Jeanne
Take a step back in time with Jeanne to 1360's Scotland, as she channels the story of Lizbeth Martin and Rolph Kinduin.
Lizbeth Martins' Story
Returning home after being recently widowed, Lizbeth is a broken woman. She has just been informed that her late husband has squandered away her dower lands along with his own estates, with the exception of a worthless Broch Tower situated in the Scottish Highlands. For all intents and purposes, Lizbeth has been left penniless and destitute. Feeling alone and frightened in a savage time when women are used as chatel on the bargaining tables, Lizbeth vows to never again be the winning token of any mans dealings.
Meet Rolph Kinduin
Although born on the "wrong side" of the blanket, Rolph is a man to be reckoned with, a man of great principle and strength. He has spent many years fighting and working hard to attain the respect of his clansman. So, it's only natural that when his half brother, the Laird of his clan dies unexpectedly, the people turn to Rolph for guidance. He listens to their concerns and becomes determined to put an end to the foolish blood fueding and strife. To bring back prosperity and peace to his people, whatever the cost.
Devil of The Highlands is the story of Lizbeth and Rolph, and their triumphs and their struggles, both seperate and together. From the time of their very first meeting as children until their meeting several years later in a Highland glen, it's all out war between the two of them: A war of emotions, trusts, betrayals, desires and eventually love.
Please join us as they tell their story in their own words. After all, every life ever lived, is worth remembering.
Jeanne
Jeanne is an Ordained Spiritualist Minister and a Nationally Accredited Psychic/Medium. She has developed and taught a curriculum for psychic development and mediumship, and has spent the last 20 years lecturing, writing, teaching and giving both public and private readings.
Currently, she is living in upstate New York, surrounded by family and friends. Channelling and writing these books has become her passion because of her firm belief that Every Life Ever Lived is Worth Knowing About.
Scotland 1360
As adventures went, this was undoubtedly the most boring, Lizbeth thought as she descended the steps of Curthill Castle. The sail north to Dornoch Firth had been tedious and uneventful. When they landed, Megan's elderly parents, Ennis and Mary Sutherland, had greeted her like a long lost daughter, fussing and hovering worse then her own family.
Inside Lizbeth, a storm was brewing to rival the one ruffling the sea below the cliffs that supported the old castle. She was done waiting, done following orders. Primed for a fight, she stopped at the foot of the stairs and glared at the men preparing to travel into the Highlands....without her.
Dawn had not yet broken and over the castle walls the mountains stood out against the pale sky, sullen, dark, and mysterious. A chill wind moaned around the castle, whipping the tourches that rimmed the courtyard. Beneath their thick woolen coats, she caught the glint of armor and the gleaming lengths of wide broadswords, bathed red in the firelight.
Despite her resolve to be away, a shiver worked its way down Lizbeths spine. If she had any sense, she'd stay safely behind at Curthill while Sir Giles and his troop inspected her new property. But she did not feel sensible. She felt reckless, her dormant Spirit having been stirred. She was not staying here. Lizbeth marched across the courtyard to confront Sir Giles.
"But...but m'lord expressly said ye were ta stay here whilst we inspected the tower," the unhappy knight stammered.
Lizbeth crossed her arms and tapped her foot, a gesture her family had long ago learned to dread. "I can ride as well as any of your men. If you dinna take me with you, I'll only follow."
Sir Giles' moustache twitched. "ye wouldna'..."
"Aye, she would." Watson stepped down from the shadows into a circle of torchlight. Leathery and brown as a dried plum and scarcely taller then herself, the wiry man scanned Lizbeth from the coronet of her tightly pinned braids to the hem of her split woolen riding skirt.
Watson grunted as he turned to Sir Giles. "Best ha' another beast saddled. I can keep a better eye on yon spoilt bairn if she's beside me, not bumblin' about on the trail behind us."
Lizbeth wanted nothing more than to reach out and strangle his scrawny neck, but she had what she wanted. Besides, Watson's sarcasm was better then Lady Mary's weeping and hand-wringing when she discovered her guest was departing.
