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And the Corpse Wore Tartan
Not yet published
Expected 12 Feb 26From Stuart MacBride, the Sunday Times bestselling author of the smash-hit Logan McRae series.
Move Over Miss Marple . . .
The great and the not-so-good are gathered at Skirivour Castle Hotel, in the heart of the Highlands, for the wedding of the year – but they weren’t expecting Detective Sergeant Roberta Steel to crash their party. And get horribly, horribly drunk.
The whole valley’s been cut off by a massive thunderstorm and the phone lines are down, so when the father-of-the-bride’s body is discovered – decoratively impaled on a stag’s head in the hotel lobby – it’s up to DS Steel to find out whodunit. Which isn’t easy when you’ve got a monstrous hangover and only a world-weary sergeant and a halfwit police constable for backup.
With no witnesses and every wedding guest a suspect, Roberta will need to use every one of her little grey cells if she’s going to catch the killer and get out of there alive.
Praise for Stuart
‘MacBride is a damned fine writer’ – Peter James, author of Picture You Dead
‘Dark and brilliantly written’ – Linwood Barclay, author of I Will Ruin You
‘Crime fiction of the highest order’ – Mark Billingham, author of The Last Dance
Move Over Miss Marple . . .
The great and the not-so-good are gathered at Skirivour Castle Hotel, in the heart of the Highlands, for the wedding of the year – but they weren’t expecting Detective Sergeant Roberta Steel to crash their party. And get horribly, horribly drunk.
The whole valley’s been cut off by a massive thunderstorm and the phone lines are down, so when the father-of-the-bride’s body is discovered – decoratively impaled on a stag’s head in the hotel lobby – it’s up to DS Steel to find out whodunit. Which isn’t easy when you’ve got a monstrous hangover and only a world-weary sergeant and a halfwit police constable for backup.
With no witnesses and every wedding guest a suspect, Roberta will need to use every one of her little grey cells if she’s going to catch the killer and get out of there alive.
Praise for Stuart
‘MacBride is a damned fine writer’ – Peter James, author of Picture You Dead
‘Dark and brilliantly written’ – Linwood Barclay, author of I Will Ruin You
‘Crime fiction of the highest order’ – Mark Billingham, author of The Last Dance
Kindle Edition
Expected publication February 12, 2026
32 people want to read
About the author
Stuart MacBride
87 books2,723 followersAka Stuart B. MacBride
The life and times of a bearded write-ist.
Stuart MacBride (that's me) was born in Dumbarton -- which is Glasgow as far as I'm concerned -- moving up to Aberdeen at the tender age of two, when fashions were questionable. Nothing much happened for years and years and years: learned to play the recorder, then forgot how when they changed from little coloured dots to proper musical notes (why the hell couldn't they have taught us the notes in the first bloody place? I could have been performing my earth-shattering rendition of 'Three Blind Mice' at the Albert Hall by now!); appeared in some bizarre World War Two musical production; did my best to avoid eating haggis and generally ran about the place a lot.
Next up was an elongated spell in Westhill -- a small suburb seven miles west of Aberdeen -- where I embarked upon a mediocre academic career, hindered by a complete inability to spell and an attention span the length of a gnat's doodad.
And so to UNIVERSITY, far too young, naive and stupid to be away from the family home, sharing a subterranean flat in one of the seedier bits of Edinburgh with a mad Irishman, and four other bizarre individuals. The highlight of walking to the art school in the mornings (yes: we were students, but we still did mornings) was trying not to tread in the fresh bloodstains outside our front door, and dodging the undercover CID officers trying to buy drugs. Lovely place.
But university and I did not see eye to eye, so off I went to work offshore. Like many all-male environments, working offshore was the intellectual equivalent of Animal House, only without the clever bits. Swearing, smoking, eating, more swearing, pornography, swearing, drinking endless plastic cups of tea... and did I mention the swearing? But it was more money than I'd seen in my life! There's something about being handed a wadge of cash as you clamber off the minibus from the heliport, having spent the last two weeks offshore and the last two hours in an orange, rubber romper suit / body bag, then blowing most of it in the pubs and clubs of Aberdeen. And being young enough to get away without a hangover.
Then came a spell of working for myself as a graphic designer, which went the way of all flesh and into the heady world of studio management for a nation-wide marketing company. Then some more freelance design work, a handful of voiceovers for local radio and video production companies and a bash at being an actor (with a small 'a'), giving it up when it became clear there was no way I was ever going to be good enough to earn a decent living.
It was about this time I fell into bad company -- a blonde from Fife who conned me into marrying her -- and started producing websites for a friend's fledgling Internet company. From there it was a roller coaster ride (in that it made a lot of people feel decidedly unwell) from web designer to web manager, lead programmer, team lead and other assorted technical bollocks with three different companies, eventually ending up as a project manager for a global IT company.
But there was always the writing (well, that's not true, the writing only started two chapters above this one). I fell victim to that most dreadful of things: peer pressure. Two friends were writing novels and I thought, 'why not? I could do that'.
Took a few years though...
The life and times of a bearded write-ist.
Stuart MacBride (that's me) was born in Dumbarton -- which is Glasgow as far as I'm concerned -- moving up to Aberdeen at the tender age of two, when fashions were questionable. Nothing much happened for years and years and years: learned to play the recorder, then forgot how when they changed from little coloured dots to proper musical notes (why the hell couldn't they have taught us the notes in the first bloody place? I could have been performing my earth-shattering rendition of 'Three Blind Mice' at the Albert Hall by now!); appeared in some bizarre World War Two musical production; did my best to avoid eating haggis and generally ran about the place a lot.
Next up was an elongated spell in Westhill -- a small suburb seven miles west of Aberdeen -- where I embarked upon a mediocre academic career, hindered by a complete inability to spell and an attention span the length of a gnat's doodad.
And so to UNIVERSITY, far too young, naive and stupid to be away from the family home, sharing a subterranean flat in one of the seedier bits of Edinburgh with a mad Irishman, and four other bizarre individuals. The highlight of walking to the art school in the mornings (yes: we were students, but we still did mornings) was trying not to tread in the fresh bloodstains outside our front door, and dodging the undercover CID officers trying to buy drugs. Lovely place.
But university and I did not see eye to eye, so off I went to work offshore. Like many all-male environments, working offshore was the intellectual equivalent of Animal House, only without the clever bits. Swearing, smoking, eating, more swearing, pornography, swearing, drinking endless plastic cups of tea... and did I mention the swearing? But it was more money than I'd seen in my life! There's something about being handed a wadge of cash as you clamber off the minibus from the heliport, having spent the last two weeks offshore and the last two hours in an orange, rubber romper suit / body bag, then blowing most of it in the pubs and clubs of Aberdeen. And being young enough to get away without a hangover.
Then came a spell of working for myself as a graphic designer, which went the way of all flesh and into the heady world of studio management for a nation-wide marketing company. Then some more freelance design work, a handful of voiceovers for local radio and video production companies and a bash at being an actor (with a small 'a'), giving it up when it became clear there was no way I was ever going to be good enough to earn a decent living.
It was about this time I fell into bad company -- a blonde from Fife who conned me into marrying her -- and started producing websites for a friend's fledgling Internet company. From there it was a roller coaster ride (in that it made a lot of people feel decidedly unwell) from web designer to web manager, lead programmer, team lead and other assorted technical bollocks with three different companies, eventually ending up as a project manager for a global IT company.
But there was always the writing (well, that's not true, the writing only started two chapters above this one). I fell victim to that most dreadful of things: peer pressure. Two friends were writing novels and I thought, 'why not? I could do that'.
Took a few years though...
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
And the Corpse Wore Tartan is a wickedly entertaining blend of dark humour and classic crime thriller chaos — the kind of book that lets you laugh at the absurdity of murder one moment and lean in, genuinely tense, the next.
DS Roberta Steel is an absolute menace in the best possible way. She crashes the Highland wedding of the year with all the grace of a wrecking ball, gets catastrophically drunk, and then wakes up to find herself the only detective available when the father of the bride turns up artistically impaled on a stag’s head in the hotel lobby. It’s grisly, it’s dramatic, and it’s exactly the sort of crime scene Steel deserves to stumble into.
The storm‑cut valley and isolated Skirivour Castle Hotel give the story a deliciously claustrophobic edge. With no way out, no phone lines, and a lobby decorated with a corpse, every wedding guest becomes a suspect — and Steel, nursing a hangover that could qualify as a medical emergency, has to piece together the truth with only a weary sergeant and a constable who’s… let’s say not firing on all cylinders.
MacBride’s trademark dark humour shines here. The dialogue snaps, the character interactions are gloriously unfiltered, and Steel’s internal monologue is a masterclass in chaotic brilliance. Yet beneath the comedy, the mystery is genuinely tight: clever clues, sharp twists, and a killer reveal that feels earned.
It’s a crime thriller that never forgets to have fun — sharp, irreverent, and just twisted enough to keep you on edge. A brilliantly dark, laugh‑out‑loud murder mystery with a beating thriller heart. DS Steel steals every scene, and the Highlands have rarely felt so deadly or so entertaining.
My thanks to Stuart McBride, the publisher and netgalley for the ARC
DS Roberta Steel is an absolute menace in the best possible way. She crashes the Highland wedding of the year with all the grace of a wrecking ball, gets catastrophically drunk, and then wakes up to find herself the only detective available when the father of the bride turns up artistically impaled on a stag’s head in the hotel lobby. It’s grisly, it’s dramatic, and it’s exactly the sort of crime scene Steel deserves to stumble into.
The storm‑cut valley and isolated Skirivour Castle Hotel give the story a deliciously claustrophobic edge. With no way out, no phone lines, and a lobby decorated with a corpse, every wedding guest becomes a suspect — and Steel, nursing a hangover that could qualify as a medical emergency, has to piece together the truth with only a weary sergeant and a constable who’s… let’s say not firing on all cylinders.
MacBride’s trademark dark humour shines here. The dialogue snaps, the character interactions are gloriously unfiltered, and Steel’s internal monologue is a masterclass in chaotic brilliance. Yet beneath the comedy, the mystery is genuinely tight: clever clues, sharp twists, and a killer reveal that feels earned.
It’s a crime thriller that never forgets to have fun — sharp, irreverent, and just twisted enough to keep you on edge. A brilliantly dark, laugh‑out‑loud murder mystery with a beating thriller heart. DS Steel steals every scene, and the Highlands have rarely felt so deadly or so entertaining.
My thanks to Stuart McBride, the publisher and netgalley for the ARC
December 19, 2025
Review of ‘And The Corpse Wore Tartan’ by Stuart MacBride, due to be published on 12 February 2026 by Pan Macmillan.
DS Roberta Steel rocks up at Skirivour Castle Hotel to surprise her wife Susan, and attend a society wedding, which is her worst nightmare. She promises Susan she’ll be on her best behaviour, but manages to embarrass her by drinking way too much and passing out.
The next morning, a macabre discovery is made, when a body is found suspended from a giant stag statue in the lobby.
Along with two police officers who are wedding guests, Roberta sets out to find who the killer is and bring them to justice.
The story is full of comedy, the slapdash way that the team investigate makes it a surprise that they get any kind of result! It’s a lighthearted, quick and fun read - well described scenes and characters.
DS Roberta Steel rocks up at Skirivour Castle Hotel to surprise her wife Susan, and attend a society wedding, which is her worst nightmare. She promises Susan she’ll be on her best behaviour, but manages to embarrass her by drinking way too much and passing out.
The next morning, a macabre discovery is made, when a body is found suspended from a giant stag statue in the lobby.
Along with two police officers who are wedding guests, Roberta sets out to find who the killer is and bring them to justice.
The story is full of comedy, the slapdash way that the team investigate makes it a surprise that they get any kind of result! It’s a lighthearted, quick and fun read - well described scenes and characters.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
When Roberta Steele drives to a remote highland hotel to surprise her wife at a wedding she was not intending to be investigating a murder the following day.
When she is woken up lying in the grounds of the hotel by the gamekeeper with the biggest hangover ever, she is not surprised that someone has bumped off the father of the bride as he was a slimly Tory wanker (her words). Wha t she doesn't expect is everyone at the wedding giving such a positive account of his character, all using similar words.
Contending with rising temperatures and driving rain from a storm, she has not back up other than the two local guys, she strives to find out the truth in her unique manner.
Funny and frustrating.
When she is woken up lying in the grounds of the hotel by the gamekeeper with the biggest hangover ever, she is not surprised that someone has bumped off the father of the bride as he was a slimly Tory wanker (her words). Wha t she doesn't expect is everyone at the wedding giving such a positive account of his character, all using similar words.
Contending with rising temperatures and driving rain from a storm, she has not back up other than the two local guys, she strives to find out the truth in her unique manner.
Funny and frustrating.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
I understand the want to write a very chaotic, female character, but did we need such detail on how grotesque she was physically? Definitely not and this just felt like a misogynistic take on an otherwise sharp and fun character. I want more female characters but not like this.
To follow that bad start, there was nothing special here. Some poor jokes, repetitive sequences and oddly timed sex with her wife? Is this all a female detective is capable of?
The mystery was fine, but formulaic and no one at any point (despite their clear ability), had the ability to see what was going on.
Lame duck
Thank you to Netgalley and the publishers for giving me an eArc of the book in exchange for and honest review.
To follow that bad start, there was nothing special here. Some poor jokes, repetitive sequences and oddly timed sex with her wife? Is this all a female detective is capable of?
The mystery was fine, but formulaic and no one at any point (despite their clear ability), had the ability to see what was going on.
Lame duck
Thank you to Netgalley and the publishers for giving me an eArc of the book in exchange for and honest review.
December 26, 2025
An amusing little read this.
More slapstick than slapdash, this murder mystery is an enjoyable read. Yes, there are some genuinely good jokes but also some (I’m sure) deliberate carry on moments.
The plot is not the most complicated or devious and the ending is a bit of a let down, but fun it definitely is.
I’m very grateful to the publisher for letting me read this early.
More slapstick than slapdash, this murder mystery is an enjoyable read. Yes, there are some genuinely good jokes but also some (I’m sure) deliberate carry on moments.
The plot is not the most complicated or devious and the ending is a bit of a let down, but fun it definitely is.
I’m very grateful to the publisher for letting me read this early.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
This is a very light-hearted, comedy read from the author and not to be taken too seriously! If you enjoy the Carry On movies, you will enjoy this quick and easy read featuring DS Roberta Steele set in the Highlands of Scotland. Just buckle up and dive in to this amusing mystery! Thanks to Net Galley for my ARC.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews