The Stranger

Into The Tempest.

When he turned, all the itch faded away...and a young, unexpectedly charming face greeted her.

That, and he certainly did not reek of any sort of spirit.

"Please" Grace whispered effortfully, blinking the haze out of her vision. "Please, persist."

Taking hold of his hand, she rubbed his palm vigorously. By the feel it, his pulses were all but obliterated which, if anything, spoke of some momentous malady.

"Please." Grace hastened her maneuver.

The gaps between his consequent breathes were expanding unduly.

Grace chafed harder, and was reaching to feel the pulse at the side of his neck when man, with little of all he had; must have perceived the cold tips of her fingers because even in that darkness, she saw two winter blue eyes opening and gazing back at her dimly.

"You must abide." She entreated, indecisive of his attention, then pressing her two fingers to the side of his neck, felt for his heartbeat. A rhythm, too faint and weak to be overlooked any more, joined her back.

The lashes of that man stuttered and a subtle moan escaped out from between his lips.

"Help me." She said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice, failing. "Help me take you into the house."

His eyes flew open again. He was a zealous man.

She took one of his long slender arms behind her neck and pulled him all the way up to his feet. He was slender but had muscles enough to weigh her down under the single arm. He assisted her by what little he could but his even moving a finger was enough help for Grace.

Half dragging and half walking, she managed to get him into the house and in the nearest room with a bed. Not that she had a big house with multitude of rooms but there always had been such a room in her modest home that could entertain the uninvited.

While she was trying to make him lie down, his hand slipped down her neck to her waist, purely driven by gravity_ making her topple over and she landed right over him. And thanks heaven! That he was not cognizant. That he did not perceive the unseemliness of the situation. No beholder but herself, Grace's cheeks reddened at the state she was in, but soon, the embarrassment was gone, replaced by some other, more sinister expression.

Horror.

Feminine distress turned into doctor's disquiet.

The front of his body, his chest, was soaked in fresh blood. He had a deep wound that ran across half of his chest ripping through his waistcoat and the white linen of his shirt. The concern lay that whether the red streak was furrowing deep or not.

Grace sat up and with utmost care, and haste, she started to undress him as effectively as she could. The bleeding had recessed, it would seem but it was still keen. Only when there remained no encumbrance to keep his skin from her touch, Grace started assessing his injury.

The wound, though cavernous, was not deep enough to have harmed his vitals or even to scar his ribs, but Grace had her doubts. The cold weather where had helped in making the blood-loss less savage, there also remained chances of heat sheathing from body. She had to hurry.

And she hurried for the basics she knew.

Towels, bandages, alcohol and tinctures were procured in seconds. Warm water, soft cotton cloth pieces and needles came next. She pressed his wound through the thick towels to withhold blood loss.

The first wipe of warm water made him whimper softly, weakly, and painfully. She stopped and caressed his forehead. He stilled again.

As he lay unconscious, Grace worked competently over his injury.

Stitched, the cut was safer. Then she coated it with methanol oil. There remained bandaging.

Grace till now was busy doing her work. Now, that all was conducted and tended, she dared looking up at his face.

Who was he?

Adonis? Apollo? Lucifer out-casted from heaven? Unfortunate enough to land at her doorstep instead of hell?

All the inappropriate answers. All sort of names filled her head but with his death hovering right under Grace's finger_ she knew he was no god, although he had the appearance of one.

Young and chiseled and subtly-angular. His dark hair fell over his pale forehead making him look more unreasonable than one could imagine. Because that amount of beauty had to be beyond reason.

True, he was a brave man, for he made it up to here all the way after being stabbed or whatever unholy befell him.

Grace now just stopped herself.

Her thoughts were going the wrong way.

She pulled out the roll of bandage but halted again. Should she do it now? Or will it be an uneasy disturbance in his sleep, rest?

But then uncovered fresh stitches were not one of those great ideas.

She had to do it. Now.

Her hand slid down the nape of his neck as she pulled up his lean muscular chest rolling the bandage beneath. After two layers her hands were already quivering by all it took yet she pulled him up for the third time.

A slight moan was escalated from his lips into her neck making her shudder and alarmed, she released him to end with it. She decided to postpone it. Already late into night, she didn't feel very energetic at the moment.

She covered his bare chest with a white quilt and turned to Stoke fire into the fireplace but was stopped.

By him. By the Stranger. By his firm hold on her wrist.

Surprised she looked up at his face. His eyes were still shut. But his lips... they were slightly parted.

Maybe he wanted to say something. Couldn't.

"Yes."Grace inquired softly. "Can I help you with something, Sir?"

He didn't answer. A deep sigh fell from his lips and his hands fell back on his side as he went unconscious again.

Then was when it all started.