Page 63 of A Potion for Passion

“I doubt it,” she replied. “He’s a healer, as you’ve seen.”

“Then why did he leave me on the heath, hidden, bound, and gagged? Tell me that’s not the action of a guilty man. He must have been afraid I’d alert the authorities and put them onto him.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek. That certainly did look bad. “And did you put the authorities on to him?”

“It wasn’t the best course of action. He’d hidden my swords, you see, and I had to get them back. One of them in particular has a special significance to me.”

“So, that’s why you came to the wagon. How did you know where to find him?”

“He’d already mentioned having a wagon at the inn.”

“But your injury—”

“That happened later, when we went to collect the swords. He brought me here on the back of his horse but did everything in his power to conceal his identity—and mine. Don’t you think that suspicious?”

It was odd. Surely, if Lawrence had saved this man’s life, he’d be proud of himself and would want others to know it.

“Maybe he was afraid for you, and wanted to protect you,” she ventured. “You were a witness to the carnage on the beach, after all.”

“Or maybe,” said the major, narrowing his eyes at her, “he knows more about the cutthroats who murdered all the survivors of that wreck than he’s willing to reveal.”

The room suddenly felt cold, and Flora hurried to the window in search of daylight…and normality. Opening the shutters wider, she admitted a ray of sunshine, which traced a path across the room.

There must have been a brief shower of rain. The sunlight illuminated the droplets of water on the windowpanes so they shone like silver beads. Out beyond the garden wall, a distant rainbow colored the sky with its bright arc.

Would Lawrence be looking at that same rainbow, out on the heath with his dog and his collecting basket? Was he even still in Fortuneswell?

“He wouldn’t have rescued you if he were an accomplice of the wreckers,” she said firmly, while praying with all her being she was right. “Was he carrying any stolen goods?”

“No, he wasn’t,” Will admitted.

“Well, then.”

“But what else could explain the fact that he then made me a prisoner? He wanted me to find my own way off the heath, or be discovered by someone else—as I eventually was, by a dog belonging to one of the cockle women—but he didn’t want to be associated with me. Because he didn’t want the ruffians on the beach to know he’d saved me, as I would provide proof their salvage operation was illegal, and they are no better than murdering thieves.”

“Then why save you, at all? It makes no sense.” She’d rather die than believe Lawrence would condone such horrendous crimes.

The major looked away and turned his attention to a slice of rabbit and whortleberry pie, chewing each mouthful slowly, with evident enjoyment. He took a long draught of water from the tankard, then said, “Forgive me, but I fear I must report this incident. If your doctor is innocent, he has nothing to fear. But I’ll move heaven and earth to find those who murdered my fellow travelers and the crew and see them hang.”

Flora’s knuckles whitened as she pressed her hands against the windowsill. Some of the people the major was referring to could be folk she knew, families she visited with gifts of food, or laborers and fishermen who hailed her when they passed by.

“What will you do?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“First of all, I’ll make sure a search of the locality is being made to see if anyone has anything in their homes that wasn’t just found by beachcombing. Then I’ll insist on spreading the net wider, in case these illegal wreckers have had the sense not to operate on their own doorsteps and come from farther afield.”

“You’ll use the soldiers?”

“I’ll have to leave them instructions, as I can’t tarry too long myself. I have a deathbed request to carry out. But I’ll leave this cottage at the earliest opportunity so no harm comes to you. I won’t stay at the inn,” he added, “because that’s too public. I’ll need a remote dwelling where I can rest my leg for a day or two before I continue my journey.”

“There’s an empty house I can direct you to,” she said. “It’s very quiet around there.”

She smiled brightly at her patient. She’d get him out of the way as soon as she could by shipping him off to the deserted farm at Oakwood Grange. Then she’d go and question Lawrence.

A good deal would be riding on how, exactly, he answered her questions.

Frank had drowned in a shipwreck. She could never allow herself to care for a man who might have deliberately brought about such a catastrophe.

And be damned to her aching, vulnerable heart.