Chapter 27 #2
The simple truth of her observation struck him with unexpected force.
Yes, Icemere mattered. It had always mattered, even when he'd pretended indifference, even when he'd spent years in London living as if each day might be his last. The castle, the land—they were in his blood as surely as the weakness that threatened to cut his life short.
They continued their ride, descending the ridge toward a small lake that gleamed silver in the pale sunlight. As they approached, a flight of geese rose from the water, their wings beating a thunderous rhythm against the still air.
"Do you truly find Dancer as impressive as you claim?" June asked suddenly, breaking the companionable silence that had fallen between them.
Dominic turned to her, amused by the challenge in her tone. "More so. He's the fastest horse in the county."
"Is he indeed?" June's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Marigold seems to believe otherwise."
"Does she now? And did she tell you this herself, or are you merely speculating based on her confident demeanor?"
"We women have ways of communicating that men cannot possibly comprehend," June replied loftily, though her lips twitched with suppressed laughter.
"Then perhaps we should settle the matter empirically," Dominic suggested, nodding toward the open stretch of meadow that led back toward the castle. "A race to the stables?"
June's eyes widened. "I couldn't possibly—"
"Afraid of losing?" he interrupted, brow arched in deliberate provocation.
Her expression shifted immediately from hesitation to determination. "Prepare to be thoroughly humbled, Your Grace."
Without warning, she urged Marigold forward, the mare leaping into a gallop across the frost-hardened grass. Dominic watched for half a second, admiring both horse and rider, before spurring Dancer after them.
The wind tore at his face as the stallion stretched into a full gallop, hooves pounding a relentless rhythm against the earth. Ahead, June rode with surprising skill, her back straight, her hands steady on the reins as Marigold flew across the open field.
For a moment, Dominic forgot everything—his condition, his borrowed time, the constant shadow of mortality that had dogged him since boyhood.
There was only this: the thunderous heartbeat of his horse beneath him, the exhilaration of speed, and the glorious sight of his wife riding as if born to the saddle, her laughter carried back to him on the wind.
They raced neck and neck for several breathless moments, but Dancer's superior speed eventually told. Dominic urged his mount forward with a triumphant whoop, pulling ahead in the final stretch before the stables came into view.
He reined in at the stable yard, dismounting quickly despite the sudden lightheadedness that assaulted him. By the time June arrived moments later, he had mastered himself enough to offer her a victorious smile, though his lungs burned with each breath.
"You cheated," she accused, though her eyes danced with merriment rather than genuine umbrage.
"I won fairly," he countered, moving to help her dismount. "Though I admit, you ride far better than I anticipated. Where did you learn such skill?"
"My father believed all his children should be accomplished riders," June replied as his hands closed around her waist. "Even the daughters he despaired of marrying off."
Dominic lifted her from the saddle, his hands lingering at her waist longer than strictly necessary. He could feel her warmth through the layers of wool and linen, could see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.
"He would be proud to see you now," Dominic murmured. "Duchess of Icemere, mistress of all you survey."
June's hands came to rest on his shoulders, neither pushing him away nor pulling him closer. "And what do I survey, Dominic?"
"A man," he answered simply, "who finds himself increasingly unable to remember why he ever thought he could resist you."
Her lips parted slightly, her gaze dropping to his mouth. The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with possibility. Dominic leaned closer, drawn by an irresistible pull, the space between them narrowing to mere inches.
"Your Grace!"
The stable boy's voice shattered the moment like glass. Dominic stepped back reflexively, his hands falling from June's waist as the lad rounded the corner, staggering under the weight of two heavy water buckets.
"Fresh water for the horses, Your Grace," the boy announced, apparently oblivious to the intimate tableau he had interrupted.
"Thank you, Thomas," Dominic replied, maintaining a polite smile through sheer force of will. "Dancer will need extra attention after our ride. He's earned it."
"Yes, Your Grace. Right away, Your Grace," the boy said, bobbing his head repeatedly as he maneuvered the buckets toward the stalls.
When Dominic turned back to June, she had already stepped away, adjusting her cloak with careful hands. The moment—whatever it might have become—had passed.
"Shall we walk back to the castle?" he suggested, offering his arm. "The gardens are particularly fine, even in winter."
June nodded, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. They strolled in companionable silence through the formal gardens, now stripped of summer's glory but beautiful still in their stark winter geometry.
"You rode well today," Dominic said, covering her hand with his own. "I should have known you'd be a natural horsewoman."
"Hardly natural," June demurred. "I've simply had excellent teachers. And an excellent mount."
"I'll arrange for Marigold to be yours permanently," he decided. "You suit each other."
June's smile warmed him more effectively than any fire could have done. "Thank you. I'd like that very much."
They continued walking, their breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. Dominic found himself studying her profile, committing to memory the curve of her cheek, the determined set of her chin, the way the cold brought roses to her complexion.
"Should we travel to Greece next summer?" she asked suddenly, turning those amber eyes to his. "You can show me that fishing village you talked about."
Something pierced Dominic's heart at the innocent question—a pain sharper than any physical discomfort he'd experienced. Next summer. Nearly a year away. Would he still be here? Would his heart still beat, his lungs still draw breath? Or would June be left a widow, her dreams of travel unfulfilled?
For an instant, he nearly said it—the cold truth that hung between them like an unspoken vow. But the hope in her eyes stopped the words in his throat. Instead, he forced a smile and nodded, unable to bring himself to extinguish that light.
As they continued their walk toward the castle, its ancient stones glowing golden in the afternoon sun, Dominic allowed himself to imagine it: June beside him on a sunlit Mediterranean shore, her skin bronzed by the Greek sun, her laughter mingling with the cry of gulls and the rhythmic surge of waves against the sand.
I might not be around then, June, he thought, the words piercing his heart like a thousand daggers.