An Unexpected Sin (Entangled Scandalous)

by Ballance, Sarah

  “Yes, sir.”

  Josiah did not exhale until his employer turned his back and shuffled toward the steps, his gait that of a man far beyond his years. Life had aged George Scudder. Life…or loss? Guilt stabbed Josiah—a twisting, dull knife tattering the edges of a six-year-old wound.

  And the innkeeper seemed none the wiser.

  Josiah lifted his chin and had taken only one stride after Goodman Scudder when a face in a window caught his eye. An old woman he did not recognize, yet he deemed her somehow familiar. He quickly averted his eyes, though deep unease suggested he was still being watched.

  Inside, Goodman Scudder called for Anne’s mother, Susannah, who came quickly, wiping her hands on her apron. When she saw Josiah, she stopped short.

  “New hire. Name’s Josiah,” the goodman said gruffly. “Can you set him up in a room?”

  “Of course,” she said after a slight hitch in time. Was she wary? Perhaps it should be expected; what he did not know was whether the scrutiny had taken on a personal nature.

  He was a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. And one rocking chair bothered him more than the others.

  From the corner, an old woman stared with bold green eyes. Anne’s eyes. The elder woman’s years numbered many, her wrinkles marking her face like the lines of a tree. A shawl covered her lap so he could not make out her frame, but she appeared slight. And her appraisal of him was unapologetic. Demanding.

  Her lips moved. Or had they?

  Josiah looked around but Anne’s parents had left. He was alone. He took a step closer, both captivated and pinned by the woman’s uncanny attention. Then, realizing he could not simply stare, he said, “Good morrow.”

  Again, her lips moved, and with that motion came the faintest whisper of sound. But she remained stoic in nature—not at all like a person who attempted conversation. Had he imagined it?

  Uneasy, Josiah looked over his shoulder. Though he could see little past the doorway leading to the back half of the inn, for the time he and the elder woman remained alone.

  And if she had addressed him, she appeared in no hurry to repeat her words.

  “Pardon me?” he asked. “Are we previously acquainted?” He edged closer, startled by the hue of her eyes. They were Anne’s. The old woman’s were not as bright, but they were no less piercing. He had been to Cambridge and back, and though the vision of Anne’s eyes had stayed with him, never had he seen such a hue outside of his mind.

  Today, he did.

  The woman made no indication of having heard him. He considered whether or not he should address her again when footsteps sounded in the parlor. He turned to see Goodwife Scudder, who had stopped and stared at them in surprise.

  “She does not speak,” the goodwife said, nodding toward the old woman. “And has long taken leave of her manners. Forgive her undue attention. This way, please.”

  The old woman did not react to the insult, though verily it left Josiah unnerved. Anne’s mother, even as she sought forgiveness with her words, seemed to be warning him away from the elder. Perhaps the old woman was ill, though she might easily have said as much. It was more likely the goodwife preferred the hired help to not disturb her guests…or in the case of the elder, her family, for she had to be a relation of Anne’s.

  Josiah followed Anne’s mother to a back room on the lower level of the large, two-story inn—likely a room intended for servants. Inside was the first bed he had seen in days. The room smelled of clean, dry foliage, suggesting the mattress had recently been freshened.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “There is no need for gratitude. You will earn it or you will move on.” She did not wait for an answer before leaving him, but it was just as well, for he had none.

  Gone was the utter warmth she had exuded when her son had been alive.

  Josiah turned around. The tidy room was basic—small, but his belongings were few. He had only a pack and he needed only a place to set it down. He would have been happy for permission to sleep on the porch for the chance to be near Anne. Best of all, the room was steps from where Anne would sleep. He sank onto the bed.

  He had found her and against all odds, she seemed to have forgiven him. And he had been given a second chance to prove himself to her parents. Josiah had finally escaped his past.

  The truth could be anything he wanted it to be.

  Everything in his entire world hung on the wisdom of that choice.

  Chapter Four

  After enduring a sleepless night at Prudence’s—Anne’s every thought consumed with Josiah—she refused a proffered wagon ride from John Howe, the merchant friend of her father’s who frequently granted her passage to and from Salem Village. Though the walk was long, she wanted the time to think apart from Prudence’s incessant questions and teasing nature. Anne had not yet confessed Josiah’s identity—nor had Prudence guessed—so Prudence was left to believe Anne harbored intense affection for a complete stranger. The ruse would not likely stand to Prudence’s penetrating scrutiny, but for the time, Anne wanted to keep Josiah’s return to herself.

  Her thoughts were heavy, and in the solitude she hoped to sort them.

  But there was no sorting through what Josiah was to her—or the memories his appearance stirred. Though bittersweet, they brought such great warmth she could not help but draw near—a naïve moth to a burgeoning flame. So many questions lay at the tip of her tongue, but her heart wanted nothing more than the proximity of this man. A decade before, he had tipped the innocence of her girlhood with every forbidden stroke of his fingers against her flesh. Now, his touch kindled a womanly fire within—one that left her thick with emotions she dared not address.

  She recognized the thinning woods as a sign she neared town. Her family’s inn was but a short distance away. Might Josiah await her there? Her heart raced and skipped. The walk, meant to settle her mind, had only provoked her desires—desires not even the cloud-thick sky could temper.

  Sudden movement in the nearby woods altered the cadence of her heart. Her steps faltered, and with her mind divulged from its haze she realized how terribly still the forest sat. The usual sound of birds hid under a cloak of silence. Though her mother had long warned of the dangers of a young woman traveling unescorted, Anne had always found the path to be one of solace. But now, in the terrible stillness, she thought only of the stranger rumored to haunt the woods near Salem Village. Who but the devil himself could lead to the wrongful accusation of so many of Salem’s most trusted neighbors?

  Wanting no more for the solitude of the forest, she turned…and walked straight into something. Someone. Hands closed on her arms.

  Blinded by fear, she tried to scream but could force no sound from her throat.

  “Anne!” Though insistent, the voice came in low tones. “Worry not, for it is only me.”

  “Josiah!” Relief threatened, but before the feeling could find its course he took her hand and softly pressed it to his lips. At the feel of his intimate caress against her bare skin, a white-hot cataclysm of emotion burst forth, rendering her knees weak and her senses sharp. She found her tongue. “Tell me,” she said breathlessly, “why do you linger in the woods?”

  He smiled crookedly. “I expected you along the path.”

  “You waited all these hours for me?”

  “I have waited six summers to return to you. What is one morning more?”

  She swallowed, but could not diffuse the heat from her cheeks. When his thumb traced the back of her hand, she found his eyes. He had evaded her question the day before, but she must know. “Why did you stay away so long?”

  He tipped his face skyward. Light—filtered by clouds and foliage—made a delicate pattern over his skin. “I was granted opportunity for schooling, a privilege from which I could not walk away.” He paused and looked to their hands, now joined. “Though that is what kept me from you, I must confess I worried for my return. I feared how you might react to me.”

  His admittance startled her.
“Whatever is there to fear?”

  “Samuel.” Josiah’s eyes made a plea for understanding and she could not help but wonder as to his intensity. He had been her brother’s closest friend and—in so many small ways of great importance to her young heart—much more than a friend to her. Though he had left her red-faced and sputtering more times than she could count, she and Josiah had never exchanged a truly cross word. In time, she had come to believe that Samuel knew of the clear affections between his sister and his closest friend, but he made no acknowledgement. She knew of no real reason why Josiah should fear her reaction—whether related to Samuel or otherwise.

  She opened her mouth to inquire, but before words formed the cadence of hoof beats sounded farther down the road. Wordlessly, Josiah tugged her off the path, past a stand of heavy summer brush into a small clearing she knew well. Though they were close to town, the thick vegetation hid the road and any hint of the population nearby. Wild ginger grew robustly in the space, where to one side lay a gathering of tinder.

  Josiah must have noticed the slant of her attention, for he said, “Your mother has sent me to gather cooking wood.”

  She braced against the inclination of his words, barely glancing in the direction of the road as a wagon rumbled past. “Are you saying…?”

  “Indeed, I am. Your father hired me this morn.”

  Joyfully, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. The vast dismissal of propriety lashed at her conscience, but as quickly as he returned the embrace she found she cared not for the advisability of her actions. She was neither in her mother’s parlor nor a meeting house, but in a quiet place of seclusion where there were no witnesses to prattle their ill-gained gossip.

  Though, not even the threat of discovery could pry her from his arms. Her insides coiled and spun, never more so than when he lifted his hands to cradle her head. Then he claimed her mouth. Gone was the hesitance from the night before, and in its place was an urgency upon which she feasted. He didn’t need to press for entry, as her mouth opened on a gasp and he quickly found his way inside.

  Nothing had ever tasted sweeter. He must have intended to devour her, for he took her breath with his demanding exploration. He caressed her, gently and wholly, until she feared she might drop from the thrill. When he pulled away, it was just long enough for him to offer a smile before he again leaned close, teasing her swollen mouth with a gentle nip of his teeth.

  She scarcely felt his hand trail her spine but for the shivers he evoked, and when he found the small of her back he pressed until their bodies found flawless alignment. He was solid, warm, and unmistakable in his desire for her.

  “The years have been too long,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. “I have wanted for no one else.”

  His words wove beyond her defenses, if they were to be found at all. “I am the same,” she said shyly. “My affections have never been granted to another.”

  With her declaration, stiffness fled his limbs and he seemed to relax. “I feared…,” he said softly. “I expected you would move on. You were just a girl.”

  “But my feelings cared not for my years. I yearned for you then, as I have ever since.”

  He grinned, easing the lingering ache. “Yet, you did not recognize me.”

  Though he teased, she could not deny him an explanation. “I could only remember the boy I knew. I could not guess the man you have become.”

  He pressed a kiss to her mouth, smiling gently as he withdrew. “Time has forced change,” he said. The sudden hollowness of his expression led her to believe he spoke of Samuel, but Josiah did not mention her brother’s name. Long-suppressed questions ventured forth, and though the answers likely existed in the man before her, she did not want to taint their reunion with a piece of their past that could not be changed.

  “Yet,” she said, “our paths have once again crossed.”

  “No,” he said over a distant growl of thunder. Humidity soaked the summer sky, its promise of a storm as great as the rumbling. “Years ago, our paths crossed. It is my hope this time they will not merely intersect, but continue together along the road ahead.”

  The words were soft and sweet, but their meaning came at her with heft. Their meeting had not been by chance. He had come for her, and her chest threatened to burst with the pure joy of his return. But in the burst of light, there existed a single point of darkness.

  He could not claim her in courtship without her parents’ blessing—a couple who had lost their only son.

  And that loss would forever be linked to Josiah.

  Chapter Five

  Josiah watched Anne’s path along the road until he could no longer see her, and even then stared at the bend in the road where she had disappeared from his view. His chest threatened to explode. He needed to tell her what had happened with Samuel—to make sure she understood. Though he was content with leaving well enough alone, he could not walk this line of uncertainty, knowing at any moment she might learn something that would change her feelings. If she did not yet blame Josiah, someone may have kept the story from her of what had happened that day. And if that truth came now, her feelings for Josiah could change entirely. Now that he’d found her again, he couldn’t bear losing her. Nor could he live with the unease of not knowing when—or if—his world might drop from under his feet.

  But telling her could be just as devastating. Would the news forever alter the glorious green hue of her eyes? He couldn’t bear to hurt her. He couldn’t imagine living with the knowledge that he’d stolen her light and joy.

  Again.

  Everything he had told her was true. He had left Salem to attend school—a rare opportunity to be celebrated, if not for the circumstances. The truth was his father, in his shame, had sent Josiah away. He wouldn’t merely dispose of his son—that would make his father look bad—so he had repackaged Josiah’s dismissal in the name of schooling. Josiah received a great education, but it had come at a cost.

  It was a debt from which he would never be free, for his father had died hating his son.

  Once Anne learned the truth, would she do the same?

  His decision to tell her of Samuel’s death carried its own burdens. Did he tell her now and risk the early bond they had forged, or did he wait until they had grown closer and subsequently risk a greater betrayal? He pondered little else as he trudged the road to the Scudder Inn, the bundle of tinder making the ruts infinitely more difficult to navigate.

  Upon his approach, unease seemed to drift from the eaves of the large structure, which stood in respectable condition despite the Goodman’s failing hands. The storm-darkened sky placed a somber hue over the inn. Josiah remembered the old woman in the parlor and, despite summer’s heat, he shivered. Anne’s mother said the woman did not speak, yet Josiah was sure she had tried to communicate with him. Who was she? He could not forget those brilliantly colored eyes, eerily bright on a gray, worn face that had verily seen more years than most. The woman disturbed him greatly, though he knew not why.

  But he did know that he did not want to be watched. As soon as was practical, he stepped from the road, cutting the woman from view as he rounded the house. He deposited the tinder in the covered box outside the kitchen, finishing the job just as the first fat rain drops fell from the sky. Josiah had only begun to ponder if the weather would send him indoors when rain began to pour in earnest. He ducked into the kitchen, the door shutting with a clatter at his back.

  The room ahead descended into silence.

  Goodwife Scudder and Anne stared.

  He tipped his hat at the goodwife. Despite his best intentions, his eyes lingered a bit too long on Anne—something that surely hadn’t gone unnoticed by her mother, whose scrutiny intensified. The woman’s gaze darted between Josiah and Anne, her brow increasingly furrowed with each shift.

  After an uncomfortable moment, Susannah Scudder addressed him. “Have you the tinder?”

  “In the box,” he said, casting a glance at the fire lighting the
hearth. Uncomfortable heat radiated from its hearty roar, leaving Josiah eternally grateful a man’s work was seldom to tend to the cooking.

  The goodwife’s stare left him thinking something was unsaid—some propriety, perhaps—and he thought to ask if she would like wood brought inside, but the box near the hearth was full. Yet the goodwife continued in her appraisal, and his discomfort made clear the dark veil of his past would haunt him ceaselessly. He would have to talk to Anne about Samuel.

  He would have to ensure she knew the truth.

  His throat pinched, but he managed to keep his voice even. Of the goodwife, he asked, “Pray, pardon me. Is there a task in need of my hand?”

  She took a long assessment before she spoke. Finally, she said, “See to the shutters. Brace them against the weather, but take care. Many are weakened.”

  “Of course,” Josiah looked to his boots and, finding they had been spared the mud, headed across the cooking room. Crossways, he nodded to Anne and her mother, his eyes once again lingering. Why could he not keep his attention where appropriate? He stood no chance of maintaining his employ if he could not keep his affections under guise—at least until he could prove himself worthy of Anne’s hand. Certainly a hired man who lusted so openly would not be kept on.

  As soon as he exited the kitchen, it became apparent he had failed in hiding his interest in Anne. The door closed harshly behind him—as if by force—and though he had not lingered by the door with intent to listen, Goodwife Scudder’s admonishment came through clearly.

  Josiah’s stride faltered. He should not eavesdrop, but with so many questions, he could not depart without hearing the goodwife’s words. He remained far from the windows, making his attempts to listen rather blatant, but should the door swing after him he could hasten his step.

  “…a woman’s honor…not to risk honor…worry that you will be used by a servant boy…”

  Anne’s voice came more clearly. “No such thing has happened. Your suppositions are without foundation. I will not hear of this!”