“How are those legs feeling?” Her father’s voice sounded chipper. He looked refreshed and invigorated from his walk.
His question was one she should have already asked, but she’d been too caught up in the man and the things he’d said. It seemed too wonderful to think he truly meant them.
Damien set the mug to the side and pulled off his remaining covers. “I have more feeling in my feet, so I should be able to walk now.” All pleasure had slipped from his expression, and twin lines formed between his brows as he pulled on his boots, then positioned his feet. He used his hands to place them flat on the ground. That didn’t seem good.
Then he shifted onto his hands and knees. Charlotte rose to stand on one side as her father positioned himself on Damien’s other. If he fell or simply needed extra balance, they would be there. But she had a feeling he’d rather do this on his own.
He managed to get his feet underneath him and rise partway with them bearing his weight—far more than he could do the night before. But halfway to standing, he began to wobble.
As he pitched forward, she grabbed for his hand. She barely gripped his arm in time to catch him, but thankfully her father managed a firmer hold. Papa slipped himself under Damien’s shoulder, propping him up and helping him stand the rest of the way. She did the same on her side, but she could tell Damien rested more of his weight on her father.
For a moment, they stood in that position, then Damien eased out a long breath that seemed to come from his deepest insides.
“Can you feel your toes?” Her father’s voice stayed low.
Damien hesitated before answering. “Some of them.”
“You’re making progress. We’ll do another rubdown soon. For now, let’s see if we can take a few steps. That will help bring the blood flowing.”
She remained silent as her father guided Damien. His easy tone made his instructions far more palatable, no doubt. Her father had been chief of Laurent since before she was born, and he possessed a special way with people. A manner of interacting that didn’t feel domineering or heavy-handed. He made you want to do as he asked simply out of respect for his good opinion.
Damien struggled through his first few steps, and shestayed by his side, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. The touch didn’t feel as much like she was supporting him as he was tucking her close. She loved the connection, but she wanted to be a help to him, not just someone he felt obligated to protect.
“That’s enough for now, I think.” Papa’s voice broke through her rather selfish line of thought. “Let’s get you back to the blankets, and I’ll work on those toes more. Have you broken your fast yet?”
“I’ve a stew keeping warm for you,” Charlotte said quickly. She should have already offered that to him. But at least it was ready.
“How is Gulliver today?” Damien seemed to be walking more steadily now, though his labored words showed his breaths came harder. He nodded toward the mule grazing near the lake’s edge.
“He’s enjoying the grass Evan uncovered for him. This warm chinook wind is already starting to melt snow.”
“I appreciate you all taking such good care of him.” Though Damien seemed to be trying to conceal his pain, when he lowered to his furs, a grunt slipped out.
Once he was finally seated, his gaze met her father’s first, then shifted to hers. “I’ll be ready to move on tomorrow, as long as Gulliver is well enough.”
His words matched their own plan, but her father didn’t speak up to agree. That probably meant he held concerns about how recovered Damien would be by then. He would wait until he had more details before making a decision. Papa always thought through every matter thoroughly.
Yet she had a feeling Damien wouldn’t bide quietly if her father suggested they wait.
25
Would it always be this way?
Charlotte had been watching Damien throughout the day’s trek, doing her best not to fret. Her father clearly felt they shouldn’t have set out yet, that Damien needed at least one more day of rest before hiking through the snow.
But Damien had insisted.
As much as she disliked knowing the two men she loved weren’t in agreement, her greater worry for Damien overwhelmed every other thought. They’d nearly reached the top of the first peak, the place she’d hid only two days before as she watched her father and Hugo climb the opposite side.
Though they’d only covered half the ground they could in a normal day’s journey, Damien’s every breath rasped through the air as he pushed one foot up, then the next. Her heart ached to help him, or better yet, stop and make camp here on the mountainside. To prepare a hearty meal that would give him strength, then watch his exhausted body rest deeply enough to recover.
He possessed grit and determination. He’d proven that all day, though she’d known it from the other days they traveledtogether. But watching those qualities push him harder and farther than was good for his body made her want to beg him to stop.
At least he had one hand propped on Gulliver’s back for support. The day of rest seemed to have helped the mule a great deal, and likely the slower pace today aided, too.
Finally, they reached the peak, and she half expected Damien to drop to his knees as she had the other day—exhausted and too weary to do anything but rest until he regained some strength.
But he didn’t. Man and mule stood at the pinnacle of the mountain, staring out at the vast expanse beyond. The usual wind whipped at them, still warm from the chinook, flapping the loose tendrils of his hair and drying the sweat-dampened locks.
