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To some outsiders of Tristwick, the notion of actually believing in mermaids was laughable. But to Trevik, the very suggestion was more than troubling. Edern had once convinced Jowan and half the crew that if they participated in a game of hurling on Sunday, they’d be turned to stone. It had taken years for them to even set foot on a field on the sabbath. If the elderly man could do that, Trevik could only imagine what damage could be done with myths about mermaids aboard a lugger.

“She be wounded ’cause o’ we,” Edern continued, raising his chin as he peered down at the woman. “It be only a matter o’ time ’fore she seeks ’er revenge.”

“Revenge?” his grandson asked, swallowing. Jowan was far too old to believe such stories, but with his father’s death and only a superstitious mother and grandfar as guardians, the young man’s rationality had no chance of survival.

“Yes, revenge,” Edern repeated. “She ain’t—”

“We oughtn’t worry ’bout such things now, lads,” Trevik interrupted, anxious to end any chance of filling his mates’ minds with fanciful ideas. “We’ve a lugger full o’ pilchards and a week o’ fishin’ ahead o’ we.” He motioned to the mer—to the woman. “And whether she be a sea-maid or not, we can’t leave ’er ’ere all wounded. She’ll be grateful when she sees we be takin’ care of ’er.”

“Like she be grateful for ye makin’ ’er breathe again?” Charlie chirped up from the side of the boat.

Gryffyn nudged his son to keep quiet, but a few snickers rustled around the men. Trevik cleared his throat, fighting the urge to stroke his still-throbbing cheek. “Enyon?” He faced the skipper and motioned to the shore. “Time we be gettin’ ’ome.”

Enyon nodded, and the orders were called out for the men to ready the lugger for sailing once again. As they set forth toward the cove, Trevik glanced to the woman still lying on the deck. Gryffyn had placed a rolled-up blanket beneath her head and rigged a semi-shelter with a few crates around her to protect her from most of the rain.

Dark lashes rested against the pale skin over her cheekbones, and her lips were as delicately arched as her eyebrows. Heavens, but she was beautiful. Especially now, for in her unconscious state, her harried look had been replaced with one of pleasant delirium.

She had taken all of Trevik’s peace and left him with her distress. Maybe Edern was right. Maybe Trevik had pulled a mermaid from the sea.

CHAPTER THREE

Muffled voices disturbed the deep sleep that Morvoren Hollow refused to leave. She stirred, moving her head against the hard ground she lay upon.

“Be still, miss. We be nearly there.”

The deep words rumbled at her side, and she paused. Uncle Truscott? No. The words had been spoken far too gently to be he. But then, whose was that voice? And why did it speak so closely to her ear?

Before she could decipher if it was one to fear or not, the pull of her unconscious state drew her back in, and she was once more swallowed up in the peaceful surroundings of her dreams. She welcomed back the sound of the gulls sailing over the sea, the warmth of the sunshine kissing her face, and the feel of the sand tickling her toes. Uncle didn’t like her walking in the sand without her boots.

But Uncle wasn’t here.

Here. Where was here? And why were cold raindrops falling on her cheeks when the sun was shining?

She tried to open her eyes, rouse from her sleep, but they wouldn’t budge, and she was once again transported to the beach. This time, more voices sounded on the wind, one male, one female, and the rain was gone. Had it truly poured down so greatly to have made her clothing drenched through?

No, that wasn’t right. She’d been swimming. Uncle didn’t like her swimming either, and Uncle always had his own way.

“What ’appened?”

“Ready a bed, Mother.”

Mother? Mother was there? Morvoren’s eyes fluttered open, but she swiftly closed them with a silent rebuke. Mother couldn’t be there. She’d died more than five years ago. Father, too.

“Poppy, fetch us your extra chemise. Trevik, ’ave ye sent for Dr. Kent?”

“Gryff’s already on ’is way to ’im.”

Morvoren tried to tell the voices to quiet down. After all, she didn’t have long to enjoy herself upon the beach. She needed to get to Sennen. Why was she going there again?

The disruption around her continued as the rough sand beneath her gave way to a bed. But why was there a bed on the beach?

“…get ’er into dry clothes…Trevik, out for a moment…”

The sleep pulled her in again, causing her lucidity to falter further as she wondered if she imagined her wet clothing being exchanged for dry ones and her body being covered by a thick blanket.

“Will she be well, Mother?” the younger female voice asked.

“I ’ope so. We do need Dr. Kent’s ’elp, to be sure.”