Page 61 of Of Heather and Thistle

H eather’s fingers hovered over the folder, her pulse steady but fast. She had already uncovered so much—fragments of history that had survived for over two centuries, remnants of a past she hadn’t known was hers. And yet, here she was, about to open another door.

She glanced up at Dr. Henderson. “What exactly did you find?”

Dr. Henderson leaned forward, hands clasped.

“Your ancestor, Harris Mackenzie, wasn’t just a soldier at Culloden.

He was a courier—someone trusted to carry critical messages between Jacobite forces.

He hadn’t just been fighting for a cause—he was protecting secrets that could’ve changed the course of history. ”

Heather blinked, stunned. “What kind of information?”

Dr. Henderson opened the folder, pulling out a photocopy of another fragile document.

“This,” she said, pointing to the faded ink, “is a recovered record from a secret Jacobite network. It lists Harris Mackenzie as a key contact—one of the men responsible for moving intelligence between Bonnie Prince Charlie’s forces and sympathizers across the Highlands. ”

Heather traced the name on the page, its weight pressing down on her. “So, he wasn’t just a soldier. He was a messenger.”

Dr. Henderson nodded. “And, based on this record, it appears he carried something of great importance on the day of the battle. Something that was never recovered.”

Heather’s breath caught. “Are you saying—?”

“We believe Harris was carrying intelligence about a hidden Jacobite treasure—gold smuggled in from France to fund the rebellion.” Dr. Henderson’s eyes shone with the thrill of discovery. “But he never got the chance to deliver it.”

Heather exhaled slowly, sitting back in her chair. “So, what happened to it?”

Dr. Henderson sighed. “That’s the mystery. Some historians believe the treasure was lost in the chaos of the battlefield. Others think it was hidden—maybe even buried somewhere near Glenoran.” She tapped the parchment in the case. “Harris’s letter might be the key to finding out what happened.”

Heather’s mind reeled. Could Glenoran hold more than just her family’s history? Could it be part of an even bigger story?

There’s no way.

She shook her head, trying to push the incredulous thought aside.

She swallowed, looking up at Dr. Henderson. “And you think there’s still a chance the treasure exists?”

Dr. Henderson hesitated. “It’s possible. If it was hidden rather than lost, and if Harris left clues in his letter, there’s a chance it could still be out there.”

Was she really about to embark on some crazy treasure hunt?

The thought both excited and frightened her.

But the allure of adventure was too strong.

How long had she spent being a bystander to her own life, watching from the sidelines as the world moved around her?

Heather leaned forward, determination igniting in her eyes.

She let the idea settle in her mind. The house had already given her so much—her past, roots, and connection to a history she had once ignored. But could it also hold the key to something even greater? Something people had been searching for, for generations?

Heather blinked. Once. Twice. Then, let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

“You’re telling me that my ancestor wasn’t just some soldier—he was a Jacobite spy? And that he might have hidden gold meant for Bonnie Prince Charlie?” She shook her head, leaning back in her chair. “That sounds like something from a historical novel, not my life.”

Dr. Henderson gave a small, knowing smile. “That’s what everyone says—until the evidence stacks up.”

Heather looked down at the letter Harris Mackenzie had written, the faded ink like a whisper from the past. But what if it’s true?

Her fingers traced the delicate parchment, reverent now in a way she hadn’t been before.

She exhaled slowly. “Okay. Let’s say this treasure is real… Where do I start?”

Dr. Henderson smiled knowingly. “That’s up to you, Miss Campbell.”

* * *

Heather drove back to Glenoran with the folder resting on the passenger seat beside her, the museum’s offer still echoing in her mind. The weight of what she’d just learned pressed against her chest—not suffocating this time, but exhilarating.

She had thought she was settling into a home.

Now, she realized she might be unraveling a mystery.

As she pulled into the long gravel drive, Glenoran stood before her, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun.

The house—her house—looked more alive than ever.

It had survived war, abandonment, and the passage of time itself.

And if Harris had hidden something here, if secrets were still buried within these walls, she was determined to find them.

Byrdie meowed from the passenger seat, stretching lazily before hopping onto Heather’s lap.

She chuckled, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “Looks like we’ve got some digging to do.”

Heather was still staring at the letter when a familiar knock sounded at the door.

She sighed, shaking her head. “You ever heard of texting before showing up?”

Flynn smirked as he stepped inside, his gaze immediately landing on the open folder on the table. “What’s all this?”

Heather hesitated, then slid the documents toward him. “History.”

Flynn’s brow furrowed as he skimmed through the pages. “Is this what you took to the museum?”

She nodded. “Turns out my ancestor was a Jacobite courier. And he might’ve hidden something people have searched for over two centuries.”

Flynn let out a low whistle, setting the papers down. “You’re telling me there’s actual buried treasure on this property?”

Heather exhaled. “Maybe.”

Flynn crossed his arms, looking at her with amusement. “So, let me get this straight. You were ready to sell this place and run back to the States, and now you’re on a full-fledged treasure hunt?”

Heather groaned. “You make it sound ridiculous.”

Flynn grinned. “Lass, that because it is completely ridiculous.” He gestured around the room. “You were set on leaving and had the whole escape plan mapped out. Now, you’re standing here with documents from a national museum and telling me you’re about to uncover buried treasure.”

Heather opened her mouth to protest, but Flynn held up a hand. “Not that I’m complaining. This is much more interesting than watching you pack up boxes.”

She rolled her eyes. “So you’re in?”

Flynn let out a slow, exaggerated sigh, then smirked. “Aye. But only because if you start digging without me, you’ll end up buried in your own trench.”

Heather hesitated before adding, “I don’t need a babysitter, Flynn. I’ve got this.”

Flynn chuckled. “So, you’re planning to do all this investigating on your own?”

Heather opened her mouth to argue—of course, she was doing this alone. That was what she did. That was how she had always done things.

She had come here alone, sorting through her mother’s things alone. She had rebuilt her life without expecting anyone to step in.

And yet…

Flynn had been there, through every scraped knuckle, every late-night doubt, every moment when she thought she might walk away.

She swallowed, gripping the edge of the table. Maybe some things weren’t meant to be done alone.

Flynn smirked. “This house tends to nearly collapse on you every time you so much as breathe near a weak floorboard.”

Heather huffed. “Excuse you—it’s structurally sound now, thank you very much.”

Flynn leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “Fine. But if you think I’m letting you go digging around ancient ruins alone, you don’t know me very well.”

Heather gave him a look. “It’s not a temple, it’s a house.”

Flynn grinned. “A house that might be sitting on lost Jacobite gold.”

Heather sighed, but a smile tugged at her lips. “Alright, fine. But if you’re going to help, you follow my lead.”

Flynn pressed a hand to his chest. “Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

Heather rolled her eyes, but warmth spread through her chest.

Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t just uncovering history.

Perhaps she was writing a new one.

And she wasn’t doing it alone.