Blood remembers, she thought. Even in letters.
“She wrote to me,” she whispered. “She wrote to me across time.”
Flynn wrapped an arm around her, anchoring her, holding her steady.
“She knew someone in her line would come. If not your mother, then you…” he murmured into her hair. “She bloody knew.”
Heather leaned into him, breath trembling. “Flynn… this is bigger than the gold.”
Flynn’s voice was bewildered, hushed. “This is legacy.”
He rested his forehead against hers.
Heather lifted her head, eyes catching a glint in the hollow.
Not stone.
Gold.
Waiting.
Enduring.
Chapter 44
Heather—Present Day
The flashlight trembled in Heather’s hand.
The mix of anxiety, exhilaration and adrenaline was threatening to tear her apart, yet she persisted. Something inside her was shifting, widening, becoming vast.
“Hold the light steady, lass,” Flynn whispered, though his own breath trembled.
Heather swept the beam back toward the hollow.
There—half drowned in centuries of dust, half revealed by the torch’s thin line—wasgold.
Not gleaming.
Not polished.
Not treasure as storybooks painted it.
This gold was sleeping, wrapped in soot and time, waiting for a hand brave enough to wake it.
Flynn exhaled, a bewildered, disbelieving sound.
“Christ… Heather.”
Her knees felt hollow. “Help me.”
Together, they leaned in.
Flynn cleared the debris first—cupped handfuls of ash, old brick crumble, flakes of char that disintegrated on touch. Heather brushed the dust aside with a tea towel, careful,careful, as if one rough movement might break the fragile spell.
Underneath, the gold resolved into shape.
Not coins.
