Page 58 of Of Heather and Thistle
Heather hesitated her instinct to guard her privacy clashing with her desire to meet people. “Sort of,” she said with a polite smile. “I recently inherited a property nearby—Glenoran House?”
The woman hesitated for too long, her fingers tightening around the napkin she held. “Aye, well… it’s a grand auld place. Full of history.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Heather tilted her head. “I’m sorry… I didn’t catch your name.”
The lady’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Not bad, just… well, Glenoran’s been empty a long time. Some places don’t like being left behind— and the name’s Eleanor, hen.”
Heather smiled politely, but Eleanor’s unease lingered. As Heather reached for her glass, she noticed the bartender had gone quiet behind the counter, wiping down an immaculate spot with a bit too much focus. At a nearby table, an older man who had been chatting animatedly only moments agofell silent, his tankard frozen mid-air. A slow sip, a glance toward her, then away—too fast, like he didn’t want to be caught looking. The bartender wiped an already clean spot on the counter, his shoulders a touch too stiff.
The air shifted.
Not much. Just enough for Heather to notice. Heather cleared her throat, forcing a light tone into her voice. “I take it people don’t exactly line up to buy the place?”
Eleanor chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No, lass. They don’t.” She wrung a napkin in her hands, then gave her a nod. “You enjoy your meal now.”
Heather watched as Eleanor walked off, her back straight but her pace slightly quicker. She let out a low whistle to herself, swirling the last of her wine in its glass. What the hell was that about? Heather blinked. “What does that mean?”
Eleanor chuckled, shaking her head. “Nothing to worry about, love. Just auld ghost stories. Ye take care out there.”
“Thank you,” Heather said, a bit confused. “I appreciate that.” Eleanor nodded and waved, leaving Heather to collect her things. The wind tousled her curls as Heather entered the crisp evening air, and she pulled her Barbour jacket tighter around her. The streets were quiet, most shops closed, their windows dark. As she walked to her rental car, her thoughts drifted to Eleanor’s reaction. It wasn’t the first time someone had seemed wary when Glenoran was mentioned.
She slid into the driver’s seat, Byrdie’s empty carrier still tucked into the back. “Ghost stories,” she murmured aloud, repeating Eleanor’s word with a smirk. “That’s not ominous at all.”
The narrow road wound through the hills, the headlights carving brief light tunnels in the darkness. The radiocrackled softly, but Heather kept the volume low, preferring the sound of the tires against the gravel. The headlights carved a narrow path through the darkness, illuminating the mist swirling low over the road. Heather adjusted her grip on the wheel, keeping her focus ahead. Then—movement. Just a flicker at the edge of her vision, gone almost before she could process it.
Her heart jumped, her foot easing off the gas as she peered into the rear-view mirror. Nothing but an empty road behind her. She scanned the trees lining the narrow lane, searching for an animal, a stray branch swaying in the wind—anything.
The radio crackled—a sudden burst of static that sent a shiver down her spine.
The movement at the edge of her vision was gone. Nothing but trees and mist.
But for one breathless second, she could have sworn…
No. She shook her head, forcing out a laugh.
Okay, Heather. No creeping yourself out on day two.
She pressed her foot back to the gas and kept driving. Heather drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, Eleanor’s words still circling in her head. First Alastair, now Eleanor. Even the bartender had raised an eyebrow when she’d mentioned the place. It wasn’t just the repairs that made Glenoran an “ambitious” project. People here had opinions about it. She sighed, pressing the accelerator again as the town lights faded behind her. “Guess I’ll find out why soon enough.” She exhaled, shaking her head.
Once she arrived, she turned the key in the lock, the heavy wooden door groaning as it settled into place.
Heather lingered momentarily, her fingers resting against the old brass handle. Shecould walk away—take the money, sell the place, and never look back. That would be the easy thing.
But something in her hesitated.
Maybe it was because her mother had once lived here. Perhaps it was because she wanted answers that she didn’t even know how to ask yet. Maybe—just maybe—it was because she wanted something that belonged to her, only.
“It’s just a house,” she murmured.
She lingered on the threshold, fingers resting against the old brass handle. The estate stood in silence—not empty, but waiting. Steadying herself, she squared her shoulders and stepped inside.
Chapter 15
Heather startled awake, breath catching in her throat.
For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. The air was too cold, the silence too thick. Faint embers glowed in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. Early morning light filtered through the dust-coated windows, pale and thin.
She exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over her face. Everything ached—not just from the labor of yesterday, but from another night spent twisting beneath unfamiliar ceilings, sleep always just out of reach.
