“Stop, Bridey,” Mally cut in, crossing her arms and looking daggers at Thomase. “We don’t have to defend ourselves, or Fynn, to these idiots.”
My gaze flitted over the faces of the other men in the search party. Mr. Gill had a supportive hand on Thomase’s back, as though he was so quick to believe the worst about Fynn—no surprise from him. Some of the other men had faraway looks, like they weren’t sure who to believe.
Lugh caught my eye again, mouthing an apology, but I wasn’t of a mind to accept it. I trusted Fynn, and that meant Lugh should, too. Believing Fynn could have anything to do with the disappearances was as bad as accusing me.
“Bridey,” Lugh murmured, but I focused all my attention on Mally and stuffed my hands in the crooks of my arms to hide how they were shaking.
“If you keep making false accusations, I’ll make sure you’re laughed out of town, Thomase Boyd.” Mally shook her head, still bristling. “Honestly. I don’t know what I ever saw in you. Now off with you. Go! Help Lugh find his mam instead of wasting time pointing fingers where they don’t belong. Or someone might break them!”
Mam stepped in front of Mally, blocking Thomase from taking another step inside. “That poor lad on our sofa is injured. There’s no way he attacked anyone. Good night to you all!” She started to shut the door in their faces, but before she closed it all the way, she called softly to Lugh, “I hope they find your mam soon, dear. I pray they do.”
After latching the door, she leaned against it, rubbing her temples.
Fynn shifted restlessly, and Mally hurried to his side.
I crept quietly into my bedroom, where Liss and Grayse had somehow managed to sleep soundly through our nighttime visitors’ raised voices. Climbing under the warm quilts, I snuggled against Grayse’s back.
But as I lay there, my mind churning over my brush with the fossegrim and Thomase Boyd’s insane accusations, the gray light of predawn slowly filled the room. Sleep wouldn’t be coming any time soon, and I had much more important things to do than rest.
I had to stop the fossegrim before it claimed another soul.
Hopping out of the bed it seemed I’d only just crawled into, I pulled on yesterday’s rumpled clothes and snuck into the main room. Mam and Mally had finally gone to bed, and not even Fynn stirred as I stuck my feet in my boots. He was surely in a deep sleep from one of Mally’s tonics.
But when I crossed to the door, a familiar voice whispered, “And where are you headed at this unseemly hour, Ms. Corkill?”
I turned to the sofa in time to see Fynn crack an eyelid and grin. I smiled back. It was a good sign that he felt well enough to make jokes.
“Morag’s. Tell Mam where I went, would you?”
“What’s the rush? Morag probably isn’t awake yet.” Fynn’s voice was gravelly with sleep. “Come. Rest with me a while. It’ll help me heal faster.”
My feet itched to close the distance between us, especially as the memory of our time at sea drifted back. But Lugh’s face flashed to mind, so gaunt in the torchlight, and I shook my head. “If there’s any hope of finding Lugh’s mam alive, I need to see Morag now. She gave me that book of sea monsters and claimed it would help me, but it didn’t say how to kill the fossegrim.”
As I had lain in bed, I’d thought of how Morag spilled boiling water when I mentioned the disappearances. “She definitely knows something she isn’t telling, and I intend to get the truth from her today.”
Fynn arched a brow, looking curious as a housecat. “And how do you plan to do that?”
I dashed to the serpent canvas, which no one had moved since Fynn turned it against the wall, and lifted it into my arms. “With a bribe, of course. She’ll love this awful old thing.” It was still wrapped in a sheet, thick enough to hide the Bully’s face, and I liked it that way. I hurried to the door.
“Bridey,” Fynn choked out. It sounded like he was struggling to sit up. “Wait.”
Once again, I paused and turned back to him. “I want you to stay a while because …” His face was pale and pinched, though somehow, I sensed, not with pain. “Because I wanted to say good-bye. In case I’m not here when you get back.”
I nearly dropped the painting as my arms went limp. “What? Why wouldn’t you be here? You’re hurt.” I swallowed hard. “And I thought you had good reasons to stay in Port Coire. At least for a while yet.”
“I heard everything those men said last night. I don’t belong here …” Fynn’s words were difficult to make out over the rush of blood in my ears. “I’m putting your family at odds with the town by staying. That seems a poor way to repay your kindness. And as for you …” His eyes glistened as he swallowed and said in a low voice, “After yesterday, I realized just how much I care about you, and—”