How disconcerting. She’d come thousands of miles to have no plan for how she’d spend her days. But what was she supposed to do? Pre-book a tour for her existential crisis, or buy a ticket that would take her exactly where she needed to be? Spend every spare minute on Jonathan and Hæra’s farm, ogling a woman instead of looking for answers?

She couldn’t do that, but she could do something. On Sacred Heart’s trip, the ancient human settlement of Skara Brae on the Mainland had been closed for upkeep. It hadn’t ruined the trip—the settlement on Jorsay was even older, and less touristy to boot. Still, missing such a landmark had been disappointing. Why shouldn’t Madeleine return to the Mainland today and take in an actual sight instead of wandering aimlessly around Jorsay? She’d be around more people, and it might unstick something in her head.

And she’d avoid a certain long and lean distraction.

Madeleine finished getting ready, grabbed her purse, and hurried downstairs, trying not to catch her foot on the threadbare stair rug. She could get breakfast at the little coffee stand at the ferry terminal. It was too soon to face the Sunrise Café again.

Then, as she reached the lobby, she heard a voice that derailed her plans for breakfast, along with possibly the entire day.

“…only asking if she’s up yet.”

Madeleine froze on the stairs, just hidden by the corner that led into the lobby. Hæra was here? With no warning, just like that?

“Couldn’t say,” Harry Duggan replied. “I’ve only just opened the desk. If she left early, I’d have missed her.”

“Left earlier than this? But I waited until a decent hour, and I still worried I’d disturb her.”

Hæra sounded dismayed. It made something in Madeleine’s heart clench.

Nobody had seen her yet. She could sneak back upstairs. Soon, Hæra would leave, and Madeleine could get her day started with as little confusion…and desire…as possible.

“You could wait a while,” Harry suggested.

Madeleine muffled a groan.

“We could have a bit of a natter,” Harry continued. “Can’t remember the last time I laid eyes on you. You’re looking well. Where’s Jonny? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out and about without him.”

“Jonathan’s working on the farm.”

Hæra’s tone didn’t invite further conversation. Madeleine, who’d known her all of two days, could already imagine the shutters that had closed over her sharp eyes.

“Ah yes, the farm. Knocked me arse over kettle when he started it at his age. Let me think…I seem to remember you were with him then, but I’m not sure…”

Madeleine rolled her eyes. If Harry Duggan didn’t have a photographic memory for gossip, then she was a ballet dancer.