Chapter 54
Heather—Present Day
H eather woke to warmth.
Not the sharp, startling kind, or the type that demanded attention—but the steady, familiar heat of a body pressed along her back, an arm draped over her waist like it had always belonged there.
Flynn slept behind her, breathing slow and even, his chest rising against her shoulder blade. His knee hooked lazily over her thigh, anchoring her in place. Somewhere near her feet, Byrdie purred like a tiny, self-satisfied engine.
Heather didn’t move.
For the first time in weeks—months—there was nothing chasing her awake.
No maps waiting.
No footsteps in the dark.
No sense that if she stayed still too long, something would be taken, or that she would be lost.
So she just lay there and listened to Glenoran breathe.
The faint crackle of the fire downstairs, the low moan of wind through old stone, and the house settling into itself, as if relieved.
Flynn shifted behind her, face burying briefly in her hair.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” he mumbled.
She smiled. “You’re awake.”
“Unfortunately,” he said. “Tryin’ to see how long I could stretch it before Byrdie came in demanding her breakfast.”
On cue, the cat stretched and placed one possessive paw directly on Heather’s chest.
Heather laughed softly. “She’s protecting me.”
“From me?” Flynn asked, affronted.
“From everyone. She’s seen things.”
Flynn snorted and tightened his arm around her. “Aye. Same.”
They lay there a moment longer, comfortable in the quiet. No urgency. No next step hovering between breaths.
Heather rolled slightly onto her back, tilting her head to look at him. His hair was a mess. His face still held sleep, soft and unguarded in a way she rarely saw anymore.
“This,” she said quietly, “is what we were fighting for, isn’t it?”
Flynn followed her gaze around the room, to the light spilling through the curtains, to Byrdie now curled smugly between them, to the stillness that felt earned.
“Aye,” he said. “This is it.”
Downstairs, the house creaked.
It was familiar, welcoming.
Just… home.
Glenoran felt like herself again.
Not pristine, but lived-in.
Heather padded barefoot through the kitchen. Flynn moved easily around her, boots on, flannel half-buttoned, tending the fire like he always had. The saddle rested near the hearth.
Heather paused beside it.
She ran her fingers along the worn leather, the seam Flora had trusted, Fiona had guarded, Harris had carried.
“You’re home,” she murmured.
Flynn glanced over. “Tea or coffee?”
“Hmm… coffee,” she said. Then added, “Strong.”
“Aye. Thought as much.”
Byrdie leapt onto the table, knocking over nothing important and everything symbolic.
Heather laughed. “We should put bells on her.”
Flynn raised an eyebrow. “Ye’ll be dead by nightfall.”
There was a knock at the door.
Heather stiffened automatically, then caught herself.
Flynn noticed. He crossed the room, brushing his thumb against her wrist as he passed.
“I’ve got it.”
Eleanor stood on the threshold, wool scarf askew, eyes bright and tired in equal measure.
“Well,” she said, stepping inside, “you look like people who slept.”
Heather smiled. “We did.”
Eleanor’s expression softened. “Good. About damn time.”
They settled around the kitchen table; coffee poured, Byrdie claiming Eleanor’s lap as if no time had passed.
“I willnae stay long,” Eleanor said. “But I wanted ye to hear this from me.”
Heather leaned forward. “Okay.”
Eleanor took a breath. “Henderson’s position has been… vacated.”
Flynn hummed. “That’s one way of puttin’ it.”
“The board asked me to step in,” Eleanor continued. “Interim, officially. Permanent, if I’m willing.”
Heather blinked. “Eleanor—”
She held up a hand. “I said yes.”
Something in Heather’s chest loosened. Not relief exactly, more like rightness.
“I won’t let her version of history stand,” Eleanor said quietly. “And I won’t let your mother’s work be twisted into something it never was.”
Heather grinned. “She trusted you.”
Eleanor’s smile wavered, eyes growing misty. “I know.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“Well… that’s it, then!” Eleanor stood, wiping her eyes and smoothing her coat. “I’ll see ye both soon. There’s paperwork. Meetings. A great deal of very boring responsibility.”
Flynn smirked. “Sounds dreadful.”
“It is,” she agreed. Then, softer, to Heather: “You did good, my girl.”
After she left, Heather stood at the window, watching Eleanor walk down the drive.
“She’s right, ye ken,” Flynn said from behind her.
Heather leaned back into him with a shrug. “I didn’t do it alone.”
“Aye,” he said with a nod. “But ye’re the one who finished it.”
She looked around—the hearth, the saddle, the quiet corners that no longer felt empty.
The house finally didn’t feel like something she inherited.
It felt like something she belonged to.
Heather exhaled.
And Glenoran, at last, was at rest.