Jonathan never looked away from the footprints. “Some village lad, I’d think. Sloshed and that.” At Hæra’s skeptical look, he added, “When I drank, I’d get into scrapes that made no sense. Did I ever tell you I woke up near those standing stones once, by the settlement? All I remember is I was singing ‘Dancing Queen’ at some point. Rest is a blur.”

Now wasn’t the time for Jonathan’s memories of darker days. They ought to figure out the timing of this. “You said you were up until two. It must have happened after that. Or were you watching television? You might not have heard anything if so.”

He laughed, though it sounded forced. “I thought you hated those detective programs. Now you sound like one.”

“Jonathan…”

“If nothing’s missing and nobody was hurt, then I’ll not fret about it.”

Even for Jonathan, this was too laid-back. “What if they return?”

“Well, that’s what the shotgun’s for, isn’t it?” he asked lightly.

Hæra stared at him. “The shotgun’s for sick or injured animals.”

“Christ, lass, you still haven’t learned sarcasm.” He patted her shoulder. “Let’s get you something to eat before you work. You used up some energy last night, eh?”

Hæra pursed her lips. She wouldn’t blush or stammer. She wouldn’t. “Breakfast sounds good.”

“There’s still that sheep’s liver in the fridge.” He was smiling, but something about his expression still looked peculiar. She couldn’t tell what. It was in his eyes.

“Thanks,” was all she could say.

“Go on then. I’m away to bed.” At her raised eyebrows, he said, “I was up late, wasn’t I? I’m not half knackered. I’ll be up again soon.”

He gave the footprints one last look and turned back toward the front door, his head slightly bent.

“Did you have any dreams last night?” Hæra blurted.

Jonathan stopped in his tracks. He looked halfway over his shoulder, but not enough to meet her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

Because maybe you could tell me what it means to dream. “I—I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“You tell me.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll dream when I go back to sleep.”

Beware it, she wanted to cry, it’s awful. Why say that? Jonathan had been dreaming his whole life. All humans did. “Then sleep well.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, and continued on, his boots gathering the mud with his shuffling walk. His shoulders were stooped. He looked old.

Dreams were an affliction. Hæra glanced back toward the cottage where she’d left Madeleine sleeping. Dreams were a condition of being human too. Was Madeleine dreaming now?

If so, may they be kinder dreams than the one that had attacked Hæra. May Madeleine dream about their incandescent night together. May Madeleine dream about love.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE