Chapter 2
Heather—Present Day
T he Highland Hearth smelled just as it had that night: the smoky tang of the fire, the yeasty warmth of ale, the faint sweetness of cider clinging to old wood.
Heather paused in the doorway, her lips curving despite herself.
Last time she’d stepped through this door, the room had been alive with fiddles and laughter—the Beltane ceilidh.
She could almost see it now: the swirl of dancers, Flynn’s hand pulling her into the reel, the spin of her skirts, the dizzy warmth of his lips brushing hers for the first time near the bar.
Her chest fluttered at the memory, but today the air buzzed differently. Not with celebration, yet rather with possibility.
Flynn leaned close, his voice warm at her ear.
“You’re dragging me into a pub before noon.”
She glanced up at him with a grin. “You weren’t complaining last time.”
He smirked, blue eyes glinting. “Aye, but there was kissing involved then. This looks more like breakfast and trouble.”
Her laugh slipped out, easy and bright. “Both things you can handle.”
The fire snapped in the hearth, sending a ribbon of warmth across the room. And then she saw her.
Eleanor sat at a corner table near the window, shoulders squared, hair pinned back. Not laughing, not eating. Watching.
Heather threaded her way through the tables, that first conversation playing in her mind—the polite smile, the strained kindness, the hush that had fallen at the name Glenoran.
This time, no hush. The lunchtime crowd had gathered, filling the room with clinking glasses and chatter. Still, something about the sight of Eleanor tightened a small knot of nerves in Heather’s stomach.
“Eleanor?”
The woman looked up from her glass, her expression much as Heather remembered: kind eyes, polite smile, a little too controlled.
“Ah, you again,” Eleanor said, voice smooth but not unkind. “Didn’t think I’d be seein’ you back here.”
Heather slid into the chair across from her, with Flynn settling easily at her side. “I’ve come to ask you something. About Glenoran,” she clarified.
The faint smile faltered. Eleanor set down her glass, hands folding together. “You’ve inherited a fine auld place. Most would leave it at that.”
Heather leaned in. “But I can’t. There was more to it. My mom, Eilidh… she left me more than a house.”
For a blink, Eleanor’s eyes flickered—recognition, sharp and unguarded—before the mask returned.
“I told you before, lass. Glenoran’s full of stories. Some better left as such.”
Flynn shifted beside her, crossing his arms. “She’s not here for ghost tales.”
Eleanor’s lips twitched. “No, I can see that.” Her gaze softened slightly as it settled on Heather. “You’re your mother’s daughter, right enough.”
Heather stilled, as if someone had nudged a puzzle piece into place.
“My mom?” she echoed. “You… you knew her?”
For a heartbeat, something raw surfaced in Eleanor’s expression. Then it was gone. She took a slow sip of her drink, set it down, and shook her head.
“Come back tomorrow, hen. Let an auld woman think on whether she’s got anything worth sayin’.”
Heather opened her mouth to press, but one sharp look from Eleanor cut off the attempt.
“Some things can’t be given back once they’re dug up. Think on that.”
With surprising swiftness, she rose, shrugged on her coat, and slipped out into the misty street.
Heather stared after her, heart thudding with a bright, electric thrill. Eleanor had known her mom. Really known her. The door wasn’t cracked open—it was standing wide.
Flynn’s hand found hers beneath the table, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles.
“Well,” he said lightly, “that went better than expected.”
Heather snorted. “Better? She practically bolted.”
“Aye, but she didn’t throw her drink at you or shout. That’s progress.”
Heather shook her head, pressing her palms to the table.
“She knew her, Flynn. She tried to hide it, but… she knows something. I can feel it.”
Flynn sobered. “Aye. And she’ll tell you when she’s ready. Push her now and she’ll run for real.”
Heather bit her lip. “What if she changes her mind?”
Flynn reached across the table and gently lifted her chin.
“Campbell, you’ve already gotten further than anyone else. Give the woman a night. Tomorrow, we try again.”
Heather sighed, leaning briefly into the warmth of his hand before nodding.
“Alright. Fine.”
Flynn grinned. “Good. Now let’s get out of here before I’m forced to eat another one of those cottage pies you claim to love.”
She rolled her eyes, grateful for the levity. As they stood, a spark of excitement trilled through her.
Eleanor knows something.
That single truth was enough to carry her through the misty Inverness streets and into whatever tomorrow might bring.