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Lemons.

“I s’pose there ain’t no other explanation for me bein’ in the sea, be there?”

“I s’pose not.” This time, he made no move to speak again.

A strange disappointment took hold of Morvoren’s spirits at his silence. She despised the man and his pretentious ways. And yet, speaking with him—verbally sparring with him—had been the most excitement she’d experienced in years.

Before long, they passed by the stench-ridden cellars, then moved to the south cottages. Mr. Honeysett shifted his hold on her, tightening his grip around her legs as his fingers pressed against her ribcage. If she didn’t know any better, she would have believed the heat from his touch could have very well melted through her dress.

Thank goodness they were nearly there.

Just short of the Honeysetts’ home, they reached another cottage where an older man stood outside the door, leaning against the grey stone wall with a pipe in his mouth.

Morvoren recognized him in an instant. He’d been the one who’d shared that awful tale of the mermaid last night. If she hadn’t distinguished his face from that, she surely would have recognized the sheer animosity seeping from his eyes.

“Trevik,” the older man greeted.

Trevik nodded. “Edern.”

Thankfully, Trevik didn’t stop their progress, simply walking past the man without another word.

When they were out of earshot, Morvoren released a heavy breath. “Heavens, but that man doesn’t trust me.”

“Can ye blame ’im after what ye told ’is grandson yesterday?”

She dared a glance at Mr. Honeysett, his angled jaw boasting a brushing of facial hair she hadn’t noticed before then. “Grandson?”

“Jowan, the young man ye were talkin’ to yesterday, convincin’ ’im ye was a mermaid.”

Her lips parted. Oh, dear. No wonder Jowan was so convinced with a grandfar like Edern.

“I was only havin’ a bit of fun with him,” she grumbled. “I didn’t mean any real harm.”

He sniffed in derision. “Then what be all that singin’ ’bout?”

“What do ye mean?”

“Ye were singin’ like a sea-maid.” He paused. “Speakin’ o’ which, ’ow did ye remember all ’em words? I thought your memory be in jowds?”

Her instinct was to concoct another lie, but at the memory of the song, her heart tightened. How could she tell a falsehood and dishonor her mother’s memory in such a way?

“It be me mother’s favorite song,” she said softly. “Rather, it was.”

His eyes settled upon her, but she couldn’t allow him to ask another question, nor allow him more insight into the truth about her background—how she’d sung the very song to Mother as she lay dying.

Instead, she sent a sly smile up at Mr. Honeysett. “Now, was I imaginin’ it, or did ye not just say I have the voice of a sea-maid?”

He blinked, seemingly unaware of his own words until then. “I only meant to say that some people might think that.”

“Some people? Oh, I be fairly certain ye were speakin’ of yourself.”

He frowned, apparently unable to come up with a rebuttal.

They rounded a small ridge and finally reached the Honeysetts’ home. Mr. Honeysett gently lowered her to her feet, his arm remaining around her back until she was secure in her footing.

She mumbled her gratitude, then leaned against the cane, her back to the front door. “So…”

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue.