Linlithgow Palace

Listen first. Wind moves across the loch, and the swans call somewhere near the reeds. Under your feet, the grass of the Peel slopes gently toward the water. Above you rise the walls of a palace with no roof at all. The sky is its ceiling now. Clouds pass over empty window frames, and pigeons settle where kings once slept. Welcome to Linlithgow Palace, one of the great royal homes of the Stewart kings of Scotland.

This low hill has been a seat of power for a very long time. In the early fourteenth century, during the wars between Scotland and England, the English king Edward the First built a fortified camp here. Scots called it a peel, an old word for an enclosure of timber and earth. That is why the parkland around you is still called the Peel. The name has outlived the soldiers by more than seven hundred years.

The palace you see began with a disaster. In 1424, a great fire swept through the town and destroyed the older royal manor on this site. King James the First of Scotland had only just returned from long captivity in England. He decided to rebuild here, and he did not want a simple castle. He wanted a palace — a place of comfort, ceremony and display, not only defence.

That difference matters. Most Scottish royal strongholds of this period were built for war first. Linlithgow was built for pleasure. It sat halfway between Edinburgh and Stirling, an easy day's ride from both. The court could hunt in the countryside, sail on the loch, and live in style. Over the next century, one Stewart king after another added a new range, a new chapel, a new gateway.

Walk toward the entrance and look for the outer gateway. King James the Fifth added it in the sixteenth century. Above the arch you will see carved panels. They show the emblems of four orders of knighthood that he belonged to. These included the English Order of the Garter and the Burgundian Order of the Golden Fleece. It was a message in stone. James wanted every visitor to know that the King of Scots stood among the great princes of Europe.

Now step into the courtyard, and stand still for a moment. Four ranges of building enclose you on every side. In the centre stands an elaborate stone fountain, carved with crowns, faces and strange little figures. James the Fifth commissioned it around the 1530s. It is often described as the oldest surviving fountain of its kind in Britain. Here is a surprise many visitors miss: after careful restoration, it was made to run with water again in the 2000s.

Locals like to tell a story about that fountain. According to one popular tale, when Bonnie Prince Charlie passed through Linlithgow in 1745, the fountain ran with wine to welcome him. Whether it truly flowed red that day is uncertain. But the story shows how this courtyard was meant to be used — for celebration, music and noise, not quiet contemplation.

This palace saw the birth of two Scottish monarchs. James the Fifth was born here in 1512. Thirty years later, in December 1542, his daughter was born in these walls. Within days, her father was dead, and the tiny baby became queen. History knows her as Mary, Queen of Scots. Her life would carry her to France, back to Scotland, and finally to captivity and execution in England. It all began here, beside this quiet loch.

Climb to the upper levels if you can, and find the north-west tower. At the very top is a small room known as Queen Margaret's Bower. Margaret Tudor was the English wife of King James the Fourth. Legend has it that in 1513 she sat in this little chamber, watching the road for her husband's return from battle. He never came back. He died at Flodden, one of the worst defeats in Scottish history. Whether she truly waited here, no one can say for certain.

The Great Hall belongs to the oldest part of the palace, from the time of James the First. Stand inside it and look up. You will see the remains of a vast triple fireplace at one end. Imagine the room roofed, warm, and full of tapestries and candlelight. Imagine trumpets, dancing and long tables loaded with food. Today the stone is bare and grey, and the wind moves through freely. The size of the space still tells you what it once meant.

The palace slowly lost its purpose. In 1603, King James the Sixth also became King of England and moved his court to London. A few years later, the north range collapsed. James had it rebuilt in a newer style, and you can see the change in the more regular windows on that side. But the kings rarely came back. Later, in the seventeenth century, Oliver Cromwell's soldiers occupied the palace during his campaign in Scotland.

The final blow came in January 1746, during the last Jacobite rising. Government troops were quartered here. When they left, a fire broke out, and it spread through the building. Whether it was an accident or carelessness is still debated. The roofs burned, and they were never replaced. Ever since, Linlithgow has stood open to the sky. Here is the second surprise: the fire did not destroy the palace's character. It left the stone shell almost complete, so you can still read the whole plan.

Before you leave, walk out to the edge of the Peel and turn around. Next to the palace rises Saint Michael's Parish Church, where Stewart monarchs worshipped. Its tower is topped by a modern spire in pale metal, added in the 1960s. Some people love it, others do not. Beyond it, the loch reflects the walls, and the swans drift past as if nothing has changed.

Take a last look at those empty windows. Five hundred years ago, a queen may have looked out of one of them, toward this same water. As you walk back toward the town, listen again — to the wind, the birds, the gravel under your shoes. The kings are gone. The palace remains, roofless and patient, still watching over the loch.