Fossils, Smugglers, and Rogues

Susan here, with a book release this week—and a look back at my summer visit to the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum in Glasgow last June, which relates to said book release. A Rogue in Moonlight, Book 3 of the Whisky Rogues series, is now available! (Previously published as Highland Groom by Avon, this is a gorgeous new edition, revised and updated. Working with it again, I have to say this couple is one of my favorite hero/heroine combos ever!)

The Kelvingrove, a Victorian fairytale of a building, houses an eclectic collection of art and everything in between—including Rembrandt, Van Gogh, Dali, and Charles Rennie Mackintosh, as well as mummies, astrolabes, Pictish stones, dinosaur bones, even a Spitfire aircraft. This time, I was particularly drawn to the exhibits of fossils, marine and land, found in Scotland, as well as dinosaur bones and other extinct ancient animals. Those were especially timely since I had just revised A Rogue in Moonlight, which features a Highland smuggling laird and a Lowland schoolmistress who is an amateur paleontologist.

In Regency Scotland – Love makes its own magic . . .

According to her grandmother’s eccentric will, Fiona MacCarran must marry a wealthy Highlander—but teaching school in a remote Highland glen provides no hope of finding such a match. Then she meets Dougal MacGregor, a rugged laird and notorious whisky smuggler who quickly steals her heart. He wants to send the schoolmistress away, but she is determined to stay and explore the hills in search of ancient fossils. As an irresistible passion draws Dougal and Fiona together, she is tempted to forget obligations and risk trusting this handsome rogue. But Dougal is intent on protecting his clan’s secret of fairy whisky—and he must move a priceless whisky cargo before the law closes in. He never counted on prim, beautiful, inquisitive Fiona disrupting the plan—or stirring his shuttered heart. Honor insists he keep his distance, but the schoolmistress undoes his resolve. Swept into a dangerous game of loyalty and longing, Dougal and Fiona soon discover that one wrong step could cost them everything—including each other.

As I stood in the Kelvingrove’s “Creatures of the Past” gallery looking at fossils, bones, and traces of ancient life forms, I thought of my character Fiona exploring the Highland hills, chisel and brush in hand, looking for subtle traces in the rock and turf of long-ago life forms. She hopes to find tiny marine animals as evidence that an ancient sea once covered that part of Scotland. Today, we know that eons ago in what would become Scotland, massive land forms thundered apart and reformed under the force of glaciers pushing forward and melting into seas. Water filled with marine life flooded over peaks and valleys that millions of years later would ripen into the green glens, blue lochs, and heathered hills of the Highlands.

“What am I doing on this hillside?” Fiona smiled at her younger brother, Patrick. “I am searching under rocks for ammonites and trilobites, for extinct arthropods and plant forms. I am helping our brother James in his research.” She stood up, chisel in hand. “And I intend to stay here in Glen Kinloch, teaching at the glen school. The Edinburgh Ladies’ Society is relying on me to do it. No one else could take the assignment.”
“No one else wanted it,” Patrick pointed out. “It is remote here, with steep, rugged terrain rife with smugglers and rascals. And rocks.”
“Lots of lovely rocks,” she said, as her brother laughed.

Fiona knows that such evidence will support the geological research of her twin brother, James, Lord Struan (A Rogue in Twilight, Book 2), a professor of natural science, as physical sciences were called in those days. The natural spirals and designs of tiny prehistoric life forms are beautiful and mysterious, and Fiona is fascinated as she searches—soon assisted by Dougal MacGregor, the laird of Kinloch, who is desperate to send the schoolmistress away from the glen for her safety, the well-being of his glen and his secret cache of invaluable whisky, and his own guarded heart. He figures digging up a few rocks with curious ancient impressions in them will please the beautiful Lowland teacher, and then he can persuade her to go home. But the more time he spends with her, the more he learns about her, the less he wants to send her away—even as his rascally uncles plot to send her running into the night.

What a fun book this was to write! I loved researching 19th-century paleontology and the understanding, at the time, of ancient geography and geology. Other research for the book included the educational system in 19th-century Scotland—Fiona has charge of a group of Gaelic-speaking young students who both delight and challenge her, and it was so interesting to use actual lessons in the book. For Dougal’s part of the story, once again I researched whisky distilling, smuggling practices, Scots law—and fairy legends. Most of my Highland stories weave in Celtic legends, which can bring sparkle and mystery to a Scottish adventure-romance.

These photos show just a bit of what I found in the Kelvingrove–beautiful little ammonites, trilobites, curious little fish, teeny-tiny vertebrates, and other creepy-crawlies that disappeared from the Highlands, and the Earth, so very long ago.

Here’s an excerpt from A Rogue in Moonlight. I do hope you’ll look for the book!

Fiona’s brother Patrick leaves her on the hillside (and goes off to resume his duties as an excise officer looking for smugglers). Soon she looks up from her work…

Wrapped in fog, a man stood on the rise above her, one booted foot propped on a rock, kilt draped over the powerful thigh. Fiona leaped to her feet, nearly tripping. He extended a hand. “Come up to me,” he said, fingers beckoning.

Fiona stared. The man seemed fierce, powerful, and wholly not of this earth. Tall and dark-haired, in a kilt of muted tones with a brown wool jacket, he looked like a Highlander from long ago, as if he had stepped out of time. His legs were strong and muscled, swathed in thick stockings to flat knees. Chestnut brown hair sifted in waves to his shoulders, and the shadow of a dark beard dusted his jaw. His eyes, narrowed beneath straight black brows, had a greenish hue. He glared, hand still extended.

“Who are you?” she asked, heart pounding. She had heard stories of the Sidhe, an ancient fairy race of tall, magnificent beings. They sometimes appeared to humans, even stole them away. And this handsome stranger appearing out of the mist made it seem very possible. “Are you one of the Fey?” she asked in a hushed voice.

He laughed and beckoned again. Fiona stepped back—then whirled to run, stumbling on the rocky slope. The Highlander was instantly there, taking her arm to draw her toward him in a strong grip.

“Come with me, Miss,” he said.

“No!” She pulled back. “You would steal me away!”

“What? Who the devil do you think I am?”

“One of the—er, Sidhe?” Then she realized how foolish it sounded.

He chuckled. “Not likely. As real as you are, I am thinking.”

A hot blush rose in her cheeks. She felt like an idiot. “What was I to think when you popped out of the mist looking like one of the elven kind?”

“I credit you with more sense. You seem a practical lass. Have you never seen a Highlander wearing the plaid, walking the hills?”

“Of course! But you could have given me a warning before startling me like that.”

“I beg your pardon.” He inclined his head, dark hair sliding over his brow. He seemed amused. “I did not mean to startle you.” He had the soft, elegant lilt of one who had spoken Gaelic before learning English. He released her arm.

Grabbing her bonnet brim against a gust of wind, she stepped back. “I must go.”

“I am thinking you will come with me.” He reached out. She evaded him, snatching up her knapsack and hammer, and turned to run. Again he had her by the arm, his hold firm—and yet not threatening. It felt almost protective.

“Let go!” Clutching the hammer in her free hand, she struck his forearm with the bruising thunk of iron smacking thick wool and taut muscle.

“A mhic Ifrinn!” Son of hell, she understood. “Give me that thing,” he barked, snatching the hammer. “I mean you no harm. I only want you gone from here for your well-being. These hills are not safe.”

“I was quite safe until you accosted me. You have no right to order me so.”

“I do. This is my glen. I am Dougal MacGregor of Kinloch. And tourists are not allowed here.”

“I am not a tourist, Mr. MacGregor. I am staying nearby.”

“The terrain is treacherous for those who do not know the safe paths. There are rogues and smugglers about, night and day.”

“Are you one of them?” She looked up at him. He had dropped her hammer into a pocket, but her bag held some hefty rocks that could serve as weapons if needed.

“Give me the bag,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. He took the knapsack off her shoulder and hoisted it to his own, its contents clunking. “What in the name of all that is holy is in here?”

“Rocks.”

“From my glen?”

“I will put them back if it troubles you.”

“Keep them. We have plenty of rocks. If it is gold or treasure you search for, there is none of that here. We would all be wealthy in this glen if so.”

“I am not looking for gold. I am a fossilist.”

“A what?”

“An amateur fossilist. I find and study rocks for imprints of ancient life forms.”

“Rocks! Take all you want,” he muttered. “But come with me.”

Thank you for reading this far! Have you been to Glasgow and the Kelvingrove? Or hunted for cool-looking rocks in the Highlands? I’ve picked up a few out there, but I’ve never actually found a fossil!