Her Wicked Sin Read Online Free Page B

abandonment? It mattered not. Abandonment would not earn for her the penalty of death. She had risked much by joining his bedside, though she had performed no wrong. Was she guilty of misjudgment? Perhaps. While she had known his worry of her husband arriving carried no merit, she had laid no expectations on being called upon by Salem Village’s greatest gossip.
    Rebecca Mather’s expression had left its accusing trait for one of exceeding curiosity. “It is very fine to meet you, Goodman. You have been gone some time.”
    “In distant travels,” Henry said. “It is good to know we have neighbors of such attention. I worried for Lydia in my absence.”
    “Rebecca,” Lydia implored, drawing the woman’s scrutiny from her guest. “Why do you call upon me at this hour? Is something wrong?”
    “Oh! Goody Putnam’s babe. He is poorly. They need you right away!”
    “Of course!” Lydia sought her coats, overly aware of Henry’s eyes upon her. To Rebecca she asked, “Have you a wagon?”
    “My husband waits outside. Her girl ran for us at this awful hour. Something must be terribly wrong.”
    “I can be there.” She looked to Henry. “Are you okay until I return?”
    “I am. Be well, wife.”
    Lydia ignored his teasing as best she could, though her view of him thrilled her like it had not before. Puritan law put to death adulterers, so as long as she remained married in the eyes of Salem she would not dare fornicate, husband or not. But this man with the chestnut hair and smiling eyes had shifted something deep within, and in doing so he had given them each freedom to explore in the ways of matrimony. Could she be so reckless? Her insides swirled with an excitement she dared not label.
    She tucked herself within her coats, gathered her small bag, and accompanied Rebecca to the door. When Lydia turned to cast one final look at Henry, he lifted a hand, curling his fingers one by one, even as the door closed between them.
    Outside, the spell lifted. Lydia hurried into the wagon with Rebecca to join Rebecca’s husband, Thomas, where he waited with Goody Putnam’s young daughter, Constance. A girl of seven years, she must be frightened this dark and windy night, for Rebecca Mather offered no comfort to anyone outside of her own devices.
    Upon Lydia’s arrival, Thomas Mather jumped from his seat and offered his hand.
    She responded to his kindness, accepting the boost. Once settled next to Constance, she looked to see Rebecca frowning mightily as she and Thomas found their places.
    “What is the worry?” Though she wondered at Rebecca’s scowl, Lydia directed her question to the young Putnam girl as the wagon lurched forward.
    “He is inconsolable,” Constance said. “He will not eat through his cries.”
    Lydia patted the child’s arm. “His lungs are strong, then. Fear not.”
    Rebecca watched the exchange with hawk eyes. Once Constance seemed to settle, Rebecca called to Thomas at the reins. “Did you hear Goodman Colson has returned?”
    Lydia could not be sure with the winds, but she thought Thomas might have sighed. “From whom would I hear it but you, my dear?”
    His words gave Rebecca grief, as she turned and placed her hands primly in her lap. “Is he Puritan?” she asked.
    The sly tone gave Lydia pause. He did not look Puritan with the roguish length and style of his hair, but what was she to answer? “Neither of us are born of Salem,” she said, “but faith has led us here.”
    “Of course you are not from here! You have been here scarcely a year—everyone knows. Though I must say, there have been a few wagging tongues as to the whereabouts of your husband. I suppose this turn will put them to rest.”
    Lydia felt certain the tongue which wagged the most belonged to the woman seated across from her, but spoke it not. Her worries were split between the condition of the Putnam babe and Rebecca’s hint of scandal. Lydia had become too comfortable with her own ruse, and now she feared what