Her Wicked Sin (12 page)

With his thumb, Henry wiped the moisture from the corner of her eye. “I cannot imagine your loss. You must have been devastated.”

She nodded and took a shaky breath. She did not want to linger on those dismal thoughts. “I met him days later still in Boston. He promised all of the security and love I mourned so deeply, and I was weak. I just thought of how my mother wished me to marry and the possibility of it gave me the only peace I had found in the dark days since my family was lost. Looking back, there was something of him that left me with unease, but at the time my world had fallen and I needed someone to whom I could cling. But not long after our joining, he began to change in earnest. He expected coition with frequency, but it was without tenderness. He demanded of me, and when he finished he would become physical and order I admit my censure of him, for he had a scar and insisted I could not look at him for the ugliness of his wound. The scar did not trouble me, but in short time it was he I could not bear to face.”

Henry had taken to gently stroking her hair and shoulder and she found herself leaning heavily into his warmth. “I am so sorry, Lydia.”

“He—my cycle stopped a number of times. He would call me filthy names and batter me when I was late, day after day until I bled again. But the last time…”

“It’s okay,” Henry said. He looked positively mournful, and even in her state of mind his compassion encompassed her with warmth. “I am so sorry.”

“The last time I kept it hidden. I foolishly thought a child would give me someone to love. Perhaps even change him. I should have known.” She rubbed her face with her hands and took a deep breath. “He never bothered to remove my clothing when he used me, so the secret held for many months, though he often berated me for fattening. But one day it happened again. He beat me so forcefully to the stomach, he must have known. The baby came later that night, and it was far too early. He was gone. And when I looked upon the perfect face of my little boy, I had to end the man who killed him. I waited until he was asleep from his stupor and I beat him. Just as he had me, over and over until he did not wake. I—I killed him, Henry. With my own hands.”

The confession coiled and struck at her. She never thought she would utter those words aloud, yet they had come so easily and opened a vulnerability she thought long buried. But she trusted Henry.

“You are a brave woman, my wife.” Henry held her, the silence comfortable around them. Several moments passed before he spoke. “And what of his remains? How did you escape suspicion?”

“I left him there while I sought a suitable burial place for my baby. Once my little boy was at rest, I returned for the lout. It took much of the night, but I dragged him through the woods—far enough the wolves would find him before any man. Then I gathered what fit in a satchel and rode hard for that night. Before dawn, I released my horse and continued the journey on foot. I altered my name and learned midwifery from a physician along the way, but could not escape my worry. I needed more distance from my crime, so I left there and continued on to Salem Village where a physician was needed. I had just enough to make my home here, where I have been a year now.”

Henry said nothing, but words were not needed. He held her in such a way that not even the faint smell of whiskey could undo the tenderness and love born of his touch, though his arms carried the protective strength of iron. The sensations did not seem they should mix, but they so wholly belonged in this man she could see no other way. But her thoughts were not content, for there was one thing she must know.

“Tell me,” she said, “why you stayed away this night to drink.”

He froze, ending his gentle, ongoing caress.

A chill ignited within her that quickly spread to every limb. She did not know from where the feeling came, as he had merely paused in his ministrations, but the cold grew to a fearsome lump in her chest. “Henry?”

“It was partly from cowardice,” he said.

She pulled away to see him. “You drank from cowardice?”

“It is not my finest admission, nor is it a great secret of any man, yet is of truth. Drink lends courage where it is lacking.”

“Forgive me, but I have never considered a man within his cups to be a courageous one.”

He laughed. “You are not without insight. Perhaps one is better considered reckless.”

“Very well then. For what purpose did you seek recklessness?”

His smile grew. “I’ve sent a message of great importance to my family.”

Joy and fear expounded through her entirety. “Your brother?” she whispered. “He is found?”

“No, though I have reasonably confirmed his presence in Salem Town.”

“I’m sorry your luck was not better, though the news is not without merit. You will find him, Henry. I know you will.”

“I will,” he said, gently fingering a loose strand of her hair. “And then we will have even more to celebrate.”

Lydia considered his words, unsure of his meaning. “What do you celebrate now?”

“It is why I wrote home, my love. I have sent word to my family of our union.”

She gasped, then surprise turned to horror as her encounter with Goodwife Abbot came rushing back to her. “You cannot, Henry.”

He grinned, his pride foolish. “I already have.”

Horrified, she jumped to her feet. “I will ruin you!”

Henry stared, blinking several times as if trying to steer himself in her sudden storm. “I thought you would be pleased.”

“You do not understand. Your station—”

“My station is that of your husband,” he said, the words firm.

“No!” she cried. “I can only bring shame to you. To your family.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Lydia fought to look him in the eye, though the urge to seek the floor raged within her. Summoning the words took all of her courage, for even as she struggled with their impact, she knew their inevitable result. Once informed, Henry would have nothing to do with her—if not by his own decision, then certainly by the demand of his father. No man would risk his wealth and reputation for the likes of what she had become.

Who
she had become.

“What Anne Scudder said. It is true.” She took a deep breath and prepared herself, even as his face contorted with understanding.

“Lydia—”

“I am accused, Henry. They say I am a witch.”

Chapter Twelve

Henry reached for Lydia, but she would have none of it. Fear raged in her eyes, lighting them like embers on the hearth, but she did not relent to his embrace.

“You must go,” she said. Simple, crushing words.

“I will not.”

Tears glittered, on the verge of falling, but they must have been as stubborn as the woman herself, for not one released.

“This untruth does not change my desire for you.”

“You do not understand,” she said, brushing away his further attempts to hold her. “They insist upon the truth of their evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“That each night I come to the children to pinch and poke and torture them and bring upon their misbehavior.”

“Recent nights as well?”

“That is what was implied, yes.”

“Lydia, you have been with me these nights.”

She frowned and looked to her skirts, which she twisted in her grip. “It matters not.”

“How can that not matter?”

“They say I come in spectral form, with my body elsewhere. That I haunt them as a ghost.”

Henry suddenly felt as if he knew the ails of a drowning man. “Is this to be believed?”

She sighed and wrung together her hands. “You have not been here long. Perhaps you are not familiar with the accusations.”

“Accusations of witchcraft transcend centuries. I cannot ascertain to their truth, but of their existence I am aware.”

“But here, Henry.
Here
. The trials have begun at Ingersoll’s Tavern, and it is the word of Goodwife Abbot I am to be among them.”

“You are no witch, Lydia, and you have practiced no witchcraft. You will be cleared.”

“It is not so easy. Even the most respected elders of Salem, once accused, stand alone. No one will come to my aid when to side with a witch brings charges to the one who defends. And even if I am cleared of these, the accusation will taint you, Henry. It will taint your family!”

Henry’s chest tightened. He worried less for his reputation than for his wife, but his father worried for nothing more. With word on its way, if it was indeed true that Lydia would be accused, there was little doubt Henry’s father would learn of them and respond with furor.

Henry considered his options.

“Why don’t you come with me up north? Mother would love to meet you, and while you become acquainted it is most likely things will settle here.”

Lydia had her head down, but upon his words she looked to him. “I am not running, Henry. This is my home.”

“But is it not foolish to face accusations of which you are innocent?”

This time she met his stare with fortitude. “It is because I am innocent I will see this through. But I do not wish to damage your name.”

Henry stood, sober then, and walked to the window. Looking through the polished glass into the thick darkness, he rubbed the back of his neck and laughed.

“Henry!”

He turned to see her beautiful blue eyes wide with shock and mouth slightly agape. “Do you not see the irony?” he asked.

“Is that what you find in this? Irony?”

“Yes, Lydia. Consider this fully. You are so worried for a name you do not even know.”

Lydia stilled but for fingers fretting about her neckline.

“Don’t you see? You cannot damage a name not of your association.”

“Are you mad, Henry? It matters not what name you give. The truth will come soon enough. Even if I am free from charges of witchcraft, I will be named an adulterer!”

Henry ached so thoroughly for this woman he had to force each breath. “You are not an adulterer. The husband of whom you speak is gone.”

“Do you not see? There is no way out of this. I will have to confess myself a liar. One sin will only provide evidence to another, and if I am accused a witch I will be convicted without pause!”

“Lydia.” Gently, he took her to the bed and pulled her to sit next to him. “Let me tell you who I am.”

She shook her head. “I know all I need to know.”

Henry was not sure how to react to a woman who was not interested in his wealth, but he longed more than anything to offer comfort. “Your words are true in many ways,” he said, “for what exists between us is all that matters. But perhaps your fears will ease—”

“Please understand. I cannot live with the thought of damaging your reputation.”

Henry swore under his breath. Whether or not this stubborn woman wanted to know, he would tell her. “My name is Dunham,” he said. “Henry Dunham. Of fur and timber, and most notably of the shipbuilding trade.” He braced himself for the impact the words would surely have over her. He hazarded to guess few in New England were not aware of his family—one of the wealthiest and most influential in the colonies.

As expected, her eyes grew wide.

He grinned at the astonishment playing over her delicate features. “You know the name?”

“I cannot believe this.”

“You find my words untrue?”

“No, of course not. But why, Henry? Why would you settle here? And for me?”

“Do you not see? I have not settled. As I have told you before, my father has tried to match me with one patrician after another, and the parade has grown quite tiresome. But more than that, I never once felt a desire with anyone as I have you.”

“I am no patrician,” she said quietly. “We cannot be.”

He touched her chin, turning her so she faced him, and his heart warmed when he found familiar warmth and affection shining in her eyes. Verily, her protest was of her voice and not her heart. And in meeting her gaze, he rather dissolved within her ardor. The woman—his wife—had to be the most stubborn he’d ever known, but she was his.
His
.

And he intended to make sure she knew it.

With a growl, he captured her wholly and turned so he caged her over the bed. He tasted the squeal on her lips, then kissed her until he was left heaving for breath. When he broke free they were both smiling—hers so genuine her face lit with her joy. Looking into her sapphire eyes, he wanted to tell her he was his own man and his decisions would be his own—no amount of his father’s wealth would change that—but he had no desire to revisit the subject of their sole disagreement. So rather than dispel the mood, he maneuvered his way under her skirts and found powerful delight in the shivers he evoked from her lithe body.

“You are a scoundrel!” But she laughed and wound her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

“I thought,” he said through his explorations, “I was an instigator.”

“I have a feeling you are a great many things.”

“And if I have my way, you shall delight in learning every one of them.”

“Under those circumstances,” she said, “You may very well obtain your way.”

“I shall count on it,” he said. “Time and time again.”

“You are incorrigible,” she whispered, gasping when his lips found her neck. He wasted no further time with permissions and did not bother to fully undress. His indulgence was a matter of freeing himself from his breeches, and in no time he relieved her of the undergarments hindering access. She needed no readying—his intimate ministrations made clear she was ready for him—and he took great delight in plunging well within her depths.

She cried his name, and he quickly looked to ensure the source was of pleasure and not pain. In truth, he could not tell from her expression, but the way she grabbed his hips and pulled him deeper within was answer enough.

Henry was instantaneously frantic for her, but just as quickly as she responded to him, she froze.

“What is it?” he asked. “Did I hurt you?”

“I think I just saw someone in the window.”

He turned, his mind and body a tangle of urges. He was still fully seated inside, and she still hotly welcoming. But her limbs were stiff, her eyes frantic. Henry saw nothing in the window, but wanted very much to ease her worries so he withdrew from her and tucked himself in his breeches as best he could under the unwieldy circumstances.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“In search of your watcher,” he said. He leaned over and kissed her, righting her skirt as he drew away. “Let us not give him anything more over which to gawk.”

Lydia smiled, but it was a halfhearted gesture. Already she stared at the glass, which appeared little more than a rectangle of pitch against the dimly lit walls. Privately he thought the flicker of firelight might have caused her worry, but he did not want to diminish her fears so he pulled on his topcoat and his shoes, then stepped from the warm room into the frigid night.

He looked first to the horses, neither of whom bothered to look his way. They stood with their noses to the ground, though from the dark distance he could not tell if they were grazing or in slumber. In either case, nothing had riled them.

Quietly, he stepped from the back porch and rounded the small house. Scarcely more than a divided room, the structure did not boast an impressive footprint. As such, circling it only occupied a couple minutes of his time. Finding nothing—and seeing no shadows upon the road—he returned to the rear of the house, pausing to look for movement. The woods stirred in a cold breeze, but nothing stood out. He could not discern the crack of brush underfoot or the crush of forest litter. The night’s chorus rang without concern.

With a second look around the back porch, Henry walked quietly to the horse shed. It, too, he circled, seeing nothing. If a man lurked, he did so with remarkably even steps, for Henry found no trace. As a final precaution, he checked inside the shed before returning to the house, where he found Lydia sitting nervously by the fire.

“Did you find him?” she asked.

“No trace,” he said. “Are you sure you did not see a reflection from light inside?”

“I am certain I saw a face,” Lydia said. “Perhaps it was conjured by my witchcraft.”

Fearful his frustration would show, Henry tried to still his emotions, but it mattered not, for he was wholly convinced her bitter tone would be neither soothed nor marred by his countenance. When he gathered himself enough to look at Lydia, her eyes were downcast, her skirt once again fisted. He tried to pull her into his arms, but she resisted.

“This will ruin you,” she said. “It has ruined others already. Arrests have been made. No one can fight this spectral evidence, Henry. How can anyone disprove the movements of a ghost?”

“Your spirit,” he assured, “has been as much with me as have you.”

“They say the devil rides a great black steed. They say that it is Willard!”

Henry lost a piece of himself then. He had given her Willard to ride that day—he had rather insisted upon it. And while his claims of separating the horses until the fence could be repaired were true, his options were not limited to Lydia’s dispatch of Willard. He could well have tied the animals to different trees until the work was complete.

“I am truly sorry for that. You must blame me.”

“I do not place blame. He is but a horse.”

“And you are an innocent woman.”

“You do not understand. There have been arrests. A number of them, just in the past few weeks. Privately we doubt the accusations, but neighbors cannot speak out lest they, too, are charged of bedevilment.”

As she spoke, she craned her neck, looking past him toward the window.

“Have you seen something?”

“I cannot explain it. I feel as if there are eyes upon me. It is a disturbance I cannot shake.”

“I checked thoroughly. There was no one out there. Even the horses are at ease.”

“Perhaps a stranger has made their acquaintance—they would not be disturbed by someone familiar. There is little doubt of this man’s existence, Henry. I have been told on numerous occasions someone seeks me. There could well be someone there.”

“This person who seeks you may just be curious of the new physician. He has not approached, has he?”

“No, he has not. And that is part of my concern.”

Henry gathered her close. “Perhaps your questions fuel your unease. His interest is likely benign, but your worries build fear. You worry someone seeks you, so you begin to feel his attention where it is not.”

“I cannot explain it, but I do feel it.”

He leaned and kissed her. “It is my vow to you, we will see to this. Worry not for what waits outside those doors, for we have so very much within.”

Her eyes met his, and her affection shone through the shadows of her distress. “You distract me, Henry.”

He glanced to his groin, still at half mast. “It is my fondest wish to distract you further.”

Lydia laughed. “You are quite persistent.”

He captured her mouth in a kiss, not releasing her until she relaxed thoroughly in his arms. “You are not alone, Lydia. No matter what trials are presented, we will face them together.”

“I can only hope you are right.”

“There is more than hope, for I give you my word and my honor. You will never again face the night alone.”