The witchfinder’s elbow moved. Adam leapt forward, the element of surprise working in his favour. After wresting the brand from him, he threw it aside, into the grate.
‘No!’ he said forcefully. ‘She is not to be treated like the others. She is innocent.’
‘So you keep saying,’ snarled the witchfinder. ‘I think her spell has worked on you.’
‘You will leave her be,’ retorted Adam, untying Evangeline and lifting her into his arms, then again, on reaching the door. ‘You will leave her be.’
‘You are bewitched!’ the man called after them, but Adam was beyond reasoning with.
Swiftly he made his way out of the manor house, hefting Evangeline over the wall and running with her to his little cottage in the church grounds.
He laid her on his bed and turned to the water jug, pouring her a cup.
‘What has he done to you?’ he asked, kneeling beside her, putting the water to her lips.
‘I didn’t ask for rescue,’ said Evangeline, every bit as obstinate as her modern counterpart, it seemed. ‘I want to go back. Back for my kinswomen.’
‘Back for a taste of his red-hot poker?’
‘I ain’t scared of him, Mr Smith. I ain’t scared of no-one.’
‘But look at you – you’re bleeding. Let me dress the wounds.’
There was something infinitely blissful to Adam about having the opportunity to touch her gently, to tend to her. Evangeline allowed him to wash the cuts and grazes and to soak up the blood with old linens. His hand drifted down the slopes of her breasts, touching that flesh he yearned for, bringing it relief.
‘Why did you come for me?’ she asked.
‘You know why,’ he said.
‘Witchfinder’ll just come back. With reinforcements.’
‘He can’t take you if you’re my wife.’
She sat up, wincing.
‘Your what?’
‘Evangeline, marry me. I can protect you as your husband.’
‘I can’t marry you.’
‘Why not?’
‘You … I can’t marry a preacher. Not being the sort of girl I am.’
‘The sort of girl you are is exactly why you should marry a preacher. You will stray no longer and return to the fold, where you will be happy, Evangeline, happy and cared for and so much loved …’
He broke off, choking.
Her eyes seemed to burn into him, her face still sheened with the sweat of torture and fear.
‘You are unfair,’ she whispered. ‘You offer what I cannot take.’
‘But you can take it, my Eve, my only love. You can.’
She swallowed then, and reached for his face. What ecstasy in her fingertips as they travelled along his cheekbone. He put his hand over them, holding them against his skin.
‘If you have lived wickedly,’ he murmured, ‘it is because you suffered evil influences to flourish in your life. You did not act against them, and that is your sin. But it is a sin capable of redemption. Allow yourself to be redeemed. Come to me.’