Page 25 of Of Heather and Thistle

H eather 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.

Across the way, a bakery’s sign swayed gently in the morning breeze, and the scent of fresh bread and coffee curled into the air. Her stomach growled.

“Alright, breakfast soon,” she murmured.

But before tackling anything else, she needed a proper shower.

The long day before had left her feeling too grimy to face the world.

The hot water washed away the lingering exhaustion and, as she stepped out, the cool bathroom air tingled against her skin.

She wrapped herself in a towel, catching her own gaze in the fogged mirror.

Yesterday’s chaos had left its mark: pale exhaustion, shadows beneath her eyes, the weight of too little sleep.

She looked… different? …or maybe she just felt it.

Either way, at least she was starting to feel human again.

She quickly swapped Flynn’s clothes for dark jeans, a snug cream sweater, and waterproof Chelsea boots, folding his flannel neatly and placing it in her bag to return later.

“Can’t forget this,” she said, grabbing her Barbour jacket from the closet. With a teasing glance at Byrdie’s carrier, she added, “Definitely don’t want another see-through situation like yesterday.”

Byrdie meowed in response, and Heather chuckled, feeling just a little lighter than before.

* * *

Downstairs, the bed and breakfast’s dining room was warm and inviting with the smell of scones and bacon wafting through the air. The hostess, a rosy-cheeked older woman with a singsong Scottish accent, greeted her with a bright smile.

“Good morning, dear. Did ye sleep well? ”

Heather smiled back. “Very well, thank you. This place is beautiful.”

“Well, let’s get ye fed, then,” the woman chirped, bustling off to the kitchen.

She sat by the window, sipping a cup of strong coffee as she gazed at the sleepy town. Last night’s rain left the streets saturated, tiny rivers of water trickling along the gutters.

Her phone’s screen glowed with the directions to Glenoran House.

Her chest tightened: What if she hated it?

She tried to picture it—a grand old house, tucked away in the hills.

But all she could see was the uncertainty of it.

The weight of history, of responsibility, of a past she didn’t even know.

She focused on the reality of what awaited her.

Would the house feel like home? Or would it feel like stepping into a stranger’s life?

Her breakfast arrived—a hearty plate of eggs, bacon, toast, and black pudding. She hadn’t expected such a generous spread, and her stomach clenched at the sight of it—equal parts nerves and hunger.

Eat first. Panic later.

As she ate, her thoughts drifted to Ivy.

She hadn’t heard from her in days. Had Ivy even noticed she was gone?

…or had she been too wrapped up in whatever mess she was making with Sam?

Heather swallowed down those thoughts along with a bite of toast. No.

She wasn’t going to think about Ivy right now.

A glance at the clock sent her pulse stuttering: 8:30 a.m.

She had exactly thirty minutes to get to Glenoran House to meet Mr. Reid. And no way to get there.

Think, Heather.

She stirred her coffee absently, staring out at the fog rolling over Inverness. The warmth of the bed and breakfast with the soft chatter of other guests and its scent of fresh bread—it all felt safe.

Her thumb hovered over Mr. Reid’s number.

What if you don’t belong?

The thought gripped her, cold and sharp.

But if she left, if she walked away now…

No. That’s what her father would have done.

A low stone wall curved along the roadside, moss softening its edges.

A single sheep stood just beyond it, blinking at the passing car as if none of this mattered.

Somehow, the sight grounded her. Life kept moving—even here.

She exhaled sharply and dialed.

“Mr. Reid? …it’s Heather Campbell.” She tried to sound calm, but her voice was slightly shakier than intended. “I’m supposed to meet you at Glenoran House this morning. There’s just one small problem… I don’t have a way to get there.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and Mr. Reid’s warm voice came through.

“Ah, I see. Not to worry, Miss Campbell. I’m just gettin’ intae Inverness now. I can come pick your up. Where are ye staying’?”

She gave him the address and then released a breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding. After they ended their call, she glanced around the cozy room, taking in the morning’s soft, golden light and the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air.

She quickly checked her watch: 8:45 a.m.

With only fifteen minutes to spare, she moved into action. She gathered her things and checked once more to ensure she had everything: phone… wa llet… jacket… she’d come back for her luggage and Byrdie once she saw exactly what she had inherited.

She hurried out of the room and down the stairs to meet Mr. Reid.

As she stepped outside, the brisk air hit her face, making her aware that she hadn’t even thought about the chill that had come in with the morning mist. Her jacket was warm enough, but it did little to brace her against the uncertainty curling in her stomach as she waited.

Not long after, a black sedan pulled up to the curb, and she stood straighter, ready to face whatever came next. The door opened, and a well-dressed older man with neatly-combed hair and a friendly smile stepped out.

Heather shook his hand, trying to steady the flutter of nerves in her stomach. She offered a polite smile as she slipped into the passenger seat of the car. “Thank you for coming to pick me up.”

“Of course,” he said, settling into the driver’s seat. “It’s my pleasure. I trust yer stay here has been comfortable?”

She nodded, trying to sound nonchalant. “Yes, very much so. The Thistle Haven is lovely.”

“That’s good to hear,” Reid replied, adjusting the rear-view mirror before pulling into the quiet street.

“The inn’s not much, but it has charm, especially with the weather we’ve been having.

But I digress; you’re here now for more important matters: Glenoran House awaits!

” Reid offered her a small smile, as if sensing her nerves, but kept his eyes on the road.

She felt her pulse quicken at the mention of the house. The weight of the day ahead settled on her shoulders, but she took a deep breath, forcing her mind to focus.

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it. I have to admit: I never expected any of this. It’s… a lot to process.” She could feel the weight of her own words as they left her lips.

Reid glanced at her briefly, his expression understanding.

“I can only imagine, Miss Campbell. Not every day one learns of a family legacy like this. But yer here now, and we’ll take it step by step.”

The road stretched ahead as they left town, the steady hum of the car beneath them doing nothing to quiet the anticipation pressing against Heather’s ribs.

“The house is a bit off-the-beaten-path…” Reid said. “…one of those places that’s tucked away, like something from a storybook. But ye’ll see for yerself soon enough.”

She offered a faint smile. “I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

But was she sure?

“I’ve heard a bit about the house,” Heather said. “But honestly, I don’t know much. My mother never talked about it. At least, I don’t think she did.”

Reid nodded, gaze still on the road. “Understandable. Families have their reasons for keeping things quiet. Especially when it comes to old estates like Glenoran.”

“A burden,” she clarified.

Reid glanced at her. “Aye. Ye’ll ken what I mean when we get there.”

His words made her stomach churn with curiosity and apprehension. “I’m not sure I’m ready for all that.”

“Ye’ll manage,” Reid assured her with another small smile. “Ye don’t have a choice now, do ye?”

Heather laughed softly despite herself. “No, I suppose not.”

The trees slowly started to thin out, and she caught a glimpse of the house—dark, looming, wrapped in lingering cloud and a dusting of fading snow .

Her stomach twisted. It felt less like she was arriving at a home and more like she was approaching something ancient. Something… waiting.

The car turned onto a winding, narrow road flanked by towering trees, the mist curling away from the treetops as they moved forward—revealing the estate piece by piece. The dark stone. The towering silhouette. The gaping windows.

She had expected something imposing yet beautiful—something out of a story.

But, this? This felt… forgotten.

The veil of clouds clung to the crumbling stone like grasping fingers, reluctant to let go.

The house stood like a sentinel on the horizon, its weathered walls watching her just as much as she was watching it. Something in her chest fluttered—recognition or dread, she couldn’t tell.

Something shifted in her chest, a quiet tightening. This was the place her mother had known, had maybe even loved. And yet, it was a stranger to her.

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.