Hæra got up early to tend to the farm’s work, as always. She also spent more time looking out of windows and walking through the pastures by herself. On the day they got the call confirming that Jonathan had died “of natural causes,” she’d disappeared for hours. Madeleine had been panicked until she came back, saying she’d wandered up to the cliffs and watched the crashing surf for a while.

Madeleine would have liked to stand on the cliffs too, if only to be sure Hæra didn’t get any ideas about jumping off them. It didn’t seem likely, but Hæra had already told Madeleine that twice she’d been ready to surrender to death until Madeleine had needed her. She was a tireless warrior, but she needed someone to fight for.

“If you’re going to be gone for a while, just let me know,” Madeleine had said, hoping she sounded reasonably calm instead of terrified. “So I don’t worry.”

For the first time in days, Hæra’s face had softened. “Or you could come with me next time.”

Madeleine did.

They were spending their nights in the cottage again after boarding up the back door. Hæra said it was too hard to be in the main house, where she expected to see Jonathan everywhere; once, Madeleine caught her sitting on the sofa, crying softly with his fiddle in her lap. At night, Madeleine held her close and woke her from bad dreams. Hæra refused to discuss them but always pressed closer to Madeleine in their wake.

The funeral happened two weeks after Jonathan’s death. Madeleine had found a will in one of his desk drawers, drawn up by a law practice in Kirkwall. It clearly stated that Hæra was to inherit everything if she was still around, and if not, the property was to be sold. His only stipulation was that it couldn’t be used for real estate development. Madeleine had no idea if that could be legally binding, but his wishes were clear.

As for his funeral, he had asked for no ceremony or celebration. He only asked for his ashes to be scattered at sea. There was no crematorium on Orkney; they’d had to send the body to Inverness and await its return in a different shape.

Now, on a cloudy day, Madeleine and Hæra stood on a rented boat. Hæra carried a pillow-shaped, biodegradable urn designed for disposing of ashes into water. She clutched it to her chest. “I never hugged him,” she said to Madeleine when the boat’s motor cut off. “I never thought of it. I wish I had.”

Madeleine could say nothing to that. She could only rub Hæra’s back through the warm jacket she now required.