Page 95

“The song ye sang that night on the beach,” he said, “ye mentioned it bein’ your mother’s favorite?”

“Yes, she loved it. She had me sing it to ’er moments ’fore she died. Said it brought ’er some comfort with the aches. I can hear ’er voice each time I sing.” She stopped, her eyes brightening as she turned to Trevik. “Oh. I hadn’t realized ’til now. I can hear ’er.”

The warmth in her eyes rushed over him again, and his chest swelled for the woman before him. Again, she looked away from him first. And again, he found it hard to follow.

“Did she’ ’ave a voice like yours?”

“What, like a sea-maid’s?”

He delivered an exaggerated, exhausted sigh. “If ye say so.”

She laughed. “She had a voice better than one. She sang all manner o’ songs to me when I was young.”

The light from the sunset graced her smooth skin, painting it in subtle shades of rose pink, her lips a deeper red.

Trevik swallowed.

“What be your favorite song?” he asked. He wanted to—no, he needed—to know everything about her, the knowledge filling his empty soul, like water to a parched seaman.

She drew a deep breath. “Oh, there be so many. Obviously any that mention the sea. But…” She hesitated. “I think ye’ll tease me for my favorite.”

“Why?”

She raised a brow. “’Cause it be Beware the Maid of the Sea.”

He chuckled. “I should’ve known.” He hummed a bit of the tune himself. “It do be a fine song.”

“The very best.”

“Ye ought to sing it, then.”

She gave him a heavy look. “Are ye, Trevik Honeysett, askin’ I, a mermaid, to sing right now? Happen I call on the waves to drown out Tristwick?”

“I s’pose that be a risk I be willin’ to take.”

She laughed, then faced the sea, her eyes shimmering as she drew a deep breath and began.

Trevik knew he shouldn’t have asked her to sing. He remembered the trance that had come over him when he’d last heard her, and that had been when he’d despised the woman.

Now, as her smooth voice—as pure and clear as the Cornish waters in the summer—sailed out over the sea, Trevik was wrapped up in ribbons of warmth and light, and he was taken once again.

There’s a mermaid I know who’s as fine as can be.

She dwells at the far end of the deep, blue sea,

with her coral red hair, and her seaweed green eyes,

and a tail that stretches straight up to her thighs.

The melody was upbeat, no-doubt sung by ancient fishermen, keeping their eyes out for any sighting of the women who could destroy their boats.

“Are ye goin’ to make me continue by myself?” she asked with a sidelong glance.

His heart skipped a beat, then raced to catch up. He shouldn’t. He had no notion what would happen if he sang with this woman.

And yet, the sincerity in her eyes coaxed the song from his lips before he could stop them, and together, they sang the chorus.

Beware the maid of the sea,