Forget the Past

Forget the Past Part 1

When Strangers Meet

Sounds filtered into the white haze of peace surrounding her.

Utensils scaping metal. The muffled clearing of a throat. A masculine throat for the sound was mellow and low.

The wind outside the side of the house, whistling past a window.

She awoke and felt instant warmth.

Fur cradled her body, surrounding her underneath with luxurious softness. It felt good against her bare flesh.

Bare flesh.

Her senses kicked in. She felt the brush of softness against the peaks of her breasts, the brush of warmth over the tops of her thighs.

She lay quietly, unable or unwilling as yet to open her eyes.

A scrape of a chair on wood floors. The step of a masculine boot crossing the area outside whatever enclosure which housed her.

The hiss of a fire being stoked, the heat of the hearth which filtered into the place she was.

The room was warm but she knew, outside the wind was fierce and cold.

She felt safe and secure and protected.

She could smell a vague hint of cologne. Very masculine and pleasant. She liked it.

And food...

Her stomach reacted to the delicious odor. It smelled wondrous. She was famished.

She slowly opened her eyes, her curiosity outweighing the need to remain quiet and unobtrusive.

Wooden beams braced a ceiling of white-washed clay or gypsum. Heavy drapes lined the outside of the small alcove in which she lay.

She felt a bed of feathers beneath her. A luxury indeed. But this seemed a modest enough home with its rustic features.

She did not know this place. There was nothing familiar about it at all.

The room was lit with oil lamps. And the dancing shadows of a recently tended fire.

She turned her head and instantly gasped, for a streak of excruciating pain filtered out all else. A brilliant white light flashed before her eyes.

She fought against being pulled into the silent depths.

"Lie still. You have a head injury." The voice was deep, commanding and definitely male.

With a strong tinge of foreign accent, one she could not place at present in her incapacitated state.

She obeyed instinctively, easing her hand's pressure on either side of her head. If she lay very still, the pain receded tremendously.

She felt a raised bump on the right side of her temple. It was terribly sore to the touch.

"You must drink water."

She chanced to open her eyes once again. A large man was shadowed against the light of the hearth. She could not make out his face clearly and he simply stood, looking down at her.

He took his leave without a word, coming back shortly. A warm palm cupped the back of her neck, easing her enough to place a pewter cup to her lips.

She drank greedily, holding the strong wrist with her fingers that the glorious treat not be taken from her.

Gray eyes watched her face studiously. Beautiful gray eyes. A strong, virile face with dark stubble about the full mouth. A straight nose. An aristocratic face. A scar over his right temple.