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“Ye be leavin’ then?” he asked, his voice flat.
She nodded. “I…I can’t stay. ’Tisn’t because of ye. It be—”
“Don’t.” He shook his head, walking past her to stand at the edge of the cliff overlooking Tristwick. “Don’t pander to I just to spare me feelin’s.”
“I’m not,” she said. “It be somethin’ else.” She drew a deep breath. She needed to tell him the truth about Uncle. He needed to understand.
“What excuse do ye ’ave for I, then?” he asked, though his tone hardly sounded as if he wished for an answer. “That ye ’ave another friend expectin’ ye? That ye be too tired to process fish all day?”
Morvoren frowned, forcing herself to not become hurt with his words. “No, that isn’t—”
“Do ye just wish for a wealthier ’usband, then?”
“Stop,” she said, tears flooding her eyes, “ye know that isn’t—”
“Be that Poppy down there?”
She blinked, her head spinning with his swift change in topics.
She leaned to the side to see past his tall figure. Below, Poppy still spoke with the lieutenant on the beach. The waves grew closer toward them as the storm approached.
Another movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she peered up at the opposite side of the cove. A figure cloaked in black stood on the ridge directly above the Honeysett’s home, his top hat and walking stick standing out from his silhouette.
Walking stick. That…that was the same man she’d seen before, when the pilchards were brought in. Was it not?
Unease swirled within her. “Trevik, do ye know that—”
“What she be doin’?”
Morvoren hesitated. Trevik was clearly changing topics to avoid her words, but then…
She paused, the man slowly walking away from the cove before he disappeared down the opposite side.
His departure did nothing to settle her nerves.
One problem at a time, she told herself. First the truth, then the questions. She couldn’t wait a moment longer to speak with his family altogether. He needed to know now.
“Trevik, last night, when ye were speakin’ of—”
“Did ye tell ’er to go down there?”
She paused. Why would he not let her speak? “No. She chose to go.”
His sharp eyes were upon her, and Morvoren’s chest tightened. Weeks ago, Trevik had warned her to stop encouraging Poppy’s love of the lieutenant, to avoid them both getting hurt. Would he think she’d put Poppy up to it? Had she?
“And what she be sayin’ to ’im?”
Her breath escaped in short bursts, the world around her spiraling so swiftly, she could hardly remain upright. “She…she be sharin’ her feelin’s with him.”
His eyes hardened, his lips thinning as he pulled them in. “Ye encouraged ’er to go down there, didn’t ye?”
She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t protest his words.
“I told ye,” he said. “I told ye not to encourage it.”
“She wanted to,” she repeated. “She knew she’d regret not speakin’ with ’im, so she chose to do so of her own accord.”
He turned back to his sister. “She’ll regret doin’ this,” he muttered.
