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And the Corpse Wore Tartan
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.
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.
- GenresMystery Thriller
240 pages, Kindle Edition
First published February 12, 2026
32 people are currently reading
67 people want to read
About the author
Stuart MacBride
89 books2,753 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
Well, this author has me laughing even before the short novel begins which is always a good sign. By 4% I’ve already howled with laughter and surprise, twice. Good going even by Stuart MacBride‘s standards.
Former DCI Roberta Steel now demoted to DS, and her wife Susan are at the swanky Skirivour Castle Hotel in the Scottish Highlands attending a wedding. Without going into all the ins and outs, we’ll just settle for it’s not going well from both their perspectives. It’s the morning after the night before when a scream pierces the air and Roberta, despite the mother of all hangovers, swings into action, fearing for her beloved Susan. Downstairs she finds a group, including Susan, pointing upwards where an oversized metal statue of a stag is decorated with something human, very dead (obvs) and very male. Perhaps even worse for the onlookers, his pyjama bottoms are wrinkled at his ankles leaving a sight for sore eyes. Who is this dead departed soul? A bleary eyed Roberta gives herself a shake, pulls her shoulders back and desperately seeks coffee. The corpse turns out to be the bride’s father, true blue Tory, Sir Reginald Bradbury-Scott. One thing is for sure, the killer has gone to a great deal of trouble but why?
This is oh so entertaining, highly so. It’s well worth reading the authors introduction which explains the direction that the plot takes. This is golden age meets Stuart MacBride and if you’ve read him before, enough said! Roberta is a straight talking hoot and her fellow possibly hapless police officers assisting in the investigation, add to the general mayhem as does the adverse weather combined with heat. Just as in an Agatha the assembled wedding guests have plenty of motives for offing said stiff knight but they’re all staying schtum and sticking to the same old salt of the earth story. Can Roberta be a Miss Marple or if she’s feeling manly, a Hercule? It barrels and twists to a very Christieque ending accompanied by Roberta’s potty mouth.
Overall, I think this is great fun as the author kills this reader with laughter. It’s a Highland hoot albeit on the dark side.
A brilliant cover too.
With thanks to NetGalley and especially to Pan Macmillan for the much appreciated early copy in return for an honest review.
Former DCI Roberta Steel now demoted to DS, and her wife Susan are at the swanky Skirivour Castle Hotel in the Scottish Highlands attending a wedding. Without going into all the ins and outs, we’ll just settle for it’s not going well from both their perspectives. It’s the morning after the night before when a scream pierces the air and Roberta, despite the mother of all hangovers, swings into action, fearing for her beloved Susan. Downstairs she finds a group, including Susan, pointing upwards where an oversized metal statue of a stag is decorated with something human, very dead (obvs) and very male. Perhaps even worse for the onlookers, his pyjama bottoms are wrinkled at his ankles leaving a sight for sore eyes. Who is this dead departed soul? A bleary eyed Roberta gives herself a shake, pulls her shoulders back and desperately seeks coffee. The corpse turns out to be the bride’s father, true blue Tory, Sir Reginald Bradbury-Scott. One thing is for sure, the killer has gone to a great deal of trouble but why?
This is oh so entertaining, highly so. It’s well worth reading the authors introduction which explains the direction that the plot takes. This is golden age meets Stuart MacBride and if you’ve read him before, enough said! Roberta is a straight talking hoot and her fellow possibly hapless police officers assisting in the investigation, add to the general mayhem as does the adverse weather combined with heat. Just as in an Agatha the assembled wedding guests have plenty of motives for offing said stiff knight but they’re all staying schtum and sticking to the same old salt of the earth story. Can Roberta be a Miss Marple or if she’s feeling manly, a Hercule? It barrels and twists to a very Christieque ending accompanied by Roberta’s potty mouth.
Overall, I think this is great fun as the author kills this reader with laughter. It’s a Highland hoot albeit on the dark side.
A brilliant cover too.
With thanks to NetGalley and especially to Pan Macmillan for the much appreciated early copy in return for an honest review.
February 1, 2026
And The Corpse Wore Tartan by Stuart MacBride is apparently officially the second in the 'Steel and Tufty' series, though MacBride points out it's the first to solely feature DS (demoted from DCI) Roberta Steel who's a regular in the Logan McRae books penned by the Scottish author. I've only read one of two in that series and didn't remember Roberta (Robbie to her wife Susan, who features prominently here). And it has to be said, Robbie is certainly an acquired taste. If she were male she'd certainly be considered lecherous and/or lascivious and I was kinda horrified on Susan's behalf how outwardly pervy Robbie is toward other women in her presence.
In his note to readers MacBride said he was keen to pay homage to the Golden Age of detectives/crime fiction and this is certainly the quintessential locked-room mystery. As an aside, I feel like a lot of authors have gone down this route in the last year or so and Dame Agatha's cosy crimes are being increasingly referenced by other writers... as is the case here when Robbie starts to wonder if the murder victim isn't the result of a Murder On The Orient Express-style collaboration.
We earn he ripped off most of the locals—many of whom are at the wedding and staying in the hotel—through a dodgy investment deal, so there are no shortage of suspects for Robbie. She's frustrated though, that all of the wedding however guests and staff tend to use innocuous phrases when describing him... given he was obviously far from that.
Read my review here: https://www.debbish.com/books-literat...
In his note to readers MacBride said he was keen to pay homage to the Golden Age of detectives/crime fiction and this is certainly the quintessential locked-room mystery. As an aside, I feel like a lot of authors have gone down this route in the last year or so and Dame Agatha's cosy crimes are being increasingly referenced by other writers... as is the case here when Robbie starts to wonder if the murder victim isn't the result of a Murder On The Orient Express-style collaboration.
We earn he ripped off most of the locals—many of whom are at the wedding and staying in the hotel—through a dodgy investment deal, so there are no shortage of suspects for Robbie. She's frustrated though, that all of the wedding however guests and staff tend to use innocuous phrases when describing him... given he was obviously far from that.
Read my review here: https://www.debbish.com/books-literat...
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
And the Corpse Wore Tartan is Stuart MacBride is the latest novel by the author who gave us the very good Logan McRae series. That series also featured the character Roberta Steel who stars in this latest offering. Stuart MacBride novels are full of coarse humour with the backdrop of the Scottish Highlands. This is a short novel, approximately 240 pages, which I found entertaining at first, but eventually the humour faded for me.
Gathered at the remote Skirivour Castle Hotel for what’s meant to be the wedding of the year, becomes a crime scene, when the father of the bride is found dead in the hotel lobby, gruesomely impaled on a stag’s head. Detective Sergeant Roberta Steel is on the scene, hungover after a night of excessive drinking.
Unfortunately the wedding party are cut off from the outside world by a violent thunderstorm and downed phone lines, causing a classic sealed off whodunnit. with no witnesses, and every wedding guest a potential suspect. A worse for wear sergeant and a dim constable take on the task of searching for the truth.
Roberta Steel is thankfully not your regular sergeant, sharp, foul-tempered, and utterly unapologetic. All of which make her an interesting and entertaining read. The novel is full of foul mouthed comedy but also a cleverly plotted mystery.
And the Corpse Wore Tartan is a short irreverent comedy crime story, that for me sadly missed the mark
I would like to thank both Netgalley and Pan Macmillan for supplying a copy of this novel in exchange for an honest review.
Gathered at the remote Skirivour Castle Hotel for what’s meant to be the wedding of the year, becomes a crime scene, when the father of the bride is found dead in the hotel lobby, gruesomely impaled on a stag’s head. Detective Sergeant Roberta Steel is on the scene, hungover after a night of excessive drinking.
Unfortunately the wedding party are cut off from the outside world by a violent thunderstorm and downed phone lines, causing a classic sealed off whodunnit. with no witnesses, and every wedding guest a potential suspect. A worse for wear sergeant and a dim constable take on the task of searching for the truth.
Roberta Steel is thankfully not your regular sergeant, sharp, foul-tempered, and utterly unapologetic. All of which make her an interesting and entertaining read. The novel is full of foul mouthed comedy but also a cleverly plotted mystery.
And the Corpse Wore Tartan is a short irreverent comedy crime story, that for me sadly missed the mark
I would like to thank both Netgalley and Pan Macmillan for supplying a copy of this novel in exchange for an honest review.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
I got the distinct impression that Stuart MacBride had a whale of a time writing this book. It's considerably less noir than his normal fare, probably something to do with the enormous amounts of tartan on display throughout the book. MacBrides' trademark has always been his ability to toggle between the darkest situations and the most ridiculous humour but here he leans heavily into the humour, finally giving centre stage to the one and only Roberta Steele, a woman with a prodigious appetite for drink, terrible underwear and inventive insults. Surprising her wife at a society wedding, Roberta manages not only to disgrace herself at the main event but finds herself entangled in a deeply Scottish version of a Christie murder in a castle cut off from standard policing resources by a wild storm and an outrageous and exaggerated cast of guests. This is a book best enjoyed by immersing yourself completely in its madcap fantasy, and why not?
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
What a great read this was and fantastic to see a book purely based on Roberta Steel, a long overdue one although I do like that she still appears in the Logan McRae books too. So this one is totally not set in Aberdeen but still loved the references to the city! Given we only know Steel and her wife Susan, the new characters that appeared were good. You can't keep Steel and her behaviour down and so it was no shock to see she made the lives of others misery, especially the Sgt and the PC who happen to be at the same wedding she is attending. Storyline wise it was a good read, light-hearted at times but equally serious too. Definitely a book to recommend if you are a fan of the Logan McRae books.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
Whilst DS Roberta Steele causes mayhem at a wedding, a murder occurs. Due to unforeseen weather conditions, their location is completely cut off, leaving Steele in charge of the investigation.
Whilst I appreciated and enjoyed some of the humour, the clever observations and word play, the overall silliness and slapstick situations felt too much. The investigation played second fiddle to Steele's antics. So for me this wasn't one of MacBride's better books.
I received a free review copy of the book in exchange for my honest and unedited review.
Whilst I appreciated and enjoyed some of the humour, the clever observations and word play, the overall silliness and slapstick situations felt too much. The investigation played second fiddle to Steele's antics. So for me this wasn't one of MacBride's better books.
I received a free review copy of the book in exchange for my honest and unedited review.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews