Chapter 28
ALISTAIR
Shared Legacy
There are a dozen ways to win a woman back.
Flowers. Poetry. Grand, breathless declarations shouted beneath her window.
History has proven all of them effective.
But I’m fairly certain I’m the first man to attempt it by dragging the woman I love into a treasure hunt—with a divining rod, a kleptomaniac sheep, and a map that’s over a century old.
Yeah… my life has taken a very unexpected turn lately.
— Are you sure this is the right place? Keira asks, studying the half-torn map we’ve spread across a tree stump.
We’re standing on the infamous southern parcel of the McGregor estate—the one my father has been eyeing for years for his expansion plans.
The early morning sun washes the rolling hills in soft gold, a thin veil of mist still clinging to the tall grass.
It’s beautiful. More beautiful than I ever allowed myself to notice before, back when all I saw was land to acquire… an obstacle to overcome.
— According to the map, there should be a water source somewhere around here, I say, tracing a faded ink line with my finger. That’s where the divining rod comes in.
I lift the object in question—a simple forked hazel branch, worn smooth with age but still remarkably well preserved.
— You don’t actually believe that works, do you? she asks, one brow arched in a way that makes me smile.
— After finding a secret passage thanks to a sheep, how could I possibly doubt a divining rod? I shoot back.
She shakes her head, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
— Fair point. But I still think Hamish didn’t find that passage by accident.
We spent the entire morning digging through the McGregor archives with no luck before turning to this parcel mentioned in Archibald’s journal.
The tension that once crackled between us has softened, replaced by something familiar…
something easy. A quiet partnership fueled by curiosity and the thrill of discovery.
I grip the rod the way Archibald described in his notes—branch steady in my palm, the fork pointing straight ahead.
— I feel completely ridiculous, I admit as we start walking slowly across the field.
— You look completely ridiculous, Keira confirms cheerfully. Wait—don’t move. I need to capture this.
— If a single photo of me playing amateur dowser ends up online, I will deny everything and claim it’s a deepfake.
— No AI could recreate that level of pompous seriousness while holding a stick, she fires back, snapping a picture.
Our eyes meet—and we both burst out laughing at the same time. The sound of it—her laughter blending with mine—hits me harder than I expect. I’d almost convinced myself I’d never hear it again.
We keep moving, and I force myself to focus on the rod instead of the woman beside me.
It’s harder than it should be. Keira’s dressed simply—jeans, a green sweater, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail—but she’s never looked more beautiful.
Her cheeks are flushed from the cool air and the excitement of the hunt, her eyes bright with life.
Then suddenly, I feel it.
A shift. A pull.
The rod trembles in my hands… then dips downward with surprising force.
— Keira! I exclaim. Look!
She steps closer, disbelief written all over her face.
— Are you doing that?
— Absolutely not!
The rod tilts further, stubbornly pointing toward a specific spot on the ground. We exchange a stunned look before dropping to our knees to investigate.
At first glance, there’s nothing—just grass and dirt. But as we push aside the vegetation, something emerges. A stone slab, nearly swallowed by moss and earth.
— That’s impossible, Keira whispers. This thing actually works?
— Apparently, I say, just as stunned. Help me clear it.
We work side by side, ripping away grass and scraping off decades of dirt. Slowly, the slab reveals itself… and at its center, a rusted iron handle comes into view.
— It’s a well, Keira realizes. An old one. Covered up.
— Archibald mentioned a spring in his journal. A source of pure water essential for his whisky.
— You think the other half of the treasure is down there?
I grab the handle and pull. At first, it resists—then gives way with a protesting creak, revealing a dark opening. The scent of damp earth and fresh water drifts up.
— Only one way to find out, I say, pulling out my phone and switching on the flashlight.
The beam reveals a shallow well—maybe six feet deep—with clear water at the bottom. But what immediately catches our attention is a small niche carved into the wall just above the waterline.
And inside it… a metal box identical to the one I found in the underground passage.
— How are we supposed to reach it? Keira asks, leaning over the opening.
— I can climb down. It’s not that deep.
— And ruin your five-hundred-pound trousers? she shoots back with a smirk. No, let me. I’m lighter.
Before I can argue, she’s already pulling off her sweater.
— Hold this, she says, handing it to me, leaving herself in a fitted T-shirt.
I take it—momentarily distracted by the sight of her. She catches me staring and raises a brow.
— Problem, McKenzie?
— None, McGregor. I’m just concerned about your safety.
— Of course you are, she says, smiling like she doesn’t believe a word.
She lies flat on the ground and slides headfirst into the opening while I grip her legs.
— Got it! she calls. Help me up.
I pull her back out carefully. She emerges triumphant, hair a mess from hanging upside down, the metal box clutched in her hands.
— You’re completely insane, I tell her, torn between admiration and concern.
— A simple thank you would’ve been enough, she shoots back, tugging her sweater back on. Now come on—let’s open it!
We settle into the grass, side by side, the box between us. Like the first one, it’s rusted with age, but after a bit of effort, the lid gives way.
Inside, we find the other half of the map… the rest of the recipe… and a sealed envelope stamped with the McGregor crest.
Keira carefully picks it up, studying the wax seal.
With steady hands, she breaks it and pulls out a neatly folded letter. The paper is yellowed, the ink faded—but still perfectly legible.
— Do you want to read it? she asks.
I shake my head.
— It should be you. It’s your ancestor.
She takes a deep breath… and begins to read aloud.
My dearest Archibald,
If you are reading these words, then you have found my part of our treasure, as we agreed. I wish I could say this means we overcame the obstacles between us, but I fear the truth is far less kind.
Tonight, my father confronted me. He knows about us, Archibald. About our love… and our plan. Like yours, he has given me a cruel ultimatum: give you up, or be cast out of the McGregor family forever.
I write this without knowing what choice you will make when faced with the same fate. Perhaps you will choose your inheritance. Perhaps you will choose love. Whatever you decide, know this—I will never hold it against you. I understand the crushing weight of family expectations… of tradition.
Our paths will almost certainly part forever, but I wanted to leave you this final trace of our shared dream. Perhaps one day, when resentment has faded and pride has given way to wisdom, someone will find these fragments and understand what we tried to build.
That this whisky, which never came to be, was never just a drink—but a symbol of what our families could achieve together instead of against each other.
Know this, my dear Archibald—no matter what happens, my heart will always belong to you. If not in this life… then perhaps in another, we will finish what we began here.
With all my love,
Elspeth
Keira’s voice breaks on the last words. When she looks up at me, her eyes are shining with tears.
— It’s heartbreaking, she whispers.
— And painfully familiar, I murmur.
We hold each other’s gaze, fully aware of the parallel. Two couples, torn apart by family, pride, and tradition—more than a century apart.
— They never got to live their dream, Keira says softly, tracing the edge of the letter. They never made the whisky that could’ve changed everything.
— But we can, I say, something taking shape in my mind. We can finish what they started.
She looks at me, surprised.
— What do you mean?
— Look, I say, fitting the two halves of the map together. The McGregor southern parcel for the exceptional barley. The McKenzie spring for pure water. Exactly like the prototype I showed you in the distillery. I was right without even knowing it.
— But the spring is on our land, she points out.
I glance around slowly.
— Actually… the rod led us farther than we realized. We crossed your boundary.
We both go still.
— We’re on McKenzie land, Keira breathes.
I nod.
My attention drops back to what’s inside the box.
— Imagine what we could do with Elspeth’s full recipe. A real collaboration between our families…
The idea builds, pulling me in.
— This wouldn’t just be whisky, Keira. It would be reconciliation. A way to end more than a century of pointless rivalry.
She studies the assembled recipe, her historian’s mind already racing.
— It’s fascinating, she says. She was using maturation techniques far ahead of her time. And this filtration process… it’s almost modern.
— Elspeth was brilliant.
— Like all McGregors, she says with a teasing smile.
— I never doubted it, I reply, just as softly.
Footsteps interrupt us.
We turn to see Callum McGregor approaching, his expression unreadable.
— Well, well, he says as he reaches us. What do we have here?
I tense instinctively, expecting confrontation—but Keira rises calmly.
— Callum, it’s not what you think.
— Oh? he says.
His gaze shifts to the items spread between us—the map, the recipe, the letter. His expression changes. Curiosity replaces suspicion.
— We found it, Keira says.
— Found what?
— The McKenzie–McGregor treasure, obviously. Maggie is going to be thrilled.
She quickly walks him through everything we’ve uncovered.
— So it’s real, he says thoughtfully.
Keira and I exchange a look.
— You knew about it? she asks.
Callum crouches down to examine the items.
— Not exactly. But I’ve heard stories. About a lost treasure that would one day bring our families together. I thought it was just one of Gran’s romantic fantasies. Didn’t think it was real.
— How would Maggie even know about this? I ask.
Callum shrugs.
— That woman knows things she has no business knowing. It’s unsettling, honestly. But if I had to guess… she has more letters. Pieces of the story we haven’t seen yet.
— What letters? Keira asks, frowning.
— I caught her once in the attic, reading old correspondence. When I asked, she just said it was a love story waiting for its happy ending. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now…
He gestures to everything in front of us.
— Now it makes sense.
I absorb that, wondering just how far Maggie’s knowledge goes. Has she been orchestrating all of this? Our meeting… our arrangement… every discovery?
— Maybe I’m starting to understand what she’s always known, he adds quietly.
— Which is? Keira asks.
— That some rivalries have run their course. That some things are meant to happen… whether we like it or not.
He glances back at the documents.
— So what exactly is this big discovery?
We explain it all—the unique whisky recipe, the exceptional barley, the pure spring water. How Archibald and Elspeth dreamed of combining their resources to create something extraordinary.
— And my father wants your land without even knowing why it’s so valuable, I finish. He just wants to take it from the McGregors.
— Just like my father would’ve refused to sell it purely to spite the McKenzies, Callum admits. What a waste.
The three of us fall silent, studying the documents.
— So what now? he finally asks.
Keira and I exchange a look.
What now?
What do we do with this second chance history just handed us?
— I think we talk to Maggie, Keira says. If she has more letters, more answers, we need them.
— And then? Callum asks, looking straight at me.
— Then, I say, we try to do what Archibald and Elspeth couldn’t. We bring our families together. Our resources. Our strengths. We build something new—something that belongs to our future, not our past grudges.
Keira looks at me, something fierce and hopeful shining in her eyes.
Then she slips her hand into mine.
— Together, she says softly.
— Together, I echo, tightening my grip.
Callum watches us, and a slow smile spreads across his face.
— Well… if you’re serious about this, you’re going to need help convincing the rest of the family. We’re not exactly fans of the McKenzies—and from what I hear, the feeling is mutual.
— That’s putting it mildly, I mutter.
— Then it’s settled, he says. Let’s go see Maggie. If anyone can help us make sense of all this, it’s her.
As we gather everything and prepare to head back to the castle, I can’t stop thinking about Elspeth’s final words.
If not in this life… then perhaps in another, we will finish what we began.
Maybe this is that other life.
Maybe we are their second chance.
And this time… I intend to make sure the story ends differently.