He was standing on his hind legs, his mouth open, holding a clam in his sharp-clawed hands. Or paws.
“Christ, that thing has some teeth,” Hugo muttered, grabbing Cailean’s arm. “Come on. We’re upsetting them, little brother. We’d better—”
Cailean spun around and bolted up the path.
“Cailean, wait!” Hugo called as the lad scrambled up the trail, sobbing.
Joss bared his teeth and loped toward Hugo, looking more like a weasel than a sea otter.
“Bloody hell.” Hugo backed away—he didn’t like turning his back on the creature—his feet sliding on the scree.
The otter snarled.
“Oi!” Hugo yelled.
The creature jolted at the loud sound and stopped.
“That’s right,” he snapped, pointing a finger at the animal. “You mind your manners. And you.” He turned to Lily, but the female had disappeared deeper into the nest. Hugo frowned over at Joss, who was slowly advancing on him, once again baring his teeth. “You watch yourself, lad,” he warned.
And then he turned and ran like a coward.
Cailean was nowhere in sight when Hugo finally scrambled to the top. It was almost dark and Hugo would break his neck if he went looking for him at night. He’d check on him in the morning, before he went to work.
As Hugo trudged back to his lean-to, he thought about Cailean and what his life would be like without his otter. Lily had been with the boy for almost three years. Before Hugo came along, the otter was his only friend. And now Hugo was leaving.
“Shut up, Hugo,” he ordered himself as he approached his encampment.
He stopped and frowned; the flaps on the lean-to were down. He thought he’d left them up, which he usually did until he went to bed.
He strode to the lean-to and pulled back flap. “Martha,” he said, sounding breathless to his own ears. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Hugo.”
She was sitting on his worn but clean bedroll. Mr. Stogden had given him a heather-stuffed pad to go under his blankets and Hugo’s little bower was both comfortable and fragrant.
He stepped back. “Does Clark know you’re here?”
“It’s not his business.”
Hugo gave an unamused bark of laughter. “I beg to differ. I’m sure he would, too. Martha—”
“I told him I couldn’t marry him.”
Joy and dread leapt in his chest. “Oh?”
“I thought about what you said—that night in the Gloup.”
“What did I say?”
“That you weren’t a good man. That you’d done bad things and would likely do them again.”
“Er—”
“I don’t care.”
“You don’t care about what?”
“About what you used to do.”
“But you don’t know what I’ve done.”
“No.”
Hugo felt like they were having two different conversations. “Uh—”
“My father kept his journals—there were five of them, in all—in the church beneath the strongbox. There was a hollowed out area in the stone floor where he kept the other church valuables.”
Hugo knew all that since he’d stolen the church money. He kept that piece of information to himself. “And?” he prodded.
“I—I didn’t want to read them at first. I knew it would be too painful. But today I just felt—” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what I felt. I read them. Well, not all of them, obviously, but I started at the most recent and went back several weeks—to the night of the shipwreck. There were entries that mentioned you.”
“Yes, I stole the money, but—”
“I know,” she said quietly. “I also know that my father offered to help you if you stayed. And that he did help you with Mr. McCoy.”
“That’s true.”
“He wanted a favor in return.”
His little peat fire sent shadows dancing over her face.
“Yes,” he said, carefully.
But when she spoke, it wasn’t what he’d feared. “He said that you were a good man, even if your past was, er, checkered.” She swallowed and it looked like hard work. “He also said—” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat. “He also said that he thought you might, erm, care for me.”
Hugo opened his mouth, but he couldn’t seem to force any words out.
She pinned him with her gaze. “Do you?”
It was Hugo’s turn to swallow—several time. “Er—” He experienced the oddest sensation just then; like he was watching himself from somewhere outside his body. He wasn’t impressed by what he saw: His mouth hung open, his eyes bulged, and he looked like an idiot. A terrified idiot.
“Never mind.” She pushed to her feet and shoved past him.
Hugo grabbed her upper arm lightly and held her. “Just … wait a moment, Martha.” This close to her he could see her face was scarlet.
“Wait for what? For you to come up with some pablum? You should have seen the expression on your face.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, even though he knew.
“You looked horrified and terrified.”
That was an accurate assessment. Fortunately Hugo didn’t say that out loud.
She yanked her arm. “Just let me go.”
Hugo held her in place. “I do care for you, Martha. But you don’t understand…”
“I don’t understand what?”
Why had he returned to his lean-to? If he’d gone looking for Cailean he could have avoided this confrontation. Why hadn’t—”
“You say that you care for me?”
He nodded dumbly.
“So why would you stand by while I married Robert?”
“Because he is the better man. Er, for you,” he added, just because he couldn’t bear that she thought he meant Clark was better in general.
“How do you know that?”
“Um—”
She made a noise that was amazingly similar to the one Lily had made earlier. “Just because I don’t have much experience with—well, with life, I suppose—doesn’t mean I don’t understand my own feelings. Shouldn’t I be the one who decides who is best for me?”
“I just think that right now—so soon after your father’s death—isn’t the best time to make important decisions.”
“Is that why you pushed me into marrying Robert?” she scoffed.
It was Hugo’s turn to sound like an angry otter. “Now wait just a minute, Martha. I didn’t do any such thing. You told me that you were secretly betrothed. Or have you forgotten that?”
She bit her lower lip—the same lip he’d dreamed about biting times beyond counting. “I
