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She may not have brought the storm upon them, but she’d brought another type that was even more destructive.

And he’d had enough of it.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Morvoren couldn’t find that blasted salve anywhere. She’d gone through every space in the Honeysetts’ kitchen, and still, it was nowhere to be found.

She knew Trevik and the other men must have burned themselves in the chaos of the fire and storm, and treating them with salve would be the least she could do.

She shuffled aside the plates and bowls in the top shelf of the hutch again, but when her search came up empty, she leaned back with a sigh.

What was the use? No matter what she did, if she found the salve or not, nothing could make up for the blow Tristwick had been dealt that day. Perhaps it was better to keep the knowledge of her uncle for another time, when the news wouldn’t be so painful.

Or perhaps—

The front door opened, and she whirled to face who she prayed would be Poppy.

But of course it wasn’t.

“Trevik,” she breathed.

He closed the door behind him and removed his cap before his eyes finally found hers.

The blood drained from her face. She’d never seen him so…emotionless.

“Are ye well?” she questioned, her voice timid.

“What are ye doin’?” he asked, ignoring her question with his own. He dropped his sopping cap onto the bench nearby without removing his gaze from hers.

“I-I was hopin’ to find the salve,” she explained, annoyed with her hesitance. “For your burns.” Why did she feel like she’d been caught in the act of some heinous crime?

He moved forward in silence, water trailing behind him and puddling across the wooden floor.

She stepped aside as he opened the hutch and instantly produced the salve.

Her cheeks burned. She’d checked that shelf multiple times. How had she not seen it?

“Thank ye,” she mumbled, holding out her hands for the salve, but he moved past her, maintaining his hold of it.

“I’ll take it down meself,” he said. “Ye’ve done enough already.”

Morvoren pulled back, watching as he retraced his steps to the door. “What do ye mean by that?” she asked.

“Ye know what I mean.” He picked up his cap and placed it atop his wet hair.

Something swirled within Morvoren’s heart. Anger, indignation, misunderstanding. Had he not heard what she’d been meaning to do with the salve? It was for him. For his burns. How could he insinuate…

“As a matter of fact,” she said, coming up behind him, “I don’t know. I was findin’ that salve for ye.”

He paused with his handle on the door. He spoke over his shoulder, only his profile visible. “Ye promised that me family wouldn’t be ’urt by your stayin’ ’ere.”

Morvoren blinked, shifting her feet with unease. Her wet clothing still clung to her person. “Ye be referrin’ to Poppy again? Trevik, I told ye. I didn’t mean to.”

He shook his head. “It be more ’an Poppy. Ye’ve wounded me whole family. And all o’ Tristwick beside.”

She frowned. “All of Tristwick? How do ye figure…” Her words faded away as realization settled in her mind. “The storm. Ye…ye think I caused it?”

His silence spoke more than words ever could.