“Yes,” Hæra said tightly. “We did it together. You’re sure you haven’t seen Madeleine?”

“Positive, but it’s likely she’s here! Nothing’s open, and she’s bound to be still on American time. Shall I just call for a cup of tea? How do you like it?”

Now it seemed Madeleine had to choose between saving herself and saving Hæra, who didn’t seem eager to talk about her personal life. That was no choice. Of course she had to do the right and generous thing.

And if it meant seeing Hæra again…well, that wasn’t Madeleine’s fault.

She hefted her purse strap, straightened her shoulders, and descended the steps. She’d already had some progress in fobbing off Harry Duggan’s nosiness; she could handle this with grace and dignity.

That plan, too, went by the wayside as the toe of her sneaker caught on the carpet on the last stair, and she tripped into the lobby with a yelp, crashing to the floor while both Hæra and Harry looked on from the front desk.

That didn’t happen, Madeleine lied to herself as soon as she could form a real thought. She’d landed on her right side. At least it wasn’t flat on her face. Maybe she could bolt for the door and leave Jorsay forever after all. Face burning, she stared at the floor and made to sit up. Then, before she could, someone’s arm slid behind her back, and another beneath her knees, and next thing she knew, she was being lifted up in the air.

It wasn’t by Harry Duggan, who was gaping at the scene from behind the desk.

In shock, Madeleine looked into Hæra’s eyes. They were level with her own as Hæra adjusted her into a bridal carry.

Madeleine slung her arm around Hæra’s shoulders. Instinctively. For balance.

“Are you all right?” Hæra asked.

For a second, Madeleine forgot how to talk. Her side ached. Hæra’s grip was unfathomably strong. She showed no sign of effort. Madeleine might as well have been a feather pillow. After a moment, she managed, “Um.”

Hæra scowled and cast her sharp glare around the lobby. “I’ll set you on the sofa. Duggan, call for that nurse, that Sue Kilbright.”

“Er—right—” Looking stunned, Harry reached for the phone before he frowned. “Hang on, she just took a little tumble. Miss, can you stand at all?”

Could anyone stand when their knees were made of jelly? “Uh, probably.”

Hæra made no move to put her down. She was strong and taut and warm. Madeleine swallowed, or tried to, her mouth as dry as if she’d swallowed all the salt in the ocean. “Let me try to stand,” she whispered.