="1" height="262" loading="lazy" src="https://i1.wp.com/kentuckianaauthors.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/A-Restless-Knight.png?resize=190%2C262&ssl=1" style="border-radius: inherit; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; height: auto; max-width: 100%; overflow-wrap: break-word;" width="190" /></span></figure></div><p style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;">It’s hard, oh so very hard, for an author to give over their first novel for inspection, especially when I was facing such a harsh critic. But I sucked it up and handed over my first historical novel to him. The year before I had given him a romance novel strong on history to show him what I wanted to write. He burned it! Thus, my stomach was tied in knots. He could make or break my dream with a few words. I loved him so much and wanted his approval. If he had tossed my book into the fireplace I think I would’ve curled up and died! When I gave the novel to him, he didn’t say a word, just arched an eyebrow—a trait of the Ogilvie men that spoke a thousand words, possibly a thousand cuts. He turned, went into the library and closed the door. I waited long into the night, fretting and worrying. Finally near dawn, I crept downstairs and tapped on the door. He called, “Come in.”<em style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;"> </em>He was sitting in his high-back leather chair, my manuscript on the small table beside him. I couldn’t tell whether he was disappointed in me or saddened in my work, thinking what an education I was wasting. The room was only lit by fireplace, so his countenance was cast in half-shadows. Heart hammering, I moved closer and saw a tear glittering in one eye. That scared me! Instead of the lecture of how I was throwing away everything to write romance novels, he looked up at me and said three words, “You did good.” It was a <em style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;">joke</em> phrase, teasingly offered when he was proud of one of us grandkids. My grandfather was rarely a man of praise. I knew when he said that, he truly understood my passion was different from his, that my mum’s storyteller’s ability had also thrived within me. But he also comprehended I wasn’t “throwing” anything away; I was just traveling a different path to keep history alive in my own fashion. </span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;">So I, the great-great-granddaughter of Robert the Bruce (29 times and counting), and amazingly also the great-granddaughter of my beloved Thomas Randolph and James Douglas, tell history in my own style to make readers love the period and to see the people as I do. My grandfather still teases me about throwing away such a great education to write romances, but it’s done with a twinkle of his eye. He knows all he gave me imbues my works, making the knights and ladies come alive in a manner he never dreamt of….<em style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;">but I did.</em></span></p><figure class="wp-block-image size-large" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 1em; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;"><img alt="" class="wp-image-913" data-recalc-dims="1" height="172" loading="lazy" sizes="(max-width: 560px) 100vw, 560px" src="https://i0.wp.com/kentuckianaauthors.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Books-1024x315.jpg?resize=560%2C172&ssl=1" srcset="https://i0.wp.com/kentuckianaauthors.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Books.jpg?resize=1024%2C315&ssl=1 1024w, https://i0.wp.com/kentuckianaauthors.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Books.jpg?resize=300%2C92&ssl=1 300w, https://i0.wp.com/kentuckianaauthors.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Books.jpg?resize=768%2C236&ssl=1 768w, https://i0.wp.com/kentuckianaauthors.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Books.jpg?resize=575%2C177&ssl=1 575w, https://i0.wp.com/kentuckianaauthors.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Books.jpg?resize=195%2C60&ssl=1 195w, https://i0.wp.com/kentuckianaauthors.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Books.jpg?w=1430&ssl=1 1430w, https://i0.wp.com/kentuckianaauthors.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Books.jpg?w=1120 1120w" style="border-radius: inherit; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; height: auto; max-width: 100%; overflow-wrap: break-word;" width="560" /></span></figure><p style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;">Deborah Macgillivray writes Scottish medieval romances in the series the Dragons of Challon, which are set in the times of Robert Bruce. Author of nine novels and two dozen novellas, she also pens the contemporary romance series The Sisters of Colford Hall. The second book in the series won the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence for Best Contemporary Romance Novel, a contest judged by booksellers across the nation. She is currently working on the next novels in both series as well as a nonfiction historical book about her ancestors. She is also co-authoring a novel about lore, myths, and legends of ancient Scotland. Her historical novels have been published worldwide and translated into a dozen different languages. She has written for Kensington Books and Dorchester Publishing’s Lovespell line and now writes for Montlake Romance (Amazon Publishing) and Prairie Rose Publications.</span></em></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;">Amazon Links:</span></strong></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><a data-id="https://amzn.to/2Wbx9zm" data-type="URL" href="https://amzn.to/2Wbx9zm" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #fce5cd;">A Restless Knight (Dragons of Challon Book 1)</span></a></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;"><a data-id="https://amzn.to/3mhaPj6" data-type="URL" href="https://amzn.to/3mhaPj6" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">RavenHawke (Dragons of Challon Boo</a><a data-id="https://amzn.to/3mhaPj6" data-type="URL" href="https://amzn.to/3mhaPj6" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">k</a><a data-id="https://amzn.to/3mhaPj6" data-type="URL" href="https://amzn.to/3mhaPj6" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank"> 2)</a></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><a data-id="https://amzn.to/2W0ebwh" data-type="URL" href="https://amzn.to/2W0ebwh" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="box-sizing: border-box; overflow-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #fce5cd;">One Snowy Knight (Dragons of Challon Book 3)</span></a></p></div></span></figure></div></div>Deborah Macgillivrayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15871266987559473741noreply@blogger.com0