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When Marcus and Callum decided to escape the noise of London for their honeymoon, they didn't just want a vacation, they wanted a complete reset. No tourist traps, no crowded beaches, no WiFi distractions. Just the two of them, the Scottish Highlands, and a cottage so remote that even their GPS gave up halfway there.
And honestly? Best decision they ever made.
Finding Their Highland Haven
The cottage wasn't on Airbnb. Callum's aunt, who'd spent summers in the Highlands as a child, knew a local who rented out a tiny stone house perched on the edge of a loch. "It's not fancy," she'd warned them. "But it's magical."
She wasn't kidding.
The place was everything those over-filtered Instagram posts promise but rarely deliver. Stone walls thick enough to survive centuries. A peat fireplace that actually worked. Windows that framed the kind of views you'd see on a postcard if postcards could capture the smell of heather and rain-soaked earth.
No neighbors for miles. Just sheep, the occasional red deer, and the kind of silence that makes you realize how loud your everyday life actually is.
For Marcus, who'd spent the last year planning their wedding down to the napkin colors, the simplicity was intoxicating. For Callum, who worked in tech and was permanently tethered to his phone, it was borderline terrifying. At least for the first twelve hours.
The Beauty of Doing Absolutely Nothing
Here's the thing about honeymoons that nobody tells you: after months of wedding planning, guest lists, and trying to keep everyone happy, doing nothing is a radical act.
Their days fell into a rhythm that would bore most people to tears but felt like heaven to them. Wake up late. Make coffee in the ancient French press they found in the cupboard. Stand at the window watching mist roll off the mountains like something out of a gay romance novel, the kind you'd find at readwithpride.com, where MM romance books capture these exact moments of quiet intimacy.
Some mornings they'd take the walking trail that wound through purple heather and bracken, Callum pointing out birds he definitely couldn't identify but pretended to. Other times they'd just sit by the loch, wrapped in woolly blankets from the cottage, reading books they'd been meaning to finish for years.
"Is this boring?" Marcus asked on day three, genuinely worried they weren't "honeymoon-ing" correctly.
Callum looked up from his book, a steamy MM contemporary romance he'd been devouring. "Babe, we spent six months dealing with seating charts and your mother's opinions about our flower arrangements. This is the opposite of boring. This is what we needed."
Rainy Days and Whisky Nights
Of course, this is Scotland. It rained. A lot.
But that's when the cottage truly came alive. The sound of rain on the slate roof became their soundtrack. They'd spend hours playing cards by the fire, cooking elaborate meals that took forever because the ancient stove had approximately two temperature settings: lukewarm and inferno.
One evening, they found a dusty bottle of single malt in the back of the cupboard with a note: "For special occasions. Enjoy. – Flora." They never did figure out who Flora was, but they toasted her anyway.
That night turned into one of those conversations that only happen when you're properly unplugged from the world. They talked about everything, their fears about marriage, their hopes for the future, the weird pressure to have everything figured out by thirty. The kind of deep, meandering chat that you can only have when there's no place to be and nothing to prove.
"I'm really glad we didn't go to Mykonos," Marcus admitted, slightly whisky-tipsy.
"I know you wanted the gay party island experience," Callum laughed.
"I thought I did. But this is so much more us."
Adventures in the Mist
Not every day was spent lounging by the fire. They drove the winding Highland roads to tiny villages with names they couldn't pronounce. They ate fish and chips in a pub where they were clearly the topic of conversation, not in a bad way, just in that small-town "oh, we have visitors" way.
In one village, they stumbled into a bookshop run by a cheerful woman named Moira who immediately clocked them as newlyweds. "Honeymoon?" she asked with a knowing smile. When they confirmed, she pressed a book into Marcus's hands. "This one. Trust me."
It was a gay historical romance set in the Highlands. "Read it together," she insisted. "It's got a happy ending. Promise."
They did read it together, taking turns reading chapters aloud by firelight, laughing at the dramatic moments and getting genuinely invested in whether the grumpy laird would finally admit his feelings to the English artist. It reminded them why they'd started following LGBTQ+ romance in the first place, for stories that saw them, stories where people like them got their happy endings.
What the Highlands Taught Them
By the end of their two weeks, something had shifted. The frantic energy they'd carried from wedding planning had melted away. They moved slower. Talked more. Touched each other more, not sexually (though there was plenty of that too), but those casual, comfortable touches that say "I'm here, you're here, we're okay."
They learned that romance doesn't always look like champagne and rose petals. Sometimes it looks like making tea exactly how your husband likes it. Or letting him have the last slice of the questionable cheese you bought from the village shop. Or driving two hours just because he mentioned wanting to see a particular castle.
The Highlands didn't give them grand adventures or Instagram-worthy moments. It gave them something better: space to just be together without performance, without audience, without pressure.
Coming Home Changed
The drive back to Edinburgh Airport felt too fast. Callum was already dreading the return to back-to-back meetings. Marcus was mentally preparing for the avalanche of wedding photos and thank-you notes waiting for them.
But they were different now. Calmer. More connected.
"We should make a pact," Marcus said as they returned the rental car. "Once a year, we come back. Or somewhere like it. Somewhere quiet where we can just… reset."
"Deal," Callum agreed. "Though maybe next time we stay three weeks."
For Anyone Planning Their Own Highland Escape
If you're considering a Scottish Highlands honeymoon, or just a romantic escape, here's what they'd tell you:
Embrace the weather. Yes, it rains. Pack accordingly. The mist and rain are part of the magic.
Go remote. The further from civilization, the better. You can do museums and restaurants anytime. This is about disconnection.
Bring books. Real ones. The kind of gay romance novels and MM romance books you've been meaning to read. Check out readwithpride.com before you go, download a few LGBTQ+ ebooks for those rainy afternoons.
Don't over-plan. The beauty of a place like this is having nowhere to be. Let yourself be bored. That's when the good stuff happens.
Talk. Really talk. About the big stuff. About nothing. About everything in between.
Marcus and Callum's Highland honeymoon wasn't what they'd initially envisioned. It was better. It was quieter, slower, more intimate. It was exactly what two people starting their marriage needed, a chance to just be together, without the noise.
And when they tell people about their honeymoon now, they don't talk about where they went. They talk about how they felt. Peaceful. Connected. Home.
Even if home was temporarily a drafty stone cottage with questionable plumbing and sheep in the garden.
Looking for more love stories that capture real, authentic LGBTQ+ romance? Explore our collection of gay romance books and MM romance novels at readwithpride.com. From contemporary love stories to historical Highland romances (yes, they're a thing), we've got the happy endings you're looking for.
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