Page 24 of Of Heather and Thistle

“More like running away and hoping for the best.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

She blinked, hearing them hang in the air, solid and undeniable.

Had she really just said that? Out loud?

To Flynn ? The truth settled in her chest a beat too late—she hadn’t admitted it to herself until just now.

“Running away from what?” he asked, his tone curious but not prying.

Heather fixed her gaze into her tea, debating how much to share. “Just… life. It wasn’t exactly working out the way I thought it would. And Glenoran House felt like a chance to start fresh.”

Flynn nodded, lifting his mug and taking a slow sip of tea. He set it back down on the table in front of him, his fingers resting loosely around it as he studied her.

“Fair enough. I reckon a lot of people feel that way when they come to the Highlands—like it’s a reset button. Cannae say I blame you. There’s something about this place that makes everything feel a bit simpler.”

Heather smiled softly. “That’s what I’m hoping for. Though to be honest, this whole night has been anything but simple.”

Flynn smirked. “Aye, I’ll give ye that. But hey… yer surviving. That counts for something.”

She shook her head, laughing despite herself. “Barely. I can’t believe I left my driver to deal with the car and ran off into a field full of cows. This is not how I pictured my big adventure starting. ”

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” Flynn said, his grin returning, “yer definitely going to have a story to tell about yer first night in Scotland.”

Heather raised her mug, the warmth spreading through her hands as she gave him a wry smile, her eyes catching his. “Here’s hoping the rest of the trip is a little less… eventful.”

Flynn smirked, tilting his head as he watched her. “Something tells me, lass, that with you, it’s never going to be boring.”

She felt a blush creep up her neck and quickly looked down at her tea while her heart gave an unexpected flutter.

Flynn had a way of saying things that made her feel like he saw right through her—but in a good sort of way that she wasn’t used to, like he wasn’t judging her for the chaos that she had brought with her.

Before Heather could respond, a sharp knock at the door interrupted them.

Flynn set down his mug with a quiet thud, pushing back his chair as he stood.

With a glance toward her, he strode toward the door and swung it open.

Alastair stood there, drenched and disheveled, with the lights of a tow truck illuminating the rain behind him.

“Well, that was a wild goose chase; I couldnae find ye anywhere, lass!” Alastair said, stepping into the doorway and brushing rain off his jacket. His eyes landed on Heather, taking in her oversized flannel. “You’ve certainly made yourself at home, I see.”

Heather crossed her arms, feeling her cheeks heat. “It’s not what it looks like. My clothes were soaked, thanks to the rain—and the cows.”

Flynn leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, his expression amused. “It’s true! She showed up looking like she’d gone a few rounds in a Highland mud wrestling match. Couldnae exactly leave her dripping everywhere.”

Alastair sighed, shaking his head. “The car’s done for the night. The tow truck driver’s taking it into town, and he mentioned there’s a nice little bed and breakfast in Inverness he can drop ye at.”

Heather’s eyes widened. “Inverness? That’s close to Glenoran House, isn’t it?”

Alastair gave a nod. “Aye, but with this storm, no one’s getting up that road tonight. Ye’ll need to wait it out in town.”

Heather exhaled, relief loosening the knot in her chest. “And you’re sure the driver doesn’t mind taking me there instead?”

The tow truck driver appeared in the doorway, giving a quick nod. “It’s no trouble. I have plenty of room in the cab, and I’ll ensure ye get there safely.”

She hesitated. The fire crackled behind Flynn, its golden light flickering over the room, casting soft shadows along the wooden beams. The warmth of the cottage still clung to her skin, the scent of cedar and tea settling deep in her chest. Outside, the rain seemed to soften slightly, as if the storm itself were hesitating—urging her to linger just a moment longer.

Flynn stood just inside, arms crossed, watching her. There was nothing in his expression that asked her to stay—but something about the way he held her gaze made her hesitate all the same. It was nothing, she told herself. Just a stranger seeing another stranger off.

Still, the moment stretched between them, thick with something unspoken.

Flynn gave a small, knowing smile. “Safe journey, lass. ”

Heather swallowed, nodding. “And… thanks. For everything.” She hesitated, then added, “Oh—my clothes. The ones I left in the bathroom. Just… burn them.”

Flynn smirked. “Aye, I’ll give them a proper Highland sendoff.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, then bent to scoop up Byrdie from her cozy spot near the fireplace.

The cat let out a grumpy little mrrow as Heather tucked her gently back into the carrier.

Nearby, her mud-caked sneakers sat in a defeated heap by the door.

She shot Flynn a sheepish look. “I should probably take those, too. Can’t leave you with all my baggage. Emotional or otherwise.”

Flynn raised a brow. “More’s the pity. I was gonna bronze them.”

Heather rolled her eyes but grabbed the shoes anyway, holding them at arm’s length as she stepped toward the door.

The night air hit her with a biting chill, the steady drizzle creeping beneath her borrowed clothes and raising goosebumps along her skin.

She ducked her head against the wind and climbed into the tow truck, her bare feet cold against the worn rubber mat while she cradled Byrdie’s carrier on her lap.

Flynn was still there, standing in the doorway, watching her go.

Heather turned back, finding Alastair still standing by Flynn’s porch, hands tucked into his coat pockets.

“Hey, Alastair?”

He looked up, the drizzle catching in his salt-and-pepper hair.

Heather offered a small smile. “Thanks… for everything.”

Alastair waved. “Just try to stay out of trouble from here on out, aye?”

Heather groaned. “Never living that down, am I?”

“Not a chance.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “God go wi’ ye, lass.”

The tow truck engine rumbled to life, and as Heather reached for the door handle, Alastair’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen and nodded. “That’ll be my ride. One of the lads from Inverness is swingin’ by.”

Relief loosened the last bit of tension in her chest. “Good. I’d hate to be the reason you ended up stranded, too.”

“Och, I’d have been fine,” he said with a wink. “But I appreciate the concern.”

She huffed a quiet laugh and shut the door. As the truck pulled away, she caught one last glimpse of Flynn’s cottage, its windows glowing warm against the storm, before both Alastair and Flynn turned and disappeared back inside.

She hoped this wouldn’t be the last time she’d see Flynn Duncan.

* * *

The drive to Inverness was quiet, save for the truck’s steady hum and the rhythmic rain tapping against the windshield.

The driver, a middle aged man with a thick, broad Scots accent, kept his eyes on the road.

He had a weathered face—the kind that had seen its fair share of long nights and hard work—with deep set eyes that flicked between the road and his passengers.

His wiry frame was bundled in a heavy jacket, the collar turned up against the cold, and a short, grizzled beard framed his mouth as he broke the silence.

“Yer headed tae Glenoran House, aye? Ye’ve got yer work cut out for ye, lassie. Big place like that’s bound to need some fixin’-up.”

Heather offered a faint smile, though her stomach knotted. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

He chortled. “Aye, well, ye picked a hell of a night for it. It’s pishin’ doon out there! Proper Highland welcome, that.”

Heather let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, I got that impression.”

“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 the surrounding 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 was a cheerful older woman named Claire who welcomed 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 m ade 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 yet home 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 even good.

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.