Madeleine swallowed hard. She had to be sensible about this. Every place had legends and wild stories, including here. Before the trip, she’d read a book on Orcadian folklore. There were stories about little troll-like creatures called “trows” that lived under earthen mounds and could either bring blessings or work mischief, depending on if you pleased them. She’d read about sea serpents big enough to shatter continents and about giants that bestrode the islands.

Worst of all was a witch who’d created a deadly local whirlpool by swinging around two dead bodies at the bottom of the ocean. One of the bodies was that of a man who had spurned her love. The other was the woman he’d preferred instead.

Even though it was only a folktale, it made Madeleine shudder. Thank heavens such a wicked creature couldn’t truly exist. None of it was real. She just had to prove that to herself.

Nevertheless, Madeleine shivered in her coat as she continued down the sidewalk toward the shore. The island was small, and if you were willing to take a long-ish walk, you could reach the stone circle and settlement—and the beach.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. It seemed like an understatement. What was she going to do if something called to her again? Walk straight into the ocean?

She shouldn’t be doing this. Madeleine was a woman of both faith and reason. Neither dictated that some demonic presence waited on the beach to do her evil. Nevertheless, this was the definition of borrowing trouble. Forget ghostly voices; as a woman walking on her own in a strange place, she was much more likely to be in danger from her fellow man than a supernatural force.

Before she’d left the hotel, she’d paused by the unattended front desk, where she’d seen a pair of scissors and stuffed them in her jacket pocket. Madeleine felt the weight of her thievery now. They wouldn’t be much of a defense weapon, and they didn’t speak well of her commitment to turning the other cheek, but she’d return them later. Nobody had to know.

She wouldn’t turn back. She couldn’t, until she reassured herself that this was nothing.

This was absolutely nothing at all.

This couldn’t be coincidence. It couldn’t just be luck. The Great Mare must have heard Hæra’s prayers.

In disbelief and wonder, Hæra watched Sister Madeleine walk along the seawall over the shore, flashing a beam of light in front of her from a stick.

She hadn’t expected this when she’d returned to the surface, knowing she’d be safer after dark. The fishing boats had docked and the beachcombers had gone home. This was the best hour to approach the village so closely.