STRANGER

Episode 1

Into The Tempest

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The winter had not started yet nor 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 celebrated 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 man, covered in a white quilt of snow.

It was so dark that it became almost immediately an impossibility to believe that there were coaches running along and deals being made right here half an hour ago.

Grace, being a healer knew the hazards of this fall. First fall of rain and snow.

They were always contagious. Afterwards, they were pure. She downed her now cold tea in one go and was about to pull down the curtains when something caught her eyes.

Someone.

A tall dark figure, tumbling around in the street. The view was not much clear but his sharp silhouette and black-clad body spoke value. The closer grace looked, the more she realized that he was having trouble in walking.

"Is he drunk ?"She mumbled to herself, her eyes glued to the scene..

It made her highly uncomfortable to think that this man was so heavily drunk in such tempestuous weather and would end up on some roadside path to be snow trodden all the while till morning.

She wanted to shrug it off, this uneasiness but couldn't since she became too candid when it came to someone's wellbeing. Anyone, that is.

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 still.

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.

In the hail, it was hard to walk across the garden and even harder to reach the man but she managed somehow.

The man was still lying all the same as when her eyes had left him but thankfully, she realized, that he was breathing.

Hesitantly reaching out, she touched him by shoulder. He pretended no movement. With all her strength, Grace straightened the man making him lie on his back now.

A young, perpetually beautiful face greeted her.

"Please" She absently whispered to him "Please, persist."

Taking hold of his hand, she rubbed his palm vigorously. "Please, Sir."

The man with little of all he had; must have perceived her words because even in that darkness, she saw two winter blue eyes opening and gazing back at her dimly.

"Bear up." She breathed again, then taking her two fingers to the side of his neck, felt for his pulse. A rhythm, too faint and weak to be ignored, touched her back.

The lashes of that man stuttered and a whimpered moan escaped out his lips.

"Help me." she entreated, 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 strong 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.

Half dragging and half walking she managed to get him in time the house and in the nearest room with a bed. Not that she had a big house with multitude of rooms but that she always kept one room free for emergencies like now.

While she was trying to make him lie down, his hand slipped down her shoulder to her waist making her topple over and she landed right over him. And thank the heaven, he was not conscious!

Her cheeks reddened at the position she was in, but soon the embarrassment was gone, replaced by some other, more sinister expression.

Horror.

The front of his body, his chest, 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.

She wished not.

Grace made herself up again with utmost care, and started to undress him as fast as she could. The bleeding had recessed, thankfully.

When there left nothing to cover him up, Grace started accessing his injury.

The wound though deep was not deep enough to have calloused his vitals or even to reach his ribcage, but yet there remained 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.

Ointments, pain relieving oils and herbal healers were procured in seconds. Warm water, soft cotton cloth pieces and spirit came next.

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, frowning from the misery; Grace worked efficiently over his injury.

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

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

And, he had a face of deity. A sleeping one, but deity nonetheless. She had that word inside her head, loud and heavy.

Adonis.

Tall as he was; the word kept ticking inside her mind. He reminded her of art and ardour. Poetry and illicit charm.

The territories of Olympus. Apollo and Eros.

Young and chiseled and angular, his face triggered warmth in her. His bronze brown hair fell over his pale forehead making him look more deity than one could imagine.

Approved, he was a strong and 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-side 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 meanwhile as she released him finally.

She decided to postpone it. Already past midnight, 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, yes. They were slightly parted.

Maybe he wanted to say something. Couldn't.

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

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

This was how it all started.