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Edern narrowed his eyes.
“Really,” Trevik continued. “I like that woman less than she likes I.” Not that that was difficult. Miss Hollow had made it very clear how she felt about fishermen and their way of life—just as he’d made it clear how he felt about deceivers.
The woman was trouble, her beauty and her talent for singing notwithstanding.
“We’ve the right to worry, Trevik,” Edern said. “I be concerned not only for the sake o’ we men, but also for ye.”
Trevik lowered his guard, attempting to accept the man’s kindness. As a fellow fisherman, Edern did have the right to worry, and doing so only proved his devotion to their crew.
“I know that, sir,” Trevik began, “and I be grateful for it. But I assure ye, I’ve everythin’ under control.”
Edern nodded, his frown subsiding only slightly. “So what’s to be done with ’er, then?”
Trevik wasn’t sure he liked the way Edern spoke about Miss Hollow like she was some common codfish one could simply toss back into the water. “I’ll be takin’ ’er to Sennen on Saturday.”
He’d have to remember to thank Mother for so conveniently keeping such knowledge from him.
“Sennen?”
Trevik nodded. “She ’as friends there.”
Edern seemed to consider the information, rolling the pipe around his tongue. “I’ve ’eard of many mermaids sighted round Sennen Cove,” he said with an extended nod. “And ye said Saturday?”
“Yes, Saturday.”
Edern sucked on his pipe, then released the white smoke into the air around them. “Two days still a long while to ’ave one of ’er types ’ere. Ye see ’ow easily she captured all o’ we durin’ ’er singin’. The longer she be ’ere, the ’arder it’ll be to withstand ’er wiles.”
Trevik couldn’t deny that. But surely it was the beauty of her singing—and the emotion with which she sang—that had captured their attention, not because she was a sea-maid.
He paused, recalling the revelation she’d made, that the song had been her mother’s favorite. Was that why she’d had tears in her eyes while singing? Because her mother had died?
“I know ye think I be mad, Trev.”
Edern’s voice pulled Trevik from his musings.
“But I ain’t be,” the man continued. “I saw a mermaid once meself. Gorgeous, she was. And dangerous. She sang and brought in a storm so strong that three men died from the waves. I don’t want the same to ’appen again.”
Trevik lowered his gaze. He’d heard the story from Edern so often, he could recount the tale himself. But that was just it. It was a tale. Still, he knew how deeply superstitions ran through some people, and though he couldn’t agree with Edern’s, Trevik would do his best to accept the man’s reasoning to be as valid to Edern as Trevik’s reasoning was to himself.
“I understand, Edern. Really, I do. And ye ’ave every right to be concerned. But I assure ye, if ye can wait ’til Saturday, all will be well.”
“’Ow can ye be sure?”
“’Cause I’d ne’er do anythin’ to risk the safety o’ me men.”
Edern studied him, as if to gauge the truthfulness of Trevik’s words. “And she’ll be gone by Saturday?”
Trevik gave a firm nod, clasping the man on his shoulder. “Ye ’ave me word.”
Edern puffed on his pipe twice more before nodding. “Very well. ’Til Saturday.”
The words should have eased Trevik’s concerns, but he knew Edern was not so easily mollified. With a tip of his cap, he left the man and headed for the cellars.
Saturday could not come swiftly enough.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After the evening meal the following night, Morvoren was instructed under no uncertain terms to remain on the bench in the sitting room until bedtime—the same direction she’d received the day before.
