By this time I had gathered enough strength to try to stand, but found that my feet were beginning to ooze blood onto the stone floor. Not knowing what else to do, I stood up to head for the bathroom to clean them before I made too much of a mess.
I must have stood up too quickly, because the next thing I knew, the floor was coming toward my face at an alarming speed. I let out a startled yelp as something stopped my nose from connecting with the stone while a huge clatter came up around me.
“Well now, what do we have here?” a soft, deep voice with a lilt exclaimed as strong arms lifted me from the cold stones. “A wee lassie, come to rest out of the storm, are ye? Or are ye a fairy driven from the forest?”
The handsome face looking down into mine was strong-boned, topped with shiny black hair, but the feature that held my attention fast was the set of slightly upturned, brilliant blue eyes. They sparkled with barely contained mirth, and held the depth and breadth of a tropical sea at midday. I had never seen eyes like those.
“Cat got your tongue, has she?” he continued as he carried me to a rustic sofa in front of the fire. “Well, we’ll just have to take a look at ye and see them for ourselves.”
I looked around for the other party to which he referred with his “we”, but he seemed to be alone. I saw then what had caused the noise when I nearly passed out; fresh firewood lay scattered all around the entryway. He must have come through the door, arms full of lumber, when he saw me going down and dropped it to catch me.
“Thank you,” I whispered, “for, for catching me I mean.”
“Ahh, so she does have a voice! Maybe you can tell me what you are doin’ drippin’ snow and such in my foyer?” he asked, still smiling as he removed my coat and settled an afghan around me.
“I had an accident. I wrecked my car, but got lost somehow, looking for the road. I saw the lights from your windows and came to find help,” I replied, feeling rather ashamed for having just barged into his home as I’d done. “The door opened and I called out. I’m sorry.” I don’t think I made a bit of sense.
“So a lass, not a fairy. More pity. No need to be sorry. I’m happy to help you. Ye say ye were lost in the woods, then? So it would be yer feet as are leaving’ the drops of blood, since yer face seems to’ stopped bleeding’.” He looked at me intently, turning my face toward the light of the fire before lifting my feet to peer at them.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, not knowing what else to say, “I think I cut them by stumbling through the forest. I lost my shoes to the snow and ice.”
“Well now, they don’t look too bad. I’ll just get some water and wash ye right up,” he answered, starting to walk away. “By the way, my name is Liam, and welcome ye to share whate’er I have.”
His accent was enchanting. I watched him walk to the kitchen and put a tea kettle on the stove. He looked about six feet tall, slim but moderately buff; the kind of build that looks strong without being muscle-bound. He smiled back at me and I noticed his straight, white teeth, full lower lip, and high cheekbones.
“Generally, when someone introduces themselves, politeness dictates that ye respond with your own name as well,” he continued, without reprimand, “unless, of course, ye don’t remember yer name, and then that’s a different circumstance entirely.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. I’m Natasa. Thank you, Liam, for everything.”
“I haven’t done anything yet, Natasa, but I’ll accept yer thanks over yer apologies,” The kettle began to hiss and Liam poured some of its contents into a bowl and carried the bowl and a cloth to the sofa. He knelt beside me and dipped the cloth in the water before bringing it to the side of my forehead.
“Ouch,” I exclaimed, reaching to grab his wrist.
“Ye see, now I’m the one to be sorry. I’ll try to be more gentle, but we need to clean this cut,” he explained as he removed my hand from his wrist and, true to his word, very gently dabbed the cut.
When he finished with my forehead he moved near my feet and began wiping the dirt and blood from them as well. His actions caused some new bleeding which he held pressure to until it stopped. Without saying a word, he went into the little bathroom and came back with a handful of bandages and ointment.
The entire time Liam worked on me, I watched him. He moved with an economy of action laced with grace. His muscles would bunch under his shirt as he lifted my leg, and his strong hands would firmly wipe away the dirt. Then he’d apply ointment with a feather touch before softly wrapping the foot in gauze. He finished with a simple piece of gauze and tape he placed on my forehead.
“There,” he said, grinning at me as if he’d accomplished a great feat, “I think ye’ll do. Would you like some dinner? I’m sure it’s ready by now.” He headed for the little kitchen again.
“Thank you, but I couldn’t. I’ve already taken too much advantage of your kindness. If you have a phone, I’ll call for a tow truck, or if not, I’ll have to bother you for a ride to the nearest service station.”
“You’ll not be goin’ anywhere in that storm, lass,’ ‘ he said, opening the oven door and removing a heavy iron pot. “There’s plenty here. Would you rather beer or wine?”
I looked out the window from where I sat and saw only darkness with streaks of snow blowing sideways across the glass. I was in no condition to argue with the man, so I said, “Wine.”
Liam pulled out plates and loaded them with beef, vegetables, and slabs of fresh bread. He carried them to the coffee table before returning for a bottle of wine and two glasses. It smelled heavenly.
“Eat up! Ye’ll need yer strength after slogging through the forest in this storm.”
I thanked him again as I picked up my plate. It tasted as good as it smelled. When I finished my plate, wiping up the last of the gravy with my bread, he asked, “Would ye like some more?” sounding just a little incredulous.
I laughed in mild embarrassment. I’ve always had a healthy appetite, despite my slender build. “Thank you, but I’m full. That was the best pot roast I’ve ever had.”
“would be the whiskey. Beef is just beef without a generous shot of the spirit,” he said, grinning at me again.
“Where are you from?” I asked, blushing at my bluntness.
“Right here! What makes ye think otherwise?” he answered, looking at me in mock seriousness.
“Your accent. It’s heavenly,” I responded, blushing again. I had only drunk a half glass of wine, but my tongue seemed to have become disconnected from my brain.
“Oh, aye. Well I was born not far from here, but I was raised by my Scotts-Irish father back in his homeland,” he responded with another soft smile, and his eyes twinkled in the firelight. “I can control the accent,” he said, without a hint of one, “but I don’t when I’m home.”
“Is this where you live?” I asked, figuring if he was willing to talk about himself, I was happy to listen.
“Nay, I have a real home, but the woods are my favorite place,” he looked fondly out at the blackness beyond the window pane.
I wanted to ask all about his life, but he stood there, picking up our plates, and went into the kitchen where he put the rest of the water from the kettle into the sink and washed up. He covered the Dutch-oven and walked to the door where he set it just outside. Realizing there was no refrigerator, this made perfect sense. He collected the dropped wood and placed it beside the hearth.
He returned and sat beside me, staring into the fire. His profile looked like a Roman bust, nose long and straight, cheekbones high, jaw square. Suddenly he turned to catch me staring at him, and he smiled again, this time as if he knew a secret.
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