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Hedrek’s words echoed continually through his mind.

“Our Trevik be a man of ’is word.”

A man of his word. Trevik used to pride himself on his honesty, on his ability to be truthful with those around him. What had happened to make that stop? He wasn’t being honest anymore with anyone. His crew, his family, Gryffyn, Miss Hollow. And mostly, himself.

Why couldn’t he have simply said how pleased he was to help the woman? That he was happy to have her in his home for as long as she needed? Yes, he was scared of what her staying in Tristwick might mean for the future of his crew, but even when he’d turned his back on Miss Hollow to satisfy Edern’s worries, the man still didn’t believe him.

So what was the point of it all? Edern would be angry and crazed no matter what Trevik did or said. But would Edern ever be so daft as to leave the only security he had that winter by refusing to fish on the lugger? And was Trevik willing to no longer be a man of his word just to ease Edern’s superstitions?

When he put it that simply, no. Trevik was not.

Swiftly, he strode forward, aware that most eyes focused directly on him. “Ready the boat, Gryff,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Trevik,” Edern called after him, “let the girl go.”

Trevik paused, his shoulders tensed, but not with his usual reticence. Instead, impatience slipped through his limbs. He turned to Edern, and with a firm shake of his head, he responded. “No, Edern. I’ll be speakin’ with ’er now.”

Fire lit within the man’s eyes, but Trevik hardly noticed, turning back around and sprinting off the dock.

“Miss ’Ollow?” he called out, reaching the pathway leading to the cellars.

She turned around, surprise only thinly veiling her caution. “Ye be wantin’ somethin’, Tr—Mr. Honeysett?”

He stopped a few steps away from her, his heart twisting at her correction. She hadn’t called him ‘Mr. Honeysett’ since the ride home from Sennen. “I just wanted to speak with ye. I didn’t want ye to think that I…” Why were the words not coming? Why could he not say what he wished to say?

She gave a shrug, backing away. “Ye don’t have to worry. I know ye want me gone.”

“Ye don’t understand. I—”

“I do,” she interrupted. “Ye be concerned with what your men be thinkin’ with me stayin’ here for longer, and rightly so, for some of them still be thinkin’ I be a sea-maid.”

Trevik stared. Her assumption had been stunningly accurate, which only made him feel all the worse.

“As I said,” she continued, backing away again, “I understand. And ye don’t need to worry. I’ll be speakin’ with your mother tonight about findin’ work farther away from Tristwick and your crew.”

“’Tain’t that be what ye wanted all along? To be as far away as ye can from the fisherman’s life?” He was trying to make himself feel better, pulling up facts from their conversations before and using it to pad a wall around his heart.

She sniffed, looking down at the pathway before gazing out at the sea. “You be right. I do want a life away from all this. Just as badly as ye want a life where your crew doesn’t have to worry ’bout some washed up, wounded sea-maid callin’ down a storm upon ye.” She paused, turning back to look at him. “And where ye don’t have to worry about her disruptin’ your life.”

Her words broke through his barrier with one swift sentence. “Miss ’Ollow…”

“They be waitin’ on ye, Mr. Honeysett. Night.”

Then she walked away from him, and he, like a fool, allowed her to go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

That evening, Morvoren stared into the fire in the sitting room of the Honeysetts’ home, wondering how many more nights she’d be allowed such a luxury. If it were up to Trevik—or should she be calling him Mr. Honeysett now?—she would no doubt be gone within the week.

She sighed, watching the flames in the hearth flicker warmly before her. She’d seen the change come over him in the loft, the fear entering his eyes before he’d stepped away so abruptly.

Of course now she knew why. His crew wanted her gone, and Trevik? Well, he didn’t want her to stay badly enough to say anything in her defense.

“Ye be troubled again this evening, Morvoren,” Mrs. Honeysett whispered beside her. “What be on your mind now?”

Morvoren glanced to Mrs. Honeysett, the two of them seated together on the wooden bench. Poppy sat between them fast asleep, her head resting on her mother’s shoulder.

“We don’t ’ave to speak of it if ye don’t wish to,” Mrs. Honeysett said, taking Morvoren’s silence as hesitance.