Chapter Fourteen

T ristan could only see her lips at this point. She was talking and flirting with him, and he was doing his best to stay focused, to answer her questions and parry her barbs. But holy hell, it was becoming near impossible to pay attention. His body was snapping from exhaustion to exuberance, and he needed something to distract himself.

She didn't say anything, leading him to believe that he had once again, completely bollocksed up whatever this was between them. But suddenly he realized that this was her thinking face. The expression when she was thinking about why it could be a bad idea and why she might do it anyway .

"I think that would be fine," she said finally, her eyes downcast.

"If you don't want to kiss me, don't be afraid to say no." It killed him to say it, but he needed to make sure she wasn't intimidated by him. He desperately wanted to kiss her, but he also didn't want to kiss a woman who didn't want it.

She raised her velvet brown eyes to his. "I would really prefer it if you would."

He swallowed hard. His body was already reacting to her. There were many things he would like to propose in order to hear such proper words from her. He would love to find all the things she preferred. He went to his knees, pulling her up as well. Kissing a woman while lying down was too much temptation for him. At least, it was when the woman was Eleanor.

And he meant to be chaste. A virginal peck on the lips. He was trying very, very hard. But, as usual, things got away from him.

He tilted her chin up. She eyed him through her inky lashes before closing them in preparation. It gave him a moment to study her up close. The subtle spray of freckles across her nose. A virtually unnoticeable pock scar near her hair line. The perfect skin underneath all of it, as if she were made of marble or milk.

He pressed his lips to her soft mouth. And dear God, she melted into him. They matched bodies from knee to chest, and his lust sprang to life, urging him to explore deeper. Her rapid breathing distracted him, another signal to the animal in him. He deepened his kiss, pushing his tongue at the seam of her lips, until she opened her mouth and let him in.

She gripped at his shirt, the heat of her fingers pressing through all of the insulating fabric. He wrapped his arms around her completely, pulling her into him. His body was no longer content with kisses. She was soft, and without a corset, he could feel her body mold to his.

The taste of her was sheer madness. It was nectar, it was honey, it was the explosion of a thousand Mount Olympuses in his mind. Before he could think, he reached down and cupped a handful of that incredibly luscious arse. It felt so ripe and perfect in his hand. She moaned in response, and the sound made him hard enough to pound nails.

He pulled away, releasing her with a burst of superhuman willpower. "I'm sorry," he panted.

Her eyes were dark and wild, her lips wet and rouged from his kiss. "For what?"

"For pushing. Eleanor. I can't merely kiss you. It isn't safe for you, for us, to be doing this here."

"Safe for me?" she asked.

"Safe for your virtue." He dared look at her again, her dark locks disheveled, and the lust plain on her face. It was some unseen magnetism that made him unable to part their bodies even further. She drew him in. But no. No. He had control. He had willpower in spades. Didn't he?

"What if I don't want it anymore?" she asked, her voice grave and quiet.

"Want what?" he asked, because surely, surely she could not mean what he thought she meant.

"I will say this once, so there is no room for your agonizing."

"I don't agonize," he protested, knowing full well that he absolutely did.

"I'm not certain I'm getting off this mountain. I want to know what it would be like to be with you."

She might as well have hit him over the head with a hammer. His mind spun in every direction. "First, we are in fact getting off this mountain alive," he said.

The lust that had been so clear on her face dimmed. Oh, that had been a real offer. It wasn't a joke or a temptation. She'd meant it. Which, of course she did, because she was Eleanor, and Eleanor didn't make empty threats or promises.

"And second," he continued, "you can tell me to stop any time and I will stop." He reached for her, and was pleased that she reached for him in return. She threaded her fingers through his, and even her smooth palm was dissolving his body into drunken desire. This was real. He nuzzled her perfect, shell-like ear.

"Did you know what I thought when I first saw you?" she asked as he trailed kisses down her neck. Her beautiful, soft throat. He could bury himself here, smelling her hair, pulling her earlobe into his mouth. She gasped when he did so, and he filed that reaction away for later.

"What was that?" he asked, pulling her fully into his lap. She was his right now.

"I wonder what he looks like naked," she said.

And he laughed. Because she'd thrown his own words in his face, but also because she said what she wanted. "I'm happy to oblige." One of his hands roamed her back, and the other worked the buttons on the high collar of her shirtwaist.

"I'll do mine if you do yours." Her hands moved to her own buttons. She squirmed in his lap, a motion that did no favors to his control.

Once again, he was totally stunned. He didn't want to spend any amount of brain power on his own buttons, so he sat there like a complete mump and watched her unbutton her top. Slowly, the pale, smooth, expanse of her skin was revealed. She wore an odd sort of under-jacket, unlike any he'd ever seen before. It had straps over her shoulders and barely went past her ribcage. He didn't know what it was, but it was unusual, and he liked it.

"It's old-fashioned," she said. "But it was the best design for our purposes."

He slowly pushed one strap so that it fell off her shoulder. Her skin was hot, despite the cold temperature. It was fascinating to see how that woolen strap hung. She slid off the sleeves of the shirtwaist, her skin suddenly prickling. Another distraction for him.

"Your turn," she commanded.

He didn't want to stop tracing invisible lines on her skin. He wanted to trace each path with his tongue. He wanted to spend days touching her, tasting her, drinking her in. "Do you want to take mine off?"

She nodded, her tongue slipping out to touch the side of her mouth. Relief washed through him as she worked the top button of his shirt. She completely forgot the waistcoat, but he did not care. His hands had been shaking with effort to keep them to himself. Now, he could caress her as she unbuttoned his clothing.

"Oh, damn your buttons!" Eleanor huffed.

"Yours are worse," he murmured in her ear, before kissing the soft spot behind it. He could care less about his own shirt. His mouth wandered down her neck. He nudged the other strap off her shoulder with his nose, then kissed the skin where it had lain. "You could just lie back and relax."

"I want to see you, though. I want to see all of you." Her eyes were dark and intense, asking more of him than anyone else had ever wanted. It caught something in him, some circuit that engaged for the first time. He did feel worthy of her now, the way she asked for him.

"You will," he promised. But she was perched on him, giving him the perfect angle of her small, high breasts. "But let me make you feel good first."

She was cautious, and he moved slowly for her sake. Her ran his roughened fingertips down to where the fabric cupped her breast. He pulled the fabric down, exposing her and her perfectly taut nipple. He ran his thumb over it, and she squirmed. He leaned forward and took her lips.

He worked one hand into her hair while the other exposed the second breast, thumbing that nipple in the same way. Tristan shifted his body, scooting Eleanor off his lap and onto the ground. Repositioned, he dipped his head to lick the valley between her breasts before moving to one side. He licked her nipple, letting the cool air do its own work. His other hand moved along her leg, pulling up the heavy woolen skirt and its petticoat. She still wore her thick woolen stocking on one leg, having discarded the other when he'd examined her ankle.

Her hand slid into his hair, scratching his scalp ever so lightly with her fingernails. He whimpered. Something about that possessive gesture from her made him want to spend right away. How did she know to do that? His focus returned, and he continued sliding his hand up past her knee, to the soft bare flesh of her thigh. He unclipped the garter holding up her woolen stocking, rolling it down to give himself more space to play.

Her thigh shook as he took a great handful of her leg. He paused his ministrations to her breast. "Is your ankle all right? Do you need me to stop?"

She looked down at him, her mouth open as she panted. "Don't. Stop."

Tristan grinned and moved to the other breast, her fingers still entwined in his hair. He continued his exploration of her thighs until he reached her center. The wet seam was tantalizing. He ran his finger up and down it, intentionally going slowly enough that even an inexperienced virgin might buck at the teasing.

He delved in between her folds and found that perfect nub. She thrust against his hand. God, it was incredible to have her react to him like this. His cock strained in his trousers, rubbing against her hip. Her hand fisted his hair and pulled him up to look her in the eye as she sputtered and arched. Her cry, unfettered by decorum, was a potent aphrodisiac.

Having given her one climax, he caught her lips, kissing her deeply as he used his fingers to coax her into another. "My beautiful Eleanor, I want to see you come again." He nipped at her breast, one then the other, letting the cool air do the work for him. "Let me see."

Again her back arched, wordless noises of pleasure echoing off the walls. She returned to herself, catching his soaking hand. "My turn," she panted. "Clothes. Off."

A thrill ran through him at her commands. She struggled to keep her composure, and she looked every inch debauched. Her gorgeous breasts were displayed to the air, her nipples wet and pointed from his kisses, her skirts pushed up to her waist. His fingers skated across every one of his buttons, and soon he dropped his waistcoat to the ground, shucked the braces from his shoulders and pulled his shirt over his head. "Do you like what you see?"

Her expression was feral. "You're so beautiful, Tristan."

"As are you, my darling." He unbuttoned his trousers and let them fall. He finished undressing, trying very hard to not think about her staring at his painfully throbbing cock, because that would end things sooner than he would like. He lay down beside her.

"It's not what I thought it would look like," she confessed.

He searched her meaning. "My cock? What did you think it would be like?"

She shrugged. "Smaller, I think."

He threw his head back and laughed. He cupped her jaw with one hand, kissing her lightly on the lips. "Would you like to touch it?"

She nodded, biting her lip, as if now she were shy. He didn't think it was a game or a ploy on her part, and it was driving him absolutely out of his mind. She gripped him in her smooth pale fist.

He let out a steadying breath. What else could he think about? Bugs. He could think about bugs. She slid her hand up to the tip, her thumb swiping the moisture leaking from the tip.

"Oh," she sighed, in a way that sounded both pleased and revelatory.

Bugs were not enough.

"Are you well? I'm not hurting you, am I?" Eleanor was very concerned.

He shook his head, unable to speak, for fear of spending. "Eleanor. I'm so very close. And I would very much like to be inside you."

"I would prefer it," she said.

He flipped her on her back, taking another steadying breath. He needed to last. "Is your ankle—"

"My bloody ankle is bloody fine. Give me your cock."

Tristan gritted his teeth. She was a marvel. "Your preferences are going to drive me mad."

He rubbed the tip of his cock on her blessed little nub, and it made her legs widen. Of her own volition, her hand rubbed at one of her nipples. He stared, fascinated by the white skin massaged by her delicate fingers. She seemed like she might be getting close again. What a fucking wonder she was.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

She nodded, lifting her head to see. He circled her entrance with his cock, trying to relax her, make her ready. Was she ready enough? He'd never bedded a virgin. He moved slowly, entering her inch by inch, trying very hard to pay attention to any discomfort on her part. But she felt like slick perfection, warm and boundless. He slid all the way in, and to his surprise, she clutched at his arse, pulling him into her.

Another gesture of possession that almost made him lose control. She was his, perhaps, but more importantly, he was hers. He liked that thought. In the world, he could take care of her, and at home, she would take care of him. He thrust gently, listening to her breath catch with the friction between them. He touched that nub again, and moments later, her quim pulsed on him, milking him, pulling at him.

He yelled as he came, the release from months of seeing her, the release from their dangerous fall, the release from loving someone and finally knowing they loved him in return. "Oh fuck," he whispered, cursing as luxuriated in between her legs. Her hands ran along his arms.

"I feel like an absolute fool, but—"

"—I love you," he interrupted. "I love you more than everything I've ever felt in my entire life put together."

She smiled, almost a bit sly. "Have to be first, don't you?"

He pulled out, finding a rag that once wrapped the parcels of food. He cleaned himself and her with it. He gestured to her. "Please. What were you going to say?"

"I love you, Tristan Bridewell."

Balling up the rag and throwing it across the stone gully, he gave her his most arrogant look and said: "I know."

She threw her head back and laughed. He couldn't help himself, he leaned forward and licked the beautiful column of her neck. She shrieked. "What are you doing?"

He couldn't go again right away; there was some time to wait. "The trespass has been committed. I like to revel in my choices."

"But aren't you tired?" she challenged.

"Do you have something better to do?" he challenged back.

"Let me rest. Then we'll see," she said, righting her clothing.

For the sake of the cold, he donned his clothing, and they lay together in the darkness of the gully. "What are we going to do?" Eleanor asked.

"We're going to get married, obviously. It's going to be very challenging to have rendezvous this entertaining if we aren't."

Her laughter rang like small bells in the darkness.

"Is that a yes?" Tristan asked, a strange nervousness clanging through him.

"It is a yes, but I was asking about getting out of here. Getting to safety." Just as she finished speaking, her stomach growled.

Tristan felt her words like another command. A less sexy one, but a dire one. She couldn't walk, so it was up to him to figure out what to do. How to bring home his bride.

*

Eleanor awoke alone. Their chamber was humid from her breath and her body heat, but Tristan's absence was notable. After all, if she wasn't touching him, where could he have gone?

At least there was time for her to take inventory of herself. The ankle was still swollen and sore, but slightly less so. Or perhaps that was merely optimistic thinking. The rest of her body felt sore in a different way. She felt raw between her legs in a way that made her smile. Their coupling had been extraordinary. No wonder people got married.

So, where was he? She dressed and, gathering courage to face the cold winds, she threw off the oilskin tarp and peeked out of the gully that had been their makeshift love nest. The fog had subsided, but the sun was still obscured by clouds. Movement caught her attention, and she turned. There was Tristan, striding along the rocky hillside, the climbing rope wrapped across his chest. He looked magnificent, as if he were a hero out of a fable.

Once he got within earshot, he immediately apologized. "I'm sorry you had to wake up alone. But I had an idea, and I couldn't wait." He heaved the rope off his shoulders and slid down into the gully, kissing her on the lips as if their connection was comfortable and easy.

It thrilled her that it felt that way. She could stand with having a greeting kiss after every return. "What is your idea?"

"It occurred to me that we could tie you onto my back, and I could carry you down." Tristan began tidying up their cave, throwing off the blanket and stowing packets of food and what was left of the whiskey in the hole in the ground.

She frowned. "I'm not terribly light, I'll have you know. I don't think it's wise."

Tristan paused then looked up at her. "I will attempt to say this without offending your sensibilities."

She put her hands on her hips. What insult could he manage at this point?

"I have seen porters carry loads three times their own weight up and down mountains, with a clever use of ropes to balance the burden. Don't you think we could do something similar?"

It was a good idea in theory, but Eleanor didn't know anything about either the physics or the physiques involved. She stared at him, trying to imagine where ropes would even go. "It may take some trial and error."

"Do you have better things to do?" Tristan asked, his face as blandly polite as if he were truly asking her the asinine question.

"Valid point, sir." Still, she frowned. Where would the ropes go? "What is the best way to distribute the weight on the porter?"

Tristan grinned and motioned to his waist. "Around the waist, around the chest, and around the forehead is what I've seen."

Well, she was not putting a climbing rope around his head. This rope was far too thick, and the idea of it slipping down around his neck, choking him, was far too unappealing. She'd concentrate on binding herself to him around his waist and chest. Her face heated at the thought, as her memories of last night flashed through her attempts at focusing on her new problem.

After he finished tidying away all of the makings of their love nest, hiding the evidence that anyone was ever here, he came over and attempted to sit next to her on the rock she perched on. It was the only natural seat available, but it didn't work well for two across.

"That's not right," Tristan muttered as he got up, and he swung his leg around behind Eleanor, sliding onto the rock as if he were mounting a horse, with her in front. "There we are." His breath hit right below her ear, in that space he had discovered last night.

She shivered. "How am I to think now?"

He rubbed her arms, his touch deep and intimate. "I have no doubts in the power of your mind."

She nodded, thinking about the type of seat she would manufacture with the climbing rope. One that could be comfortable enough for her for the miles downhill and then to wherever people might be. And then Tristan's hand molded around her breast. Instantly, she felt ready for him again. Her nipples strained to hard points, and now that she knew what to expect, she felt the wet heat between her legs. "Tristan—"

"Hmm?" He used his thumb to tease her nipple through the fabric. "Keep on thinking. I've got this well in hand."

"I can't think when you do that," she said, aware that her voice had dropped to a whine.

"Oh, no? That's too bad." His hand abandoned her breast and pulled up her dress instead. Unlike yesterday, when he took his time getting to the center of her pleasure, this time he went straight for her apex, circling around the hard bud she'd found so much affection for.

Her body arched back into his as he continued his ministrations. She could feel his hard cock pushing into her from behind. Instinctively, she scooted back into it.

"No, my exquisite genius, this is not involving me. You see, you have things to plan while I have nothing to do. And I get bored easily. This is the best way to keep us both focused."

Eleanor had no thoughts of knots or anything but his delicious forearm that flexed down her front, pinning her to him, while he worked his fingers in her wet quim. She gripped his arm as the wave of pleasure crested through her.

"There you are, good girl," Tristan cooed in her ear, the words sending her almost to a second brink.

All right. Eleanor needed to concentrate. Now that she had found her climax, and Tristan had said this wasn't about him, she could focus on the trouble at hand. Indeed, he was dismounting the rock, coming around in front of her, rubbing the sizeable bulge in the front of his trousers.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?" Eleanor asked, very distracted by the sight of him.

"Keep going with that big brain of yours," Tristan said. "I'm quite busy, I assure you."

But he didn't take care of himself, which Eleanor very much wanted to watch. He pushed her legs apart, flipped her skirts up to her waist, and knelt. "But what—"

He grinned, and bent down, put his face right at her quim and licked.

"Oh, God," she blurted, not meaning to blaspheme. But it was the only thing she could think in that very moment. Suddenly, she could no longer sit up. She leaned back, supported by her elbows, watching his golden head move between her thighs. Then she noticed he was pleasuring himself as he did so, and it was not long until she came again, doing her best to not squeeze his head.

"Nicely done, Eleanor," he said, wiping his mouth on the hem of her skirt. He unbuttoned his trousers, still kneeling in front of her. "Let me admire my handiwork for a moment more, please."

He took his hard, bare cock in hand and slid up and down. She watched, memorizing his motions, wanting so badly to touch him in the ways he touched her. He stared at her wet quim, then he gripped one of her thighs, staring into her eyes as he came, and the warm, ropy seed covered her legs. Tristan sat back on his heels, head down, panting, his hand still strangling his cock.

"Are you well?" she ventured, after moments of him not moving.

When he lifted his head, his blue eyes cut right through her. "Eleanor, I cannot tell you how very ideal it is to be stuck on a mountainside with you, facing death."

She burst out laughing. He did too, and he leaned forward, lacing his sticky fingers behind her waist, his head resting on her hip. She petted his back. "I've never had a better time freezing to death."

"Quite pleasant, is it not?" Tristan's voice was muffled by her skirts.

Suddenly, staring at his back, she knew how she would create the rope structure that would take them both back down to safety. "I know how to do it now."

"I'd say so," Tristan said, rising up.

She batted his arm. "Not that. Carrying me down to town."

"Right. So." Tristan procured the same rag they used last night and cleaned them both.

She could get used to such attentions. It wasn't at all like she'd heard coupling would be—none of the dread, lying in the dark, waiting for a new husband to pass the threshold as if he were fording the Rubicon. This was fun and playful, and she knew she should worry about her ruin, and consequences, but she couldn't. Tristan made her feel safe above all else.

"This is going to be a bit complicated," she said, standing.

"I've no doubt it will be. But let's crack on, shall we?" Tristan pulled the oilskin tarp off the gully, the illusion of their love nest well and truly shattered. The wind found its way in immediately, causing her to slip into her now-dry coat. Both of them dressed fully, hats on and mittens at the ready.

Eleanor sat on the rock once more, unmolested this time, as she concocted an improvised webbing for her to sit on, leaving plenty of tail that would serve to tie around Tristan's waist. After the seat was knotted, she bid Tristan come stand in front of her. She held the heavy rope up, visualizing where and how the rope would connect them. "This will take teamwork."

"I'm excellent at teamwork," Tristan said, standing stock still as she'd asked.

She looked at him, seeing his sly smile. "You know, I think you rather are good at teamwork."

Tristan gave her an encouraging look. "Of course. I don't lie. Everyone thinks I'm joking constantly, but it's only because I tell the truth no one wants to say."

"Like how good looking you are?" Eleanor teased, pulling him around, so he faced away from the rock.

"Exactly. Unless you'd rather argue about it?"

"Arms out," she instructed, stepping up onto the rock. She handed him the long tail she'd left when she'd created her webbing. "Hold this." She wrapped the other end of the rope around, feeding the long, heavy cable along with it. "I'm not arguing with you about anything. You, after all, are my ride."

"Yes, I am," he said with a certainty that made her blush.

She ignored his innuendo and instructed him to wrap the rope, helping to thread the rope, never twisting. By the end, the rope was diagonally wrapped around his chest, creating an X in front, and an X around her in back. "Ready?"

"Climb on," he answered, backing up a little more. So she did, her legs at his hips, her skirts disgracefully tucked to cover as much of her legs as possible. And then they cinched the knot that she instructed him to tie at his chest level.

Her chin was on his shoulder, watching him tie, taking a few turns before, yes, there it was. He cinched, and the ropes creaked as she was pulled into him.

"It's supposed to distribute the weight between your hips and your chest. Is it working?" Eleanor was not the lightest member of their expedition. And she was the type of girl that didn't mind an extra scone at tea time.

He took a step, which made Eleanor feel mildly dizzy. "Yes, I think so. Quite." He deftly tied an overhand stopper at the tail end of the cinch, to keep it from loosening. She was proud of him for that quick bit of thinking.

He climbed out of the gully, a dizzying experience that she shut her eyes against. And then he started down the mountain in a very confident direction.

"Do you know where the trail is?" She had to shout, given the wind.

He nodded. "Where do you think I got the rope from?"

The wind still bit at them, and she was glad for his body heat, though she was wishing for another set of wool stockings. He was sure-footed like a mountain goat, taking great strides when the rocks had dissipated into dirt. She kept her face buried in the soft wool knit of his cap, letting her ears take the brunt of the cold. The rhythm was mesmerizing and sure. Almost like being rocked to sleep. Neither of them spoke. Her ankle still hurt, the wind was still cold on her legs and her back, but she felt strangely at peace.

All of a sudden, he stopped and pointed. Eleanor peered over his shoulder and saw the barn where they'd stayed the night before the climb. She almost wept with relief. They continued the descent, losing sight of the barn, and then finding it again as Tristan fairly ran down the side of the mountain.

They were almost there when the barn door flew open, revealing Lady Rascomb. Her cane was at her side, but it was clear she'd heard something and come to investigate, not expecting to see her son with a woman tied to his back. Eleanor kept her eyes above Tristan's shoulder, watching Lady Rascomb's face as it tumbled from concern to joy and back to concern.

The woman whom Eleanor hoped to call mother-in-law waited until they were close enough to hear before she spoke, as she had excellent manners, and was not raised as a merchant's daughter. Eleanor would have yelled, she just knew it.

"You are safe now. Who is hurt more?" Lady Rascomb looked them both up and down, awkward as they were with Tristan wearing her like a turtle shell.

"Eleanor is. Likely a bad sprain, but enough that she cannot walk on it." Tristan moved towards a nearby rock. "Can you help with untying us?"

They set to work, finally reaching the point of Eleanor standing on her own foot again. But now, Tristan stretched his back, then picked her up, cradled in his arms. "You are much heavier like this."

"That's not how you say it," Lady Rascomb said, leaving the rope where it slid to the grass.

"I don't mind," Eleanor said, "as long as there is something warm in that barn."

They settled in with the blanket bags piled around them and Lady Rascomb plying them with the Highlanders' oatcakes and cheese.

"They'll be here with a wagon soon," Lady Rascomb said, consulting her watch which dangled from a ribbon at her waist. "Everyone agreed on an eight o'clock rendezvous."

"Then why are you here?" Tristan asked. Eleanor recognized that pointed look he gave his mother, the one that cut beyond assumptions and niceties. The expression he gave to those he loved and wanted to take care of.

"I stayed the night out here. I wasn't going to abandon my child." Lady Rascomb looked at him with utter calm.

"Alone?" Tristan went into a sputter. "An English lady stayed alone in a barn in the Highlands? Have you gone mad?"

Her smile was serene, and Eleanor thought about how she would like to learn how to do that—to be calm in the face of someone else's panic.

"Your father was with me. He left at dawn to walk back and gather the others."

"Still. It's irresponsible." Tristan shook his head.

The Highland clearances in the decades before had done what was once thought unthinkable—it made the Scots hate the English even more. Eleanor would not have wanted to stay anywhere on her own. Lady Rascomb was either very brave or very foolish. Eleanor preferred thinking it was bravery.

In short order, they heard the wheels of a wagon and the clop of horse hooves outside. They rose to meet their rescuers, Lady Rascomb offering one of Lord Rascomb's walking poles to help. Tristan rounded exited the barn first, receiving whoops of praise and hollers. Lady Rascomb pushed Eleanor in front of her, and the others whooped even louder at her appearance.

Prudence was the first to crush her into a hug. The slender woman went so far as to pick her off her feet, something that Eleanor was shocked could happen. As soon as her foot was back on the grass, Justine jumped on her, hugging her short arms around Eleanor's neck.

Behind her was Ophelia, and then they were just a knot of women tangled around Eleanor.

"Oh, my Lord, it was terrifying," Justine said in one ear.

"We did it, Eleanor. We did it," Ophelia whispered in the other.

"Come, come," Lord Rascomb boomed from the driver's perch. "Let's get all packed up, make Eleanor comfortable and get them back to the inn. I bet they would be delighted to have a full breakfast."

The women dispersed, and while Tristan used the blanket bags to make her a fine nest on the floor of the wagon, her ankle propped up to reduce the swelling, the other women gathered the rest of the gear left in the barn. Lord Rascomb himself dealt with the heavy climbing rope, winding it 'round with the amount of respect it deserved, considering how much Eleanor had relied on it to save her.

They were on the way back to the inn, the other women chattering while Eleanor's head lolled with lack of sleep.

"What do you want more?" Justine asked. "A cup of tea, a hot bath, or never seeing Tristan's ugly face again?"

Though the question was meant in jest, it jolted Eleanor. She looked at him, and his face revealed the same naked panic. They were entering the real world again, where they had families and obligations, where one couldn't just cozy up to a man for a kiss. There was so much more to do for Eleanor.

"Cup of tea," Eleanor said, giving Tristan a hopeful smile.

"Oh God, no," Justine said glancing between them. Ophelia gave a shy smile, which relieved Eleanor. Even Prudence glanced away, and she was an American. Justine flung herself backwards onto the rest of the blanket bags. "And I liked you and everything."

Back at the inn, Tristan carried her up to her room but had to leave her there. It felt strange to be parted from him, after. A maid brought a breakfast tray, and another set about getting a bath prepared. They hadn't the latest innovations of running water, and thus it still required girls running downstairs to gather up more boiling water.

Eleanor nibbled on the toast, smeared with the best butter she'd ever eaten. Having eaten her fill of the oatcakes at the barn, she focused on drinking down the tea that was still hot. It warmed her from the inside out, but she still didn't like being without Tristan. And there wasn't much of a way to tell him. A note, perhaps?

When the bath was ready and her tea was done, Eleanor hobbled over to settle in. There were aches in her arms and her back that she hadn't even noticed until the other pain was soothed away. She balanced her head on the back of the tub and closed her eyes. She was safe. She had climbed the mountain. Her eyes flew open. But she'd have to tell her mother that she was ruined.

She smiled.