“Aye,” he murmured. “Hard not to, lass.”
She crossed to him, slipping her hands beneath his sweater, palms warm against his ribs. “We did it…”
He cupped her jaw gently. “Youdid it.”
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Wedid.”
Outside, the Highland wind bent the heather fields. The house breathed around them, alive in a way it hadn’t been in years. Glenoran house knew its mistress now. It finally had someone who loved it. Someone who saw it.
Someone who belonged.
Heather looked around with a soft, astonished expression.
“It feels different,” she said. “Like it’s… happy now”
Her eyes lifted to his—clear, certain, glowing.
He felt the words swell in his chest, heavy and inevitable.
Not rehearsed.
Just truth.
“Come outside with me,” he said.
She blinked. “Flynn, I’m starving. Can’t whatever it is wait?”
“No.”
He laced their fingers and led her through the back door, out into the garden behind the house. The breeze carried the scent of wild gorse and distant rain. The Cairngorms rose in blue-gray shadows on the horizon.
He stopped at the old stone garden bench overlooking the glen—the place they planted more lavender together during the renovation last year in remembrance of her mum—the place he first realized he was falling in love with her.
Heather sighed, smiling at the view. “It’s beautiful.”
Flynn didn’t look at the view.
He looked at her.
“Mo chridhe,” he said quietly.
She turned—and froze.
He was already on one knee.
Her breath left her in a soft, broken sound.
Flynn took her hand, holding it like something holy.
“Heather Mackenzie Campbell,” he said, voice thick, heart hammering. “We’ve chased ghosts. We’ve fought madwomen and treasure hunters. We’ve crossed half o’ Scotland together. But the only thing I’ve ever been certain of…”
He swallowed, eyes burning.
“…is you.”
Her free hand flew to her mouth.
Flynn lifted the small velvet box from his pocket.
