“I’m freezing”, said Fraser.
“Oh, stop moaning” said Maggie, “Look, coorie in close to me”. She shifted and tucked in the duvet so that it covered them as well as it could. Immediately, she could feel the shared warmth of their bodies.
“That’s better but my bum is still cold. Remind me why we’re here,” said Fraser.
Maggie rolled her eyes. She was beginning to question if spending the night at the Machrie Stones was such a good idea. She had read a few days ago that tonight would be perfect – cold and still, with a full moon on the winter solstice. She had visited the stones before but never in the dead of night and never in the cold of winter. She doubted if anyone ever had. Impulsively she had told Fraser to pack his bags and ready the camper van. They were going somewhere special.
Fraser was full of questions on the journey west from the Vale. A combination of small roads and a ferry to the Isle of Arran. They parked and walked the final stretch across the moorland.
“I told you. It’s the longest night of the year, we’re here now and we are sitting here until midnight”.
“Why?”
Maggie nudged him with her shoulder. “Because it’s a special place at a special time. Because its romantic and because no-one else has ever spent the night here on the winter solstice”.
“I can see why”.
Fraser yelped when Maggie elbowed him in the ribs. “And more importantly”, she said “because I wanted to”.
It’s a good thing no-one else is around to see us thought Maggie as she considered their situation. Sitting, knees clutched to their chest, on a slab of stone, their backs against an ancient monolith, wrapped in layers — hiking boots, woolly hats, an old high-tog duvet pulled tight to their faces. Their noses ran red in the cold. The warmth of their breath occasionally escaping into the cold air.
They were sitting where others had once sat — hunters waiting out in the dark, farmers watching the turn of the seasons, ancient people who marked the passage of time by observing animals and crops.
Fraser said, “Who do you think built this place?”
“No-one knows. But we do know from radiocarbon dating that it’s Neolithic. That’s late stone age, about 3,000 years ago,” said Maggie.
“I know that”, said Fraser “I haven’t been married to an archaeologist for 6 years without picking up a few gems now and then”.
Maggie looked quizzically at Fraser. She was never sure if he meant to be funny or not. Sometimes, she thought that he thought she was Indiana Jones. “In case you are wondering the stones are from a local quarry, about 5 miles away. They were dragged here — not by giants or magic — just by ordinary, determined people one stone at a time.”
“Do we know why? It seems a lot of trouble.”
“We know they are ceremonial and used over many generations. They must have been important to be looked after through the centuries. Maybe they were used to celebrate births or marriages. We just don’t know”.
Fraser shuffled to a different position. His bum was sore. The damp cold of the stone bled into his back. “Well, I think it’s time to have hot chocolate”. He manoeuvred his bag from under the duvet and removed a flask and two tin cups. “I brought these from the campervan” he said while pouring his and hers. Then reaching back into his bag and to Maggie’s surprise, he produced a can of squeezy whisked cream. “Crème madame?”.
“Yes, kind sir. And, I don’t suppose you have some sprinkles in that bag do you?”
“Sorry no but….” Fraser reached into his bag and, with a conjurer’s flourish, produced a hip flask. “I do have something a little special. An 18-year-old single malt. Lagavulin.”
“Ooh that’s tempting” said Maggie “but I think I’ll stick to the sugar rush. I want to keep a clear head”.
“Suit yourself. All the more for me”.
They settled down, the hot chocolate providing warmth, cheer and nourishment. Maggie’s thoughts turned inward. To be in such a place, at such a special time. With the person she loved beyond life itself. She wondered how many others had sat in the same spot with the same thoughts. Thousands of years ago humans must have sat here — chatted, laughed, made plans, waved angry fists at the Gods. Maybe lovers snuggled under bearskins, their lives and their passions as fleeting as dust on a dragonfly’s wing.
The stones, she thought, knew everything but said nothing. Unworked monoliths. No inscriptions, no carvings. Their surfaces are rough, weathered and natural. They do hold a message though — not on the stones — but in where they stand, how they are arranged and how they relate to the sky and mountains.
“You see the mountains on either side of the valley?” said Maggie pointing north.
“Yes”
“That’s Glen Machrie, where it is thought that the hunter gatherers lived. It’s more sheltered, less exposed than the moorland”.
“It looks like a better place to live, more protected against raiders and the winter”
“Do you see a notch. The one formed by the hills flanking the upper part of the glen?”
“Yes. It’s hard to make out but I can see moonlight on the cliffs. And stars behind. What about it?”
“That’s what these stones are all about.”
“What do you mean?”
“On midsummers day the sun rises through that notch in direct alignment with the stones. The stone we are sitting against lines up with the centre piece. It’s a deliberate sightline by whoever built this thousands of years ago”
“Really? Cool. You mean if we came back here on midsummers day the sun would be shining in our faces?”
“Yes, at sunrise. Solstices were very important to people before they had any other concept of time or way of measuring the passage of time. All they knew was that there was a day in the summer when the days stop getting longer and started to get shorter and, of course, the reverse from winter to summer.”
“Is that why we are here?” asked Fraser.
“Yes, to witness the longest night. From tomorrow the days start getting longer again. By about 3 minutes per day. Even if it doesn’t feel like it”.
“So, when is the summer solstice?”
“It’ll be on 21st June next in 2026. Today’s the 21st December, so 6 months or 182 days from now”.
Maggie felt like this was it. If I don’t tell him now the moment will pass. She had been planning something special for weeks but it was only two days ago that she realised what had to be done. She had brought him here to tell him. Not in a kitchen, not with a test strip at the sink, but here — at the turning point of the year. She was nervous. She didn’t fear his reaction — only that the telling might be diminished. After the years of disappointment, she wanted this moment to be special. Up to now she thought that this moment would never happen.
“Fraser…”
“Woah. Look at that?” Fraser cried.
The sky, it seems, had its own plans. North, high above Glen Machrie, a pale smudge. It appeared quietly unannounced, no crack or flare. The colour seeped into the darkness. Green at first, then veins of silver and violet. It rippled slowly, like silk in a solar wind. The aurora pulsed, gently like a new heartbeat. For a moment Maggie thought the stones leaned towards the light as moon-shadow washed over them. They watched the mystery come alive, born from nothing more than magnetic attraction. Then, it was gone. The curtain drawn. The stars and moonlight take centre stage once more.
“Fraser…”
“Wow. Did you see that, Maggie? That was…just incredible. I can’t believe that happened. On this, of all nights. How lucky are we? I feel…I feel truly blessed to have seen this”.
“We are Fraser, we are blessed.” Maggie paused. “All three of us”.
It may have been a few seconds or a few thousands of years before Fraser spoke. Once he understood he said, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Yes. We’re having a baby”.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I’m nearly 3 months and due on 21st June next year”
“When the sun rises through the stones?”
“Yes”
Fraser squeezed Maggie’s hand. “This is a beautiful place”, he said “I’m glad you brought me — us! — here. Even if I’m freezing”.
“Yeah, it is and it will be just as special on midsummers day. Pity we can’t be here”.
Fraser laughed. “We’ll come back some other time with young Machrie. And, if it’s a girl maybe Màiri”.
“Machrie?”
“Yeah, a fine name for a strapping Scottish lad”
“I’ll be the judge of that”.
They sat and chatted well beyond midnight. The cold forgotten. The whisky untouched. The stones stood on the broad, open fertile plain of Glen Machrie. As they always had since humans dragged them here and placed them carefully as markers of time, change and return.
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© Steve Gillies 2026. All rights reserved.
Steve Gillies 
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