They gave each other awkward smiles and then looked down at their plates. Madeleine concentrated on her food and the clattering of utensils that suddenly seemed too loud.

She took a bite of the tattie scone and said in a low voice, “This is delicious. Where’s Hæra this morning?”

Hopefully far away. Far enough that Madeleine wouldn’t see her today and think about that dream she wasn’t thinking about already.

“Out in the fields. She, er, doesn’t care for a fry-up. And she likes an early start. She’ll be back soon.”

Madeleine’s stomach flipped over, and it wasn’t entirely to do with the bite of black pudding she’d just taken. Said pudding was thick and chewy, and she gulped it down as soon as she could, knowing it’d sit like a brick in her stomach. It had been generous of Jonathan to cook for her, though. “This must have taken a lot of work.”

“Work? Nah. Running a farm, that’s work. Sue, I mean Nurse Kilbright, says I’ve got to watch my diet. Thanks for the excuse to have some proper food.”

Before Madeleine could reply, the back door opened, and the woman who’d haunted her dreams last night strode into the kitchen.

Hæra’s long, black hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her face was flushed from the air, and today she wore a windbreaker. Jeans—men’s jeans, Madeleine could tell—covered her long legs, ending in muddy work boots. She couldn’t have looked less like Madeleine’s ladylike French professor with her pencil skirts and silk blouses.

Her eyes immediately speared Madeleine as if she, not the food on the plates, was breakfast. Madeleine’s mouth went dry.

“Finally,” Hæra said.

“What?” Madeleine managed.

“I was wondering when you’d get here.” She leaned on her elbow against the doorframe, an insouciant pose that made Madeleine’s heart literally skip a beat. “When will you be ready to go?”

“Good morning, lass,” Jonathan said pointedly. “It’s nice to see a guest, isn’t it?”

“So it is,” Hæra replied, never taking her eyes from Madeleine.

Madeleine couldn’t help returning the favor. “Um. Hello.”

“It looks as if you’re just starting.” Hæra’s gaze flitted over the breakfast. “How much time will you need?”

“As much as she needs,” Jonathan said in exasperation. “She came here to talk. Let her have breakfast. There’s no hurry, is there?”

Hæra took hold of the third chair, pulled it out with a scraping noise, and sat next to Madeleine. She lounged against the back of the chair and spread her legs. Their knees bumped. Madeleine almost choked on her sip of coffee.

“Did you sleep well?” Hæra asked.