“I want to see it,” she said quietly. “For her. For me.”
“Aye,” he answered into her hair. “And I’ll be there when you do.”
They stayed like that for a long while, wrapped together in the hush of Glenoran’s library, the fire crackling low. Outside, fog slipped over the hills, soft and unassuming, as the day wore on toward whatever came next.
Tomorrow, they’d point the car West—toward Culloden, toward Loch Arkaig, toward a story her mother had never finished. The path ahead didn’t feel like a legend anymore.
It felt like a plan.
Chapter 5
Heather-Present Day
The road wound narrow and slick, mist draping itself over the hills like a heavy shawl. Heather leaned her forehead to the glass, watching the Highlands unfurl into fields and stone walls, expecting Flynn would drive them straight to the battlefield.
Instead, he flicked on the blinker and turned onto a smaller lane.
Heather arched a brow. “Shortcut? Or do you just like keeping me guessing?”
Flynn’s mouth curved into a grin. “Something like that.”
The truck jolted over the uneven road, past a wide field where Highland cows grazed, their hulking shapes dark against the gray sky. Heather couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. “Oh my God—I know this place.”
Flynn’s brow quirked. “Do ye now?”
“Don’t even pretend you don’t remember. This is where I first showed up—soaked through, reeking of cow shit, looking like I’d lost a fist-fight with a swamp.”
His laugh rolled warm and easy, filling the cab. “Aye. I opened my door to find a drowned American wanderin’ out of a cow pasture. White linen clingin’ to her like it had a grudge. Could see every curve of ye clear as day.”
Heather groaned, covering her face with one hand. “Oh my God. How mortifying.”
“Best first impression I’ve ever had,” Flynn shot back with a wicked grin, pulling the truck into the drive.
The lane ended at a stone cottage tucked against the slope of the hill, smoke curling lazily from its chimney. It was simple, weathered, yet welcoming. Its garden was a little wild, with ivy edging up the stones, the kind of place that belonged to the land rather than sitting on top of it.
Inside, the cottage was exactly as Heather remembered: the scent of smoke and old wood, the sturdy beams overhead, the small hearth ready for a fire. Her eyes caught on the mirror by the door, and she smirked.
“So what did you ever do with those clothes?” she asked, tilting her head.
Flynn glanced over, a mischevious gleam in his blue eyes. “Thought you told me to burn them?”
“I did,” she said with a grin. “Did you?”
He crossed the space in two strides, catching her waist and pulling her flush against him. His voice dropped low, teasingagainst her ear. “Aye, I gave them a proper Highland send-off. Shame, though… never seen a garment fit anyone like that.”
Heat shot through her, her thoughts scattering for a second. Before she could retort, his mouth brushed hers in a quick, deliberate kiss—enough to steal her words, not enough to satisfy. Then he leaned back and with one playful smack to her backside, he stepped away.
“Come on, Campbell,” he said, already moving toward the kitchen. “We’ve a journey ahead, and I need to grab a few things first.”
Heather had to remind her knees they were still supposed to function as she followed. “You can’t just do that,” she muttered, cheeks burning.
“Do what?” Flynn asked, feigning innocence as he pulled a canvas satchel from a hook and began tossing supplies into it—rope, a battered field guide, a flask
“That.” She gestured vaguely, still flustered. “The kiss. The… the—”
“The wee smack?” he supplied, eyes glinting as he looked up from the bag.
Her mouth opened, then shut. “Yes! That!”
