Belladonna

pockets as she stopped beneath one of the lit streetlamps. What had Tommy Lamplighter been thinking to be lighting every fourth lamp? Granted, it wasn't a busy street since there was nothing on one side but the back entrances of the shops that ran along Dunberry's main street, and the other side had little row houses that belonged to working folk who couldn't afford better. But it was still early enough that people would be making their way home from an evening out, and they shouldn't have to be walking in the dark.
    Which you wouldn't be, Erinn Mary, if you'd taken the main street like you'd promised Kaelie's father you would. Or you should have taken him up on his offer to hitch up the horse and drive you home. There have been enough bad-luck things happening around the village lately to make anyone uneasy, not to mention the two hoys who went missing last week.
    But walking down the main street would have taken her past Donovan's Pub, and she hadn't wanted Torry or his friends to see her and think she'd passed by to check up on him.
    A sudden gust of wind made her coat flap around her, and there was now a sharp bite of winter hidden within the unseasonably crisp autumn night — as if the wind itself was urging folks to get indoors.

    A fanciful thought, to be sure. But fanciful or not, the thought made her shiver.
    Erinn hurried toward the next lit streetlamp.
    When next she saw Tommy Lamplighter, she'd give him a piece of her mind — and maybe a thump on the head to go with it.
    Dunberry was big enough to need more than one lamplighter, but each man had his assigned streets, and their wages came from the taxes that were collected for the village's upkeep, so Tommy shouldn't be neglecting his duty.
    Just like Torry shouldn't be neglecting his duty. No. It should never be duty. He should want to spend time with the woman he was going to marry at the end of harvest. But he was down at the pub, drinking ale with his friends and playing darts ...
    And flirting with the girls? a soft voice whispered in her head.
    No. Torry didn't flirt. Not much anyway. Just enough to be friendly. And he certainly wouldn't be flirting with other girls now, not after she and Torry had...
    Why not? the voice asked. How much pleasure could he have gotten with a girl who can't say what she's done, not even in her own head?
    Sex. They'd had sex, Erinn thought fiercely as she stopped beneath the next lit streetlamp. It had been nice enough after the first time, and Torry had said it would get better as they got to know each other in that sense, so he had nothing to complain about.
    Not complaining doesn't mean he wasn't disappointed, isn't wondering what other girls will offer that you can't — or won't.
    And how does he know it will get better unless he's already done these things with another girl? A girl he left behind. Just like he'll leave you.
    No. Torry wasn't like that.
    A glass of ale and time with his friends. Are you sure that's all he wanted at the pub? Maybe he was looking for something more. Or someone like ...
    Shauna? Everyone knew Shauna was a bit wild, and willing to give the lads more than a few kisses. And she'd had her eye on Torry, even though he'd never noticed.
    Oh, he noticed. You're the one who can't see.
    A dark, bitter feeling rolled through Erinn, followed by a shivery pleasure at the thought of scratching Shauna's pretty face.
    No, better than that. She'd scratch the bitch's eyes out. Then Shauna wouldn't look so pretty. Then the bitch wouldn't be casting out lures and spoiling things for decent girls. Then ...
    Gasping for air, Erinn shook her head. Why was she thinking these things? It was like someone else was inside her head, whispering every uneasy thought that had lodged in her heart since feelings had overruled prudence and she'd let Torry talk her into doing the man-and-woman part of the wedding before making the husband-and-wife vows.
    But she loved Torry. And he loved her. And she wasn't going to listen to these foolish whispers anymore.
    Erinn's hands lifted, closing into fists that gripped the front of her coat as she stared at the dark street. No more streetlamps were lit. There were no lights on in the houses. There was nothing but the dark, which suddenly felt thick, almost smothering —
    and aware of her.
    Nearby, a dog began barking, startling her. Maybe it had caught her scent. The wind was in the right direction.
    Or maybe it had caught the scent of something else.
    She looked to her