Her Wicked Sin (17 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Home
.

Henry had never felt the word as profoundly as he did when Lydia’s small house came into view. Even Willard whickered heartily and tossed his head. Henry patted the stallion’s neck. “I know how you feel, boy.”

He wasted no time in relieving Willard of his tack and securing him in the paddock. The ride had been a long one, and after coming off a sum of money, he learned from the magistrate Lydia had been released. Expecting she would have gone home, Henry’s anticipation had grown with every turn in the road in hopes he would see her, but when at long last the house had come into view he decided the very best place to find her was tucked into bed. He pictured her serene against the pillow, her hair loose and begging for his fingers to capture the strands as one kiss spilled into another. His groin tightened painfully at the very thought, and he prayed she would give him an audience. He had abandoned and denounced her—and she had witnessed the horrible words—but if she allowed him to explain…

From the back porch, shadows of motion through the window caught his eye.
Lydia
! His heart soared, then crashed mightily when he realized there were two people inside.

She was in the bed they shared, and she was not alone.

Quickly, Henry averted his eyes. Every profane utterance he had ever known blasted through his mind, a great number of them spilling from his lips. How could she do this? Nothing he knew of his wife would indicate her capable of such a thing.

Then, through his broken pride, Henry’s sensibilities returned. A stranger sought her. Was it a mere coincidence she feared being watched? Clarity slammed into him.

Henry threw open the door and launched himself the short distance to the bed, landing in a flurry of grunts and strangled cries. Even blind with fury, he could quickly discern the man’s coarse limbs from Lydia’s, whose shaky breaths and choked tears brought rage to Henry’s blows.

The assailant held his own, managing a blunt force against Henry’s head that left him seeing stars. Caught off guard by the blow, Henry was thrown sideways. He landed painfully on his shoulder, but his intensity did not waver. He reached through the dark until he fastened a hold on the man’s clothing and yanked hard, pulling him off balance and slinging him to the floor. Before he could recover, Henry rolled on top, pressing his opponent solidly under his weight.

The intruder did not continue the fight, but his limp indifference did not offer solace.

Henry struggled for breath. To Lydia, he said, “Have you a candle?”

He heard her scurry over the wood floor and, after some fumbling, the strike of flint followed. The moments before first light appeared seemed endless, and when Henry could finally view her in the weak light he searched frantically her face. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded, lip pressed firmly between her teeth, but would not look at him. Instead, her attention sat fully upon the man caught between Henry and the floor.

He followed her gaze to his captive. When Henry’s eyes fell upon the man’s face, several terrible seconds passed before he could move.

No
!

Stunned to see his brother’s face, Henry pushed away, struggled to his feet, and looked to his wife.

She stood, trembling, arms crossed protectively over her abdomen. She did not return his attention.

Henry found his voice. “Are you hurt?”

“I… I do not think so.”

He could not resist going to her. He pulled her close, and though he held her gently he felt as if he could never let her go. “I am so sorry. So, so sorry.”

“I thought you were gone. You said—”

“I said those words so I would not be jailed alongside you. I went for an audience with the governor, but was held up several days in waiting. I have longed every moment to pull you into my arms, never without praying you would forgive me for what I had to say.”

“You do not disavow our marriage, then?”

“No. I am as I have promised. I am yours, if you will forgive me.”

“I do. But our marriage, Henry. It cannot be.”

“Please, Lydia. Do not denounce me. Everything has been for you. I only left—”

“You do not understand,” she said, choking forth the words. “That man, Henry.”

Henry stilled, his arms tightening around his wife. Fury contended in his gut. He locked eyes with the intruder—Henry’s own brother, Robert—who lay crumpled and motionless but for the glimmer of his eyes in the candlelight. “I will not let him hurt you. I know not why he hunts you, but I promise he will not touch you ever again.”

Strangely, though, Robert’s eyes filled not with defeat, but with victory. Henry was fixated on the slow, loathsome smile creeping across his face when Lydia made the quiet admission that thoroughly ripped his world apart.

“You do not understand,” she said again. “That man, Henry, is my husband.”

Stunned, Henry stumbled away, distancing himself from them both. “This cannot be!”

Robert laughed, the sound broken and horrid. “Will you tell her,
brother
, or shall I?”

Lydia’s pretty mouth fell open, eyes struck with horror. “
What
?”

“It is true. He is the brother I seek.”

Lydia edged in retreat until fully pressed to the wall, whereupon she grasped the roughened wood with flailing fingers. Shaking her head, she said, “It cannot be. Did you… did you know of this?”

“Your husband is dead, Lydia. My brother…”

“Fault him not,” Robert said, struggling to his knees. “For his worries are only for himself. His desire for the used goods of others is line bred. His father sought my mother when she was weak, and now my own brother lays with my broken wife.”

“I am not your wife.” Lydia’s voice was firm, her voice steady. She appeared unshaken by Robert’s words, but Henry could not imagine a woman strong enough to shed the affects of such terrible accusations.

“You are wrong. Long before you took with my brother, you spoke your vows to me.”

Lydia took a step forward. “And
you
ended them. Every time you put your hands upon me, you
ended
them.”

Robert turned toward Henry with a sick, cheery leer. “Do you hear that, brother? Seems your lovely wife is an impure wench.”

Henry could take no more. He leapt, landing solidly on Robert and knocking him flat to the floor. He knew his brother’s weakness and used it to his full advantage, not caring if the fight was unfair. But in spite of Robert’s lesser arm, he managed a mighty hit against Henry’s temple. In short time, a red haze clouded Henry’s vision, but he did not end his assault on Robert, whose struggles grew flailing and weak.

“Henry! Please!” Lydia tugged on his shoulder, and only then did Henry realize his brother fought no more.

Lydia fell to her knees and embraced Henry fully, her small frame enveloped when he wrapped her tight in his arms.

The hold did not last. She pulled quickly from him. “You are bleeding from the head. Let me see to your wound.”

Henry said nothing. His attention was on his brother, who had not moved since Lydia had pulled Henry from him.

Lydia followed his gaze.

“Does he take breath?” Henry asked.

She stared for a moment before answering. “He does,” she said. “What will we do? I cannot call the magistrate. I—Henry, you’re bleeding terribly.”

“See to me, then,” he said weakly, rolling to a sitting position, “But do not block my view of my brother lest he determine he has another round in him.” Henry leaned against the bed and took heavy breaths, his attention largely on Robert. He could not help but watch Lydia through the shadows. She moved quickly, lighting a number of candles and dragging a bucket near. When she knelt at his side, she brought to his head a cloth soaked in water and dabbed gently his wound.

He winced at the touch, but she quelled the pain by lowering her lips to his, pressing first tentatively, then with intent.

The moment he felt her skin upon his, every ache vanished. He wound his fingers through her loose blond hair, pursuing gently for fear of hurting her, but holding firm. He wanted nothing more than to bury within her and profess every word he had ever failed to say, but settled for a tender exploration of her mouth, his tongue sweeping thoroughly, reclaiming what he had relinquished for so many terrible days.

“I love you,” he whispered, his lips claiming once again what he could not bear to lose.

“Henry,” she said, pushing gently at his chest. “Please let me see to your wound. You are bleeding most profusely, and I fear you will not have the strength to properly instigate later, when we are alone.”

“You put forth a request I cannot refuse,” he said, nonetheless stealing another kiss.

She smiled, warming him thoroughly, and disengaged from his grasp. Once free of him, she reached for the torn cloth and rinsed it in icy water before again bringing it to his head. “It is cold,” she said, “but it will help you.”

Henry struggled to sit upright and not flinch against her ministrations.

“What will we do with him?” Lydia asked.

“Worry not. I promised my mother I would bring him to her, and so we shall.”

“I cannot return to Salem,” she said, her voice sad. “I was granted freedom, but only under the guise of night. I must go and stay away.”

He caught her chin and drew her to look at him. “As soon as we deliver Robert to his home, we will have him thrown in jail, where I can assure you he will not lay claim to or receive favor from the Dunham name. Then we will go anywhere you wish to start over, my love. As man and wife.”

“But your father… the shame this will bring upon him.”

“My father is who petitioned Governor Bradstreet for your release. I know not why, for his last words to me were to denounce me as his son, but something must have changed his heart. I heard from the governor’s own lips. Come with me, and let us put these questions to rest.”

“If you are sure, Henry, but perhaps you should approach on your own. This is a family affair—”

He touched a finger to her lips, ending her protest. With a gentle smile, he said, “Which is precisely why you should be there at my side, Lydia Dunham. As my wife.”

…

The ride to Essex was not without its fits—Willard took exception to pulling a wagon, whereas Robert, bound and covered from view, took exception to everything—but Lydia would not trade those moments. Never had the sun been so bright, and on that March morn it exuded warmth far beyond its usual means. The world was new, and for the first time since Lydia was a girl with her family intact, she felt free.

She no longer carried the burden of thinking herself a murderer, for her conscience had been wiped clean by truth. And though she had not faced the dark alone since her world had been righted, she felt certain it was no longer anything to fear. She was whole.

But her husband in so many ways was broken.

Henry spoke little of his worries, but she knew that the burden of confessing to his mother his brother’s sins weighed heavily on his heart. The betrayal must be immense, for even though he had been deprived of a relationship with his brother, Henry cared deeply for family. It had shown from their initial meeting, and she could not help but feel sorrow for the impossible reality of his situation. It was the worst possible way to discover that his brother was a heartless, abusive brute.

Sharing in Henry’s sorrow, Lydia’s heart could not be entirely free.

And on the verge of meeting his parents, her heart was not light.

The home before which Henry eased their wagon was as large as any Lydia had ever seen. It boasted two full floors and endless rows of windows, while the roof was lined with dormers, suggesting a third floor. Though it sat at the forefront of a busy street, she soon learned the home had an expansive rear yard with gardens and a stable, before which Henry stopped the wagon. A boy quickly approached, but Henry waved him back and saw himself to the stallion, which fought until freed of the wagon. Once Willard settled, Henry handed the stable boy the lead. After a quick conversation in tones too low for Lydia to hear, Henry returned and helped her from the wagon. Together, they walked ‘round the house and approached the front door.

Before Henry could knock, the door swung open.

“Master Dunham.” An elder house servant in formal attire greeted Henry with a proper—though friendly—smile.

“Joseph,” Henry said. “Please meet my wife. Lydia, this is Joseph.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” she said.

“The pleasure is all mine, Missus Dunham.” He turned his gentle smile on her, then moved to shut the door behind them. “Your parents await, sir. This way.”

Lydia knew not what to expect, but her first impression eased her. The man and woman who waited in the lavish parlor were smiling, and that was as much as she could hope for with her arrest assuredly shaming the family name.

“Mother, you are up!” Henry kissed his mother’s cheek, then drew Lydia near. “Mother, Father. This is Lydia, my wife. Lydia, these are my parents, John and Alice Dunham.”

Alice came forth to clasp Lydia’s hands. “I could only imagine the loveliness of the woman who finally claimed Henry’s heart, but you have far exceeded my expectations, Lydia. It is an honor to meet you.”

“The honor and pleasure are both mine,” Lydia said. “And I would like to thank you for your assistance.”

Alice turned to John. “What assistance?”

“Lydia was wrongfully imprisoned,” Henry said. “And when I went to Governor Bradstreet for help, I was informed Father had already petitioned his assistance. I found that quite curious considering how Father and I parted ways.”

Alice again looked to her husband, who had grown rather sheepish in countenance. “Understand, it is not every day a man is faced with such news. But when I realized what Henry would give up for his cause, I knew his heart to be true. What I don’t understand, son, is why you did not simply pay the day fee and allow Lydia to walk from the jail.”

“Because they would have pursued her when she did not return, and to run from the past is not freedom. It is no life.”