Page 93 of A Potion for Passion

Chapter Forty-Five

Surely, this could not be happening to her! The cold, heartless blade poised to slash through the narrow thread of Flora’s life…it was the stuff of nightmares, not reality.

But the steel felt real enough to her, as did the hard, muscular arm which pressed her against a man’s bare chest, forcing her to inhale the stench of his sweat. Her senses were stretched to their utmost—every sound, every sight magnified, every sinew stiff and alert, her veins pulsating with energy. An energy that could save her life if Barnabas let down his guard for just a moment.

Her eyes met Lawrence’s, and in them she saw the fear, the horror, and the fury that she should be feeling. Only, she couldn’t allow herself to feel anything. Emotion clouded judgment. She needed a clear head if she was going to get out of this with her skin intact.

He did, too. Their time together had been too brief. She wanted more. Much more.

She remained deadly still, her eyes never leaving Lawrence’s. The world slowed, then stopped. She could see his mind working frantically, judging distances, timing, weighing attack against negotiation.

Suddenly, there was the sound of light footsteps scampering up the stairs, followed by the violent eruption into the room of a snarling Charley. The dog leaped for Barnabas’ knife hand and sank his teeth into it. Sally screeched and pulled the bedclothes up to her chin.

The distraction was all Flora needed. Wrenching one arm free, she jabbed her captor in the ribs with her elbow as hard as she could, broke his hold, and fell into the room and Lawrence’s waiting arms.

“Call your damn dog off,” Barnabas grated out, “or I’ll carve him up like a ham at the butcher’s.”

Charley growled and dug in with his back paws, pulling Barnabas to his knees. The knife hit the floor.

“His teeth will be through the bone before he lets you do that,” was Lawrence’s reply. “Flora, there’s a knife in my boot. Take it.” He motioned her to stand behind him, and she pulled out the knife, holding it in both hands, ready to defend herself.

“Keep an eye on Sally,” he ordered. “Don’t be afraid to use that knife on her. She’s been harboring a fugitive, so she’s a felon, too.”

“You cowardly bastard!” shrieked Sally, leaping up from the bed and rushing at him.

Lawrence might be quick and capable but letting him battle on two fronts was too risky. Flora threw herself at the other woman and sent her flying to the floor, then sat on her.

Sally’s astonishment was palpable, but she was too winded to speak.

Not giving her time to recover, Flora helped herself to a generous handful of hair and yanked on it. “Much as I hate to hurt a fellow creature,” she said, “I’m prepared to make an exception under the circumstances. Move a muscle, and I’ll pull it right out.”

“Call off your dog!” Barnabas shouted again. “Come fight me like a man! Or don’t you have the stomach for it?”

“On the contrary,” Lawrence replied calmly. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Lawrence, no!” Flora called, terrified he’d be cut to ribbons.

“It’s all right,” he told her. “I need to finish this.”

Sally jerked beneath her, so Flora pressed the cold blade of the knife against her cheek. There was no further movement. Not even when Jud and Mrs. Carboys burst into the room. The schoolmistress took in the sight of the naked Sally and half-dressed Barnabas, threw a hand over Jud’s eyes, and backed out of the room, sputtering.

“Charley, down,” Lawrence ordered. “This is my fight now.” He shifted his knife deftly from one hand to the other, then back again.

Flora felt sick. What if he was hurt, or even killed, right in front of her? She loved him more than life itself. But being saddled with Sally, she couldn’t lift a finger to help him. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and prayed.

The dog let go and came to sit nose to cheek by Sally, his tail twitching, his ears folded back, and his teeth still bared. The woman practically stopped breathing. Sally had given up any hope of escape.

Barnabas brandished his knife and leveled it at Lawrence.

Flora was chilled to her very soul. She prayed harder.

Both men bent their knees, brought their arms in close to their bodies, and circled slowly. Barnabas’s knife swooped out, then back again, missing Lawrence’s neck by inches. He took another swipe, but Lawrence dodged nimbly out of the way, then took the opportunity to jab him under the armpit.

Barnabas gave a yowl of pain, and his expression darkened. “You even fight like a coward,” he spat out.

Lawrence looked cool and detached, taking no chances, giving nothing away. “On the contrary. I fight like a winner.”

Mercy, that was tempting Fate! But Flora could say nothing, do nothing. The slightest distraction could be fatal for him.