After laying a few more logs on the fire, he reached for the food pack. “My meals aren’t nearly as tasty as yours, but roasted meat does fill the empty places, and it will help you get your strength back.”
He took the cup and handed her a chunk of meat. Whenshe attempted a bite, its toughness made him wish he had something better to offer. But she didn’t complain, only thanked him when he gave her a second piece.
She straightened and glanced around. “Where’s Gulliver? Is he well?”
The mule must have heard his name, for he stamped a hoof from where he stood just outside the light of the fire.
“He’s fine. Already had his dinner and was enjoying a nap.”
She looked around again, finally settling her gaze on the packs he’d placed against a tree. “I need to start cooking the bear meat.”
He shook his head. “It’s frozen. It’ll keep for a while that way. There’s nothing you need to do tonight except rest and keep yourself warm.” He scanned the length of her, wrapped fully in hides. “Are any of your clothes still wet? Can you feel your legs and feet?”
She shifted the furs over her knees. “I’m warm enough.” She didn’t meet his gaze, though.
Did talking about clothing and body parts embarrass her? Perhaps. Or maybe something was wrong and she didn’t want to tell him.
He weighed his words. He didn’t want to press her to a level that made her uncomfortable, but if she didn’t properly care for damaged limbs, worse could come. Finally he settled for saying, “It’s important your feet and legs stay warm through the night. We may not know for a day or two if any permanent damage was done. But keeping them away from more cold might make a big difference in the outcome.”
He poured another cupful of warm water and handed itto her. “Your moccasins were wet, so I took them off. Do you want another fur to wrap around your feet?”
This time she did meet his gaze, and her eyes softened. “I’m warm, Damien. I promise. Thank you for all you’ve done for me, pulling me from the river and helping me get warm.”
For a long moment, he searched her eyes, letting himself enjoy the connection, if only for this fleeting moment.
Charlotte still couldn’t feel all her toes.
In the light of morning, she studied her feet before she pulled her moccasins on. Damien had the good sense to place the shoes by the fire the night before, so not only were they dry, but they were also soothing and warm.
He’d gone to water Gulliver, which gave her a moment to inspect whatever damage had been done in the river.
Her feet shone nearly as white as the snow around them, but she couldn’t find anything different in the appearance of the toes that were still numb—two of the smaller digits on her right foot and the littlest on her left. She’d heard of people losing fingers or toes from the cold, but she’d never actually seen missing appendages.
Not from cold, anyway. An image of Hugo’s knob of a finger slipped into her mind. He’d lost it in the rockslide back when he was helping build the apartment Brielle shared with her husband. If Charlotte returned to Laurent missing toes, she and Hugo would be quite the pair. Not that she would tell anyone about the loss. Perhaps she would share the news with Audrey, who still served as the village healer, in case there was something she could do to lessen further damage.
After wrapping her feet in small bits of fur to protect them, she pulled on her moccasins. Now came the real test—whether she could stand and walk without limping.
She cast a glance toward the river. Damien had taken the mule to the place she’d fallen through, probably because the ice would be easiest to break there. She would be happy if she never saw that spot again. The mule hid Damien from view, so he wouldn’t be able to see her, either. She shifted to her knees, then tried to stand.
A burning sensation seared through her feet and up her legs, and she had to bite down hard to keep from crying out. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she did what she could to hold them back, staying on all fours until she’d gained control over the flow.
Her feet felt so unreliable. What parts she could feel, anyway.
She crawled on hands and knees to reach the nearest tree. She gripped the tree, slowly shifting weight onto her feet a little at a time as she straightened. Her body wobbled, and the sensation of falling swept through her. But she clung tight to the coarse bark with both hands until that feeling faded.
Her feet still burned, especially at the edges and through the toes she’d not been able to feel minutes before. If she pushed into the pain, it would probably lessen.
Still gripping the tree with one hand, she lifted her left foot and stepped forward. She had to suck in a breath with the new rush of pain as she placed her weight back on that limb. The same with the right foot. She would have to release the tree to move any farther. Though each step brought fresh fire, she should be able to balance on her own now.
Maybe.
After two achingly slow steps away from the tree, she caught a motion at the edge of her vision. Damien approached the camp with Gulliver, and he was watching her. Had he seen her first faulty steps?
She did her best to purge the pain from her face and attempt a smile. But she didn’t dare take another step in front of him. He would insist she rest or some other notion that would slow them down. She’d lost so much time already—she should have arrived at the fort and found an artisan to work on the chalice by now. That familiar ball tightened in her middle.
“You’re up and moving. That’s a good sign.” Damien’s words brought a flush of heat up her neck.
She’d overslept this morning, and even once she’d awakened to find daylight, she’d had a great deal more trouble than usual forcing herself out of the warm furs. “I’ll pull out food for our morning fare. Do you mind if we eat it cold today? We need to get on the trail.”
