Isla MacRae: The First Dance | Scottish Highlands Story Continues | MGT Printables
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Isla's story continues.
The harvest celebration at Ardmuir was, by every measure Isla knew how to take, a triumph. Lists checked. Budgets held. Every free hand on the estate put to good use, right down to the youngest kitchen boy pressed into carrying chairs. It was exactly the kind of work Isla was built for — methodical, useful, entirely within her control.
What she hadn't planned for was how often the duke found reasons to help her.
It started small. He arrived early one morning to help move benches she hadn't asked him to move. He fell into step beside her while she counted casks of ale against her tally, offering an opinion she hadn't requested and, more surprisingly, hadn't minded. By the third day, she had simply stopped being surprised to find him there — checking the weather with her, correcting a miscount in the tenant list, standing patiently while she re-checked his correction and found he was right.
He never once tried to charm her out of the ledgers. He simply worked beside her inside them, and Isla — who had spent a lifetime preferring solitude to company — found she did not mind this particular company at all.
She told herself it meant nothing. She has never been very good at lying to herself, but she gave it a determined effort anyway.
By the night of the celebration, the great hall at Ardmuir was full in a way it hadn't been in years — tenant farmers and nobility shoulder to shoulder, firelight catching heather-purple ribbons strung along the rafters, whisky-amber light spilling from every candle Isla had personally counted into place. She stood near the edge of it all, satisfied in the particular way that only comes from watching a well-run plan unfold exactly as intended.
She did not expect to be pulled into the middle of it.
The duke found her there, at the edge, and did not ask so much as simply hold out his hand — the way he'd been doing all week, assuming her help before she offered it, and somehow never once presuming too much. When the fiddles struck up for the first dance, it was Isla's hand he was holding, and Isla's feet, entirely unpracticed at anything but standing still behind a desk, that he guided through steps she'd never properly learned.
She did not step on his feet. She counted this, privately, as one of the greater accomplishments of her life.
Her face was sore from smiling by the time she finally sat down by the fire that night, a tartan blanket pulled around her shoulders, the last of the celebration's noise still ringing faintly somewhere beyond her chamber door. She had never been one for dancing, or frivolity, or any of the things that made up an ordinary young woman's ordinary hopes. And yet she had to admit — if only to the fire, and to no one else — that it had been the best night of her life.
Was it possible, she wondered, that there could be love out there for a woman like her?
She did not have an answer. For once, she found she didn't mind not having one yet.
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[If Christmas craft shows are on your calendar this year, now is the moment to start planning — not in October when the good booths are already booked and you're scrambling to print a sign. A little structure now saves you from the classic mistake so many of us have made: spending weeks making something beautiful that nobody at the show actually wants.
This is Part 1 of our Christmas craft show prep series, covering the groundwork: researching trends, deciding what to bring, mapping your booth, sorting out how you'll take payment, and choosing venues that are actually worth your table fee.
It's tempting to dive straight into production mode, especially when you already have a signature style. But before you commit hours (and materials budget) to new stock, take time to look at what's actually selling this season.
The goal here isn't to copy anyone. It's to make sure the hours you invest go toward products people are actually hoping to find on the tables this year.
Once you have a feel for what's trending, it's time to get concrete. Craft shows reward focus — a table that's easy to shop tends to outsell a table trying to be everything to everyone.
Before show day, sketch out your booth. Literally draw it, even roughly. This is where a lot of vendors get caught out — realizing the morning of that they're missing a key piece of equipment.
Walking through your booth plan on paper now means you're not making a panicked last-minute run for a folding table the night before.
Cash-only tables leave money on the table — literally. Most shoppers expect to tap or swipe, especially for higher-ticket items.
Not all craft shows are created equal, and table fees can add up fast if you're picking events without foot traffic to back them up.
A little research here can be the difference between a show that covers its fee twice over and one that barely breaks even.
Once you've got your research, product lineup, booth plan, payment setup, and venue list locked in, the next step is turning all of that into a real production and marketing timeline — so stay tuned for Part 2, where we'll map out the countdown to show day.
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You know the feeling. You finish a book, close the cover, and just... sit there. Staring at the wall. Unable to speak to another human being for at least twenty-four hours. If you've ever needed a full recovery day after a book wrecked you in the best possible way, this spread is for you.
The "Emotional Hangover Log" is one of the most fun reading journal spreads we've come across — equal parts silly and cathartic, and genuinely satisfying to fill in after a book that leaves you emotionally flattened. Here's how to recreate it in your own journal, plus where our Romantasy printables can shortcut the decorative work.
This spread isn't just a book log — it's a confession booth for readers who take their heartbreak seriously. A few key elements make it sing:
Start with a simple four-box grid on your page — one box per book, so you can track a small stack of recent reads at once. Hand-letter your headers in a serif or script style to keep the tone a little dramatic, a little romantic, exactly like the books you're logging. Leave generous blank lines under each prompt so there's room to really spiral if the book calls for it.
For the heart rating system, five small hand-drawn or stamped hearts per box does the trick — shade them in as you rate the damage, from a single wounded heart to all five fully colored in for the books that truly ended you.
If hand-lettering and illustrating isn't your thing (or you just want it to look polished fast), our Romantasy Collection has exactly the elements this spread calls for — rose borders, a wax seal motif, castle silhouettes, and sword accents, all ready to layer straight into your journal. Print, cut, and paste your way to the same dramatic, fairytale-gothic aesthetic without picking up a paintbrush.
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Isolde swallows the last of the bitter wine in her cup and smiles at her tablemates. "I fear I am bone weary this evening. I hope it will not offend you if I excuse myself to lay down in my chamber."
The guests on either side nod, gracious as ever, and she waits for the servant boy to pull her chair back from the table. She rises with practiced ease, the picture of composure — the mark on her wrist hidden beneath her sleeve, exactly where it has been all night.
But something catches her attention as she turns from the table.
A servant girl, watching her. Not the polite, downcast glance expected of the household staff — something sharper. Something that lingers a half-second too long, the way one looks at a coin left carelessly out in the open.
Isolde gives her a cutting glance in return, and the girl's eyes drop properly, as etiquette demands. But the damage is done. Isolde is left unsettled, turning the moment over as she walks.
Did that girl see something?
What could have possibly emboldened her to look so directly in the first place — unless she'd caught a glimpse of what Isolde has spent weeks concealing?
It's more urgent now than ever that she find someone — anyone — who can tell her what this mark truly means, and what she's meant to do about it, before her father finds out. The king is not known for mercy, even toward his own daughter. And more than one maiden has met the pyre for far less than a mark no one can explain.
Isolde keeps her eyes fixed forward, avoiding conversation, and walks quickly down the long flagstone hallway — up the stairs, toward the fragile safety of her bedchamber.
Isolde's world is only just beginning to unravel. Follow her story — and find the printables inspired by it — in the Romantasy Collection.
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A My Grandma's Teacups Reading Quiz
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Nobody remembers whose idea it was, exactly. Someone suggested a garden — neutral ground, somewhere between all of their worlds and none of them — and somehow, impossibly, all seven of them showed up.
Isla arrived last, still faintly smelling of woodsmoke and rain, and took her place at the end of the stone balustrade without a word. Isolde came next, quiet and watchful, the pale mark on her wrist catching the light when she leaned forward. Kira showed up in half her armor, like she hadn't quite decided whether this counted as safe ground. Lilian stood a little apart at first, candlelit even in daylight somehow, until Clara — flour still on her sleeve — pulled her gently into the row. Genevieve arrived with a spool of ribbon still looped around one wrist, straight from the shop. Eleanor came last of all, five minutes stolen from some ballroom none of the others had ever seen, and slid in beside Isla like she'd always belonged there.
Seven women. Seven entirely different worlds. And somehow, leaning on the same sun-warmed stone, they looked like they'd known each other for years.
This series started in the Scottish Highlands, in a storm-lit library at the edge of a loch, with a woman who has never once needed rescuing. It wound its way through a castle under a curse no one asked for, a war camp with a dragon curled just outside the tent, a candlelit vanity table on the last ordinary evening before everything changed. It stopped in a Bath dress shop before the morning rush, slipped out to a garden during a ball for five stolen minutes, and settled, finally, at a kitchen table where the bread never quite burns.
Seven collections. Seven muses. Seven completely different aesthetics, built one at a time over the better part of a month — and somehow, standing all together like this, they don't clash. They complete each other. Heather purple and dragon-scale green. Candlelit gothic and icy Regency blue. Cottage sage and burgundy silk. Different enough to give every reader somewhere to belong, close enough in spirit that any one of them could have pulled up a chair beside the others without anyone blinking.
Here's the truth: most readers aren't just one of them. You're Isla on a stormy Tuesday and Eleanor at a party you didn't want to go to. You're Clara most mornings and Kira the one day a month you finally say what you actually think.
But if you had to pick — if you had to choose which garden you'd have shown up to that afternoon and which spot on the balustrade would have been yours — we built something for exactly that question. A proper quiz, seven questions, one heroine at the end who fits you closer than you'd expect. It's coming to the blog very soon. Keep an eye on your inbox.
Until then, thank you for reading along all month. Every one of these seven women started as a single image and a handful of sentences, and somehow they've turned into seven full collections, seven inboxes full of letters that will never be sent, and one very crowded, very unlikely garden.
"Seven women. Seven entirely different worlds. And somehow, they looked like they'd known each other for years."
"You're Isla on a stormy Tuesday and Eleanor at a party you didn't want to go to."
"Different enough to give every reader somewhere to belong. Close enough in spirit to pull up a chair beside the others."
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A World Outside My Window