In a land torn by politics and heritage, Alex MacDougall—Scotland’s Lord Justice Clerk—balances loyalty to the British crown and his secret role in preserving outlawed Scottish traditions. When tasked with retrieving a mystical stone tied to Scotland’s destiny, he crosses paths with Lady Iris Erskine, an Englishwoman captivated by Scottish culture. Disguised as Ivy, Iris masquerades as a highland lassie to be close to the dashing highlander.
Love blossoms between Alex and Ivy as tensions simmer between the English and Scots. While Iris vexes over revealing the truth to her handsome Scot, Alex grapples with his family’s secret duty to protect magic Fae stones. With his beloved targeted and hidden truths emerging, the world he once knew dissolves before his eyes.
Can two hearts bound by fate be enough to stave off an evil Fae intent on destroying the MacDougall Clan, or will Alex lose all he loves?
Every book has a secret heartbeat—a moment, a location, or a piece of history that quietly shifts the entire story. For Highlander’s Holly & Ivy, that spark came from a place I stood in person.
In 2023, I visited Scotland and made my way to Glasgow Cathedral and the Necropolis, known locally as Scotland’s City of the Dead. You’ve likely seen it in many movies, most recently Robert Pattinson riding a motorbike through one night in The Batman (2022). The Necropolis is impossible to forget. A Victorian cemetery that rises on a hill east of Glasgow Cathedral like a silent sentinel, giving one of the most stunning, dramatic views of the entire city. Beautiful, spiritual, ominous—it felt like standing between worlds. I didn’t know then that this place would become one of the most important inspirations in a book.
A year later, I began researching Glasgow during the era of Highlander’s Holly & Ivy (after Culloden), and I discovered something surprising: the cathedral was there, but the Necropolis was not. No grand cemetery. No monuments. But the hill itself—the lookout—was.
And there were drawings from the rise of the city. Artists capturing the landscape as it grew from a village to a city from that exact rise.
That realization struck me hard. People long before me stood on that same hill, looking out across the changing skyline of Glasgow. Suddenly, I could see Alex MacDougall there too—not just a Highlander shaped by clan tradition, but a man stepping into his future in a Scotland remaking itself after battle, war, and near annihilation.
That hill became a turning point for Alex—a place where he shifts from youth to manhood.
An area where history presses in, where he and Iris confront what their love will demand.
And then research gave me a gift.
Buried in old sketches and records, I found an early drawing—the very beginning of what would later become the Necropolis. Just the faint suggestion of what would rise behind the cathedral. One minor detail, but it clicked something major into place in my story.
What did it inspire? Well… that part is a spoiler. You’ll have to read the book to discover how one hill—empty in their time, monumental in ours—shaped Alex and Iris’s journey.
But I will say this: Sometimes a story comes from a spark of research. Sometimes from imagination. And sometimes, from standing on a hill in Scotland, feeling history breathe around you.
The man in the blue plaid from last week approached and took Laurel’s hand. “Laurel Comyn, I am happy to see ye this week.” His regard drifted to her. “And yer friend as well.” His eyes went to her arisaid, “A Comyn. She’s ye…?”
Laurel shifted closer to him as she waved to Iris. “John MacArthur, my cousin Ivy Comyn.”
Mabina spoke from beside her. “She’s mute, John. Lost her voice.” Iris nodded and moved her hand to her throat.
A voice deep and rich called out over the crowd. “Welcome all!”
Everyone turned and perched on a box he stood—him, the man in the red plaid from last week. His deep black hair fell to his shoulders loose. As he raised his flask, his muscles undulated under the fabric of his shirt. Her focus traveled down, and today, he didn’t wear trews under his plaid. Bare knees exposed above his woolen socks and boots fit for working on a farm were on his feet. Her knees became weak, and she reached out to Laurel as she stumbled.
Laurel took her hand. “First time ye seen bare knees, lassie? Does the same to me every time.” When Iris’ gaze returned to him, his eyes were on her.
He nodded her way and called out. “To whisky and Scotland!” The crowd repeated his toast, and everyone broke out in conversation.
Laurel turned to speak to John, leaving Iris beside the crowd. Many mingled and spoke lively. Men offered others sips from their flasks as the women huddled together, gossiping about whatnot. Iris picked up a Gaelic word here and there. Taigh for house and bonnach for bannock. She enjoyed the rich brogue of the men’s voices and the rolling of the r’s in the women. Their outspoken banter brought a smile to her face.
A gust of wind blew through the area, clearing the slaughterhouse stench but brought on a chill. Iris went to cover her head, and her arisaid fell on one side.
“Here, lassie, allow me.” His rich baritone voice sent chills down her spine, and as she turned, she came face to face with—him.
He’d caught her plaid and wrapped it around her body, tucking it into the folds so it stayed put in the breeze. “My ma taught me the simple fold to keep her plaid in place.” His hand lingered on the fabric near her face. “Comyn, ye are a Comyn, like my ma.”
She swallowed and shivered again, but not from the cold. The light blue of his eyes lit up the night as they followed hers. She glanced down again, unsure what to do without a voice to converse with.
When her face rose, his eyes crinkled. “Have I scared ye lass?” His hand dropped, and he blew his breath. “I didn’t mean to.” She stared at him, a highlander she craved to be near, her highlander. He cleared his throat. He’d asked her something. Iris shook her head, her hand going to her throat. She opened her mouth, and nothing came out but air, hoping to get her point across.
Her Highlander’s eyebrows rose. “Ye can’t speak?” Iris shook her head.
His smile bent kind of sideways. “I am Alex, Alex MacDougall.” He took her hand in his and caressed it. “What shall I call ye then?”
Iris’s focus went to the greenery décor, and he followed. “Holly?” She shook her head, her gaze never leaving his.
He grinned. “Ivy then?”
Previous books in the series, Stone of Love, book 1, Brielle and Colin’s 18th century Scottish story. Stone of Fear, Book 2, Marie and John’s 13th century Scottish story. Stone of Lust, Book 3, Ainslie and Rannick’s Viking tale. Thistle in the Mistletoe featuring a couple in the past from Stone of Love.
Next in the series: Holly and Ivy, a Christmas companion book. Stone of Faith, book 6. Stone of Destiny, book 7. Evergreen Evermore, a Christmas companion book.
This series leads into another connected series, Dragons of Tantallon, a dragon-shapeshifter series revolving around the magic Iona Stones.
Margaret Izard is a multi-award-winning author of historical fantasy and paranormal romance novels. She spent her early years through college to adulthood dedicated to dance, theater, and performing. Over the years, she developed a love for great storytelling in different mediums. She does not waste a good story, be it movement, the spoken, or the written word. She discovered historical romance novels in middle school, which combined her passion for romance, drama, and fantasy. She writes exciting plot lines, steamy love scenes and always falls for a strong male with a soft heart. She lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband and adult triplets and loves to hear from readers.
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