Heather’s lips pressed into a firm line.
All those polite smiles. The careful words. The way Henderson had hovered around her after Heather had given the missing Mackenzie artifacts to the museum.
It had all been a mask.
Henderson had a reputation.
And the whole of Scotland seemed to know it.
Inside the sleeve was a series of faded black-and-white photographs.
A museum display case.
And inside it—
A massive leather saddle panel.
Black leather. Scuffed. Incredibly old.
And stamped with a barely visible thistle.
TheGlenoranThistle.
Heather’s hand flew to her mouth.
Eleanor breathed, “Holy—”
Flynn whispered, “Dubh.”
Heather’s pulse roared in her ears.
“Let’s go,” she said.
No hesitation. No fear left.
Just fire.
Flynn squeezed her hand.
Eleanor grabbed the keys.
And together, they stepped out into the Skye wind—toward the museum, toward the saddle, toward the truth.
Completely unaware that Henderson was already on the island.
Chapter 48
Heather—Present Day
The Flodigarry Croft Museum didn’t look like a place capable of holding secrets.
A low stone cottage crouched at the edge of a wind-battered cliff. Heather half expected it to be locked and shuttered for the season.
It wasn’t
The door creaked open beneath Flynn’s hand. A thin bell chimed overhead: lonely, almost apologetic.
Inside, the air was cold and stale. Dust motes clung to the light. The displays were old-fashioned: typed placards curling atthe corners, maps yellowed with age, glass cabinets warped just enough to remind you they hadn’t been disturbed in decades.
