Bonny Jane of Bothwell wept inconsolably. Her wails were like a storm battering the halls of Bothwell Castle, and they reached a monk at Blantyre Priory, who came at once to comfort her. 

‘What is wrong, my child?’ The monk asked once he reached her sorrowful hall.

Jane caught her breath enough to say, ‘My father has died, and I am to be wed to Lord Malcolm in twenty days.’ 

The monk gently took Jane’s hand and replied, ‘I know of Lord Malcolm. He is a wealthy man with great power. You will do well to marry him and rule at his side the islands he presides over.’ 

But this only served to make Jane weep harder. ‘No, I cannot marry Lord Malcolm, I won’t!’ she cried. ‘I love my dear Edgar, who lives beyond the River Tweed and works in the mills.’

‘Your father, if he were alive, would not approve of this marriage to a peasant,’ the monk said. But he looked to the young woman with sympathy in his gaze and he said, ‘What would you do if there were to be a horse at the castle gate that might take you to your love?’ 

Jane gripped the kind monk’s hands, hope beating in her chest. ‘Oh, I’d leave the castle so soundly, no one would hear me and I’d ride swiftly to my Edgar’s side!’ 

‘Then dry your eyes,’ the monk said. ‘And watch from the tower each night. When you see a light shining from Blantyre priory, come to the gate at once, and there your love will be awaiting with his horse.’ 

From that moment on, Jane hated the sight of the sun. She longed for nightfall, and each night she stayed by her window until dawn, getting excited over a glimpse of the moon, or the shimmer of a lantern on the road below. She could hardly bear the waiting, the only thing keeping her occupied was her lute, on which she played love songs for Edgar. 

But then, on the night of Halloween, Jane saw a light at Blantyre priory. She could hardly believe her eyes at first, and blinked, and blinked, until she was sure. And then, without so much as a thought to her dearly departed father or the noble she was betrothed to, she flew to the gatehouse to meet her Edgar. 

Only when she got there, only the monk was there to greet her. 

‘He waits for you at the Clyde!’ the monk said. ‘Now come, let us ride!’ 

They rode fast, churning up earth and taking hills at dangerous speeds, until they reached the banks of the Clyde. There, Jane saw a shadowed figure beside a boat and almost wept with glee. Edgar! It had to be! She leapt from the horse and ran to his side, but when she got there she did not recognise the man before her. This man was no Edgar, but a rugged boatman. Before she had the chance to question him, she was grabbed from behind, and turned around to find herself in the arms of the monk. 

‘You are mine!’ the monk sneered. ‘Long have I loved you, and now you shall come with me to Blantyre priory where we shall live together forever.’

Jane struggled and cried out for Edgar, but when she did so, the monk pressed a knife to her neck and forced her into the boat. The boatman cast off into the Clyde. 

The going was steady until the wind picked up to a moan, buffeting the boat from side to side, waves lashing up onto the deck. Thunder drummed. Lightning scored the sky, and struck the little boat and the vessel quickly began to take on water. 

‘We’ll go down if we don’t lose some weight!’ the boatman said. ‘Toss the girl!’

Jane screamed as the monk threw her into the Clyde to save his own skin, and he yelled for the boatman to row faster. But it was too late. The boat had already taken on too much water, and it sunk down, down, down, taking its three passengers with it. 

And that was the end of poor Bonny Jane. It’s said that every Halloween, the boatman still rows, the light from Blantyre still shines, and Jane still plays her lute for her dear love, Edgar. 

Adapted from Bothwell’s Bonny Jane by Matthew Gregory Lewis