Page 118 of Of Heather and Thistle
She glanced up at Dr. Henderson. “What exactly did you find?”
Dr. Henderson leaned forward, hands clasped. “Your ancestor, Harris Mackenzie, wasn’t just a soldier at Culloden. He was a courier—someone trusted to carry critical messages between Jacobite forces. He hadn’t just been fighting for a cause—he was protecting secrets that could’ve changed the course of history.”
Heather blinked, stunned. “What kind of information?”
Dr. Henderson opened the folder, pulling out a photocopy of another fragile document. “This,” she said, pointing to the faded ink, “is a recovered record from a secret Jacobite network. It lists Harris Mackenzie as a key contact—oneof the men responsible for moving intelligence between Bonnie Prince Charlie’s forces and sympathizers across the Highlands.”
Heather traced the name on the page, its weight pressing down on her. “So, he wasn’t just a soldier. He was a messenger.”
Dr. Henderson nodded. “And, based on this record, it appears he carried something of great importance on the day of the battle. Something that was never recovered.”
Heather’s breath caught. “Are you saying—?”
“We believe Harris was carrying intelligence about a hidden Jacobite treasure—gold smuggled in from France to fund the rebellion.” Dr. Henderson’s eyes shone with the thrill of discovery. “But he never got the chance to deliver it.”
Heather exhaled slowly, sitting back in her chair. “So, what happened to it?”
Dr. Henderson sighed. “That’s the mystery. Some historians believe the treasure was lost in the chaos of the battlefield. Others think it was hidden—maybe even buried somewhere near Glenoran.” She tapped the parchment in the case. “Harris’s letter might be the key to finding out what happened.”
Heather’s mind reeled. Could Glenoran hold more than just her family’s history? Could it be part of an even bigger story?
There’s no way.
She shook her head, trying to push the incredulous thought aside.
She swallowed, looking up at Dr. Henderson. “And you think there’s still a chance the treasure exists?”
Dr. Henderson hesitated. “It’s possible. If it was hiddenrather than lost, and if Harris left clues in his letter, there’s a chance it could still be out there.”
Was she really about to embark on some crazy treasure hunt? The thought both excited and frightened her. But the allure of adventure was too strong. How long had she spent being a bystander to her own life, watching from the sidelines as the world moved around her? Heather leaned forward, determination igniting in her eyes.
She let the idea settle in her mind. The house had already given her so much—her past, roots, and connection to a history she had once ignored. But could it also hold the key to something even greater? Something people had been searching for, for generations?
Heather blinked. Once. Twice. Then, let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.
“You’re telling me that my ancestor wasn’t just some soldier—he was a Jacobite spy? And that he might have hidden gold meant for Bonnie Prince Charlie?” She shook her head, leaning back in her chair. “That sounds like something from a historical novel, not my life.”
Dr. Henderson gave a small, knowing smile. “That’s what everyone says—until the evidence stacks up.”
Heather looked down at the letter Harris Mackenzie had written, the faded ink like a whisper from the past. But what if it’s true?
Her fingers traced the delicate parchment, reverent now in a way she hadn’t been before.
She exhaled slowly. “Okay. Let’s say this treasure is real… Where do I start?”
Dr. Henderson smiled knowingly. “That’s up to you, Miss Campbell.”
* * *
Heatherdrove back to Glenoran with the folder resting on the passenger seat beside her, the museum’s offer still echoing in her mind. The weight of what she’d just learned pressed against her chest—not suffocating this time, but exhilarating.
She had thought she was settling into a home.
Now, she realized she might be unraveling a mystery.
As she pulled into the long gravel drive, Glenoran stood before her, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. The house—her house—looked more alive than ever. It had survived war, abandonment, and the passage of time itself. And if Harris had hidden something here, if secrets were still buried within these walls, she was determined to find them.
Byrdie meowed from the passenger seat, stretching lazily before hopping onto Heather’s lap.
