Page 117

“We can amend what ye ’ave now, drop the requirement to repair me lugger, so long as ye add in that ye won’t charge me for assaultin’ ye, and…that ye’ve been paid back in full what Morvoren owes ye.”

Trevik was never going to accept the man’s funds for repairing the Pilferer. But feigning to accept the agreement before now allowed him to ensure Morvoren wouldn’t be beholden to her uncle forever. At least, so he hoped.

Mr. Truscott raised a brow, pressing a hand to his swollen lip. “You’re asking me to lie? After all, I’ve not been paid—”

Trevik dropped a coin purse onto the table, the pile landing with a thunk. “Take what she owes ye.”

Mr. Truscott stared with a smirk. “You are aware that Miss Hollow has already signed the agreement. Even if we make a new contract between the two of us, the other still stands. She will marry Mr. Foss.”

Trevik was more than aware. The very thought of Morvoren marrying anyone other than himself—especially Mr. Foss, of all people…he could hardly stomach it.

He’d wracked his brain for another solution, but Mr. Truscott was right. Morvoren had already made the agreement. And if Trevik knew one thing about that woman, it was that once she set her mind to something, she couldn’t be persuaded to do otherwise.

“I be well aware, sir,” he said.

“And you are willing to let your lugger remain broken, only to ensure I do not condemn Morvoren?”

Trevik nodded.

“But why would I condemn her, if she’s already promised to marry Mr. Foss?”

“Why would ye, indeed,” Trevik countered with a pointed look.

If he knew one thing about Mr. Truscott, it was that the man would hold anything over Morvoren’s head to get her to do as he wished. But Trevik couldn’t bear the thought of Morvoren living such a life.

“So what say ye?” Trevik asked, growing impatient with the man’s silence.

“You must have fallen for her siren’s song hard, boy,” Mr. Truscott said. “I understand it well, for my wife held the same appeal—beauty behind trouble.” His eyes took on a faraway look, but he blinked it away before nodding. “Very well. I accept your proposition.”

He waved Mr. Oates back over, and the man reluctantly left his drink to join them at the table. Trevik watched in silence as he drafted a new contract. He forced himself to remain calm, attempting to convince himself that this was better than not doing anything to help her, but as each moment ticked by, and as each new word was written, he grew more and more unsettled.

How could he let Morvoren go through with this? Surely there was something else—anything else he could do to rescue her from a life with such men as Mr. Foss and Mr. Truscott.

Mr. Truscott signed the agreement first, then he slid it toward Trevik.

He read over the words multiple times, struggling to focus. His eyes blurred as he imagined what her life would be like now—changing her accent again, doing whatever her uncle asked of her, being controlled by Mr. Foss, never being allowed to swim in the sea.

How could he willingly allow her to make such a sacrifice for him? For it was for Trevik. His lugger, his family, his community, his freedom.

The pen he held hovered above the paper, ink threatening to drip from the tip. Feeling broken and more humbled than he cared to admit, he looked to Mr. Truscott and spoke with a soft voice. “Please. Ain’t there anythin’ I can offer ye to allow Morvoren to choose ’er own life?”

It was as if Mr. Truscott had been expecting Trevik to crumble to pieces. “Now that you mention it,” he said with a slow smile, “I have been hoping to make an arrangement concerning the oil from the fish runoff.”

Trevik couldn’t shift the weight on his chest as the man continued.

“I will allow Morvoren to remain with you, if you deliver to me the oil you expend weekly. You take ten percent, I take ninety.”

Trevik scoffed. That was hardly a fair arrangement. “Be reasonable,” he growled.

But Mr. Truscott raised his hands in retreat. “I am being more than reasonable. As I said, I’ve expended a great deal of time, energy, and my hard-earned wealth to improve my niece to the point where she would be worth marrying. I expect to make all of that in return tenfold.” He smiled. “So, what say you to my arrangement?”

Trevik held his tongue. He knew what the man was doing, touting his control over the situation because he knew Trevik was desperate.

But Trevik could never make such a deal. He couldn’t remove so much of the oil when all of Tristwick relied on it to give them light throughout the winter.

Nor could he trust the man to make an honest agreement with him—at least not another one. More amendments would be added, indecipherable clauses would be included, and Trevik would find himself in the same situation as Father. He couldn’t do that to Mother and Poppy. They needed him.

“Mr. Honeysett?” Mr. Truscott pressed, but Trevik was already shaking his head.