“You cannot be coughing your way up a mountain. It takes too long. Have some snow to wet your throat.” Did she not have basic sense? Her cheeks were bright red from exertion, and she needed to clear herself of the excess heat that a woolen dress kept close. And while he didn’t think she had wet lung—they were not that high in elevation, and the way he might check was to put his ear to her breast, and he didn’t think that would be permitted—eating snow would be helpful.
She stared at him more. “From the ground.”
“From wherever,” he said, gesturing to the trees that dripped ice from their needles. “Are you so blue-blooded that you cannot drink your own water?”
Her eyebrows raised up so far that they disappeared underneath her knit cap. “I beg. Your pardon.”
“You have a need. Take the snow that is available to you.” Karl gestured at the tree again. Maybe he could blame her for all of the ignorance the English brought with them. Treating the Swiss as if they were backward yokels, stupid and barely deserving respect. Throw money at them, and they jump at the chance to carry supplies, show them trails, help them achieve the impossible.
She didn’t move to scoop any snow or shake ice from the tree. No, she stared at him as if he were a naughty schoolboy. He did not like it.
“Who do you think I am?” she asked, placing her fists on her hips, accenting how tiny her waist was in a way that made him wonder what it would feel like to have his own hand there, in the dip of her waist. Wonder what it would feel like to pull her closer to him while his hand was there.
He shrugged as if he did not care, and not that he did not know. Because he didn’t. “A spoiled aristocrat from England.”
She laughed so loud and so suddenly he worried about an avalanche. He didn’t know why she was laughing other than a possibility of frost-induced lunacy, if there was such a thing.
“I’m no aristocrat. If only my father could have heard that!” Her voice was still laced with humor. She shook her head. “Me, on the same plane as Ophelia?” She cooed out a last chuckle.
He was dumbstruck. Apparently he was incorrect about her social standing, but why was that a cause of such humor? It put him into even more of a dark mood. He turned to head up the next path, where there were three choices, three branches to choose, all of different difficulty.
Over his shoulder, he watched as she drew her woolen mitten under her nose. So not a blue blood. He gritted his teeth and started up the steepest path. Let her prove how hardy she was.
**
At half past noon, Ophelia touched her shoulder to wake her.
That man wanted to kill her. Murder by mountain. Justine peeled open one eye. “Do you have any food?”
Worry creased Ophelia’s face. “I could go ask the kitchen . . . ?”
Justine held up her hand to stop her friend. At least she was still dressed. Even her boots. She’d returned from their hike as breakfast was being served and gone up to the room to wash her face and hands, but instead had fallen asleep on the bed. Her feet were swollen and hot in her boots, but she didn’t care.
In her fatigue, she rolled off the bed, landing on the floor on all fours.
“Goodness,” Ophelia commented, jumping back.
Justine used her hands to climb up to standing. “I’m fine. Some bread and cheese, and water, I’ll be ready for the next round.”
Lots of water.
Ophelia was ready to go downstairs, so they left the room together. Justine’s thighs felt shaky on the stairs, but she’d manage. She needed some food, and after that, all would be correct.
Sure enough, the innkeeper handed her a circular roll with cheese and dried meat stuffed inside of it. The episode took some pantomiming, but they got through it. And as they waited for Eleanor and Tristan to join them, Herr Brunner came to her holding a tankard so full it splashed onto the floor.
Justine accepted it gratefully. The bread was delicious, but she was parched. “Apple?” she asked, as the aroma made it unmistakable.
“Apfel, ja,” Herr Brunner said, nodding.
“Does it have alcohol?” Ophelia asked, peering into the tankard.
“No idea. Drinking it anyway,” Justine said, keeping a smile plastered on her face to appease Herr Brunner. She gulped it down, the sugar hitting her bloodstream almost instantly.
Karl Vogel appeared in the doorway, looking nearly a foot wider than his uncle. She turned away from him and scarfed her roll down as quickly as she could. She didn’t want to show any weakness, and that included hunger.
The two men talked, and Justine kept her face averted as she chewed. Tristan and Eleanor descended, followed by Prudence, who looked flushed and hurried. Justine risked a glance back at Karl, who was counting the group with a nod of his head. She swallowed the knot of bread, and it got stuck in her throat.
She downed the rest of the apple cider, the wide mouth of the tankard allowing the liquid to splash down the side of her chin. Great look. Just bloody adorable. Couldn’t even eat without covering herself in it.
