Madeleine’s mouth opened slowly; she closed it again. She looked down at her secular clothes, and then back up at Jonathan, wordlessly begging him to put it together on his own. Nothing seemed harder, in this moment, than saying, I’m not a nun anymore.

She didn’t have to. Jonathan’s eyes widened in comprehension. “Ah. I did wonder. It didn’t seem the time to ask.”

Thank goodness she didn’t have to say the unsayable. Madeleine smiled again. “You were right. You have a lovely home.”

“Thanks. It’s not much, but we like it. What shall we call you then, if not Sister?”

“Madeleine will do just fine. Madeleine Laurent.” Guided by an impulse, she chuckled and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you again.”

Jonathan grinned and shook her hand. His own hand was warm and callused: a reassuring grip that let go without holding her too long. “Likewise. We’ve got the pie and some veg. Tea, of course.” He cleared his throat. “No alcohol. We don’t keep it about. Hæra doesn’t drink either.”

Hæra—that must be his daughter. It was a lovely name. In fact, something about it sent a pleasant shiver up and down Madeleine’s spine. Moreover, it seemed Jonathan really had changed his ways. It was comforting to know you could do that no matter how old you were. She said, “Tea sounds wonderful.”

Jonathan seemed relieved. Then he looked around. No doubt seeking the other part of the we he’d just mentioned. “Where is that lass?” he muttered.

As soon as he said it, the floor creaked in another room with the sound of a footstep.

Madeleine’s heart did something strange. At the creak of the floorboard, it suddenly pushed hard, almost painfully at the inside of her chest. She managed not to clutch at her shirt, but couldn’t quite muffle a gasp.

Jonathan looked at her in swift concern. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she managed. “I just…it must be…” She didn’t have time to imagine what it must be, because then a woman entered the room.

Madeleine had spent fifteen years of her life surrounded almost exclusively by women. Those women had come in all shapes, sizes, and aspects. She’d thought, somehow, she’d seen every kind of woman there was.

She had never seen a woman like this.

Jonathan’s daughter was tall, long, and lean, and appeared to be in her mid-twenties. She wore a white buttoned shirt with its sleeves rolled up, men’s pants, and boots. Straight black hair fell down past her proudly set shoulders. Her face was long, her cheekbones high, her mouth wide. Her skin was so pale it was almost blue, as if she’d come here straight from freezing waters.