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question, and she tried again, “Yes, sir, I am. But please, I beg you to tell me, have I had an accident? ”
    “You have,” he said simply.
    “Do you know what happened? And if you do, sir, could you please relate it to me?”
    “I do not know exactly what happened to you,” he replied. “I was hoping that you might be able to explain the story to me.”
    “Oh.” Gazing quietly toward her hands, she found them to be nervously clutching her blanket. Their color was pale, she noted, at least when compared to the sight of this man’s hands, which were brown. Perhaps her next question wasn’t the right query to ask, given their circumstances, but she couldn’t help herself as she probed, “Sir, are you my husband?”
    He hesitated a moment as his gaze scanned her features. “I am not,” he said at length.
    Sarah took in his reply with some bit of shock, again more than aware of her state of undress beneath the blanket. She said without thinking, “I am deeply unhappy to hear that, sir.”
    He frowned. Seeing his reaction, she asked, “Sir, please excuse my coming directly to the point, but I would know immediately, if you please, if it is your intention to torture or rape me.” She stopped and cleared her throat, realizing she was more than a little afraid of his reply.
    But he answered her readily. “That is not my intention.”
    Sarah paused as she let out a breath. “I am very happy to hear that.”
    He nodded and returned to his work next to the fire, presenting her with his back.
    “Pardon me, again, sir, but I feel I must bring your attention to the fact that I am in quite an ill state of dress beneath this blanket, and I was wondering—”
    “It was necessary to remove your things after I brought you here,” he explained, interrupting her. “Your clothes were wet and you were very warm with fever. It was done to tend to you, and for no other reason.”
    “Ah,” she said, and she paused while she sought to test her failing memory. Once again there was nothing there to steer her in any direction. It was as though her memory had been wiped clean.
    He continued, “I little understand the English woman’s style of dressing, nor did I recall which piece of cloth went where, and so I did not attempt to re-dress you once your fever had abated.”
    “Oh, yes, of course.”
    The man turned to regard her. It was the first time she had looked upon his face in full. It would have been most reassuring had a memory of recognition stirred to tell her something about him, or about herself. But it was not to be.
    Again, not able to help herself, she asked, “Do I know you well, sir? ”
    “ Neh , no.”
    She took in this fact well enough, then asked, “Do I know you at all? ”
    “We have never met.” So saying, he presented his back to her.
    Sarah remained silent, unsure of how next to proceed. If this man didn’t know who she was, how then was she to discover it herself?
    In the end, she decided to change the subject and commented, “That smells delicious.” She came up onto her elbows to see if she could discover what it was he was cooking. “I think I’m hungry.”
    “That is to be expected.”
    He didn’t turn around or say anything further, not even to indicate when she might eat, and so after a while, Sarah lay back against the soft bed of blankets and pine boughs that cradled her. Somehow, she didn’t feel strong enough to make a point of it. If he didn’t desire to share his meal with her, it was beyond her to do anything about it.
    But she had reckoned too soon. Within moments, he had moved to kneel beside her. Sarah shivered. Up close, he looked formidable, dangerous, alien and alas, handsome.
    It seemed, however, that he had nothing more in mind than feeding her. In his hands, he held a large shell. Its contents were steaming … and smelled like heaven.
    He said, “I will require you to sit up if you can. Since it is soup, it is best eaten in an upright position.”
    Sarah gazed up