Page 20 of Of Heather and Thistle

T he flight touched down smoothly, with its wheels kissing the tarmac as the early morning light spilled over the hills surrounding Edinburgh Airport.

Heather gaped out the window, her breath catching as the soft gray sky gave way to glimpses of green fields, snow-capped mountains, and distant stone buildings. Scotland! She was here.

As Heather followed the signs toward baggage claim, she took a steadying breath to settle the nervousness and anticipation in her chest.

The baggage terminal was clean and modern, yet undeniably Scottish. A Visit Scotland poster showcased the Highlands, a whisky advert boasted the ‘ true taste of Scotland ’, and cheerful signs welcomed travelers with a friendly “ Fáilte gu Alba .”

Welcome to Scotland , indeed.

The crisp air from outside the sliding doors sent a shiver down her spine as she exited the arrivals hall, holding onto Byrdie’s carrier over her shoulder and clutching her suitcase handle with her other hand.

As she scanned the crowd for the driver with whom her solicitor had made arrangements, she noticed him near the exit, wearing a black coat and holding a sign that read: Miss H. Campbell.

Heather squared her shoulders against the chill and walked toward him, the reality of her new life beginning to take shape with every step.

The man holding the sign gave her a polite smile as she approached.

He was tall, but unimposing and built with the quiet sturdiness of a man accustomed to long hours on the road.

His salt-and-pepper hair peeked out from under his tartan flat cap, the brim tilted just enough to shade his sharp hazel eyes.

“Miss Campbell?” he asked in a thick Scottish accent, lowering the sign. Heather nodded as she adjusted Byrdie’s carrier on her shoulder again. “That’s me.”

“Welcome to Scotland,” he said warmly, reaching to take her suitcase. “Name’s Alastair. I’ll be drivin’ ye to Glenoran House.”

“Thank you,” she said, handing over the suitcase with a small smile. “I really appreciate it.”

Alastair tilted his head toward the exit. “Car’s just outside. Let’s get ye sorted.”

As they exited the terminal, she glanced up at the sky: a patchwork of pale gray clouds shifting lazily overhead.

Alastair led her to a sleek black car parked near the curb and opened the door for her. “Ye’ll be comfortable in here. Long ride ahead, but we’ll make good time.”

Byrdie let out a soft meow as Heather slipped into the backseat. “Almost there, Byrd,” she whispered, unzipping the mesh just as Byrdie pressed against her hand and purred loudly, though it was barely audible over the noise of raindrops tapping against the car’s windows.

* * *

Once on the open road, Heather gazed out the window, taking in the rolling hills and quaint stone cottages that dotted the countryside. The city quickly gave way to sprawling fields, their edges lined with dry-stacked stone walls and clusters of trees that looked ancient and wise.

Scotland’s winters were nothing like the ones she’d grown used to in Millhaven.

Winter back home was a mere inconvenience with slush-covered streets, gloomy skies, and the rush of people hurrying from one place to another despite the weather.

It was brutal in its own way with freezing winds, streets buried under snow, and the kind of cold that stung your skin.

But here, in the rugged Scottish countryside, it was different.

Winter here felt sharper and less forgiving than the bitter cold of Millhaven.

The chill here seeped into everything, damp and inescapable, clinging to stone and earth like a memory that refused to fade.

“Ye’ve come a long way,” Alastair said, breaking the silence.

“I have,” Heather replied, her voice soft. “It’s… a bit surreal, honestly.”

“Aye, I can imagine,” he said, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. “First time in Scotland?”

“First time,” she confirmed, her fingers idly tracing the edge of Byrdie’s carrier. “But it already feels… I don’t know… different… like I’ve been waiting for this without realizing it.”

The storm blurred the road ahead, turning the countryside into shifting shadows and fleeting glimpses of green. It was disorienting—how quickly the world could change with a little rain. Then again, that’s how her life had felt lately. One minute, clear skies; the next, everything unrecognizable.

Alastair chuckled. “Well, there’s magic in these parts. The kind ye feel in yer bones. Sounds like yer right where ye need to be.”

Heather turned to the window, watching the hills grow steeper and the roads narrower.

The steady drizzle that had followed them now swelled into a torrential downpour.

Rain hammered against the car windows, blurring the landscape into a gray smear.

Heather anxiously shifted in her seat and glanced nervously at the storm outside.

Byrdie released a tiny, uneasy meow from her carrier on the seat beside her.

“Does it always rain like this here?” Heather asked Alastair, trying to keep her voice light.

“Aye, it can be temperamental,” he replied, gripping the wheel tightly. “But this is a proper downpour, even for Scotland.”

The car suddenly shuddered, and Heather felt it lurch before slowing to a crawl. Alastair frowned, muttering something in Gaelic under his breath.

“ò, chan eil seo math—”

“What’s wrong?” Heather asked, her stomach tightening.

“This isn’t good,” he said, easing the car to the side of the narrow road. The engine sputtered once, twice, then died completely, leaving them in near silence apart from the relentless rain drumming on the roof. Alastair twisted the key in the ignition, but the car refused to start.

“Bloody typical,” he muttered, leaning back in his seat with a sigh.

Heather’s heart sank. “Is it… is it serious?”

“Could be the battery, could be the engine,” he said, shaking his head. “Either way, we’re not goin’ anywhere for the time being.”

Heather peered out the window, her eyes straining to make out anything through the rain.

The landscape blurred into a mess of gray and green, but she remembered passing a small town not long ago.

It had been a blink-and-you’d-miss-it place with just a few cottages, a church, and what looked like a pub, but right now, it was the closest thing to safety she could think of.

“Is there any cell service out here?” she asked, reaching for her phone.

Alastair pulled out his phone and frowned. “Not likely. These roads are remote.” He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “I’ll check under the hood and see if I can sort it.”

“Okay,” Heather said, trying to stay calm. Byrdie let out another distressed meow, and Heather whispered to her, her fingers brushing over the carrier. “It’s okay, Byrdie. We’ll figure this out.”

Alastair climbed out of the car, rain immediately soaking him as he popped the hood. Heather watched him through the windshield, feeling helpless as water streamed down his coat. She looked at her phone again—no signal.

Minutes passed, and Alastair finally returned, dripping wet and shaking his head: “No luck. Looks like the engine’s given out completely. We’ll need to wait for a tow.”

Heather swallowed hard, glancing out at the storm. “And if we can’t call for one? ”

“We’ll have to flag someone down when the rain eases,” he said apologetically as he removed his coat and placed it on the passenger seat. “But that could take a while out here. Sorry about all this, lassie.”

Heather leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. This wasn’t how she imagined her first day in Scotland.

She let out a breath. “So much for easing into things.”

Alastair chuckled grimly. “Aye, lass. Looks like you’re diving intae Scotland headfirst.”

Heather held Byrdie’s carrier a little tighter as the storm water streaked down the glass. She couldn’t shake the thought that her fresh start had just gotten off to a bumpy beginning.

The rain showed no signs of easing, pounding relentlessly against the car as the minutes dragged into an hour.

Alastair tried his phone again and sighed, holding it up as if the extra inch might summon a miracle. “Still no signal. And no cars have come by,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Heather stared out at the curtain of rain with the small town they’d passed earlier on her mind. “What about the village we drove through? Could we walk back there?”

Alastair studied her, hesitating. “It’s a fair distance, especially in this weather. But I dinnae see many other options.”

She bit her lip, feeling a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry—this is all such a mess.”

“Don’t be daft, lassie.” Alastair said, reassuring her. “Ye didn’t summon the rain or break the car!” He gestured to the window. “Right, then. I’ll head to the village and see if anyone can help us.”

Heather’s stomach twisted. “Are you sure? It’s pouring out there.”

He gave her a bright, lopsided grin. “I’m from here, lass. A bit of rain cannae kill me. It’ll take a lot more than that to take this auld fool down.” He reached for his coat, still damp from his earlier attempt under the hood, and shrugged it on again.

“What if no one’s there?” she asked, her voice quieter.

“Then I’ll keep walking until I find someone,” he said matter-of-factly. “Just sit tight, and dinnae fash. Keep the doors locked.”

Heather nodded, her throat tight as she watched him step out into the storm. Rain swallowed him almost instantly, his figure quickly fading into the distance.

Left alone, the silence in the car felt overwhelming, broken only by the rhythmic drumming of rain on the roof and Byrdie’s soft, restless meows. She unzipped Byrdie’s carrier just enough to reach in and stroke her fur again and the warmth of her tiny body grounded Heather’s frayed nerves.

“It’s okay, Byrdie,” she whispered, more for herself than the cat. “Alastair will be back soon. We’ll be fine.”