Ep.26.) Haze Over the Highlands

1. relationships
2. second-chance love
3. small-town drama
4. emotional storytelling
5. love stories
6. family legacy
7. romantic drama
8. pottery romance
9. Clayhollow
10. Clara Wren
11. Miles Tarrow
12. Lila Sterling
13. Midnight’s Shadow
14. artisan romance
15. community bonds

Shadows Before Midnight
Step into the moonlit forests of New England romance with Lila Sterling’s tales of love, legacy, and supernatural intrigue. From the pines of Maine to the hearths of small-town artisans, each story weaves passion and mystery under the stars.
© 2025 Lila Sterling. All rights reserved. Recorded under the moonlit pines of New England, September 17, 2025.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Hayes over the Highlands by Leela Stirling, Chapter one, The
Return to glen Ross. The thick haze draped over the
Highlands of Glenross, Scotland. As Ava macleote stepped off the
train onto the gravel platform on a chilly October morning
in nineteen ninety eight, at thirty five. She hadn't returned

(00:21):
to the rugged village since her father's death five years ago,
leaving behind the stone croft he'd tended. A letter from
the glen Ross Council had summoned her the croft. Her
family's legacy faced demolition due to a proposed hydroelectric dam.
With developer Ian Campbell eyeing the land, Aarva planned to
assess it, signed the papers and returned to her quiet

(00:43):
life as a botanist in Edinburgh. But the site of
the croft, its chimney cracked, its heather fields overgrown, stirred
an ache she'd buried. She hiked the winding path to
the croft, the air heavy with pine and damp earth,
the scent anchoring her inside the room smell of old
leather and woodsmoke, the furniture covered with tartan throes from

(01:03):
her father's time. A faded photograph of him by the hearth.
His grin wide brought tears to her eyes. She left
Glenross to escape the loneliness of his final years, but
the Croft's silence whispered of duty she couldn't shake. A
knock startled her. She opened the door to find a man,
tall and sturdy, his red hair tousled by the wind,

(01:24):
wearing a kilt and jacket. His hazel eyes held a
steady warmth. Alva macleode, he asked, his voice rich like
the glen. I'm Rory Fraser. Your father hired me to
tend the land and sheep before he passed. I've kept
them up since. Ava's breath caught Rory. You were just
a boy herding the flock, she remembered him, a lanky

(01:45):
eighteen year old, gidding sheep, his laughter echoing off the hills. Now,
at twenty eight, he stood before her, a man forged
by the Highlands. I stayed, he said, simply the craft
needed someone. Chapter two, The Fadding Croft. Aarva stepped onto
the porch with Rory, the haze parting to reveal the
croft's weathered state. The stone walls sagged, liken, creeping into

(02:09):
gaps from years of moisture, and the roof tiles were missing.
It's worse than I feared, she said, her voice tight.
The council's deadline loomed three months to repair or lose
the property, and Ian Campbell's damn plans threatened to erase
her family's history. Rory pointed to a patch of trimmed
heather near the sheepfold. I've been reinforcing the foundation, but

(02:30):
the rains keep weakening it. We'd need stone, new roofing
and a crew. His hands rough from years of labor,
gestured with quiet assurance. I'm selling. Arva said the words heavy.
I can't afford this. Her botanist's salary covered her Edinburgh flat,
but the croft's restoration would cost thousands. She didn't have. Yet,

(02:52):
the thought of losing it gnawed at her. Her father's pride,
her childhood haven. Rory's jaw tightened. Your father loved this place.
He'd fight for it. His words strung a reminder of
her absence. She turned away, gazing at the glen, its
hills shrouded in fog. I don't know how, she admitted.
He stepped closer, his presence warm against the chill. I

(03:15):
can help. I've got skills masonry, some carpentry from the village.
We could start small. See if glen Ross backs us.
His office surprised her, stirring memories of Highland treks, his
easy grin. As they raised the sheep. She nodded, reluctant,
but drawn to the IDEA. Let's try, she said, her
voice softening. By afternoon, they hauled stones to the foundation,

(03:37):
Rory's steady hands gidding hers the work felt like a
cadence from her past, and his quiet strength began to
thaw her resolve. Chapter three, The Villager's Call. Glen Ross
rallied around after the next day its residence, bringing supplies,
bricks from the mason, herbs from the healer. Old mister Monroe,
the innkeeper, handed her a basket of shortbread. Your father

(03:59):
kept Duar Glen alive with his crops, he said, his
eye's kind. We'll fight for it. The village's support warmed Ava,
a contrast to her solitary life in Edinburgh. She organized
a community meeting at the kirk, hopping to rally more
help against Ian Campbell's plans. The kirk hummed with voices,
the scent of pine and candle wax filling the air.

(04:20):
Alva stood her hands, trembling. The croft is glen Ross's history,
she said, we can save it together. The crowd nodded,
but Ian strode in his suit, crisp his smile smooth.
Progress needs sacrifice, he said. A dam will bring jobs.
This croft is a relic. His words drew murmurs, and
Ava's heart sank. Afterward, Rory found her on the hill,

(04:41):
The glen spread below, its haze a soft veil. You
were brave, he said, his tone warm. Why do you leave, Ava?
No word just gone. His question pierced her. Dad was fadding,
she said, her voice breaking. I couldn't watch him die.
I thought you moved on too, I wrote, Rory said,
his eyes darkening every month from the sheepfold. Did you

(05:03):
get them? She shook her head, a chill running through her.
Had her brother Ewan hidden them out of spite? The
revelation left her reeling, the past crashing into the present.
Chapter four, The first glow in the croft, Arva sorted
tools for the repairs, the clatter of metal a steady beat.
Rory worked beside her, stacking stones, his focus intense. You've

(05:25):
still got his hands, he said, nodding at her grip
on a hammer. She smiled faintly, the compliment easing her tension.
He taught me well, she said, her voice soft. The
hands brushed as they moved stones, and a glow sparked
through her warm and unexpected. She pulled back, focusing on
the work, but Rory's presence lingered, a pull she couldn't ignore.

(05:46):
They planned a harvest fare on the glen, using the
croft as a backdrop to raise funds. Rory lit torches
along the path, their light mirroring the haze's shimmer. As
they tested the flames, their shoulders touched, and Ava's pulse quickened.
We're not kids more, she said, stepping away. Rory's smile
was gentle. No, but some lights don't fade. His words

(06:07):
hung between them, a promise of something more. The glen
glowed that night, with villagers bidding on herbs and donating,
but Ian's shadow loomed. My offers still open, he said,
his voice cold. Ava's determination hardened. She'd fight for the
croft and maybe her heart. Chapter five, The harvest Fare's light.

(06:27):
The glen glowed with torches that evening, their flames cutting
through the haze as glen Ross gathered for the harvest
fair to save the croft. Alva macleode arranged a table
with her botanical sketches, delicate drawings of highland herbs and heather,
while Rory Fraser hung his hand carved wooden bowls, each
etched with Glen Patten's. The crowd buzzed with energy, the
scent of shortbread and pine smoke mingling as bids climbed

(06:51):
for local crafts and donations flowed into fund repairs. Ava's
heart lifted with each contribution. The funds inching toward the
rest duration costs, but Ian Campbell's damned deadline, now six
weeks away, kept her on edge. Rory moved through the crowd,
serving whiskey, his kilt swaying, revealing strong legs. His hazel

(07:13):
eyes met hers across the glen, a quiet smile sparking
warmth she tried to suppress. They'd been working side by
side for days, hauling stones, planning events, and his steady
presence chipped at her defenses. She turned to a bidder,
an old healer, who admired a sketch. Reminds me of
your father's touch, she said, her voice warm. You've got

(07:34):
his gift. Before aarv could reply, Ian approached, his tailored
coats stark against the villager's rugged clothes. The air stilled
as he spoke, Miss macleode, he said, gesturing to the fair,
A fine effort, but my damn could preserve the croft
as a heritage sight. Sell now and you'd profit. Ava's
stomach tightened. This isn't a sight, it's glen Ross's heart.

(07:58):
Her voice carried an nods rippled through the crowd. Ian's
smile thinned heart doesn't pay debts. My office stands for now.
He walked off, leaving a chill. Rory stepped beside her,
his shoulder brushing hers. He's rattled, he said, quietly. You're
turning the village. His touch sent a flicker through her,
stirring memories of their youth. She stepped back, focusing on

(08:20):
the bids, but his presence glowed like a flame she
couldn't douse. By night's end, the fare raised nearly half
the needed funds, and as they packed up, Rory's hands
steadied a bowl, his warmth lingering. Chapter six, The Highland Truth.
The hills above Glenross stretched under twilight sky, their haze
softening the edges. Arvas sat on a rock. The harvest

(08:43):
fair success tempered by Ian's offer and the sting of
Rory's lost letters. Had her brother Ewan really hidden them
out of jealousy? The thought burned and she needed answers.
The crunch of boots announced Rory, his breath visible in
the cool air. Thought I'd find you here, he said,
sitting beside her, leaving a careful space. The wind's low
whistle filled the silence, and the scent of heather clung

(09:06):
to him, grounding her. Why didn't you come after me,
Alva asked her voice roar. Letters are one thing, Rory,
but you could have found me in Edinburgh. He looked
at the horizon, his jaw tight. I tried once after
a sheep drive, Ewan said, you moved on that you
didn't want glen Ross. I didn't want to drag you back.

(09:26):
His voice carried regret. Ava's heart sank Ewan, always envious
of her bond with Rory, had sabotaged them. He lied.
She whispered the betrayal sharp. I waited for you, Rory
for months. I thought you'd forgotten me. His eyes met
hers pained. I'm sorry, I thought letting you go was best.
You were meant for more than this glen. He reached

(09:47):
for her hand, his touch tentative, warm from the day's work.
She didn't pull away, the contact stirring memories of highland races.
I wanted you, not Edinburgh, she said, her voice breaking.
I wrote too. Rory said every li was for you.
His honesty cracked her walls, and she felt the pull
of their past, like a tide drawing her in, but
fear held her back. She couldn't risk her heart again.

(10:10):
She stood the hills blurring in her eyes and walked
back to the croft, the weight of truth glowing within her.
Chapter seven, The Shepherd's Rhythm. The croft hummed with purpose
as Ava and Rory prepared for the next repair phase,
Hauling stone blocks to reinforce the walls. They mixed mortar
and laid stones, the rhythm of their work a steady

(10:31):
beat against the hazy wind. Ava's hands guided the trowel,
the task grounding her, while Rory braced the walls, his
focus intense. Their efforts felt like a dance, each move
complimenting the other, but the air crackled with unspoken tension.
As they set a stone, a gust nearly knocked Ava
off balance. Rory caught her, his arms strung around her waist. Careful,

(10:54):
he said, his voice husky, their faces inches apart. Her
pulse raced, and she tear eased, still clumsy, breaking the moment,
her cheeks flushed. You're steady, Rory said, his smile soft.
The words hit her, stirring memories of late nights helping
her father, dreaming with Rory by her side. She turned
to the work, focusing on the mortar, but her heart pounded.

(11:15):
They labored late, the walls taking shape under the croft's
dim lights. Rory shared tailies of his shepherd days, stormy hills,
solitary nights, and Ava listened, drawn to his resilience. Why
do you stay, she asked, pausing her trowel for the croft.
He said, for your father and for you, even if
I didn't know it. Then his honesty warmed her, fraying

(11:36):
the walls she'd built, but fear lingered she couldn't fall again,
not with the Croft's fate and her heart at stake.
As they cleaned up, their hands brushed, and Ava felt
a spark she couldn't extinguish. Chapter eight, The Villagers stand
the next morning, glen Ross buzzed with resolve. Arv and
Rory organized an open house at the croft, inviting the

(11:57):
village to see its value. Shepherds demonstrated wool weaving, kids
explored the loft, and mister Monroe brought shortbread. The community's
support was a warm glow, but Ian smear campaign cast
a shadow. Fliers claimed the croft was unsafe. Aarva's anger flared,
but Rory's calm presence steadied her. We'll prove them wrong,
he said, his hand brushing hers as they set up displays.

(12:19):
The open house drew a crowd, with villagers marveling at
the repairs and Aarva's sketches. A petition to declare the
croft a historic sight gained signatures and the mayor promised
to push it through. Ian arrived, his presence a cold draft.
This is sentimental, he said, his tone sharp. My damn
will bring progress. Your delaying the inevitable. Aarva stood tall.

(12:43):
This croft is our future, not your profit. The crowd cheered,
and Rory's proud smile warmed her. As the day ended,
they stood by the hearth, adjusting a stone. Their hands
met and for a moment Ava didn't pull away. The
air felt charged, their faces close, but a child's laugh
broke the spell. Aarvas stepped her heart racing. The festival
was weeks away, their last chance to save the croft

(13:05):
and maybe their love. Chapter nine, The glen Festival. The
glen Ross Festival transformed the village into a vibrant beacon,
its hills aglow with torches, the scent of shortbread and
pine mingling in the crisp November air of nineteen ninety eight.
The macleode Croft stood as the festival's centerpiece, its stone

(13:26):
walls reinforced and hearth blazing with new life, a symbol
of glen Ross's determination. Alva macleode arranged a table with
her botanical sketches, designs for herb gardens and heather fields,
while Rory Fraser hung his hand carved wooden stools, each
etched with Glen motifs. The crowd buzzed with energy, the
sound of fiddles and laughter carrying over the haze. As

(13:48):
bids climbed for local crafts and donations poured in to
complete the repairs, Ava's heart swelled with each contribution, the
fund surpassing the goal. With Ian Campbell's damned deadline now
just days away. Aarva adjusted a sketch, its lines capturing
the Glen's curves, her fingers lingering on the paper. Rory
moved beside her, his kilts swaying, his hazel eyes bright

(14:11):
with pride. This is it, he said, his voice warm.
You brought glen Ross together. His words kindled a spark
in her, but the final council vote loomed a shadow
over their victory. Ian approached, his tailored coats stark against
the villager's rugged attire. The air stilled as he spoke,
Miss MacLeod, he said, gesturing to the festival, a touching display.

(14:34):
But my damn could make this croft a tourist hub,
sell now and you'd profit. Ava's resolve hardened. This croft
isn't a hub. It's glen Ross's soul. Her voice rang out,
and the crowd murmured support. Rory stepped closer, his presence steady.
She's right, he said, This village chooses its legacy over
your profit. Ian's smile thinned and he walked off, his

(14:57):
footsteps fadding into the festival's hum. As dusk fell, the
mayor took the stage by the croft. Her voice clear
over the fiddles. Thanks to your generosity, the macleoed Croft
has raised enough to complete its repairs, and the council
has voted to protect it as a historic site. The
crowd erupted in cheers, and Ava's eyes strung with relief.
Rory's hand found hers, his touch a quiet promise. They

(15:20):
joined the festival's dance, their steps close under the torches,
the music weaving their past and present into a single
radiant moment. Chapter ten, The letters unveiled the festival's triumph
lingered in Ava's mind as she climbed the croft's loft
stairs the next evening, a lantern casting shadows on the
wooden beams. Rory's confession about the letters he'd sent hidden

(15:42):
by her brother Ewan, had left her restless, needing proof.
The loft's window framed the hazy glen below, and Ava
sifted through her father's old desk. In a drawer tucked
behind faded maps, she found them a bundle of envelopes,
edges worn, addressed to her in Rory's bold handwriting. Her
heart pounded as she opened one, the paper crinkling. AV

(16:04):
I'm sorry I didn't follow the glen called, but You're
my route. I love you always will. Please write back.
Each letter echoed the same love, regret, hope. Tears blurred
her vision as she read the words, melting five years
of pain. Ewan's jealousy cut deep, but Rory's truth was
a steady glow, rekindling her trust. She found him in

(16:24):
the sheepfold, tending the flock, its light casting soft shadows.
I found them, she said, holding up the letters, her
voice trembling. Rory's eyes widened and he stepped closer, his
breath catching. What did they say? He asked, his voice low,
That you loved me, She said, her throat tight, that
you never forgot. She handed him a letter, and he

(16:46):
read it silently, his jaw clenching. Ewan told me you
moved on, he said. I thought I was doing right
by letting you go. He lied. Ava whispered, I waited
for you. The admission hung between them, heavy with lost years.
Rory reached for her hand, his touch warm and steady.
I'm here now, Ava, I'm not leaving again. She didn't

(17:07):
pull away, letting his words guide her doubts, her heart
lighting toward forgiveness. Chapter eleven, The Highland's Light, The Croft
hummed with quiet energy as Ava and Rory prepared for
the crofts reopening, Hauling herb seedlings to the garden. The
hands moved in sink brushing as they planted, the rhythm
a steady beat against the hazy wind. Ava's fingers grazed

(17:30):
Rory as they set a seedling, and a spark shot
through her warm and undeniable. I was so lost, she admitted,
pausing her trowel. But I missed you, Rory. Every day.
He set a tool down, his hazel, eyes soft but intense.
I missed you too. Every night on these hills, I
saw you in the haze. He stepped closer, the space

(17:51):
between them shrinking. I love you, Ava, I never stopped.
Her breath, caught the weight of five years fadding under
his gaze. She wanted to guard her heart, but his
truth burned through her doubts. They climbed to the hilltop.
The glen spread below like a shimmering tapestry under its
vast sky. Ava kissed him, her lips meeting his with
a warmth that felt like home. His arms wrapped around her,

(18:12):
steady and sure, and the wind swept the highlands, echoing
their pulse. I love you too, She whispered, the words,
a light binding them. They sat on the hill, planning
the croft's future, herb gardens, wool markets, a hub for
glen Ross's spirit. Rory's hands stayed in hers, a vow
of partnership. For the first time, Arva saw not just

(18:33):
the croft's survival, but a life with him, radiant and strong.
Chapter twelve, The Hayes's Promise. Weeks later, the MacLeod Croft
thrived with new life, its herb gardens blooming along the hill,
a testament to glen Ross's enduring spirit. The stone walls
stood firm, the hearth alive with story telling, and villagers

(18:53):
gathered regularly, sharing tailies under its roof. The Council had
secured its status as a historic site from Ian's plans,
and tourists flocked to the restored croft. Ava stood by
the garden watching a child pick time, her smile mirroring
her father's. The sight warmed her. His legacy was alive.
Rory joined her, his kilt dusted with soil, his smile soft.

(19:17):
It's beautiful, isn't it, he said, his arm brushing hers.
She leaned into him, nodding better than I dreamed. They
walked to the hilltop, the glen spread below like a
silver sea. Together, they lit a torch at the edge,
the hands getting the flame that danced with the haze.
Each flicker felt like a promise, their love glowing in
every gust. As the dawn broke through the haze, casting

(19:39):
a golden hue over Glen Ross, Alva turned to Rory,
What now, she asked, her voice soft. He took her hand,
his smile warm. We keep growing together. Glen Ross embraced them,
not just a village, but a vow of forever, their lover,
haze that held it all together.