Page 50 of Of Heather and Thistle
“Dinnae fash yerself,” he went on. “Inverness folk are friendly. Ye’ll have nae trouble findin’ someone to help, should ye need it. And if yer lookin’ for proper supplies, there’s a hardware shop near the town square—good lads there.”
“Thanks,” she said softly, her thoughts already spiraling into the endless unknowns awaiting her at Glenoran House.
When they reached the bed and breakfast, Heather’s eyes were immediately drawn to the charming stone exterior, softened by climbing ivy and framed by neatly trimmed hedges. Warm golden light spilled from the mullioned windows, creating a welcoming glow against the misty night. Smoke curled lazily from a chimney, promising the comfort of a crackling fire inside.
The tow truck driver helped her unload her bags, his expression softening at the sight of Byrdie’s carrier tucked under her arm. The faint meows from within earned a chuckle. “Sounds like she’s had a rough night too.”
Heather offered a tired smile now, glancing toward the wooden door that was adorned with a small brass bell and a cheerful wreath. A hand-painted sign hanging above the door read:Thistle Haven Inn. The faint smell of rain-soaked earth was mingled with something daintily floral from thesurrounding garden. Despite her exhaustion, a slight sense of relief settled over her. She felt grateful that warmth and shelter were waiting for her inside.
The innkeeper wasa cheerful older woman named Claire whowelcomed her with open arms. “Och, look at ye, yer hair’s drenched! And nae even shoes on yer feet! Come in, come in—I’ll get ye a pot of tea and a warm blanket.”
Heather felt a lump rise in her throat at the kindness in Claire’s voice. “Thank you. Really.”
Claire showed her a cozy room with a view of the misty town square. Through the rain-streaked window, Heather could make out the glow of old fashioned street lamps casting golden pools of light on the cobblestone streets. A few late-night stragglers moved between the warmly lit shopfronts—some tucked under umbrellas, others hurrying to escape the downpour. Across the square, the silhouette of a centuries-old stone church stood tall against the night, its spire disappearing into the low-hanging mist.
The bed was covered in a thick patchwork quilt, its fabric worn soft with age, and a small radiator in the corner hummed softly, chasing away the damp chill. A window framed by dainty lace curtains let in the muted glow of the streetlamps outside, the rain tapping gently against the glass. On the walls, a few framed prints of Highland landscapes hung in neat rows—rolling hills, a lone stag standing in the mist, a castle perched on a rugged cliff. The scent of lavender lingered in the air, mixing with the faint warmth of tea leaves from a small tray set beside the bed.
Heather opened Byrdie’s carrier and watched as she cautiously stepped out, sniffing the unfamiliar surroundings.
“Well, Byrdie…” she mused, sitting on the edge of the bed, “…we made it through day one.”
She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen. She considered texting Ivy to let her know she’d arrived safely—but the thought stalled, the weight of their unresolved tension pressing down on her. Reaching out felt both necessary and impossible.
Heather sighed, locking her phone and setting it aside. She wasn’t ready to bridge that gap— not yet. Instead, she turned her attention to Byrdie, whose wide eyes scanned the unfamiliar room.
“It’s just us now,” she murmured as Byrdie stealthily sniffed at the floral-patterned rug before leaping onto the bed and curling into the soft quilt.
Heather let out a small laugh. “At least one of us is settling in nicely.”
As the outside wind hushed against the glass, she wandered over to it and rested a hand against the frame, staring out into the mist-covered hills beyond Inverness. Somewhere out there, past the winding roads and darkened countryside, was a house that had belonged to her family for generations. A house she’d never seen—yet it had already set her life on a new course before she’d even stepped foot inside.
She thought of her mother—of the pieces of Eilidh’s heart that must still linger in Glenoran’s old stone walls. She wondered what it might feel like to stand in those rooms, to walk the same halls her mother once had. Would she find answers there… or just more ghosts?
She inhaled, pressing her forehead lightly against the cold glass.
For months, it had felt like her world was unraveling. But standing here, in the quiet glow of a place that wasn’t yethome but held the promise of safety, she felt something new… Not certainty. Not peace. But… possibility.
She exhaled, turning from the window and crossing the room. Scooping Byrdie into her arms, she slipped beneath the heavy quilt. Byrdie’s soft purr rumbled against Heather’s chest, steady and grounding her after such a long day.
Heather lay back against the pillows, staring at the shadows cast by the low glow of the bedside lamp. The day had taken more turns than she could count— none of them what she expected. But somehow, despite the chaos: the storm, the cow encounter, the near-total embarrassment… She felt… okay… maybe evengood.
She considered Byrdie, who was now curled into a tiny ball of warmth beside her, blissfully unbothered by the day’s events. Maybe that was the trick: taking things as they came, one moment at a time.
Outside, the rain softened against the window; the wind was no longer howling— just whispering.
She wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring, nor the day after that.
But for now… she was here. She had made it to Scotland.
And that was enough.
Chapter 12
Heather barely remembered falling asleep, but the pale morning light streamed through the lace curtains when she woke, painting the room in soft, delicate patterns. Flynn’s borrowed flannel and sweatpants hung off her in the least flattering way, yet they were so comfortable she couldn’t bring herself to care. She adjusted the collar and caught the faint whiff of cedar and soap that still clung to it, letting the warm, earthy scent ground her.
She slid out of bed, her feet landing on the cozy rug. Pushing aside the delicate curtains, she took in the view—Inverness was everything she’d imagined. Stone cottages with neat chimneys, cobblestone streets damp from last night’s rain, and the soft, rolling haze that clung to the rooftops.
Byrdie chirped from her new perch on the windowsill, her tiny nose pressed against the glass as she watched the world outside.
