The bedroom had come a long way. For years, Hæra had just used it as a place to store her clothes and few belongings. There had been no decoration or hint of personality. She’d seemed reluctant to make any changes to the home she’d shared with Jonathan.

That had begun to change when Madeleine moved permanently to Jorsay. They’d lived apart for the promised two years before the island called her back to stay. Not for any mystical reason—whatever pull Hæra had had over her as an Each-uisge was gone. It was the pure and simple desire not to waste another day.

They’d needed the time apart to grow into themselves. Madeleine had to come to terms with her sexuality for her own sake, and Hæra had to learn to be human without Jonathan or Madeleine constantly at her side. Now, Madeleine organized monthly events for Orkney’s queer social group, and Hæra chatted confidently with Thornhill’s residents when she did the shopping. The distance had been a good thing.

Intellectually, Madeleine knew this. On a deeper, almost primal level, nothing had ever been as joyful as the moment Hæra met her in the Kirkwall airport on the day Madeleine returned to Jorsay for good. Some of her ribs still remembered that embrace.

The house had become not Hæra’s, but theirs. They had a bigger bed, covered by a duvet in a merry checkered pattern and a couple of extra pillows whose purpose Hæra claimed not to understand. Madeleine had put aside her embroidery and instead spent long winter evenings sewing blue curtains. Instead of stark white, the walls were now a welcoming, warm shade of peach.

They’d hung up photos that marked various occasions. There was the day Hæra and Jonathan had purchased the farm; a beaming Jonathan held the land contract and Hæra wore a small smile at his side. Next to it, in a selfie, Madeleine and Hæra laughed with Times Square in the background. Below that was a candid picture of Madeleine browsing in her favorite French Quarter bookstore. On the next wall, Hæra and Becca’s cat Booster regarded each other suspiciously.

One special photo held pride of place. Over the dresser hung a large picture of Madeleine and Hæra beneath an arch of flowers at the stone cottage’s front door. They held hands while Arjun stood in the doorway, reading from the ceremony script. Madeleine wore a white cocktail dress; Hæra stood tall in a suit. A cord wrapped around their joined hands.

Having an outdoor wedding in Orkney was a gamble at the best of times, but the sun had shone on that day as well. Madeleine had clung to her stubborn faith that it would. After everything they’d gone through, it shouldn’t have dared to do otherwise.