“Surprisingly tasty,” Eleanor said, feeling every drop of alcohol she’d imbibed.
“Do you know the moment we first met?” Tristan asked her.
“Just outside the women’s lounge at a ball?”
“The very one. I thought, ‘This is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’”
Warmth spread through Eleanor’s chest.
“I wonder what she’d look like naked.”
As she was on the way to outrage, Tristan yanked off her boot. The pain screamed through her, but all she uttered was a grunt. “You absolute arse,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Distracted you, didn’t it?” Tristan smirked. He bent to one knee in front of her, and it was something romantic to have a man do that. As if he were a knight of old, and she his lady love. Except, his lady love had a repulsively huge ankle.
“Did you really think that?” she asked, still wanting distraction as she noticed the swelling. It looked bad. He was holding her ankle on his knee, moving her foot gently from side to side. She waited for his response, but he didn’t give one, as if he were concentrating too hard.
“Does this hurt?” He pushed her foot flexed and then pointed, and when she said no, he moved it from side to side. That smarted and she yelped. He lowered her foot. “Good news and bad news.”
“Is there good news in this?” Eleanor had to wonder.
“Of course there is, which I will enumerate for you after we get through the bad news.” Tristan moved back to the stack of wax-paper-wrapped packets.
“I’m ready for bad news,” Eleanor said, trying to hold back on realizing that she always thought in terms of bad news.
“Your ankle is sprained, I believe. I’m no physician, but I don’t think anything is broken.” He lifted his hand as if he were serving her something. “See? Good news.”
Eleanor shook her head. “Not terribly good.”
“Bad news is that the winds keep picking up. I don’t think we can go anywhere tonight.”
“No,” Eleanor said, having realized this almost as soon as she’d gotten her wits about her after the fall.
“Good news is,” Tristan grinned, “you’re with me.”
She laughed. “Is that good news?”
He looked around the small space, barely wide enough for the two of them across. “Obviously it is the best possible outcome. You’re terrified of my father, Prudence would be exhausting with all that toothsomeness, Bad News complains every moment she is conscious, and Ophelia could convince you to walk all the way back to London on a broken leg, let alone a sprained ankle. I’m the best option.”
The wind picked up and howled overhead. The tarp did its job and kept them from feeling it.
“Then be of service and tell me what kind of supplies you’ve found.” Eleanor fell back on haughty language, clipping her vowels to a diamond point, as if she were the high-born and he the lowly merchant’s child.
“My lady,” Tristan bowed low, even though he was seated. His voice dropped to a droll baritone. “In this first packet, we have expired cheese of some sort. I’ve told the maids to take it to the groundskeeper for fertilizer. In this packet, we have dried fruits. They are, in fact, indistinguishable from pebbles, but that is what makes them a delicacy.”
He handed over the packet of dried fruit, which indeed, was cold and hard. Apple rings perhaps? Maybe an apricot? It was hard to tell.
“For the second course, we have a packet of nuts. They have been aged for possibly a decade.”
She put down the packet of fruit and accepted the packet of nuts, which made her wonder how they would split the shells. Perhaps with the dried fruit?
“And for the pudding course, whisky.” Tristan displayed the bottle as if it had a label.
“Very good, sir.” Eleanor gave him a dismissive nod. Dropping the game for a moment, she said, “I’m not sure I’m suited for this, Tristan. I’m cold, I hurt, I’m wet.”
Tristan handed her the whisky bottle. “Welcome to mountaineering. Discomfort is all it is.”
“Isn’t it making it to the top of the peak? Seeing incredible vistas few humans will ever glimpse?”
