Lord of Snow and Ice. Heather Massey

and dismounted. He withdrew more items from the sack and knelt. A long black cape shrouded his actions, but he obviously had further intentions with the carcass.

      Some of the men shifted closer, appearing curious. But they were ordered back not only with the rider’s fierce glare, but the bared fangs of the white wolf.

      Edward knelt by Lionel, brushing back sweaty locks of his thick, brown hair. “I don’t like the looks of him,” he muttered.

      Lionel shushed him with a hand.

      A crackling sound punctured the silence, and the smell of sulfur wafted through the immediate area. The corpse burst into flames, but not with the warm yellow light of a hunting lodge fire. Tinged with green, this one seemed to burn inwardly, as if burrowing into the creature’s flesh. The pyre assaulted the men’s nostrils with a suffocating smell as it burned.

      Lionel had to see more. “Help me sit!”

      Edward obliged. Lionel tossed back his cape and inspected his injured arm. It hung in his lap at rather an odd angle. He also felt weak. Whatever you do, be a man and don’t faint. Most definitely do not faint! The pain gnawed at him, the likes of which he had never experienced before in his twenty-two years. How long would he have to bear the horrid anguish? None of his companions were proper healers. And the ride home would take hours. Lionel sucked in his breath hard, as if stiffening his insides would offset the pulsing throbs. Do…not…faint! His eyes begin to involuntarily close. Darkness drank his soul.

      Then, something changed. He experienced a presence like no other. Lionel opened his eyes. When next he glanced up, it was into the face of the stranger.

      The man knelt and reached toward Lionel’s arm, but Edward intervened and pushed him back roughly. “No one touches the duke without permission!”

      The two men glared at one another. Edward slowly reached for his hunting knife, secured by his side. This movement did not go unnoticed by the stranger, whose eyes gleamed with preternatural menace. In the background, the wolf steeled itself with a low, treacherous growl.

      “No!” Lionel exclaimed. “We’ll have none of that!” He admonished his cousin with a look and declared, “I’m the one in excruciating pain here, so humor me.” Reluctantly, Edward backed off. Lionel gave a quick nod, inviting the stranger in for a closer examination.

      The man laid gentle fingers upon his twisted limb and then sprinted to his horse for more items from another sack. He returned and began to administer aid at once.

      Lionel studied him openly as he worked, but he seemed oblivious to the attention. The pale stranger was handsome, in a raggedy sort of way. He was tall and muscular, but somewhat thin. Glossy, raven black hair shorn into uneven locks framed an angular face with high cheekbones and lips set in a determined line. Exquisitely etched brows lined emerald green eyes. Their lashes were thick and dark, but not overly pronounced.

      Lionel made particular note of his clothes. Every last stitch screamed black, but the careworn material looked faded. By the number of visible loose threads, this was either the man’s preferred outfit, or his only one. One detail in particular caught his attention over everything else–an embroidered, multicolored patch covering one elbow. Good heavens! Does he seriously think that’s acceptable fashion? But the outfit’s classic tailoring hinted of something noble, something…regal?

      As the stranger set his shoulder back in place, Lionel was literally snapped out of his reverie. “Ouch! You might have warned me,” he told him, attempting a graceful smile through gritted teeth. Lionel swore he saw the hint of a smile in return, but it disappeared as quickly as the thought itself had come. Perhaps he was mistaken. The stranger did not seem one to often part with a grin.

      Lionel was quite the opposite though, for soon he felt better–much, much better. The man had rubbed some kind of ointment into his skin. It soothed the pain completely away. What healing skill is this? I must know more about this man. After his arm rested in a makeshift sling, Lionel spoke. “Well, friend, may I know the name of my hero and savior?”

      The stranger glanced uncertainly to one side, and then resumed packing his belongings. Wordlessly he stood, and his cape flicked smartly behind him as he walked to his horse.

      “Oh, but I must know!” Lionel rushed to his feet, ignoring Edward’s glare of disapproval. Arriving breathlessly at the stranger’s side, he reached out his good arm and thrust his hand into the stranger’s for the firmest handshake he could manage. “A good…no, a great deed such as yours will be acknowledged as loudly as I can shout and as far as I can ride.” He flashed his most charming grin, and continued to shake the stranger’s hand. To his delight, the man clasped his in return. “You must join us for the evening repast. It’s the least I can offer in return for your services, Sir…ah…?” Lionel cocked a brow and continued to pump his hand, waiting for a response.

      “Stellan,” said the stranger.

      Lionel interpreted his averted gaze for shyness. I would feel shy too, if I had a patch on my elbow. “Well, Stellan, what brings you to the hunting fields of Aldebaran?” He leaned in conspiratorially, sweeping his lips into a half grin. “Something tells me you’re not from around here.”

      “How very astute,” Stellan responded in a low voice. He busied himself with securing his pack.

      Lionel laughed. “And my reputation precedes me! Come, my kin and friends will feed and warm you.” He stared reproachfully as Stellan began to mount his horse. “You’ll pain me greatly if you leave now. You could have simply minded your own business, but instead saved my pitiful neck from that godforsaken hellion. One does not forget such a deed. I will be tortured until the end of my days if you don’t allow me to grant you even a single drop of gratitude.”

      Stellan regarded him with lips parted in surprise. He searched Lionel’s face for a long moment, ignoring the other men who had gathered around. His guarded mien dissolved ever so slightly, like an icicle being kissed with day’s first sunlight. “All right,” he said, releasing his grip on the reins.

      “Splendid!” Lionel swiveled his head to and fro. “Well, what are you all standing around for? Stellan’s hungry, I’m hungry, an adventure comes to a close–now to feast!”

      * * * *

      During the evening meal, as dusk surrendered to night, Lionel fixed his gaze on his new companion by the light of a blazing fire. He had never seen an appetite so voracious or seemingly bottomless. Stellan consumed the food with candid gusto. Long, slender fingers swept each morsel up in a graceful arc to his mouth. Nary a crumb made its way to either his lap or the ground. It’s as if he hasn’t eaten in days. Lionel dumped another half platter of roasted meat and root vegetables onto Stellan’s plate and poured wine to overflowing in his goblet.

      They sat slightly apart from the others. Lionel was fully aware Edward occasionally shot a suspicious glance in their direction from the other fire. Lionel acted as if he hadn’t noticed. Cousin, will you ever stop being so desperate for control? I’m not one of your sisters.

      He sipped from his own drink while waiting for Stellan’s gorging to abate. Twenty minutes or so passed before he saw an opening to speak. “So, my friend,” Lionel began, “where do you hail from?”

      A sliver of meat flapped from Stellan’s fingers as he gestured west. “Beyond the plain.”

      Lionel maintained a polite expression. A gentle coaxing was in order. This man represented a world of mystery, and he was determined to uncover every last clue. “I see. But where beyond the plain?”

      Stellan eyed him over his goblet’s rim, and then swallowed heartily. “This is good wine.”

      Lionel chuckled. “Agreed. But again I put the question to you–where beyond the plain? Regardless of what you may have heard, I don’t bite.” A curious eyebrow arched upward.

      Stellan’s answer was in the form of a noncommittal expression. He was obviously weighing his options.