Another asked, “Who found the gold?”
Heather smiled faintly.
Flynn nudged her shoulder. “Go on. Say it. Tell them.”
She shook her head, eyes bright.
No.
This part wasn’t hers.
She stepped back—just out of view, just where Eilidh would have stood.
She looked at the tartan, whole again for the first time since the rebellion.
She glanced at Flynn.
Then she said softly, with a smile that felt like a benediction:
“Just a girl with a story to tell.”
Epilogue
Flynn—Present Day
The first warm day of spring broke over Glenoran like a blessing.
Heather stood in the entryway, sunlight spilling through the old mullioned windows in gold ribbons. Dust motes danced around her like something enchanted—her hair catching the glow, her eyes bright with a peace he hadn’t seen since the museum, since the chase, since Skye.
Since he met her a year ago.
Since she found not just history…
…but home.
Flynn paused in the kitchen doorway, leaning his shoulder against the stone arch, watching her.
She didn’t notice him at first. She was tracing the new plaque beside the old hearth, freshly engraved:
THE GLENORAN FIND
Preserved for Scotland
1746–present
“If the thistle endures, follow it home.”
Every piece of the treasure, now cataloged.
Every secret accounted for.
Every danger, gone.
For the first time since he’d met her, Heather Campbell looked… weightless.
He stepped closer, slow, quiet.
She glanced back, smiling softly. “You’re staring.”
