Page 3 of Thorn Evermore
“Sorry,” I shout as I run out the back door and into a puddle.
Cold, wet mud splashes across my face and clothing, but that’s the least of my problems. I turn down another street, finding it a dead end, but going back the way I came is heading straight into trouble.
A sharp tug on my arm comes out of nowhere, and suddenly I’m in a living room with warm lighting and a roaring fire. A man, one more beautiful than I’ve ever seen, has his hand firmly on my bicep, his inquisitive eyes roaming my face.
“Hello,” he says softly. His voice is nearly as lovely as his face, deep and accented.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I believe I should ask you that.”
There’s an angry pounding on the door before I can reply. “I’m being chased.”
“Obviously,” the man says. “Get into that closet. I’ll deal with the men at the door.”
I want to ask why, but as the angry knocking continues, I accept his grace and hurry for the door. Inside is a cramped, dark room, but it’s better than the cell likely waiting for me if I’m caught. Pressing my ear to the door, I listen to the interaction.
“Hello, gentlemen,” my rescuer says. “May I ask why you’re beating on my door?”
“We saw him come this way. A man with too-long hair and a beard. Did you see him?”
“I’ve been inside and saw no one but a mob of people marching past. Is there a situation in town?”
“Protest,” one of the men growls.
“Oh? What are we angry about now?”
“Taxes,” Thomas answers. “You are sure you didn’t see him? His name is Nathaniel. He’s a wanted man.”
“No Nathaniel here, Preacher. Where should I bring the culprit if I happen upon him?”
I peer through a small slit in the wood, watching as Thomas Oliver glances around the small room. “If you’re found to be harboring him, you will face penalties as well.”
“Noted. If that will be all, gentlemen? I’d like to join our brethren at the harbor. Surely a petty criminal can wait until morning.”
“He defiled my daughter,” the preacher seethes. “Her reputation is ruined.”
“Ah, well, perhaps she can cleanse herself of her sins. Isn’t that what you tell the people of Boston every Sunday?”
I can’t see Thomas’s face from here, but I hear his heavy breathing. “It’s not that simple.”
“No?” my rescuer says. “I certainly thought it was. You ask this god of yours for forgiveness and it is granted. Surely the people around town believe this as well.”
I have to stifle my laughter to avoid discovery. He mocks their religion!
“Who are you?” John Blackwell, another man with the preacher, asks. “Do you side with the redcoats?”
The man chuckles. “I side with myself. If I see your criminal, I will let you know.” He gestures toward the door. “Gentlemen.”
They file out, casting suspicious looks at the man. I exhale once I hear the door lock, and mere seconds later, the closet door opens.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Come. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, but I should get out of town. By morning the search will be underway again.”
The man takes my hand, like a gentleman would a lady’s, leading me to the couch by the fire. “What is your name, sir?”