CHAPTER 1| The Stranger.

Isabelle stared at the unmoving form laying on the rusty earth before her, it was obvious that he was human but motionless at that. With slight apprehension and caution she glanced around her for any sign of who might have brought him there or who was the cause of his near death situation. She caught no footprints and neither was the air smelling of any other being but that of the stranger's stench of blood and strong masculine smell. She used her two hands to shift him to his front where a huge gash of blood was steadily flowing from somewhere around his chest through his shirt, another wound was contributing to the stench of blood from his forehead and a thin scar marred his striking features as though he was sliced deliberately from directly a few inches to his eye and down to his the side of his lips. The paleness of his skin jolted her out of her thoughts and careful examination to act in haste.

His situation obviously needed instant attention not mere observation, Isabelle pressed her head to his chest to feel his pulse while her fingers were feeling for his breath from below his nose. His pulse was slowly drifting from the world to that of the unknown and Isabelle knew at that moment she had no choice but to provide instant help to the stranger.

In haste, she tears off the sleeves of her dress to stop the blood that was continuously flowing from his body to the dark soiled earth. With sheer determination and strong willpower she miraculously with a strength she never knew she possessed pulled him to the almost dilapidated cottage she's taken shelter in for the past several days. With a groan she laid him near the hearth of fire she's made before going out in search for food before she came across the stranger left for the dead. Water was already boiling on the fire so she hastily used the clean water to cleanse his wounds and also observe their severity and depth.

His lips had lost any color and his whole body was following right after. His physique portrayed that of a man who was used to hard labor and the tan on his skin was evident that he worked outdoors, a strong feeling of strength and power was emanating from his being which made Isabelle think of how such an obviously strong man was taken down and shoved to the door of death.

Putting aside her curiosity she parted the shirt that was clinging to his skin courtesy of the blood he has lost and shivered at the sharp sting of awareness she felt when her finger brushed over his bare chest. Her slim and milky white hand shot out to his forehead to feel his temperature and felt him burning up with enough heat that could wipe out an average man. With a hiss and furrowed brows she took out to doing her best to clean the man.

Isabelle snatched up her healing pouch from the table and summoned the whole of her courage to thoroughly cleanse the wounds that when left alone will be infected and could cause the loss of such an intriguing man. She stitched up the wound on his chest and only after making sure that she's left no cause for infection applied poultice on the scar on his face as well as a few healing herbs mashed and applied to the wound on his forehead.

To make sure that everything was covered Isabelle took off the rest of his garments with unease and shivering fingers. She fumbled with the ties to his trousers and with averted eyes helped him out of it, her fingers shook as she made contact with his bare thighs for inspection before she took off his boots.

Alas, no wounds were on the lower parts of his body.

She left him with his knickers on before collecting the other garments to wash so that he could have clean clothes when he awoke.

A shiver went down her spine at the cold she felt when she walked out of the house, Isabelle stopped by the door in a trance.

"If I'm feeling cold with my clothes on I wonder how he feels." She spoke out loud to herself before rushing back into the house.

The stranger was exactly as she left him, with a silent prayer to God for health she draped her only cloak over his body, leaving his chest area open.

With another prayer for safety she swooshed out of the house to the stream nearby. She washed what was left of his torn shirt and trousers, cleaned his boots before returning to the cottage to dry them by the fire. She held the garments in her hands and blew near the hearth until each side was dry.

She let out a yawn, courtesy of the fatigue and hunger she felt deep in her bones. It was dangerous to leave the stranger all by himself in such a defenseless position especially because his reason for being left for the dead near her home was still lost to her but it was equally dangerous to spend the night without feeding on anything.

Her stomach grumbled in annoyance making her impulsively move to the door, Isabelle turned and let her gaze fall on the stranger before she walked out without a backward glance.

Several thoughts flitted in and out of her head as she walked deeper into the woods where it was darker and the trees were bowing to the whistles of the wind because darkness had already claimed the world. Subconsciously she held tighter unto her jacket burrowing her hands deeper into its pockets.

The hunt for food was a success to her because she was able to get a few rabbits as well as fishes from the stream.

Isabelle wasted no time in returning to her cottage, her gaze flew to the stranger who was laying as still as a statue on the ground she left him, only the rise and fall of his chest was the evidence that he still had a heart beating in his chest and blood flowing through his veins. She dropped to her knees before him and pressed a pale palm to his forehead feeling his temperature, a sigh slipped past her lips at feeling that it was slightly cooler than it was prior to her leaving the cottage to wash.

After cooling him off she skinned the rabbits, made tea from fresh mint leaves and lemon grass then set her meat to cook while preserving the fish for another day. It didn't take long for her to eat until her stomach was full and store the rest for the stranger in case he awakes soon and for the other days to come because they had enough to last them for a few days.

By then the skies had turned an angry shade of blue, cold was whooshing through the broken windows shifting aside the curtains as though they were nonexistent. Isabelle shivered as the breeze settled into her bones, she eyed the man on the carpeted floor then eyed the bed on the farthest corner of the room.

Better be covered than lay on the soft mattress. Isabelle thought.

"He's unconscious, he won't know," She whispered to herself before moving closer to him, "What he doesnt know wouldn't hurt him." Her soft voice flew into the air before she slid under the coak.

A shiver of awareness rushed from her head to the tip of her toes at the feel of all his masculine heat near her, they weren't even making bodily contact under the cloak but it still felt a hundred degrees warmer. With a sigh she settled directly beside his hand and drifted off to slumber.

It was the most peaceful sleep she had in days, ever since she began living in the cottage.

Isabelle awoke the next day with a startle, in her sleep she'd plastered her form to his side and the feverish heat emanating from him scorched her pale skin. With trembling fingers she hurried to make a fire to warm him before cooling his heated skin with a clean sponge.

The whole day passed without so much as a twitch of the finger from him so as the next day, by then Isabelle had already begun to fear the outcome of his fever because the last time she saw a man laying as lifeless as that on the floor wasn't long and the man didn't survive for long after that, he let the fever overwhelm him and depart with his soul.

Isabelle wasn't one to give up easily especially if she felt this strong a connection with the wounded. She knew it deep in her heart that he was a survivor, a man this strong and masculine couldn't succumb to the heat of fire, he was more fit to die after conquering the world but not alone in the woods with no one to give him a proper burial.

On the fourth day as Isabelle slept snuggled against him under the cloak his eyes fluttered open unbeknownst to her. Isabelle moaned in her sleep and shifted closer to him unconsciously in her sleep, her move caught his attention but weakness and the dryness of his throat prevented him from making a move or speaking at all. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing was able to come out, after several attempts he gave up and succumbed to the sleep that was drawing him in much to his annoyance.

The next two days he slipped in and out of consciousness as a fever that rivaled the one that washed over him the few days past nearly took his soul at a maddening point. Isabelle did all she could, cleansed his wounds thoroughly, examined his stitches, day in day out she remained by his side. His every groan of pain tore at the flesh on her heart, the spasms that shook his body, the convulsions that wrecked with his sanity and the way his eyes opened lifelessly in the throes of fever and pain all did not escape her, she was witness to his most weak state.

She held his hand in hers all through, the heat and pleasure of their palms touching gave her hope, it made her all the more aware that this man was human and will hopefully and in no time recover from his state of near-death.

It was until his fever had gone and a more acceptable temperature had taken refuge in his system did she moved from his side, that she let go of his hand and let the lone tear that was pleading to be released from her eyes stream past her lids to her chin, without wiping it away she stared at the restless man who a day ago almost let death conquer him.

One time when his eyes fluttered open in the midst of the worst fever, his orbs which appeared to be stricken looked directly into hers and his lips moved, she caught the word "angel" as he mouthed it and let his eyes shut close.

That night as she was testing his stitches to feel if they were ready to be taken out his eyes flew open and settled on hers as though in a daze, when the daze cleared Isabelle hurriedly offered him water from a tumbler to wet his dry throat and held his head on her lap for support.

He drank the water like it was the last he would be given with so much vigor and only when the tumbler was empty did he avert his eyes from hers. She shifted slightly to return his head to the makeshift pillow that was supporting his head on the floor but was stopped by his hand on her wrist.

His hold on hers was strong as he asked, "Who are you?".