An Unexpected Sin (Entangled Scandalous)

by Ballance, Sarah

  “Have you any idea who owns this?”

  “No. It is long abandoned.”

  A worried smile teased his lips. “Do you suppose it will last the storm?”

  “It has lasted a great many before it. The trees shelter it from most of the wind, and the walls are sturdy enough.”

  Her words must not have convinced him, for he looked dubiously around the darkened space before he left her where she stood and went to the nearest perimeter. He pushed gently on the wall, then worked his way around the room in turn. “It does feel sound enough,” he said. “But I would feel better to first inspect it in the daylight.”

  The room was nearly pitch dark, though without the rain in her face her eyes had slowly begun to adjust. Josiah looked as a shadow where he stood, several feet from her. When she drew closer, she saw he rummaged in a box near the hearth.

  He held up his hand, grinning to show off the newfound flint. “We can start a fire,” he said, “if we can gather enough dry wood.”

  Anne hid a smile. “I cannot imagine there is a dry piece of wood in the forest,” she said, echoing his sentiment from the day they had picked berries together.

  He grinned. “That may be true out of doors, but by and large, the wood in here has escaped the rain.”

  The wood in here? Anne peered more closely into the dark corners. She had forgotten the meager furnishings the cabin held, and to the best of her memory many of the pieces were broken. Likely forgotten as well by the last to occupy the simple home, they would make adequate wood for a fire. And it was yet another testament to Josiah’s fine character that he showed such consideration for the cabin’s owner.

  Josiah was a good man. Anne wouldn’t have to prove it to her mother—he would prove himself. Of that Anne harbored no doubt.

  She would not marry another. No one could compel her to turn her back on Josiah now.

  Josiah was already at work in the corner, making a racket to rival that of the storm. “I cannot assure the chimney is clear without daylight by which to inspect it,” he said, “but we will know in time if the smoke refuses exit. With all this rain, we are not likely to burn down the cabin, but should the worst happen we can be assured the fire will not spread.”

  “This is true,” she murmured. She had not considered the possibility of spending the night by firelight, but now she could not wait for its warmth. The day had not been cold, but her wet clothes chilled her thoroughly. Because she was of little help standing idle while he worked, she joined him at his side.

  He paused, looking from his work in surprise. His attention trailed from her face downward, heating her flesh even as it evoked fresh chills from her head to her toes. His observation of her left her insides as shaky as her limbs, and with it came the realization they were well and truly alone.

  “You never fail to surprise me,” he said, his gentle gaze falling to her trembling body. “Worry not. We will soon be warm.” He handed her a piece of wood, his fingers brushing hers when she accepted it.

  She settled the tinder in place and turned to take another. Lost in watching him work, it took her a moment to realize he was without his wide-brimmed hat. “Where is your hat?”

  He put a hand to his head and smiled sheepishly. “It blew off along the path.”

  “And you did not go after it?”

  “I worried for you. The hat was quickly lost to the dark and the trees and verily of little concern in your absence.”

  Heat rose to her face, and she grinned shyly. If he continued to carry on as he did, she would be in little need of the fire for warmth. Nonetheless, she welcomed the idea of sitting with him in front of the roaring flames.

  To that end, he had managed to secure a surprising amount of wood from the loosely stacked pile in the corner. Once they had procured a good supply of fuel, she helped him feel around for smaller pieces to start the fire, then sat next to him as he worked the flint. In short time a spark lit the tinder, and a small flame spread gentle light in the cabin.

  “Are we visible from the road?” he asked.

  “Not with the summer foliage. Only in the winter and only if you know precisely where to look, but the distance from the road is enough that I cannot believe we would be found. Especially not in the dark, or with this storm, as the rain will disguise the smoke.” She studied his face, wondering if he wanted more for their discovery or the assurance they would remain alone.

  Whatever the direction of his thoughts, he kept his feelings well hidden, for his face revealed nothing. Rather, he kept his attention in the direction of the fire. On occasion he leaned closer, turning his head as if he could see up the chimney. “It looks like it will be safe,” he said, “but we need to watch for excess smoke. It can be hard to determine if it comes on gradually, but if the air becomes thick we will have to extinguish the fire.”

  Anne, having moved as close to the warmth as she dared, nodded. Though the flame rapidly heated the room, the chill would not be chased from her bones.

  Josiah stripped his shirt and gave her a sideways look. “Forgive me for the suggestion,” he said softly, “for there is no poor intent, but if you remove a layer of your clothing you will warm more quickly. They will not dry with any haste piled in layers as they are.” As he spoke, he draped his shirt over the edge of a bench.

  Anne could do nothing but stare. He was just as he had been the night before, but now his firm, flat stomach and broad chest were lit by a cadence of firelight that drew shadows over his skin. The arms that had held her the night before were now more obvious with their bulk, though the muscles were lean and corded and strong. And his hands…she could still feel them, delightfully work-roughened but wonderfully steeped with tenderness.

  “Shall I help you?” he asked after a long moment.

  Would that he help her undress? The fire in the hearth had nothing on the heat that shot through her, but inside she shook harder than leaves at the mercy of a storm. Without answering, she reached for the buttons of the waistcoat she wore against the rain but found her fingers trembled uselessly at the stitch. She looked up from her task to grant his permission, only to see him a hair’s breadth away. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded and was rewarded by the sight of his strong, nimble fingers working loose the fasteners. The tips brushed her as he worked, burning through the layers of wet fabric.

  “Tell me,” she said, the words nearly lodged in her throat. “Do you this night find yourself a lesser man?”

  Would he grasp her allusion? He stilled in his ministrations, a smile teasing his lips. “Is that what your heart desires? That I become a lesser man?”

  Had she ever seen anyone more handsome? Though the rivulets of water running from his wet hair had long ceased their flow, his tanned, lean torso remained damp. Lit to bronze by the dancing flame, he looked as delectable as any man had a right. And he was hers. The promise in those words stole some of her courage, but she forced herself to find his eyes. “My heart desires to know you fully,” she said, echoing his words from the night before. “To memorize every part of you…”

  Smiling, he took her hand and kissed her fingertips. “To learn your deepest pleasures and indulge in taking you there again and again. To hold you as you sleep and awaken with you in my arms.”

  She released the breath she held. “You remembered.”

  His smile turned devilish, and it was the last thing she saw before his lips grazed her cheek, then her ear. “Sweet Anne,” he said, “I have had years to think of little else.”

  A wall of emotion inside her chest threatened to burst, but she held fast. She would not fall apart—not even from joy.

  “You are trembling. Let me help you with your coat.”

  Overcome, she could only nod.

  He reached for the garment, easing it backward so she could slip her arms from the wet sleeves. Once she was free, he stepped away to spread the coat to dry. When he turned, she gasped.

  He had marks on his back.

  “Did I do that?” she as
ked, approaching to examine them more closely.

  “Do what?”

  “The marks on your back.”

  “I cannot see them, but I know of no other cause,” he said. “Would you like to do it again?”

  Despite the overwhelming heaviness of the day, she could do nothing but laugh.

  But for his teasing, Josiah remained serious. He reached for her and captured her hand, pulling her close. With one of his arms looped around her waist and the fingers of his other laced with hers, he walked her gently back toward the fire.

  They were like one of the great paintings—a shirtless man and a sodden woman with their grand ballroom in shambles around them. Their steps were like dancing. A sin, but she let him hold her anyway, for she knew one thing to be true.

  If she followed her heart, dancing would be the least of her sins that night.

  She sighed happily as he drew her close. Her life was simple, her material possessions few, but in his arms she was the richest woman in all the colonies. She could not forget the day’s sorrow, but in his arms she pieced together a way to live through it. Through the loss, everything had taken on brilliant hues. No fire had ever leapt so beautifully upon a hearth. Rain had never pounded with such vigor.

  No touch had ever been so sweet.

  She could live forever in this moment—with the wonder in his eyes, as if he, too, could not believe he held her. Nothing could feel better, at least until he leaned to kiss her.

  With the gentle caress of his lips against hers, she was lost.

  But in the most important of ways, it was then that she was well and truly found.

  Chapter Eleven

  A wide range of emotions had long assaulted Josiah, but none more relentless than guilt. He had lived much of his life under its burden—for his mother’s death and then again for Samuel’s—and found it renewed most profoundly earlier that day after his walk with Anne’s father. It struck him again that moment on the road when he knew he should insist Anne return home, but one look into her pleading eyes and he could deny her nothing.

  Now, inexplicably, the guilt was gone.

  The fire was beginning to do its job, yet Anne still trembled. He knew of nothing but to hold her, so he did. Drawing near the fire, he kept her gathered close and together they swayed gently to the crackle of the fire and the thunder of the rain. In time, her shivers calmed, but the moment did not ask for words, so he gave it none.

  Perhaps there were none.

  She smelled of the rain. He breathed deeply, her scent just as indulgent as the feel of her wrapped so perfectly in his arms. Her height was such that her head nestled at his shoulder, and each of her deep breaths seemed to bring the soft swell of her breasts tighter to his chest. His heart ached for her—for the terrible blow of another senseless loss—but he also experienced a sense of fulfillment with Anne he knew would never come from anyone else. His years numbered twenty-two to her twenty, and with the opportunity to attend college he had experienced more from life than most. But for all of his travels, the contentment that had long eluded him found purchase right here in her arms. For the first time in his life, he worried not for the past, but for the future they would share.

  “It is so unfair,” she murmured against his chest. “Elizabeth was innocent.”

  Josiah said nothing. He simply held Anne, allowing her to grieve in the only way he knew how.

  After a long while, she shifted in his arms and he saw her face. Her bottom lip disappeared momentarily behind her teeth before she asked, “How could anyone believe such a thing of her?”

  “Why was she accused?”

  “She was said to have caught the attention of a wealthy landowner. He pursued her, but she would have nothing of him. His wife said she knew of his affairs. She claimed she had proof and blamed Elizabeth. She was beautiful, and with these stories other wives began to fear she would similarly lead their husbands to sin.”

  The news left him slightly astounded. “How could they have proof of her wrongdoings when she is an innocent woman?”

  “The wife dreamed her there. They say a witch’s spirit can go to a man, even when her body remains elsewhere.”

  “Spectral evidence.” He had heard of it. It stunned him that someone could become victim of someone else’s dreams, and he was not the only one to react incredulously. From his time in Cambridge, he had learned of a Boston minister who had in recent months publicly challenged use of spectral evidence. He had been made to pay a sum of two hundred pounds or face immediate arrest for his so-called scandalous contest. Josiah knew not the fate of the minister, but the admission of spectral evidence had clearly not altered.

  But it was his understanding that spectral evidence alone was not enough. “There was more.”

  Less of a question than a statement of fact.

  “Yes.” Anne sighed. “Her lineage. She is said to be of a witch’s blood, for her grandmother was hanged three decades ago in Hartford.”

  He stiffened. “She was hanged? As a witch?”

  Anne nodded. “One of the wives learned of it, and shortly the whole village knew.”

  Josiah fought for the control that suddenly seemed to spiral wildly from his hands. “But it makes no sense. Elizabeth was not even born three decades ago.”

  “It matters not,” Anne said, seemingly unaware of the panic running its course through him. “Her lineage was proof enough. And none of us who knew her could protest without being accused ourselves. Such is the way. Who would defend a witch but another witch?”

  The admission brought a new round of sorrow to her eyes and shook her frame, but not so thoroughly as it shook him. The people of Salem worried so greatly for the fabricated sins of others that they cared not for their own. How else could one so callously bring another to death? Josiah had heard of the arrests in Salem, but—as evidenced by George Scudder’s mention of Bridget Bishop—the names had eluded him. There had been no faces to these crimes. They had simply become fodder for taverns and goodwives, and Josiah kept company with neither.

  But that someone should die for their lineage? That changed something. That changed everything.

  “This…day,” she said, “has made me realize how fleeting our time is.”

  She still trembled, so he turned her so she stood closer to the fire. “We can never be promised more than what we have, Anne. Not more than we have in this very moment.”

  A faint grin broke through the sorrow to trace her lips. “Is that your way of evading my hand?”

  He gently brushed from her face the strand of hair that seemed always to fall errant. “Be assured I have no intention of evading any of your parts.”

  A loud crackle from the fire drew his attention as well as hers, keeping him from elaborating on that point, though for the better. Regretfully, he released his hold on her and tugged another piece of wood from his pile. After poking at the flames, he tossed the piece into the fire and stood, watching for a long moment, waiting for answers that did not come.

  But Anne came to him.

  It was always Anne.

  She approached from behind, and now her hands rested on his arms. “Josiah?”

  He turned and clasped both of her hands in his, kissing each one lightly. “I will deny you nothing. For the whole of my life, there is nothing I will not do for you, but I have to speak the truth.”

  She looked up at him, brilliant eyes intent with her concern. “What is it?”

  He touched her face, pushing aside tendrils of hair so he could see her fully. “When you come to me, I want you to be of clear mind and decision. As such, I fear taking liberties with your affections after such a tragic day.”

  She clutched his hand. “Do you not see? Everything is clear now.”

  “Tragedy changes people. It makes people want things they may not otherwise.”

  “Do you not think I know this? Do you think I do not know the pain of loss? I am—”

  He silenced her with the crush of his mouth against hers. He had not m
eant for it, but he could no more resist than deny her, and she had allowed for neither. Her sharp intake of breath left her lips parted and her mouth open to him, so he wasted nothing. He deepened the kiss, his need so overwhelming he had to fight to maintain control. But the battle was a losing one, and with every sweet temptation she breathed into his mouth, he gave up more of his desire to win. He wanted her so badly he shook, but he could not bear to hurt her.

  He could not bear that she might wake with regrets.

  “You heal me,” she whispered through a barely broken kiss. “I do not need to think or to worry about what is proper. I need to be with you, for the one thing I do know is my heart is true. I will never want for another.”

  His heart pounded, for in her sweetly spoken trust, she had given him not just permission, but her heart.

  He would find a way to win her hand.

  He would not live for anything less.

  From that unspoken promise grew assurance, and from within, a desire unlike any he had ever known. She filled him with a tumultuous ache. Need roared through him, fueled by her tiny whimpers and fingertips clutching at his back, until he could take no more of her clothing. He fumbled at her buttons, forcing away the urge to simply rip free the fasteners, for distant logic suggested she would need to dress again…eventually. But he had this night and this woman and he would explore every inch of her until he could move no more.

  Profane words laced his lips at the difficulty of her garments, and in time she was laughing and helping him with the task. Her fingers trembled, as did his, but piece by piece her wet clothing fell away. He did not bother with hanging it—he just let it fall where it may, and when she stood naked before him his heart nearly tore through his throat.

  “You are beautiful,” he said. “Simply stunning.”

  She blushed so prettily by firelight. She had already gifted him everything—verily, she could offer nothing more—but there was one favor she had yet to grant.