“Fine. Our resting point is just up ahead, above that rise. It’s the loch, where we can settle for a moment. We’re far ahead of schedule, so I see no reason to burden ourselves further. You lot are quick!”
“Mountain goats,” Eleanor reminded her.
“Maaaa,” bleated Tristan.
They picked through the melting snow, sometimes slipping, but still in good spirits and good time. They reached the plateau with the loch nestled low in it.
Tristan took off the pack he was carrying and handed it around. Inside was a packet of food for each of them. When Eleanor unwrapped her waxed paper, she found oatcakes with crowdie piled between them, a bit of honey stuck in for good measure. Dried apple rings stuck to the sides of it. They shared a water canteen between them. The stones were cold to sit on, andthe breeze that came up chilled her now that they had stopped moving.
Still, it was the best breakfast Eleanor had ever eaten. She grinned like a maniac at her friends in the circle, even at Lord Rascomb, who still intimidated her. He gave her a kindly nod, as if he knew precisely how she felt. She wanted to kiss each one of them on the cheeks and tell them how much she loved them. But since she was still English, she settled for her munching on the delightfully crumbly crowdie cheese.
Prudence finished her meal first and scooped up snow to cleanse her hands before slipping her gloves and then mittens back on. “I feel as if I could just run right up the rest of this mountain.”
Ophelia nodded, sharing her enthusiasm, but still rife with pragmatism. “We still have at least another four hours to go. There are many false summits.”
“Slow and steady wins the race, right Fee?” Justine said, smiling with a mouthful of cheese squeezing between her teeth.
Ophelia scoffed. “Your manners are the worst.”
Justine cackled, choking a bit as she swallowed her mouthful. Eleanor laughed then, the joy bubbling up out of her at the antics of her friends.
Tristan’s swiveled towards her. “I’ve never heard you laugh like that.”
“I am free,” she said, happily. “And so are they. It’s intoxicating.”
Tristan eyed her appreciatively. “As are you.”
Justine cooed, mocking him.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Tristan said, pulling himself up straighter.
Eleanor looked as openly at him as he did at her, unguarded and affectionate. She liked him. She liked him so very much.Between his apology and this mountain, she had little resistance left. “This is already the best day of my life.”
“High praise,” he said.
“I can’t wait to get to get to the top.” Eleanor drank in the chilled spring air.
“Neither can I,” Ophelia said. “Five more minutes to eat and take care of your business, then we’ll be off.”
They were ready in less than four.
“I don’t mean to question you Ophelia, but should we not continue to rope?” Eleanor asked.
“Give how quickly we are moving, and based on what the men at the inn said yesterday, I think we should be fine. We’ll make even better time without the weight, and be snug back at the inn before the storm hits.” Ophelia squeezed her shoulder.
Eleanor eyed the heavy rope coiled at the banks of the loch as they picked up the trail. They would pick it up on the way down in a few hours, along with the rucksack Tristan had carried.
The sun was out in full from behind the clouds, warming the day as they ascended. The mountain became far more steep as they climbed, and Eleanor began to sweat beneath the layers of her clothes. She pulled off her mittens and shoved them in her pocket, which helped.
Each step gained altitude and better views of the surrounding Scottish countryside. They crossed an invisible line on the mountain, and there was snow. Behind her, Prudence let out a girlish giggle. Eleanor turned to see Prudence lifting her skirts to prance through the untouched patches between the rocks. Lord Rascomb had a delighted look on his face, watching Prudence caper about. Eleanor laughed. It was the first time she’d seen the American act anything but the proper widow.
Prudence looked up at Eleanor with a wide grin. “I can’t help it. I love the snow.” And she did what looked like a dance stepand then kicked a bit of snow into the air. The snow caught the low morning light, and it looked like a pale rainbow as it fell.
“It would make someone believe in fairies,” Eleanor said. “It’s beautiful.”
The fog descended upon them, and they could no longer see the views that had helped sustain Eleanor’s spirits.
The morning turned into midday, and still the fog remained. It was the fame of the peak, she supposed, the mountain with its head in the clouds. Still, the snow stayed firm beneath their feet, which Eleanor appreciated. She did not have Prudence’s skill on ice. She looked up toward the peak, even as her woolen skirt weighed her down. The snow had wetted the hem, and the dampness worked its way up the skirt.
