Her Wicked Sin by Sarah Ballance Page A

quite grateful for your assistance this day, as I am sure is Henry.”
    “He was most gracious, Goody Colson.”
    “Please,” she said. “Call me Lydia.”
    “Lydia, then.” Even in the low light he seemed to beam. “May I escort you home?”
    “I am most grateful for your offer, but Willard here is a faithful companion. I have little doubt he’ll see me there.”
    Andrew hesitated. “The light fails, but if you’re sure.”
    “Of course,” she said, just as Willard pulled at the bit. “See? He is eager.”
    “I pray not so eager you find yourself in your husband’s position, awry in the road.”
    She laughed. “Worry not. It is just as I told him—no stirrups. If I spill, it will be cleanly.”
    After another long moment, Andrew nodded slowly. “If you insist upon it.”
    “Of course.” Lydia shifted her weight, cuing Willard to walk on. As he did, she called over her shoulder to Andrew, “Good bye to you!”
    She sensed he watched after her, but once she urged Willard to a trot, the growing distance and failing light surely made it difficult for him to see. Nevertheless, his attention made her feel secure. She found herself delighted Henry seemed to have made a friend in Salem and privately hoped the small ties would lead him to appreciate the village as much as she. Though she knew their association was meant to be in passing, even the most tenuous threads of connection made her feel closer to him.
    Twilight fell quickly to night, and though it was expected, anticipation did not keep the darkness from creeping from the skeleton-bare woods. Memories of the night her husband met his end came upon her—as they so often did—but on this eve something kept the bitter darkness at bay.
    Henry .
    Joined with him, she felt as if her past sins had been forgiven. His blessing in her life was far too great to mean anything less. She dared not wonder how she had been gifted the ability anew to trust or love, but found herself wholly in belief of the man who captured her heart in the purest of ways.
    Soft in her thoughts, she felt immediately when Willard tensed.
    “What is it?” she asked, soothing his neck with a pat. She looked around, seeing nothing but deep shadows untouched by a mere sliver of moonlight.
    Willard kept to his trot, but his flowing stride grew choppy. His neck arched and he chewed at the bit, tucking his head so she lost the feel of his mouth.
    “I see why Henry calls you an oaf,” she chided. Though she remained exceedingly grateful for the stallion’s company, his cooperation was of his own will, and it was only a combination of breeding and training allowing as much. Should he choose to act of his own accord, she would be powerless to convince him otherwise. Soothing him would help both their causes, so she reached to his neck and ran her fingers along the crest, encouraging him into her hand. He’d nearly relaxed his head when he came to a sudden halt, planting all four hooves at once. Fortunately Lydia’s hands were already to his neck, for otherwise she might have tumbled heels over crown with the force of his stop.
    As soon as she knew she would remain seated, she looked to the road ahead to see a man blocking her path. He stood completely still, moving not a limb. In her surprise, Lydia tugged on the reins, causing Willard to lift slightly on his hind legs.
    All the while, the man remained unmoving.
    Lydia blinked, almost certain she must imagine him if not for Willard’s strange reaction. Then Martha’s words came to Lydia. A well-dressed stranger in the black of night. Lydia’s breath caught. Could the stories be true? Could this man have come for her? Did he want her name for his book?
    Willard pranced and snorted, and just as Lydia was ready to dig in her heels and beg of him to run, footfalls sounded. Another horse. Lydia took her eyes from the stranger in the road long enough to see Thomas Mather approach from behind, alone but for his mount.
    “Lydia!” he said.