The Scottish Castle So Evil It Began to Sink Into the Earth

Some places feel heavy before you even step inside. Hermitage Castle sits alone in the moorland of Liddesdale, its thick grey walls rising from boggy ground like something trying not to be swallowed. Local legend says the opposite is happening — that the ground itself is pulling it down, slowly, because the earth can no longer bear the weight of everything that happened here.

A Fortress Designed to Frighten

Hermitage Castle dates to the 13th century, though the structure you see today was largely built in the 14th. It sits in one of the most remote valleys in the Scottish Borders, far from main roads and any kind of shelter.

Its shape is distinctive — four massive towers linked by connecting walls, with a brooding, gap-toothed silhouette against the open sky. There is nothing decorative about it. No ornamental stonework, no welcoming entrance. Every line of it was built to project power and keep people out.

The castle changed hands repeatedly between English and Scottish lords across centuries of violent Border history. Each new owner seemed to add their own chapter to its dark reputation.

Lord de Soulis and Robin Redcap

The name most closely tied to Hermitage is William de Soulis, who held the castle in the early 14th century. Local legend transformed him from a cruel lord into something far worse: a sorcerer who had made a pact with a demon.

That demon was Robin Redcap — a goblin from Border folklore who wore a cap soaked in the blood of his victims and grew stronger as it dried. De Soulis, the story goes, kept him imprisoned deep in the castle. In return for cruelty and suffering, Robin Redcap gave his master protection and dark powers.

The people of Liddesdale eventually reached their limit. But killing de Soulis proved impossible in the usual way — legend said no rope or iron could harm him. The solution, carried out at a nearby stone circle called Nine Stane Rig, was grimly practical: they wrapped him in sheets of lead and boiled him alive in a great cauldron.

Whether de Soulis was truly monstrous or simply a powerful lord in a lawless land, the legend stuck. He became Hermitage’s permanent shadow.

The Castle That Could Not Be Forgiven

The strangest belief about Hermitage is not about the men who lived there. It is about the place itself.

Liddesdale folk used to say that Hermitage had absorbed so much cruelty over the centuries — so many unjust deaths, so much suffering within its walls — that the earth beneath it had begun to reject it. Slowly, they said, the ground was pulling the castle downward, as though nature itself wanted to cover over what had happened here.

Stand outside and look at the foundations on a visit today. The corners of the great towers sink unevenly into the waterlogged ground. The thick walls lean slightly inward. Centuries of poor drainage explain most of it. But the legend has a logic that lingers long after you leave.

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A Queen Who Almost Didn’t Come Back

In October 1566, Mary Queen of Scots made one of the most remarkable journeys in Scottish history. Hearing that the Earl of Bothwell — a powerful lord and close ally — lay badly wounded at Hermitage after a Border skirmish, she rode fifty miles across open, waterlogged moorland to see him.

The return journey, through driving rain and deep bog, nearly killed her. By the time she reached Jedburgh, Mary was dangerously ill. She lost consciousness and was thought to be dying. She reportedly said afterwards that she wished she had died at Jedburgh rather than survived to face what followed.

She recovered, but Hermitage had come close to claiming two lives in a single week.

Visiting Hermitage Castle Today

Hermitage Castle is managed by Historic Environment Scotland and opens to visitors from April to September. There is no tearoom, no visitor centre, no gift shop — just the castle, the moorland, and the sky in every direction.

You approach across a flat, treeless plain, watching the towers grow slowly larger as you walk. It is often entirely empty. When other visitors do appear, the sheer scale of the place absorbs them quickly.

Inside the roofless shell, the walls are thick enough to hold small internal chambers. The floors have long since gone, replaced by grass. The sky fills the space where ceilings once were. It is a strange and strangely moving experience.

Hermitage Water runs cold alongside the ruin. The Nine Stane Rig stone circle, where de Soulis met his legendary end, lies a short walk away across the fields — well worth the extra steps for anyone drawn in by the darker side of Scottish history.

If this part of Scotland pulls you in, the Common Ridings of the Scottish Borders are another deeply rooted tradition from this region — ancient rituals still performed every summer with genuine feeling. And for a castle with an equally ominous name, don’t miss the one Scotland called Gloom.

Where exactly is Hermitage Castle?

Hermitage Castle is in Liddesdale, Scottish Borders, about 13 miles south of Hawick. It sits at the end of a quiet minor road with no public transport, so a car is essential for visiting.

Is Hermitage Castle open to visitors?

Yes. It is managed by Historic Environment Scotland and is open from April to September, with a small entrance fee. There are no facilities on site, so bring food, water, and rain gear — Liddesdale weather can change quickly.

What is the best time to visit Hermitage Castle?

Late spring and early autumn give the best combination of decent weather and smaller crowds. Midsummer brings the longest daylight, which changes the mood of the place entirely — eerie ruins look very different under a blue June sky than in October rain.

What else is worth seeing near Hermitage Castle?

Nine Stane Rig stone circle is a short walk from the castle and part of the de Soulis legend. Jedburgh Abbey, about 18 miles away, is one of the finest ruined abbeys in the Borders and combines well with a Hermitage visit in a single day.

Hermitage Castle does not try to charm you. It never has. It stands on its moor — slightly crooked, slowly sinking, utterly indifferent to what you make of it. There is no comfortable story here, no triumph or celebration. Just centuries of weather and memory pressed into stone.

That, perhaps, is exactly what makes it unforgettable.