Inside was a sheet of vellum, ink faded but legible, a strip of crimson ribbon, frayed and stained, a carved wooden pendant shaped like a thistle, and a letter, sealed with black wax.
Heather reached for the letter first.
The wax was unbroken.
Her breath tangled in her ribs. “No one’s opened this in over two hundred years.”
Flynn touched her shoulder. “Campbell… wait.”
She looked up, startled. “What?”
He held her gaze, fierce and steady. “This isbig, lass. Once we open it, there’s no going back.”
Her throat tightened. “Flynn…”
“This treasure has been missing for centuries.” He shivered. “It’s been Scotland’s heartbeat for generations, and we are the first souls in God knows how long to touch it…” His thumb brushed her cheek, smudging soot.
Her voice cracked. “Holy shit, Flynn, you’re making me nervous.”
“I think a healthy amount of trepidation is warranted, lass.”
Her next breath steadied.
She broke the brittle, time-worn seal.
The letter inside was shorter than she expected, just a page.
The handwriting made her chest seize.
Not Fiona’s.
Harris’s.
Heather’s vision blurred.
“Read it,” Flynn whispered. “If ye can.”
She tried.
Her voice broke halfway through the first line.
To my daughter, Bess,
or to the daughters who follow—
for I pray the Good Lord allows my line to endure where I did not.
The gold is not all.
It was never all.
If you find this, know this truth:
I did what must be done to keep our history from the hands that would destroy it.
I leave the rest to you.
Not coin.
