Borthwick Castle

Stand still for a moment and listen. The wind moves through the trees on the slope below, and somewhere close a small stream runs over stones. Above you rises a wall of grey ashlar, which is stone cut into smooth, regular blocks. It climbs so high and so straight that your neck tilts back to follow it. This is Borthwick Castle, a few miles south of Dalkeith in the green folds of Midlothian, and it has watched over this valley for nearly six hundred years.

The castle began with a royal permission. In 1430, King James the First of Scotland granted Sir William Borthwick a licence to build a fortified house here. In medieval Scotland, a lord could not simply raise a stronghold wherever he liked. The crown wanted to know who held stone walls, and why. Sir William was a trusted figure at court, and the licence was a mark of that trust. What he built was not a sprawling fortress with many buildings. It was a single, enormous tower house.

A tower house is a very Scottish idea. Instead of spreading out across the ground, the whole household lived in one tall block of stone. Storage sat at the bottom. The great hall sat above it. Private rooms and chambers climbed higher still. Defence came from height, from thick walls, and from small, careful openings. Borthwick takes this idea further than most. Historians often describe it as one of the largest and best-preserved medieval tower houses in Scotland.

Look at the shape of the building as you walk around it. The main tower is not a simple box. Two wings project from one side, with a deep, narrow gap between them. From certain angles the castle looks almost like two towers standing shoulder to shoulder. The gap lets light reach windows that would otherwise face blank stone. It is a clever answer to a real problem — how to bring daylight into a building designed to keep enemies out.

The site itself was chosen with care. The castle stands on a rocky rise above the meeting of small streams, with the land falling away around it. An outer curtain wall, which is a defensive wall around the main building, once enclosed the approach. Even today, the walk up feels deliberate. You do not stumble upon Borthwick. You arrive at it, step by step, with the tower growing larger at every turn of the path.

Now to the most famous chapter in the castle's story. In 1567, Mary, Queen of Scots, came here with James Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell. The two had married only weeks before, and the marriage turned many Scottish nobles against them. Bothwell was widely suspected in the murder of Mary's previous husband, Lord Darnley. Borthwick offered a strong refuge. But a refuge can also become a trap.

Armed lords gathered outside and surrounded the castle. Bothwell slipped away first. Mary stayed behind for a short time. Then, according to the accounts of the period, she escaped in disguise, dressed as a man, and rode off to meet him. It is a striking picture — a queen in borrowed clothes, leaving one of the strongest houses in the land by stealth. Her freedom did not last long. Within weeks she was a prisoner, and soon she had lost her throne.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. The castle carries the marks of a later conflict on its own skin. In 1650, during the wars of that century, forces under Oliver Cromwell, the English military leader, arrived at Borthwick. They brought cannon. The lord of the castle chose to surrender rather than see his home destroyed. But the guns had already fired. On one face of the tower, the stone still shows damage from that bombardment — scars left in place for more than three and a half centuries.

Inside, the heart of the castle is the great hall. This was the room for feasts, for justice, for receiving guests and showing power. It is a tall, vaulted space, which means the ceiling is a curved stone arch rather than flat timber. A huge hooded fireplace stands at one end, large enough that a person could almost stand inside it. Imagine the room on a winter night — smoke, firelight on the stone, voices echoing off the curve of the roof.

The second surprise is a quiet one from the twentieth century. During the Second World War, Borthwick was used to keep important national records and treasures safe, away from the risk of bombing in the cities. A building made to protect a medieval lord found a new purpose — protecting the paper memory of a nation. Thick walls, a remote setting, and a long tradition of keeping things secure made it a sensible choice.

Today, the castle is no longer a military stronghold. It works as a hotel and a venue for weddings and gatherings. That changes how you experience it. This is a lived-in building, not an empty ruin. Rooms are warm, stairs are still climbed every day, and the great hall still hosts meals. If you are visiting from outside, be respectful of guests, and check in advance about what access is possible.

It is worth looking at the wider landscape before you leave. The castle sits in a quiet corner of Midlothian, with fields, woodland, and the small parish church of Borthwick close by. The family that built this tower is remembered in that church too. From the slope, you can see how the castle commands the little valley. Once, that view meant control of the land. Now it simply means a long, calm look across green country.

So take one more look at the tower before you turn away. Notice how the light falls differently on each face of the stone as the clouds move. Find the place where the wall still carries the damage from the cannon. Think of a queen in disguise passing through the gate below. Then listen again to the stream and the trees. They were here before Sir William laid the first stone — and they will still be here as you walk back down the hill.