An Unexpected Sin (8 page)

Chapter Ten

Long after Prudence left for home with the merchant, Anne lingered in the woods near the hill. The hour had grown late, the storm no less vile, and she knew her parents would worry, but she was an adult. They could not speak of arranging her marriage transaction and at the same time find her too childish to tend to herself—something they would learn soon enough. In the meantime, she needed to sort her thoughts. Neither her determination nor her grief waned, and the only thing she saw clearly was her future with Josiah. It did not seem fair her parents could take that from her. It was only through faith and prayer they would come to a decision about her future, but Anne worshipped the same God as did they. Why would their answer be different from hers?

How could it ever be anyone but Josiah?

The dark sky wept, leading to waste any chance of her garments drying. She had been damp for hours now. She cared not for the added weight of her clothing and discomfort of the rain. Her grief kept her numb to the elements. Loss was a way of life, but the burden was unjust. First Samuel, and now Elizabeth. With so many whispers and rumors and accusations flying about, who would be next? Not Josiah. She would not risk another loss, no matter how much her mother insisted otherwise.

The woods were exceptionally dark this night, and though Anne frequently walked the route, it seemed less familiar somehow. Perhaps it was not the road, but something inside her that had shifted—certainly that was the case. Still, the dark forest filled her with the kind of unease born of witch hunts and strangers waiting, seeking signatures and souls.

As if the sky shared her mood, it let loose with another torrent of rain. Blinded by the deluge, she stumbled. Lightning flashed. Home was just past the bridge—several minutes away yet—but she could not bear to go there. She did not want for her mother’s lectures.

She wanted for life.

The weight of her sorrows pooled like the rainwater at her feet. Lightning feverishly split the sky and thunder roared.

A second flash indicated someone on the path ahead of her.

Anne froze but for the rush of her breath. Seconds later, another bolt revealed a shadowy figure. Then the night again drew black, and over the noise of the rain Anne had no idea where the dark figure had gone.

Then she heard her name.

“Anne! Is that you?”

Josiah? “Josiah!”

Somehow they found each other in the dark, wherein she fell into his arms. Though he, too, was soaked to the bone, his presence was one of utter warmth and security. The muddy ground felt inexplicably solid beneath her feet, and though her worries did not abandon her, a gentle calm filled her—an assurance that what she wanted was right.

Josiah was right.

“I heard of Elizabeth,” he said. His lips brushed her ear when he spoke. His concern—the hushed urgency of his tone, the tenderness therein—found the broken pieces inside her and made them want to be whole again. He gave her hope.

Anne knew not what to say. She felt to the bone the pain and injustice of her friend’s death, but witnessing it had freed Anne’s own path. She was an adult of twenty years and her life was her own. She would always love and respect her parents, but her mother’s insistence that Anne stay away from Josiah was without merit. Josiah had never wronged or dishonored her.

She could not imagine he ever would.

“I feared for you.” Josiah pulled away until she could see his face. He wore sorrow, but it was mixed with traces of relief. Even with rainwater running down his face and his hair stuck flat to his head, he was still the most thrilling man she had ever seen.

Thunder cracked and lightning split the sky, the sound so close and so terrible Anne jolted from Josiah’s arms. “I cannot go home. Not yet.”

“Your parents are worried.” His lips tipped up. “Worried enough to give their blessing for my search.”

“Then they trust you will keep me safe. Please…stay with me.” She prayed he would understand—or that he would support her desperation even if understanding was too much.

He looked ruefully down the path. “We need to get you to shelter.”

Her knees nearly buckled from her relief. “I know of a place.” Anne took his hand and ducked into the woods. Several yards off the road waited a cabin long forgotten by most. It sat in disrepair with a leaky roof, but it was sturdy enough to expect there remained a dry spot inside where they could wait out the weather.

Off the main road, the howling wind through the branches pounded them mercilessly, but the farther into the woods they went, the less brunt the force. She did not relinquish her grip on Josiah until they approached the broken stoop, at which point she used both hands to attempt to force open the door. Age had sagged the roof and slanted the walls, and with each of her infrequent visits she had experienced more difficulty with the threshold.

Josiah quickly took over the task. In one hard shove, they both tumbled through onto the dusty floor. As suspected, the roof leaked in a number of places but the cabin was shelter and that was enough. The sound of the storm was muffled by the walls, though the rain pounded relentlessly. For a moment, Anne was at ease.

Then the walls closed in, and all the pain and fear of the day seemed to collide in that moment. She hugged herself but could not stop the uncontrollable shaking that had taken over her body.

Josiah pulled her close and just as abruptly stepped back. Though the day was humid and warm, his wet clothing lay like ice against hers in the damp, cold chill of the room. She stood, teeth chattering, while Josiah looked around the cabin’s single room. His eyes lingered in the direction of the stone hearth occupying one wall.

“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 asked, 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.