“I mean it.” Eleanor’s voice rang sharp, her brogue clipped. “You don’t know what you’re stirrin’ up. Glenoran’s not some fairy-tale treasure chest waitin’ to be unlocked. It’s ruin. Secrets better left buried.”
Heather’s spine stiffened, but she kept her voice steady. “With respect, Eleanor, it’s my family. My home. If there are secrets, I’d rather know them than trip over them in the dark.”
Eleanor’s mouth tightened. “That’s what your mother thought, as well. And it led her down roads you don’t want to follow.”
For a moment, her eyes softened, something old and tired flickering there, before they shuttered again.
“Your mother and I—aye, we knew each other well.” She hesitated, her tone roughening. “She was my best mate at Uni. Closer than a sister. We were in the history department together. Jacobites, mostly.” A humorless huff escaped her. “She could argue circles around the lot of them.”
Heather could almost see it: her mother young and fierce in some echoing lecture hall, all sharp wit and stubborn conviction. A whole version of her life Heather had never been handed.
“But clever as she was,” Eleanor went on, “Eilidh made mistakes. Big ones. She started chasin’ shadows she couldnae control. You’re too much like her, and I’ll no’ stand by and watch ye run the same path.”
Flynn pushed off the wall, tone level but edged. “Sounds more like you’re hiding something than warning her.”
Eleanor’s jaw flexed. At last she muttered, “All I’ll say is this—Culloden wasn’t the end of the story. That battle broke men, aye, but it birthed secrets too. Secrets that have teeth.” Her gaze fixed on Heather, steady and unflinching. “And the folk who’ve chased them before you haven’t always come back.”
The hall fell quiet, save for the soft ticking of the clock.
Heather swallowed, but didn’t look away. “I appreciate the warning. Truly. But I’m not walking away from this. Not now.”
Eleanor studied her for a long moment, grief and exasperation warring in her expression. Then she shook her head and pulled her coat tighter.
“Too much her mother’s daughter,” she murmured.
Heather took a step forward. “Then help me. If you cared about her, if you care at all about what happens next, don’t just tell me to stop. Give me something real.”
Eleanor’s jaw clenched. For a moment, it looked like she might turn and leave. Then her shoulders sank, as though something heavy had finally settled on them.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
Heather shook her head. “No.”
Flynn’s hand brushed her elbow, a quiet, steadying touch.
Eleanor let out a low, humorless laugh. “Stubborn, the lot of you. Fine.” Her voice dropped, threaded through with history. “I’ll give you this… a place to begin. You remember I said Culloden didn’t finish the story? That wasn’t just talk.”
Heather’s fingers curled loosely at her sides.
“After the battle, word spread of gold—Spanish, maybe French—meant for the prince. Some say it was carried West.” She paused, eyes glinting. “Hidden in caskets near Loch Arkaig in Lochaber.”
Heather tasted the name, rolling it over once. “Loch Arkaig…”
“Aye.” Eleanor leaned in slightly, voice grim. “But the loch’s as dangerous as the stories. Folk said the treasure was cursed, guarded by the waters themselves. And those who went lookin’.”—Her gaze sharpened—“…most didn’t come back.”
The clock ticked on, unbothered.
Eleanor straightened, her face smoothing over again. “Be careful, lass. Curiosity’s a fine thing in a classroom. Out here, it can cost you dearly.”
With that, she turned and stepped back out into the mist, boots crunching over the gravel as she disappeared from view.
Heather stood in the doorway for a moment, more stunned than shaken. Eleanor hadn’t just known her mother, she’d studied beside her, argued with her, built a life alongside her. And now she’d tied her warning, and the first real thread of a clue, to Culloden and a loch Heather had only ever read about.
A soft brush against her calf made her look down. Byrdie had reappeared, winding around her legs as if to anchor her. Heather scooped the cat up, burying her face briefly in warm fur.
“Yeah, girl,” she murmured. “I’m still catching up, too.”
Flynn let out a low whistle behind her. “Well. That was quite the mornin’ guest.”
