Page 120 of Of Heather and Thistle
Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t just uncovering history.
Perhaps she was writing a new one.
And she wasn’t doing it alone.
Chapter 37
Heather stood at the edge of Glenoran’s sprawling land, the setting sun casting the old stone walls in warm golds and deep blues. The wind carried the scent of damp earth and pine, rustling through the trees like a whisper of something long forgotten.
Flynn stood beside her, arms crossed, his gaze sweeping the land like he, too, could feel the weight of the past humming through the soil.
“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “Where do we start?”
Heather exhaled, gripping the old missive in her hands—the last words of Harris Mackenzie, her ancestor, a Jacobite courier who once had a secret that might still be buried somewhere on this very land.
She’d spent so long trying to outrun Glenoran—her grief, her ghosts, the weight of inheritance. But now, she wasn’t trapped anymore. She was choosing to stay.
For so long, she had seen this house as a burden, a weight she didn’t ask for. But now, standing here with Flynn, theautumn wind tugging at her curls, she realized the truth. Her mother had left her a gift—not just a house, but a place to begin again. A place to heal.
Maybe it was never just about the history. Maybe it was always about finding her place inside it.
She turned to Flynn, a slow smile playing on her lips. “First, we get a proper map. Andno, you’re not allowed to ignore it because you ‘have a good sense of direction.’”
Flynn chuckled. “And then?”
Heather let her gaze drift over the land—the rolling hills, the ancient trees, the stone ruins that had stood for centuries. She didn’t know what they would find. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. But for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid of what came next.
She met Flynn’s eyes, the warmth of his presence steady beside her.
“And then,” she said, slipping the parchment into her coat pocket, “we find the truth.”
Flynn grinned, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they returned to the house. “Well, if nothing else,” he said, voice light, “at least we won’t be bored.”
Heather laughed, shaking her head. “You have no idea what you’ve signed up for.”
Flynn smirked. “I’ve got a feeling that’s the fun of it.”
Heather rolled her eyes, but before she could answer, Flynn reached down, threading his fingers through hers. His grip was steady, warm, and grounding.
She squeezed back, just once, before letting go.
As they walked back toward Glenoran, Byrdie trotted along at their heels, the house standing tall and proud in the fading light. Heather glanced up at the windows, catching thegolden glow of the setting sun reflecting off the glass.
For a moment—just a breath—she could almost hear her mother’s soft and warm voice whispering through the walls of the home she had left behind.
“Make it yours, love.”
The words echoed like a promise. Heather exhaled, her grip tightening on the letter in her pocket.
Maybe, in a way, she already had.
Heather had once thought Glenoran was just a remnant of the past.
Now, she realized—it was her future.
And she was finally ready to embrace it.
Epilogue
