Page 13

“That red mark on your face.” She ran a finger down his cheek.

Blast. He’d thought the woman’s slap would surely have faded from his cheek by then.

He turned his face and shook his head. “I’ll tell ye where it came from if ye move out o’ the way.”

“Not a chance.”

He sighed, then easily reached his hand above her head and knocked on the door.

“Trevik!” Poppy scolded.

No response came. Poppy gave him a satisfied look. “There, she be sleepin’ still. Will ye leave ’er alone now?”

He knocked again, despite Poppy hanging onto his arm to prevent him.

Finally, a muffled response came from behind the door. “Come in.”

Trevik smiled. “There, ye see? She be awake.”

Poppy’s lips thinned, her brow furrowing. “Mother’ll be furious with ye, Trevik.”

“I be used to her scoldin’ by now.” He gently brushed Poppy aside, then opened the door wide enough to see the woman lying on Poppy’s bed.

Her skin was pale, grey shadows hanging beneath her eyes in heavy half-circles, and her blonde hair—now dry—was splayed about in snarls on the pillow. She blinked as if in a daze, Trevik having clearly woken her up from a deep sleep.

He winced at his poor decision to awaken her when she clearly needed her sleep, but he didn’t leave. He’d let her be just as soon as he received some answers.

CHAPTER SIX

The woman continued staring at them, her red eyes narrowing slightly as she peered at Trevik. “May I help you?”

His brow raised at her proper tongue. She most certainly wasn’t from Tristwick.

Poppy nudged him over to stand beside him in the doorway. “We just be comin’ to ask ’ow ye be doin’, miss,” she said when Trevik remained silent.

Miss Hollow shifted her head against the pillow. “I’m well enough, thank you.” She paused, seeming to think for a moment. “I just be tryin’ to rest.”

Trevik could have laughed at the noticeable shift in her accent. Just what was this woman doing?

“’Course ye be,” Poppy said with a reproachful look at Trevik. “Me brother ’ere only wished to ensure ye were well after pullin’ ye from the sea.”

Trevik didn’t know what he’d been expecting from Miss Hollow after Poppy’s words. A smile, perhaps? An expression of gratitude?

Instead, Miss Hollow’s gaze hardened. “So,” she said after a measured silence, “ye be Trevik Honeysett, the fisherman.”

Had she spoken the word with derision? He folded his arms. “That be me.”

Her gaze didn’t flinch. “I s’pose I ought to be thankin’ ye then for savin’ me life.”

Ought to be? She absolutely should be thanking him. Of course, had it not been for his net, she wouldn’t have needed saving at all, but that was beyond the point.

“It be no trouble,” he responded, shifting under her continued stare.

“I s’pose I ought to apologize to ye, too,” she said.

He tipped his head to the side in question, and she motioned to his cheek. “For slappin’ ye and leavin’ that mark.”

Heat bled across Trevik’s face, made all the worse by Poppy’s guttural laugh.