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Mrs. Honeysett made a sound of disgust. “Ye wouldn’t do such a thing to your own niece, your own flesh and blood, send ’er to the gallows for a few shillin’s?”

Uncle tugged at his coat sleeves and peered up through the rain still pouring down around him. “The thing is, this young woman isn’t my flesh and blood at all. Her mother was the sister of my dearly beloved.” He raised his brow. “Truth be told, Miss Hollow has been a thorn in my paw from the moment she arrived under my care.”

“Then let ’er be with us,” Mrs. Honeysett said, her arm around Morvoren tightening.

Her embrace simultaneously strengthened and weakened Morvoren.

“Oh, I’d never consider such a thing,” Uncle said. “I fed her, I clothed her, I educated her. And now…” His eyes returned to Morvoren’s, dark and greedy. “Now I’ll receive my payment for all the years of torment.” His smile disappeared. “Now, Miss Hollow. You will return to St. Ives with me and marry Mr. Foss, or I’ll press charges against you for thieving.”

Morvoren knew if he threatened such a thing, he’d make good on his promise.

“We’ll not allow such a thing to ’appen,” Mrs. Honeysett said. She turned, pressing her hands to Morvoren’s cheeks and speaking in lowered tones. “Ye don’t listen to ’im. Ye’ll stay with us. We’ll keep ye safe.”

Morvoren’s breathing grew ragged, though she tried to listen to the woman’s words.

Uncle always receives what he wants.

He laughed from the door. “As if you can stop the law, Mrs. Honeysett. I can only imagine what the constable would charge you all with, if you refuse to give me back my ward.” He appeared thoughtful for a moment. “Although, I suppose it doesn’t matter if one of you gets sent to gaol, as you’ve no lugger to fish with anyway.”

Morvoren turned disgusted eyes on him. “Don’t threaten them,” she said. “Not after what ye’ve already done to them.”

“You mean the elder Mr. Honeysett? Oh, that man practically carried himself to gaol. Couldn’t keep his promises. But then what can you expect from a drifter—”

Trevik’s fist landed squarely in Uncle’s jaw, ending his words and sending him flying backward. He fell onto his back on the muddy pathway, rain pelting his face as his hat tumbled a few paces away.

Morvoren gasped, and Mrs. Honeysett clasped her arms around Morvoren all the tighter as she cried out. “Trevik, no!”

But Trevik was advancing once more on the man, his fists balled as he stood over him, grabbing him by the jacket and hauling him to his feet.

“Say one more word about me father, and ye’ll find yourself at the bottom o’ the sea,” Trevik said through clenched teeth.

Uncle sputtered, rain falling across his lips. “Unhand me, you-you worthless boy, or I’ll have you in gaol, too.”

“Trevik, let ’im go,” Mrs. Honeysett said from the doorway, the three women rushing forward.

Trevik kept hold of the man’s lapels before pushing him away, and Uncle stumbled before righting himself.

He straightened his jacket smartly, then reached for his top hat which he promptly replaced atop his head. “Now,” he said, facing Morvoren, “you will come with me, or I’ll have you thrown in gaol—and your precious fisherman, too.”

Morvoren’s heart dropped. Had Uncle planned this from the start—provoking Trevik to an act of violence so Uncle would have his way?

She shook her head, tears falling freely down her cheeks. There was no other way. She loved Trevik, more than life itself. And she couldn’t injure him and his family further than she already had.

This was no longer about fearing if the Honeysetts wouldn’t wish for her to live there—for they’d already forgiven her. This was about her desire to have Tristwick and the Honeysetts thrive by keeping Trevik with them.

More than anything, how could she ever allow Trevik to be sent away by Uncle—just as the elder Mr. Honeysett had been—and then die because of it?

Morvoren had been unable to help them years ago, but she could help them now.

Silence reverberated between their small group, the waves rushing below the cliffside, soft thunder rumbling in the distance.

Then she took a step forward.

“No,” Mrs. Honeysett said, seeming to know Morvoren’s thoughts before she said a word. “Ye can’t go with ’im. We’ll find a way.”

But Morvoren shook her head. “I’ll go with ye, Uncle.”

The satisfaction on his face—blood trickling from his nose and his lip beginning to swell—was enough for Morvoren to wish to strike him, as well, but she simply continued speaking.