The winter had not started yet, nor had the autumn completely departed; thence, the snowfall at this time of the season had a mixed essence of two.
Earlier this evening, just before the dusk, when the sky had obscured a sudden overcast of dark, inky clouds, it had also conjured up vivid shades of crimson and green beyond the conifers warning the awaited. And here it was, a silent rebel of snow storming the town. Invading it.
Grace, from the huge window of her room watched the first fall with a small cup of tea in her hand, thanking the heaven at the same time, that she was home before the storm befell.
The down street was lifeless now, devoid of any being and covered in a white quilt of perpetual snow. It was so lonesome out there that it became almost an immediate impossibility to believe that there were coaches running along and trades being made right here, not half an hour ago.
But as lonely as it came out there, it was lonelier within.
Grace, with a history, knew the hazards of this fall. First fall of rain. And that of snow. They were always damaging to the body, unsafe and not to be caught into. Afterwards, they were clean. Walkable in.
Drenchable in.
The clock on the mantelpiece struck nine with a ringing opus and Grace swiftly downed the lasts of her now cold tea, in a go; putting it away as she began to pull down the curtains and that was when something caught her eyes.
Someone.
A phantom haunting the hazy sidewalk?
Grace narrowed her eyes.
It was a man. Material, not shadow.
A tall, dark figure was tumbling around in the street. The sight was not much comprehensible from this far, in the dark but his sharp silhouette and black-clad body spoke significance. The closer Grace looked, the more she realized that he was having trouble in walking.
"Is he drunk?" She wondered absentmindedly, in an uncertain whisper, her eyes glued to the scene.
It left her greatly ill at ease to think that this man_ any man would be so precariously drunk in the face of such inclement weather with a certain prospect of ending up in some roadside barrage to be snow trodden all the while till morning.
She wanted to shrug it off, this uneasiness but couldn't, since she was too candid when it came to someone's wellbeing. Anyone's, that was.
Leaning on the frosty window, she tried to make out more of the situation but it only deepened her concern. She soon realized that the man was not drunk but damaged. His steps clarified it. Not of irresolute kind as a drunken man would have had; those were determined steps misdirected due to some physical incompliance. And suddenly the man was lying flat on the ground, his face buried into the snow and body unmoving, as that of a dead.
Reverence broken, Grace was already out of her room, down the stairs, across the corridor at the main entrance. Pulling the door ajar, she stepped out into the snow. And contrary to all her hopes, no passerby had come to help him by for none were there. The whole vista down street was bare, not a soul in sight except the one lying lifeless by the roadway.
In the hail, it was hard to stride across the garden and harder yet to reach the man for all the slippery cobblestones but she managed steadily. The man was still lying all the same as when her eyes had left him but thankfully, she realized on proximity, that he was still breathing.
Hesitantly reaching out, Grace touched him by shoulder. He obliged no movement.
With all her strength, Grace tried to straighten the man, to make him lie on his back now. So she could make a better assessment. But the brutal, cold and confounding wind, his weight as a whole and the effort to stay upright opposed to the storm had her gasping for breath by the time she managed that.
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.