These arrowhead shaped pieces of flint were used as weapons against animals and people. They were believed to be fatal to cattle. To save a cow that had been shot with an elf-arrow they had to be touched by the arrow, the arrow then needed to be dipped into water and the cow needed to drink the water afterwards.
Sick animals are still said to be elf-shot if they become ill.
If the person were shot with an elf-arrow, they get sick with a mysterious supernatural illness.
In 1560, a Scottish woman was accused of using of elf-arrows. Catherine Ross, Lady Fowllis, along with her son-in-law Hector Munro, and other nameless witches wanted to kill Ross’ husband and Marjorie Campbell, Lady Balnagown. Lady Fowllis wanted to marry Lord Balnagown. The plot was uncovered before anything happened to the victims. Elf-Arrows superstition is strong in Ireland, England, and parts of Scotland.
In the early 20th-century in Hebrides Islands off of Scotland a case of an angry werewolf goast searching for his bones was noted.
The incident happened to Andrew Warren. His grandfather was interested in natural history and geology. Often spending time in the countryside looking for interesting specimen. Grandfather decided to poke around in a drying avatar in a lake or mountain pool he found some old bones packed them up and took them home to Andrew. At home Andrew and his grandfather inspected them the bone seem to be human but the skull was wolflike.
A few evenings later the adults left Andrew to go to church. The skeleton was still lying on the table. Andrew heard a noise at the back door, but couldn’t find anyone. A loud noise knocking on the window scared him when he looked the thing he saw was blurred at first. The setting sun was behind the person knocking. As his eyes adjusted he saw a wolf head atop the human neck. The thing’s lips curled into a snarl showing sharp white teeth. It also had pointed ears and green eyes. His hand was humanlike with long curled nails.
Scared Andrew ran out of the kitchen locking the door behind him. He stayed in the hallway until his family came home. The werewolf was gone. The next day Andrew and his grandfather return the bones to the tarn. The werewolf was never seen again.
When Graham Logan, a Scottish earl turned vampire by a dark wizard’s curse, draws the Queen of Swords, he knows he’s about to meet the love of his life. For the third time. But surrendering his heart will mean risking her life…or making her what he is. Neither of which his morals will permit him to do. Graham, who believes he lost his soul to the curse, rages at God: Why give her back only to take her again?
Cat Fingal, the third incarnation of Graham’s twin flame, won’t let him escape so easily. As soon as they meet, she feels she knows him and begins having past-life flashbacks. A white witch, she casts a spell to summon him, wanting answers and to fill the void she’s felt all her life.
Graham has other problems, too. Like the seductress who wants him for herself and the dark wizard who cursed him and killed his beloved the first two times.
Will he find a way to save her this time around? Or will she save him?
How I picture Graham:
Trailer embed code:
Steamy excerpt:
When the night grew too cold for comfort, they moved indoors, stripped out of what remained of their clothes, and got into his bed. He spooned her, holding her close so close she could feel his erection in the small of her back, the warmth of his skin against hers, the moist heat of his breath near her ear.
“Roll over. Onto your back.”
She did as he asked, suddenly afraid, but some deep-down part of her wanted him to; wanted him to take part of her into his body just as she’d taken part of his into hers. As he came over her, she saw his eyes. They were yellow, like a wolf’s. Tense and brilliant, fierce, not loving. She wanted to look away, but her will was gone. She could feel those eyes pulling her in, down and down into their depths. She was drowning, but it was a peaceful, euphoric feeling. His woodsy scent filled her nostrils, making her lightheaded and strangely detached. It was as if she watched it happening to someone else.
She shivered, dimly aware of his knees pressing between hers and his hands on her breasts, squeezing gently, teasing her nipples, sending sweet tremors all the way down to her sex. She shivered as he came over her and touched her lips with his—petal-soft—before moving to her ear.
He nibbled her lobe. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Returning to her mouth, he nipped her lower lip before moving to her throat. She clenched, bracing herself for the bite, but he only nuzzled and licked the thick cord of muscle. He then kissed her shoulder, her collarbone, and the indentation at the base of her throat. Finally, he proceeded to her left breast, where he circled the aureole with his tongue before closing his lips around the nipple. As he sucked it, thrills twitched deep in her abdomen.
When he bit down, she came back to herself with a jolt, cursing and bucking under him. Excruciating pain echoed through her body. As he sucked, the pain gave way to euphoria. Then began a pleasurable sensation, like electrical pulses surging to points of ecstatic brilliance, making her insides quiver and melt. It went on for what seemed a long while, and then he let go, rose over her, and came into her with a smooth, deep thrust. The feeling of their merger overwhelmed her, threatened to consume her. It was too much, too intense, too amazing. She clung to him, afraid of what was happening to her. He wasn’t just inside her, he was part of her, fused with her. For the first time in her life, she felt truly alive.
The orgasm broke over her like a tidal wave. She came around him in shuddering sequences, again and again, her body spent, but unable to refuse the pleasure. By the time he finished, she felt both ecstatic and utterly depleted.
About Nina Mason, author
Nina Mason is a hopeful romantic with strong affinities for history, mythology, and the metaphysical. She strives to write the same kind of books she loves to read: those that entertain, edify, educate, and enlighten. Her first novel, The Queen of Swords, an urban fantasy/paranormal romance, was published in March 2014 by Vamptasy Publishing. Her next book, The Tin Man, a political thriller, will be released on August 30 by Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly (CHBB). Next year, Lyrical/Kensington will introduce a new paranormal/fantasy series by Ms. Mason titled the Knights of Avalon. Each of the four books in the series will be named after one of the knights of the tarot (Wands, Cups, Pentacles, and Swords, in that order). The knights are the breeding drones of Morgan Le Fay, the legendary queen of Avalon.
When not writing, Nina works as a communications consultant, doll maker, and home stager. Born and raised in Southern California, she now lives in Woodstock, Georgia, with her husband, teenage daughter, two rescue cats, and a Westie named Robert.
I’ve also got a Pinterest account where I’ve got boards for each of my books (as well as one featuring hot men with long hair). Hot guys in kilts coming soon! Here’s the link: Pinterest
Thank you Nina, for coming by and being a part of Vampire Month. 😀
My last witch post (boo hoo!): Robert Burns and Tam O’ Shanter.
I can’t believe we’ve come to the end of this series of guest posts already. I couldn’t go without mentioning that famous son of Scotland, Robert Burns, and his epic poem, ‘Tam o’ Shanter’, written in 1791.
‘Tam o’ Shanter’ is set in Ayrshire, the area of Scotland where Burns was born and brought up. Tam is a hapless (okay, drunk) young man who comes across a coven of witches in Auld Kirk Alloway (an old kirk – surely not?), while riding home from Ayr one night. These witches are having a ceilidh, which basically means a party with music, dancing, and usually, fighting. One of them in particular catches Tam’s eye, being young and pretty – and because she’s dancing in her ‘cutty sark’, ie: short petticoat. Tam shouts words of encouragement at her from his spying place at the kirk’s window. He then gets his just desserts for this foolishness, and is chased by the witches to the bridge over the river Doon (Brig o’ Doon). As witches cannot cross running water, he escapes, but ‘Cutty Sark’ manages to pull the tail off his horse Maggie, just as she leaps across the bridge!
Moral of this tale: don’t get drunk and get distracted by ladies in short skirts. You may get more than you bargained for.
The poem is written in Scots, so can be a little hard to read for those not familiar with that language. It’s well worth a go, though. In it, Burns describes some extra-grisly trappings of a Black Mass: coffins standing open showing the dead within, and gruesome artefacts on the altar: murder weapons, and bodies of unchristened children. The Devil is also described as being present in the shape of a large black dog (he must like appearing in this form). Although at this gathering, ‘Auld Nick’ is providing the music by playing the bagpipes – a very talented dog indeed!
The places described in the poem are real. I’ve visited all of them. Auld Kirk Alloway is a little bit spooky. My husband has seen me cross Brig o’ Doon, so he thinks I’m not a witch (ha!) But unlike the stories in my previous posts, I can’t find any evidence that a coven did meet at this kirk, or chase any drunken young men to the bridge. It seems Burns did that writerly thing of taking facts from other places, and weaving them into a fantastic story set in his home. I’m glad he did, as it’s one of my favourite poems.
In my last post, I mentioned the fact that most of the ‘witches’ executed in Scotland in the 16th and 17th centuries were probably not performing black masses and summoning the devil at all. Many of them would be what are now generally referred to as ‘Pagans’ – worshippers of the old, pre-Christian gods. I’m not going to go into Paganism and its many branches here – that would be a whole other series of posts! Suffice it to say that many of these women and men would know how to heal wounds and treat the sick using natural remedies, and possibly a chant or two – all things the authorities were very suspicious of. Others may have been gifted with ‘second sight’ – a talent particularly prevalent in the Highlands of Scotland.
Seers had to be careful in the 15 and 1600s, as their gift could be denounced by the church as being from the devil, although Highlanders generally believed second sight to be unconnected with witchcraft. This belief, however, did not help the most famous of all, the Brahan Seer. He naively told the Countess of Seaforth what her husband was really doing on a trip to Paris, ie: entertaining other ladies. If you don’t like the message, shoot the messenger. Although not tried and executed as a warlock, this did not stop the poor man being thrown into a barrel of burning tar. As his fiery end approached he accurately prophesied the fall of the house of Seaforth, and told the Countess that he would go to heaven, but she never would. So the Brahan Seer had the last word, although I don’t imagine this was much comfort as he went up in flames. Don’t tell people the truth; tell them what they want to hear – a trick most seaside clairvoyants have cottoned onto today!
I’ve really enjoyed doing this series of posts for the Witching Hour. Most of the stories have been from Central and Lowland Scotland. Talking about the Brahan Seer has made me realise how many tales of the supernatural there are from the North. So I may be back one day, with more spooky stuff from the Highlands and Islands of Scotland…
Depiction of the chase from the Burns Museum Alloway
**I’ve enjoyed having Karen here telling us about Scotland’s Witches. I’m not beyond following my pal Sheila Hall’s example and searching out Karen and tackling her (with hugs) in hopes of her coming back again. Or begging! Please come back again Karen and share your Scottish witch knowledge with us. The door is always open. 😀 **
Back over to the east coast of Scotland this week, to North Berwick, a town about 30 miles south of Edinburgh. If you read my first guest post for Mari, you’ll recall me talking about King James VI of Scotland, who, it has to be said, had a bit of a downer on witches. He was the one who ordered hundreds of ‘witches’ to be executed on Castlehill in Edinburgh. This all started when he discovered that a coven in North Berwick had plotted to kill him and his wife, Anne of Denmark, as they sailed home to Scotland from Norway.
The story began in 1590 when the deputy bailiff of Tranent in East Lothian, David Seaton, found out that his maid Gilly Duncan was leaving the house at night without permission. He also discovered that she was known locally to possess skill in healing. Seaton suspected witchcraft and when the maid wouldn’t answer his questions, used torture. Gilly, under duress, said her power of healing was inspired by the Devil and that she was a member of a witches’ coven.
The coven met on St. Andrews Auld Kirk Green, now part of the modern-day North Berwick Harbour area. Are you noticing a pattern with these ‘old kirks’? (Sadly, only the entrance porch now survives). As Gilly was subjected to more torture she went further – confessing to a conspiracy to murder King James VI. The coven had assembled on the pier at Leith before the Firth of Forth estuary, using their arts to raise a storm against a lone ship which they supposed to be that of the King. The vessel was sunk but this was not the royal ship, which returned safely to Scotland.
The alleged architect of this plot was Francis Hepburn, 5th Earl of Bothwell: cousin to the King and heir apparent if James died without son or daughter. Clearly he fancied the crown for himself! Coveting the crown, and being prepared to do murder for it, seems to have run in that family. If any of you know the history of Mary, Queen of Scots, mother of James VI, you’ll know that the 4th Earl of Bothwell was her third husband. He arranged the murder of her second husband in order to marry her! He was uncle to this 5th Earl who was now plotting to kill her son. (This kind of thing went on all the time in Scotland). Anyway, back to the witches…
Four other suspected conspirators were seized for questioning: a schoolmaster named Dr John Fian, Euphemia Maclean, Barbara Napier and a midwife called Agnes Sampson who was known for her herbal remedies. Dr Fian was tortured and eventually confessed he was “clerk to all those that were in subjection to the Devil’s service”. Fian was burnt at Castlehill, Edinburgh in January 1591.
James VI now took a personal hand in the investigations. Agnes Sampson was brought before the King at Holyrood House, Edinburgh, where he questioned her. She was fastened to the wall of her cell by a witch’s bridle, an iron instrument with four sharp prongs forced into the mouth, so that two prongs pressed against the tongue, and the two others against the cheeks. She was also kept without sleep. Only after these ordeals did Agnes Sampson confess to the fifty-three indictments against her. Agnes was unrepentant, she spoke of a witches’ gathering at Prestonpans where a small effigy of the King was produced, and cursed.
**I’d like to call your attention to the “Devil” he’s kind of cute looking.**
The King at first was sceptical. As the claims became more fanciful he lost patience and accused Agnes of being a liar. Agnes said she knew something that would prove her story. She was allowed to draw close to the King and, it was said, whispered into his ear certain words that had passed between James and Anne of Denmark when the couple were alone on their wedding night.
The King was astonished; he was now convinced of the guilt of Agnes. Both Euphemia Maclean and Agnes Sampson were found guilty of witchcraft and executed at Castlehill. Barbara Napier was also condemned but strangely enough was later released. Bothwell fled to Naples; he would eventually die in poverty in 1624.
This case started a wave of witch hunting across Scotland and indeed, the whole of Britain. While it does seem that the North Berwick witches did have evil intentions, most of the people executed were simply innocent healers or clairvoyants. If you were being subjected to tortures such as the bridle described above, ‘pricked’ with long pins to discover so-called ‘devil’s marks’, and ‘ducked’ in freezing ponds to see if you sank (innocent) or floated (witch), then you would confess to anything – if you hadn’t drowned from being ducked, of course. Not a good chapter in our history. Eventually this all stopped, when the law making witchcraft a capital offence was repealed in 1736, but for 150 years being termed a ’witch’, for any reason, was a very dangerous thing indeed.
So what’s coming next week? Well, I couldn’t leave out our most famous tale of witches, by our very own Robert Burns: Tam O’ Shanter. And what about the witches in Scotland who weren’t persistently trying to summon the devil or kill the king, those poor healers and seers who got caught up in it all? I’ll be talking a little bit about those. Writing this series has made me realise how many more stories there are to tell, so who knows, I may be back with another set of guest posts in the future, if Mari’ll have me…
Karen, you have an open invitation to come by and share whenever you like. I’m looking forward to all you are willing to share with us. Thank you again so much for agreeing to spend time here. 😀
I’m so honored to have Karen Soutar here again. This post is amazing, and I can’t thank her enough for sharing her homeland’s witches with us.
I so want to go and hangout at Carly Crag. One day I will, and Karen and I will cause chaos and mass hysteria with out love of witches on their own ceremonial land.
The Logie Witches
A few miles from my home stand the ruins of Logie Old Kirk (Kirk being the old Scots word for church). Situated just outside Stirling, a church was first dedicated in this ancient parish around 1173. The ruins date back to around 1592.
In 1720, the Old Kirk was said to be used by ‘The Witches of Logie’ for their rituals. It was probably already falling into disrepair at this time. The use of churches by those practising the ‘Black Mass’ is well documented. Old, often abandoned kirks frequently appear as the meeting place for covens in Scottish folklore.
Behind the Old Kirk is the hill known as ‘Carly Crag’ or ‘Witches Craig’. Carly, or carlin, is the old Scots word for witch, or old woman (from the Gaelic cailleach). It was on Carly Crag that the Logie Witches were supposed to meet with the devil himself, who took the form of a black dog with burning eyes. He would cavort among the witches with a blue torch attached to his hind quarters. Quite why he needed a blue torch there remains unclear! Also, the Evil One was running the risk of a singed bottom, as torches and lamps burned oil at that time. Maybe, being the devil, he was impervious to flame!
There are several documents pertaining to this local legend:
In David Morris’s (1935) essay on the local township, he told the common story that “an elder in (the new) Logie Kirk was of the opinion that the Carla’ Craig…was haunted.” At the end of the 19th century, Morris remembered a local lady known as ‘Ailie’, who was said by many old folk to be the traditional ‘witch of Logie’:
“Sickly children were brought to her for her blessing. Occasionally people came from as far as Stirling on this errand. Her method of giving the blessing was to blow her breath on the child, and this was supposed to ward off evil. It was also said that anyone buried in Logie Kirkyard on the first day of May, Halloween, or other days of that kind, without her blessing, would not rest in his grave…”
Another legend told to Morris stated that:
“Around 1720 witches were believed to rendezvous with the Evil One who would appear in the form of a large black dog.” This is clearly the most well-known tale relating to Logie Old Kirk and Carly Crag. Again, the devil appearing in the form of a dog crops up more than once in the folklore of Scotland.
Another account of the belief in witchcraft and animistic pre-Christian rites on the crag came from Charles Rogers (1853):
“About the second decade of last century, there lived in the parish of Logie several ill-favoured old women, to whom the reputation of witchcraft was confidently attached. They were believed to hold nocturnal dialogues and midnight revels with the Evil One, and Carlie Crag was regarded as one of their places of rendezvous. Satan, though he was believed to appear to them in various forms, was understood, in his interviews with the dreaded sisterhood, to appear most frequently in the aspect of a large shaggy dog, in which form it was alleged he had repeatedly been seen by the minister.”
I first heard the story of The Logie Witches when visiting the Witches Craig Caravan Park, where I was testing a new tent, believe it or not! I wondered how the park had got its name, and this led me to the local legend, and my explorations of Logie Old Kirk and the Carly Crag. Do the kirk, and the crag, feel spooky? A bit. Do they feel evil? No. The Old Kirk is now overlooked by several modern dwellings, though they do not detract much from its isolated location. There are several interesting gravestones in the Kirkyard, featuring masonic symbols and the macabre skull carvings which are common on grave markers of this era. There is now a new Logie Kirk, built in the early 1800s and still in use, closer to the nearby caravan park and visible from the modern road. The Old Kirk is further up into the hills, shrouded by trees, so it can’t be seen from the roadside.
I used the tale of The Logie Witches as inspiration for a short story, featuring a modern day version of the coven. I played around with the locations of the various landmarks a little (artistic licence!), as I thought it would be funny if my witches had to contend with the road and the caravan park. There will be more stories from my 21st century witches soon!
If you haven’t read this story yet…… what on Earth are you waiting for? The Zombie Apocalypse? Go read it…. here’s the pretty little link to take you there … I love this story. Abosolutely LOVE it…
The crag is a fine site for ritual magic, and its associated devil-lore may simply derive from Pictish shamanistic practices, remains of which have been found across the Scottish hills. These rites survived longer in the remote areas of Scotland than in other parts of Britain. On the other hand, maybe witches did indeed meet with the devil there. Maybe they still do..?
Next week: The witches who plotted to kill King James VI…
(References: Morris, David, B., “Causewayhead a Hundred Years Ago”, in Transactions of the Stirling Natural History and Archaeological Society, 1935. Roger, Charles,” A Week at Bridge of Allan”, Adam & Charles Black: Edinburgh 1853.)
Thank you again, Karen, for coming by. I can’t wait to read next week’s guest post.
I’m so happy, no….. elated to have Karen Soutar here to talk about her native witches with us. Karen and I have been planning this for some time now and the anticipation was becoming unbearable.
If you haven’t already you NEED to read her story about her local witches
So without me rambling on further…Because I will do it…. I’ll hand it over to Karen and her first post …. yes, I did forget to mention that didn’t I? Karen’s agreed to doing a series for us. A whole month of Scottish Witches!!! YES!!! Four posts about Scottish Witches….. Oh be still my content heart…
Here’s Karen…..
How I discovered the wonderful, wicked world of witches
What do you think of when you hear the words ‘Scottish witches’? The three from Shakespeare’s ‘Macbeth’, hunched round their cauldron? The ones who chase Tam O’ Shanter in Robert Burns’s poem? Scotland is a country rich with tales of witches. Some are legends that have grown with the telling, some are completely made up, and some of them actually happened.
Why do witches fascinate me? They always have, ever since I was a little girl. I don’t remember exactly, but I think I read my first ‘scary’ witch story when I was about seven. I never bought into the good witch, bad witch thing. ‘The Wizard of Oz’ wasn’t a favourite of mine. (I much prefer ‘Wicked’). Even when I was young, I understood that ‘good’ and ‘evil’ are often subjective. When I read books and watched films, I always thought the wicked witch character was a lot more interesting than the simpering heroine. I still do. Witches appeal to my dark side. There are as many aspects to witchcraft as there are to life: witches are people and the same ones can be good or bad depending on what they’re doing and who’s describing them. I love that.
In my home of Scotland I have spent a lot of time visiting spooky sites and absorbing local stories, many of which go back before written records. We have a great ‘oral tradition’ of folk tales. A few forward-thinking writers captured some of them on paper before they were lost forever. Witches, fairies (NOT the fluttery pretty kind), ghosts…they are everywhere. Dark, forbidding mountains and crags, wild weather, dense forest – even the landscape conspires with the legends.
One of my earliest memories of a ‘real’ witch (or in this case, warlock) story comes from a school trip to Edinburgh, again when I was about seven or eight. On this trip to Scotland’s capital city, we went to the waxworks museum. When we got to the inevitable ‘chamber of horrors’ you could choose whether to go through or not. Guess which I did? I thought it was BRILLIANT. I bought the guidebook and devoured it when I got home. One of the characters I was particularly taken with was Major Weir.
Major Thomas Weir was born in 1599 and lived in the street called the West Bow, between Edinburgh Castle and the Grassmarket. He attended his local Protestant prayer meetings and was a respected pillar of the community. Then the Major fell sick, and decided, in his feverish state of mind, to divulge his secret life to his fellow worshippers.
He admitted ‘crimes against man and God’, including necromancy and other supernatural activities that resulted from witchcraft. He was taken into custody, along with his sister Jean, who was his partner in these arts. Both were tried on April 9, 1670 and sentenced to death. While Jean was hanged in the Grassmarket, Major Weir was burned alive somewhere between Edinburgh and Leith. He fervently refused to repent his sins. There is a popular legend that his staff was cast into the flames after him, where it twisted and writhed due to ‘whatever incantation was in it’.
The house where Weir and his sister lived and practiced their witchcraft stands to this day, and neighbours have confirmed sightings of his ghost and strange lights from within; also the sounds of laughter and revelry – a macabre sign that ‘The Wizard of West Bow’ and his cohorts still enjoy their distractions!
With this story I was hooked. I moved to Edinburgh when I was seventeen and found out more about the history of the city. During the reign of King James VI, more ‘witches’ were put to death on Castlehill than anywhere else in Scotland. From 1590 onwards, hundreds of women were executed. Of course, it is doubtful that most of these were witches at all, and even those that were, mostly used their arts to cure illness, heal wounds, and provide the occasional love potion.
The idea of ‘black’ and ‘white’ witches can be traced back to Roman times and beyond. But James VI considered himself an expert on witchcraft, and adopted the theory that all witches had made a deliberate pact with the devil, leading to a wholesale persecution of witches. They were often accused of plotting treason and trying to bring about the King’s downfall by using black arts. I’ll tell the story of one such coven in a future post.
So far it doesn’t sound as though witches had a very happy time in Scotland! But there were plenty of places where they could practise their arts undisturbed. Abandoned ‘Kirks’ (churches) were a favoured spot. One of these is a few miles from my home. Logie Old Kirk, just outside the town of Stirling, was the meeting place for a coven in the 1700s – more on them next time…
Mari Wells 