Page 29

She watched the younger group gather into a circle near the water—Mr. Honeysett standing beside the same young woman from before—but the unsettling feeling of someone watching her prickled down her neck. She first looked to the cliffsides, but when she came up empty, she dropped her gaze to the fire. Sure enough, the broad-shouldered boy, who now sat alone, watched her unabashedly.

Ready to be done feeling like a caged animal to be gawked at, Morvoren faced him directly and motioned a finger toward him, signaling for him to join her.

He looked away, startled, but she continued the movement until he finally acknowledged her.

“I?” he mouthed out across the fire, pointing to himself.

She nodded, and with a whitened face, he stood and made his way toward her.

Finally. Now she would see what the real reason was for why he—and the rest of those at the gathering—felt the need to stare at her.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Morvoren waited to speak until his stocky figure approached, his blond hair splayed out across his brow.

“Evenin’,” she greeted when he stopped before her.

He nodded in response.

“Ye may have a seat if ye’d like.” She motioned to the log beside her.

Carefully, as if afraid he’d tip them both over, he sat down at the far end of the log.

“I be Morvoren Hollow.”

“I know.”

She waited for more.

Nothing.

“Have ye a name?”

He glanced around him before replying. “Jowan Cardy.”

Cardy. Was he another one the Honeysetts had spoken about over dinner?

“Do ye not want to join in with the others?” she asked, motioning with a toss of her head toward the games being played.

He shrugged. “Ne’er been one to enjoy games much.”

“Why be that?” she asked, watching the others as they laughed together. Mr. Honeysett nudged Poppy with his elbow, and she playfully pushed him back in response. Had his sweetheart finally been stripped from his side?

Jowan shrugged nearby again, his bulky shoulders rising and dropping like a large boat in the water—as if the action was made with great effort on his part. “Can’t run fast enough.”

She looked back to the group. One young man raced toward the sea with a stick in hand, lunging it into the wet sand before running back to the shore while attempting to escape the returning waves. “I can understand that. I ain’t fast neither. ’Specially with this sore foot.”

He didn’t look at her, nor did he respond. Was he truly so frightened of her? It seemed as though a sudden sneeze from her would send him running for the hovels beyond the cove.

Perhaps speaking about something he was comfortable with would ease the tension between them, then she could ask the questions she really wanted the answers to.

“Are ye a fisherman, Jowan?”

He nodded, his chest puffing out like a robin’s on a cold winter morn.

“And were ye on the boat when I was pulled from the sea?”

Another nod, another skirted glance.