Page 114 of Of Heather and Thistle
Heather’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Goodbye, Ivy.”
She hung up before Ivy could say another word. Her hands were shaking. Byrdie let out a quiet chirp, rubbing against her arm. Heather reached for her, burying her fingers in the soft fur, grounding herself. She had done it. She had cut the tether that had kept her bound for so many years. It should have felt freeing.
Instead, it just felt quiet. But maybe… maybe that was okay. Maybe peace was supposed to feel like this. Heather exhaled slowly, setting her phone aside as the weight of it all settled in. The air in the room felt still, like the moment after a storm when the world is holding its breath.
Ivy had been in her life for so long, woven into the fabric of her memories. Every late-night phone call, every inside joke, every whispered secret between them—it was all still there. But that history wasn’t enough anymore.
Heather wasn’t that girl anymore. She pulled the blankets tighter around herself, curling into their warmth as exhaustioncrept in, heavier than before. Her body ached—not from physical strain but from the emotional toll of finally letting go.
Sleep didn’t come easily, but when it did, it was deep. And when morning arrived, she was still wrapped in that strange, aching quiet.
* * *
The sun had barely risen when her phone rang.
Heather groaned, rolling over to fumble for it on the nightstand. Byrdie grumbled in protest and buried herself more deeply into the blankets. Heather rubbed her eyes and squinted at the screen.
Dr. Morrow.
A flicker of anticipation ran through her as she answered. “Hello?”
“Ms. Campbell,” Dr. Morrow’s voice came through, brimming with excitement. “I have news about your flag.”
Heather stilled. She hadn’t stopped thinking about that fragile piece of history since the day she’d found it tucked away in the attic, along with the torn scrap of Mackenzie tartan and that cryptic note:
April 16th.
“Go on,” she urged, gripping the phone tighter.
Dr. Morrow chuckled softly. “You may want to sit down.”
Her anxiety flared. “Just tell me.”
“After deep research and consulting with a few experts on Jacobite artifacts, we’ve confirmed that the flag you found is a battle standard from Culloden.”
Heather’s stomach dropped. “Culloden? As intheCulloden?”
“The very same,” Dr. Morrow confirmed. “The note, the tartan, and, most importantly, the flag’s design all line up. It’s been missing for over 270 years—presumed lost or destroyed after the battle.”
Heather pressed a hand to her forehead. “Are you saying this—this relic—belonged to the Mackenzies at Culloden?”
“Not just the Mackenzies,” Dr. Morrow said, his voice lowering. “ToyourMackenzies. This could have been carried by one of your ancestors that day.”
A lump formed in her throat. “But how did it end up at Glenoran?”
“We can only speculate,” he admitted. “It’s possible someone in your family smuggled it out after the battle, hidden away for generations. We know this is an astonishing discovery—not just for your family but for Scotland itself.”
Heather turned toward the window, looking out over the snow-dusted hills. Glenoran had always felt like a place steeped in history, but this… This changed everything.
Dr. Morrow hesitated before adding, “Ms. Campbell, museums will want to see this. The Scottish National Museum is already interested in an official assessment.”
She swallowed hard, heart pounding. “You’re saying I should hand it over?”
“That’s entirely up to you, dear.” Dr. Morrow said gently. “But you have something extraordinary here. Something that deserves to be known.”
Heather nodded absently, though he couldn’t see her. The flag, tartan, and note weren’t just remnants of the past. They were pieces of a story her family had safeguarded forcenturies.
Now, she had to decide what to do with it.
