Chapter 13 #2
What could fate possibly have in store for me besides misery? The thought surfaced unbidden, bitter as gall. His gaze drifted to the sky, where clouds had gathered like a promise of things to come—dark, ominous, and inevitable. Like his future. Like his bloodline's curse.
The path widened, leading them into the meadow that Theo had described. Dominic scanned the open space, his eyes automatically searching for a particular figure among those seated beneath the great oak at the center.
Two women, not three. His heart performed an unexpected, troublesome lurch.
May and April sat on a checkered blanket, nibbling at what appeared to be tarts, completely unaware of the weather's darkening mood.
They looked up as the men approached, their expressions shifting from surprise to delight.
But Dominic barely noticed their warm greetings.
His attention remained fixed on the absence he felt more keenly than he cared to admit.
"Where is June?" August asked, voicing the question that had lodged in Dominic's throat.
April waved her hand dismissively. "She found our picnic boring and wandered off. She'll return shortly, I'm sure."
Dominic looked up at the sky again. The clouds had thickened, deepening from pearl to slate. A distant rumble of thunder confirmed his suspicions. "A storm is coming," he said, unable to keep the concern from his voice.
August shrugged. "June has survived worse than a little rain."
"She mentioned something about seeking an old church nearby," May offered, gathering up plates with Logan's assistance. "She was quite excited about the prospect."
Dominic's jaw clenched so tightly he felt a muscle twitch in his cheek. "Of all the places to choose for a picnic, you duchesses had to come here." The words emerged sharper than intended, but he couldn't temper them. Not with the knowledge of what lay beyond the tree line.
April frowned, clearly confused by his vehemence. "I don't understand your concern. It's a lovely spot."
"Lovely, yes, and adjacent to an ancient ruin that's been decaying for three hundred years," Dominic retorted. "The last time I visited, half the roof had collapsed. One good storm could bring down what remains."
Understanding dawned on the faces around him. Theo glanced at the sky, his expression growing grave. "We should return to the carriage immediately."
As if to punctuate his words, the first drops of rain began to fall—fat, heavy drops that promised more to follow.
"Logan and I will escort the ladies back," Theo decided, helping April to her feet. "You and August find June before this drizzle becomes a downpour."
Dominic didn't wait for further discussion.
He strode toward the tree line, August hurrying to catch up.
The path June must have taken was barely visible, little more than a game trail winding through the underbrush.
Dominic followed it with single-minded determination, ignoring the branches that snagged at his coat and the increasing tempo of rain pattering through the leaves above.
"I've never seen you so concerned about my sister's welfare before," August remarked as they pushed deeper into the woods.
Dominic ignored the observation. "How far is this church?"
"Not far. Just beyond that rise." August pointed ahead. "Though I'm not convinced June is in any real danger. She's remarkably self-sufficient."
"Self-sufficient doesn't stop a stone wall from collapsing on one's head," Dominic muttered.
They crested the small hill, and there it stood—what remained of St. Bartholomew's Church, its walls partly reclaimed by ivy, its windows empty sockets staring blankly at the forest around it. Even in its decay, it maintained a certain dignity, a reminder of faith outlasting its physical vessel.
Under different circumstances, Dominic might have appreciated its melancholy beauty. Now, he saw only crumbling stone and rotting timber—hazards waiting to claim a curious, headstrong woman who never seemed to consider her own safety.
A shifting sound—stone against stone—came from within the ruin. Dominic's heart stuttered in his chest.
"June!" August called, but Dominic was already moving, sprinting toward the arched doorway that still stood guard over the church's empty nave.
"Wait here," he ordered August, not bothering to check if his friend complied.
He ducked through the doorway, blinking to adjust his vision to the dimmer interior. Rain dripped through gaps in what remained of the roof, forming small puddles on the stone floor. The air smelled of wet earth, decaying wood, and time itself—ancient, patient, indifferent to human concerns.
And there she was, kneeling beside a section of wall, her skirts spread around her like a pool of spilled ink, her fingers tracing patterns in the stone with the absorption of a scholar deciphering a precious text.
She appeared completely unaware of the danger, of the storm, of anything beyond the mystery before her.
"Have you lost your mind?" The words burst from Dominic before he could temper them with politeness.
June started, whirling to face him with her hand pressed to her chest. "Your Grace! What on earth—"
"A storm is coming," he cut her off, striding toward her. "This entire structure could collapse at any moment. We need to leave. Now."
She rose to her feet, brushing dirt from her skirts with infuriating calm.
"I assure you, I'm in no danger. Those sounds you heard were merely some small stones I was moving to examine the foundation.
I believe this church was built upon a pagan temple, possibly Roman in origin.
See these markings?" She gestured to the wall, her eyes bright with discovery.
"They're not consistent with Norman architecture. I think—"
"I think," Dominic interrupted, "that your academic curiosity is going to get you killed."
June drew herself up, indignation flashing in her amber eyes. "That is absurdly dramatic. The main supports are perfectly sound. I checked before entering."
"You checked?" Dominic repeated, incredulous. "And what expertise do you have in structural integrity, Lady June? Did you perhaps study architecture between your Latin lessons and archery practice?"
"Don't patronize me," she snapped, turning back to the wall. "I need just a few more minutes to confirm my theory. This could be an important historical discovery."
"It could also be your tomb." The rain was falling harder now, drumming against what remained of the roof, trickling down the walls in rivulets. Thunder rumbled, closer than before.
Dominic had reached the limit of his patience. In one swift movement, he bent, wrapped his arm around June's waist, and hoisted her over his shoulder.
Her reaction was immediate and vocal. "Put me down!" She pounded her fists against his back, her legs kicking uselessly in the air. "You cannot do this! Unhand me at once!"
"I can and I will," Dominic replied, turning toward the door.
June's weight across his shoulder was substantial enough to remind him she was no delicate flower, but not so heavy he couldn't carry her the entire way back to the carriage if necessary.
"Your brother can deal with your temper once you're safe. "
"My brother?" June twisted, trying to see behind them. "August is here?"
"Waiting outside," Dominic confirmed, ducking through the doorway. "Though he seems remarkably unconcerned about your reckless behavior."
August stood beneath a tree, relatively sheltered from the now-steady rain. His eyebrows rose at the sight of Dominic emerging with his sister slung over his shoulder, but to his credit, he made no comment.
"August!" June called, craning her neck to see him. "Tell this—this barbarian to put me down!"
August merely fell into step beside Dominic. "The carriage is waiting at the edge of the meadow," he said mildly. "Theo and the others have already departed."
"August!" June's voice rose an octave. "Are you truly going to allow this?"
"It seems the most expedient solution," her brother replied, the barest hint of amusement coloring his tone. "The rain is getting worse."
June's struggles gradually subsided as they made their way back through the woods, though Dominic could practically feel the fury radiating from her.
He adjusted his grip, trying to make her as comfortable as possible without relinquishing his hold.
The path had grown slick with rain, and the last thing he wanted was to slip and send them both tumbling into the mud.
By the time they reached the waiting carriage, all three were thoroughly damp. Dominic deposited June onto the carriage seat with considerably less gentleness than he might have shown under different circumstances.
"You will regret this," she said, her voice quiet but vibrating with intensity as she straightened her skirts.
"I already do," he replied, though that wasn't entirely true.
What he regretted was not finding her sooner, not protecting her from her own curiosity, not keeping her safe.
What he didn't regret was touching her, holding her, feeling the solid warmth of her against him, even in such an undignified manner.
August climbed in after them, settling onto the opposite seat with a sigh. The carriage lurched into motion, wheels splashing through newly formed puddles.
June glared at Dominic, droplets of rain clinging to her eyelashes like tiny crystals. "I will come back here," she declared, "and neither of you will stop me."
Her eyes held Dominic's in challenge, and he felt something electric ignite inside of him—something dangerous and thrilling, like lightning seeking ground.
In that moment, soaked through and fuming, she was more alive, more compelling, than any woman he had ever known.
And God help him, he wanted her with a ferocity that threatened to consume whatever remained of his carefully constructed defenses.