Chapter Twenty-Four

The first thing Flora noticed when she saw Lawrence was that he looked terrible. Haggard and pale, his face was bloody, and there were dark patches under his eyes that made him look like he hadn’t slept for a week. The second thing she realized was that he was completely naked. Except for the shirt he held in front of him.

Correction. Had held. For now, both his arms were around her.

But what mattered most was the fact that he was alive. In a poor state, admittedly, but alive. And he hadn’t thrown her out or shouted at her—yet. So, her presence could not be entirely unwelcome.

For some time, she was just happy to hold and be held. He kissed her hair and murmured incoherent words of comfort in her ear. As if she needed the comfort! He was the one who’d been in the wars.

But what, exactly, had he been up to, to get into such a state?

He murmured, “I must sit, sweetest. I’m exhausted. And in need of patching up, if you’re up to it.”

She nodded and released him, trying to keep her mind on the fact that he was hurt, and not on the fact that he was naked.

Saints alive! She could completely understand why women sought his attention. Having told herself she could never be that shallow, she did, nonetheless, continue to take little peeks at him as he moved along the caravan and eased himself awkwardly into his bed.

“What can I do?” she asked, stepping over the bloodied shirt and peering into the pot on the chafing dish.

“I got grazed by a shot to my left arm,” he said wearily. “Everything else is little more than skin deep. Although it all stings like the devil.”

“Comfrey ointment,” she said confidently, and made straight for the shelf where she knew it was kept. She removed the pig’s bladder lid and handed Lawrence the pot so he could anoint his punctures and scratches while she cleaned his arm.

The wound washed up well, but she could see no alternative to stitching the ragged edges of the flesh together.

She hunted down Lawrence’s brandy bottle and handed it to him while she felt about in one of his chests for his sewing kit. He took several deep swigs, and she was pleased to see his shoulders relax. The more relaxed he was, the easier it would be to mend him.

“Clean the wound some more,” he commanded. “I don’t mean just with water. Use some of my distilled alcohol. I’ll curse enough to make a sailor blush, but pay me no heed.”

She did as she was told, although she hated knowingly causing him pain. He tried to hide the grimace on his face, but it affected her so much that she helped herself to a fortifying tipple of his brandy before proceeding any further.

He kept himself still while she stitched his wound, and she couldn’t help but admire his bravery. Perhaps what he’d said to those redcoats all those weeks ago was true—a man was far less likely to fuss about pain when in a woman’s presence.

Once satisfied she’d done the best she could, she hunted about for a bottle of Dr. L. E. Campaign’s Nostrum for Bloody Wounds and cleaned the arm again. Then she made a pad of muslin, cut off a length of bandage, and wrapped it around his bicep. The flesh around the muscle was starting to bruise, and the arm would probably be stiff and sore for a while, but it could have been worse.

A lot worse.

Her task completed, she sat back on her heels and watched as he daubed at his scratches with the comfrey ointment, admiring the swift dexterity of his sun-browned hands and the corded muscle of his forearms. She loved the way his long hair—which she’d never seen loose before—hung over his face and brushed his shoulder. What would it feel like to run her hands through that hair, over that shoulder, across the planes and valleys of that muscular chest?

She reached for the brandy again and tried to force her mind back to practical issues. “What happened?”

He pulled the covers back over his legs and dabbed at the injuries on his forearms. “I stumbled upon an ambush when I was out on the heath,” he said, concentrating too hard on what he was doing to look at her. “Some fellows jumped a small patrol of soldiers. They were firing everywhere, and I got hit in the arm.”

“What were you doing out there?” She hoped he hadn’t gone down to the shore. If he’d had any hand in putting out false lights, in luring that ill-fated ship onto the rocks, how could she ever forgive him?

“I was collecting particular medicinal plants. You know that old nonsense about harvesting those governed by the moon at night when the moon is at its brightest?”

“Oh. I see.” It must be some old piece of folklore, for she’d never heard of it. But that didn’t matter. He’d survived the dangerous encounter. And she’d been able to help him deal with his wounds.

Was there a chance they might be friends again?

He handed her the ointment jar, and lay back with a sigh, cushioning his head on his arms. “Ouch, no. I can’t lie like that,” he said, wincing, then slid his injured arm out and rested it on top of the bed covers. She started to get up from where she’d been kneeling, but he put out a hand. “Don’t go yet.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she said. “I just wanted to sit down properly.”

“Then you’ll be too far away.” He held out his good arm, and she sank to her knees by the side of the bed, took his hand, and held it to her cheek.

He made a soft sound of contentment and stroked her face. There was a smile in his voice as he said, “You’re still wearing that awful matronly cap, I see. Not brave enough yet to show anybody your red hair?”

“Don’t tease me,” she said, but she smiled, too. Being told off by the Daniells and Lucinda for accidentally dyeing her hair red didn’t seem all that important now.

Lawrence was alive, and he hadn’t refused her help. In fact, he’d welcomed her. Perhaps, if she was very careful not to show any sign of physical attraction toward him, he would let her into his life again.

Because a world without Lawrence was a world devoid of color. She hated that they’d quarreled, even though the differences between them made it inevitable that they would. For now, she would take no more than he was willing to give.

Because even just a few moments of his company were better than none at all.