Page 53 of Of Heather and Thistle
The air felt different here. Thicker. Charged. Not quite ominous, but not welcoming either. Just… expectant. Like the estate itself was waiting to see what she would do next.
“Here we are,” Reid said as he slowed the car to a stop in front of the wrought-iron gates that guarded the entrance.
Heather swallowed with her heart beating faster as she stared at the imposing structure. This was it: The House. The Family Legacy. The reason she was here.
The house loomed at the end of the drive, its presence pressing against the haze, against the cold air itself.
It wasn’tjusta house.
Her fingers tightened around the seat belt.
She wasn’t ready.
Reid cut the engine and turned to her with a slight, reassuring nod. “It’s a lot to take in, but we’ll go inside and chat. I’ll be here for the whole process.”
Heather took a steadying breath and nodded, her fingers tightening around the door handle.
She stepped out, pausing as Glenoran loomed before her. The mist curled around the stones, softening their edges, wrapping the house in an eerie charm. She pressed a hand to her coat, bracing herself against the weight of everything she still didn’t know. Today had to bring answers—about her mother, about this place—something to make sense of what came next.
Her footsteps crunched over damp gravel as she approached the entrance.
The heavy door sagged slightly at the hinges, its once-imposing presence worn by time. Chipped stone, creeping ivy, and the slow pull of decay blurred the edges between past and present.
“Miss Campbell?” Reid’s voice cut through her thoughts. “You ready?”
She blinked, realizing she’d been staring too long. “I think so.”
Reid opened the door with a groan, the sound of old wood creaking as it swung inward. Inside, the entryway was cold, the vaulted ceiling stretching high above, its exposed beams darkened with age. The flickering light from a single lamp cast odd shadows across the flagstone floor, catching the carved details of the wainscoting along the walls.
The grand fireplace, once the heart of the house, stoodempty and cold, its iron grate rusting beneath a thick layer of dust. Cobwebs clung to the substantial wooden banister of the staircase, and the antique furniture, adorned with intricately carved legs and faded upholstery, stood like forgotten relics of a long-lost time. A musty smell filled the air—old wood, mold, and damp stone. Everything felt weighty and forgotten, as if time had passed the house by but left its ghosts behind.
Here, buried beneath the dust and stone, was something almost familiar. A scent. A feeling. Like brushing against the edge of a memory that wasn’t hers but had lived in her bones all along.
A man in his mid-fifties stood near the staircase, his suit slightly out of place in the dilapidated surroundings. His hands were clasped behind his back, but it was his eyes that caught her attention— piercing blue, cool and assessing. There was something familiar about them, a nagging sense of recognition she couldn’t quite place. Like a face from a half-remembered dream. The way he looked at her was sharp and scrutinizing. It made her feel as though she were being examined under a microscope.
“Mr. Reid.” He nodded, then turned to her. “Ye must be Miss Campbell.” His voice was professional, but not entirely warm.
She snapped out of her thoughts and stepped forward to shake his hand. “Yes, that’s me.”
The man took her hand firmly, his grip surprisingly strong. “I’m Charles Duncan. Mr. Reid and I will be the solicitors overseeing yer late mother’s estate,” he said, his tone formal. “It’s a pleasure to meet ye, despite the… conditions of the place. I’ll take ye through everything shortly.”
She spokepast a lump in her throat at the mention of her mother. “Thank you for meeting with me,” she said quietly, taking in the room as she tried to avoid crying.
Mr. Reid, standing just behind Duncan, gave a polite nod. “Aye, we understand this can be overwhelming. No rush, lass. We’ll go through everything step by step.” His voice was smoother than Duncan’s—measured, reassuring, as if he was the one meant to soften the edges of what was to come.
Duncan motioned for her to follow him into the sitting room. The old floorboards groaned beneath her steps, warped with age and wear. The air was colder than expected, carrying the damp scent of stone and dust. The sitting room was no better than the hallway—furnished with timeworn pieces that had once been elegant but now faded in quiet decay. A tufted settee, its brocade upholstery faded and fraying, faced a stone hearth that hadn’t seen fire in years. Dark wooden paneling lined the walls, its carved details dulled by neglect. The curtains, once rich damask, hung massive and motionless, blocking all but the faintest slivers of light. Above, a few oil paintings clung stubbornly to the walls, their gilded frames cracked and splintered, their subjects watching with hollowed, timeworn eyes.
“Please, have a seat.” Duncan gestured toward the armchair across from him as he reached for a worn leather folder on the desk, flipping it open with practiced ease. Papers rustled as he sifted through them, pausing briefly to straighten a loose sheet before glancing up. “I’ll explain things to ye in a moment.”
Heather hesitated but sat down, the chair’s springs groaning in protest. Reid remained standing by the fireplace, absently dusting his fingers over the cracked stone mantel,his expression unreadable.
“Aye, best to get comfortable,” he added, glancing at her. “There’s a fair bit to go over.”
She glanced around the room, her eyes settling on the peeling wallpaper and the cracks in the ceiling that all seemed to grow wider the longer she looked at them. The house felt heavier with every breath, its history pressing in on her.
“Glenoran House,” Duncan began, flipping through the documents before him, “has been in yer family for generations. It’s a fine estate, but as ye can see, it’s seen better days.” He gestured toward the worn surroundings. “The upkeep has lapsed over the years, and it’s no small undertaking to restore it.”
She nodded, gripping the armrest of the chair. She already knew that much.
