Epilogue
Flynn—Present Day
T he first warm day of spring broke over Glenoran like a blessing.
Heather stood in the entryway, sunlight spilling through the old mullioned windows in gold ribbons. Dust motes danced around her like something enchanted—her hair catching the glow, her eyes bright with a peace he hadn’t seen since the museum, since the chase, since Skye.
Since he met her a year ago.
Since she found not just history…
…but home.
Flynn paused in the kitchen doorway, leaning his shoulder against the stone arch, watching her.
She didn’t notice him at first. She was tracing the new plaque beside the old hearth, freshly engraved:
THE GLENORAN FIND
Preserved for Scotland
1746–present
“If the thistle endures, follow it home.”
Every piece of the treasure, now cataloged.
Every secret accounted for.
Every danger, gone.
For the first time since he’d met her, Heather Campbell looked… weightless.
He stepped closer, slow, quiet.
She glanced back, smiling softly. “You’re staring.”
“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. “ You did it.”
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “ We did.”
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.
A Celtic knot twined with a tiny carved thistle, set with one small diamond, forged by a local smith in Inverness.
Heather let out a sob-laugh, tears shining.
“So I’m askin’ ye, lass…”
He squeezed her hand—warm, steady, sure.
“Will ye marry me?”
The wind stilled.
And Glenoran—ancient, loyal, watching—felt the moment settle into its bones.
Heather’s breath shattered.
For a heartbeat she didn’t speak, couldn’t speak, because all at once Glenoran, the treasure, the ghosts, the grief, the story of her mother… all of it crashed into the moment she’d never dared imagine for herself.
Flynn Duncan, kneeling in the Highland grass.
Looking up at her like she hung the stars.
Like she was home .
Her hand trembled violently, but she didn’t hesitate.
She launched at him.
He caught her with a soft grunt as she collided with his chest—laughing through tears, hands tangled in his hair, mouth on his in a kiss that tasted like yes , like finally , like everything she’d ever been too afraid to hope for.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, thumb brushing her cheek.
“Is that a yes, then?” he whispered, voice rough.
Heather laughed—bright, breathless, the happiest sound Glenoran had ever heard.
“Yes!” she squealed.
She kissed him again, tears slipping warm down her cheeks.
“Yes, Flynn. Of course it’s yes. It’s always been yes.”
Flynn slid the dainty ring onto her trembling finger.
Perfect fit.
Meant for her.
Meant for this.
He pressed his forehead to hers.
“I love you, Heather Campbell.”
She closed her eyes, breath shaking.
“I love you, too.”
Above them, the clouds shifted, letting a beam of sun spill across the field, soft and golden.
She looked toward Glenoran, her hand in Flynn’s, and the thistle ring catching the light.
Her mother was here.
Harris and Fiona were here .
Her Dad was, too.
And Heather was finally where she belonged.