Chapter 30
Thirty
"Help! Please, someone help!" June's voice bounced off the ancient stones, returning to her ears smaller and more pathetic than when it left her lips.
The ruined chamber had grown darker with each passing hour.
Every breath sent a sharp pain through her left side where her ribs had struck something hard during her fall.
"I refuse to die in a pile of medieval rubble," she whispered fiercely, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her fear. "Not when I've only just—" Found him. Found us. Whatever this fragile, beautiful thing between them was becoming.
The true darkness of night had settled fully when she heard a distant voice calling her name.
"June! June!"
The sound was so unexpected that for a moment she wondered if she'd imagined it—a hallucination born of pain and fear.
"June, answer me!"
Dominic's voice, raw with desperation, echoed across the ruins above.
"Here!" she shouted, ignoring the pain that sliced through her ribs. "I'm down here! Dominic!"
Her cry dissolved into a fit of coughing as dust filled her lungs. She covered her mouth, tears springing to her eyes from the strain and the overwhelming relief that someone—that he—had found her.
"June!" His voice sounded closer now. "Keep talking! Where are you?"
"In some sort of chamber," she called back between coughs. "The floor collapsed—I fell through the battlement!"
A scraping sound came from the narrow opening she'd earlier identified as a possible doorway. Light flickered through it—torchlight, moving erratically as if its bearer was rushing.
"My darling!"
Dominic burst through the opening, torch held high, his tall frame having to duck beneath the crumbling lintel. The light illuminated his face, transformed by an emotion so raw and powerful it stole her breath—terror giving way to profound relief.
"Dominic," she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
He was across the chamber in three long strides, kneeling beside her, the torch casting wild shadows across the stone walls. His free hand reached for her face, cupping her cheek as if to reassure himself she was real.
"Are you hurt? Where are you hurt?" His eyes searched her face, her body, looking for injuries.
"My ribs," she said, gesturing to her left side. "When I fell. I'm so sorry, Dominic. I should have been more careful. I should have told someone where—"
"Hush," he interrupted, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek. "You're safe now. That's all that matters."
In one fluid motion, he removed his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. The garment was still warm from his body, carrying his scent—sandalwood and something uniquely him. June clutched it around herself, suddenly aware of how violently she was trembling.
"Can you stand?" he asked, his voice gentler than she'd ever heard it.
She nodded, then bit her lip as she tried to rise and pain lanced through her side. "Perhaps not."
Without another word, Dominic secured the torch in a crevice in the wall, then slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders. He lifted her with careful strength, cradling her against his chest as if she weighed nothing at all.
"Hold tight to me," he murmured, retrieving the torch with the same hand that supported her back.
June wound her arms around his neck, pressing her face against his shoulder as he navigated through the treacherous debris. His heart pounded beneath her ear—fast and hard, betraying the fear he'd mastered in his expression.
"I've got you," he kept saying, whether to reassure her or himself, she wasn't certain. "I've got you."
The night air struck her face as they emerged from the ruins, cold and sweet after the dust-choked chamber. Lanterns bobbed in the distance—servants searching the grounds. Dominic called out to them, his voice carrying across the darkness with commanding power.
"Here! We need help!"
The journey back to Icemere passed in a blur of pain and relief.
June tried to focus on anything other than the throbbing in her side—the solid warmth of Dominic's chest, the way his arms tightened protectively whenever she winced, the determined set of his jaw as he carried her all the way back to the castle without once relinquishing her to another's care.
When they reached Icemere's entrance, what seemed like the entire household had gathered. Gasps and murmured prayers rose from the assembled servants as Dominic strode through the doors with June in his arms, her face pale against the dark wool of his coat.
Louisa rushed forward from the crowd, her pale eyes wide with concern.
"June! Oh my dear girl!" She reached out to touch June's hand, then turned to the hovering servants. "Hot water, blankets—and where is Dr. Forrest? Has he arrived yet?"
"On his way, Your Grace," Mr. Winters replied from somewhere in the crowd.
"Prepare our chambers," Dominic ordered, already moving toward the grand staircase. "And bring up broth and tea."
June pressed her face against his neck, overwhelmed by the concern surrounding her. "I can walk now, I think," she whispered, though she made no real effort to leave his arms.
"Not a chance," Dominic replied, his grip tightening slightly. "I'm not letting you go."
The words, simple as they were, sent warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with pain.
Dominic carried her all the way to their chambers, where a fire already roared in the hearth. With exquisite gentleness, he settled her on a chaise that had been pulled close to the warmth. June bit back a moan as her ribs protested even this careful movement.
"Where does it hurt?" Dominic asked, kneeling beside her, his face tight with concern.
Before she could answer, there was a knock at the door. The physician had arrived, a balding man with kind eyes. Dominic moved aside reluctantly, hovering nearby as Dr. Forrest examined her.
"Breathe in, Your Grace," the physician instructed, pressing careful fingers against her ribs. "And out. Good."
June winced as he found the tender spot.
"Bruised ribs, I believe," Dr. Forrest announced finally. "Painful, but not broken. A lucky escape, all things considered." He checked her limbs with practiced movements. "No other injuries?"
"My ankle twisted a bit during the fall, but it doesn't hurt now," June replied.
The physician manipulated her ankle gently, nodding with satisfaction. "No sprain there. You've been fortunate, Your Grace." He straightened, addressing both of them now. "Rest is what she needs most. No exertion for at least a week."
After the physician departed with promises to return the following day, Dominic transformed into the most attentive of nurses.
He adjusted pillows behind her back, offered broth from a silver spoon he held to her lips, and tucked blankets around her with such tender care that tears sprang to June's eyes.
"You needn't fuss so," she said softly, though the warmth in her chest grew with each gentle touch.
"I'll fuss as much as I please," Dominic replied, his attempt at a light tone undermined by the lingering fear in his eyes. He smoothed a strand of hair from her forehead, his fingers trailing against her skin. "When I couldn't find you..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. June could see it in his face—the stark terror he'd experienced, so at odds with his usual composed demeanor.
"Dominic," Louisa's voice came from the doorway, gentle but firm. "She needs sleep more than your hovering."
The dowager duchess approached, laying a hand on her son's shoulder. June met her mother-in-law's eyes over Dominic's head and offered a grateful smile. Practical kindness, exactly what was needed.
"I'm not hovering," Dominic protested, even as he straightened yet another blanket across June's lap. "I'm ensuring her comfort."
"And doing an admirable job," Louisa said, squeezing his shoulder. "But now she requires rest, and you, my son, look as though you might collapse yourself."
June reached for Dominic's hand, threading her fingers through his. "She's right. I'm perfectly comfortable now, thanks to you."
His eyes met hers, blue and intense in the firelight. Something passed between them—unspoken but profound—before he nodded and raised her hand to his lips.
"As you wish," he murmured against her skin. "But I'll be nearby if you need anything at all."
Dominic stood by the hearth, one shoulder propped against the mantel, his eyes never leaving June's sleeping form.
She lay curled on the chaise where he'd placed her hours ago, still wrapped in his coat despite the blankets he'd piled around her.
The firelight painted her face in amber and gold, peaceful now though hours earlier it had been contorted with pain and fear.
His chest tightened at the memory; her voice, weak with dust and terror, calling his name from the depths of the ruins.
He could still feel the cold stone beneath his palms as he'd clawed his way through debris to reach her, still taste the acrid fear that had coated his throat with each desperate shout of her name.
His hands trembled at his sides, an after-effect of terror he couldn't quite master. He curled them into fists, as if he could physically contain the emotion threatening to overwhelm him.
The mantel clock ticked softly in the stillness, marking each precious second of June's peaceful sleep.
Her chestnut hair had come loose from its pins, spilling across the cushion in waves that caught the firelight.
The rise and fall of her chest beneath the blankets reassured him with each breath, though he knew her ribs pained her even in sleep.
He had never known fear like he'd experienced today.
Not when facing down armed highwaymen on the road to Damascus, not during that terrible storm at sea off the Greek coast, not even when the first symptoms of his family's curse had manifested.
Nothing compared to the cold, all-consuming dread that had gripped him upon realizing June was missing.
"She's gone to the ruins." His mother's words had struck him like a physical blow. The ancient Blake castle ruins—unstable, treacherous, claiming a piece of itself with each passing year.
He had run until his lungs burned, shouting her name with increasing desperation. The servants' lanterns had bobbed around him like bewildered stars as they spread across the grounds, but Dominic had outpaced them all, driven by a terror so profound it obliterated all else.
Please, he had thought with each pounding footstep. Please let her be safe. Please don't take her from me.
When he'd heard her voice—weak but alive—answering his calls, the relief had nearly driven him to his knees.
He'd forced his way through the narrow opening in the ruins' lower chamber, torch held high, and there she was—pale, dusty, clearly in pain, but wonderfully, gloriously alive.
The moment their eyes met across that crumbling chamber had altered something fundamental within him, some truth he had been avoiding since their first encounter.
Dominic pushed away from the mantel, crossing silently to where June slept.
He knelt beside the chaise, studying her face in the firelight.
A small smudge of dirt still marked her cheekbone, despite his attempts to clean away the dust of the ruins.
Without thinking, he reached out, brushing it gently with his thumb.
June stirred slightly but didn't wake, her brow furrowing momentarily before smoothing again. Dominic withdrew his hand, unwilling to disturb her much-needed rest.
"I carried you home," he whispered, so softly the words barely disturbed the air between them. "I would have carried you forever if needed."
And he had carried her—through treacherous debris, across the moonlit grounds, up the grand staircase—refusing to relinquish her to anyone else's care.
His arms had ached, but he'd barely noticed, focused only on the precious weight against his chest, the soft warmth of her breath against his neck, the undeniable miracle of her life continuing.
He rose and moved to the window, drawing back the heavy curtain to gaze out at the night. The moon illuminated the grounds, casting long shadows across the formal gardens and silvering the distant treetops. Somewhere beyond those trees lay the ruins where he had almost lost her.
Almost lost her.
The phrase echoed in his mind like a tolling bell. Today's terror had been temporary—a few hours of desperate searching, of imagining the worst. But what of tomorrow? Or next year? Or whenever the Blake curse finally claimed him, as it had claimed his father and grandfather before him?
What would her grief be like then?
He pressed his forehead against the cold glass, closing his eyes against the thought.
He had seen grief close up—watched his mother waste away with it after his father's death, observed widows at funerals collapsing beneath the weight of their sorrow.
The idea of June experiencing such pain, of watching her build a life with him only to have it ripped away, was unbearable.
She would recover, a selfish voice inside him argued. She's strong. Resilient.
But was that truly what he wanted for her? To recover from loving him? To piece herself back together after he'd shattered her world? To become another Blake widow, her youth spent caring for a dying husband?
Dominic turned back toward the room, his eyes finding June once more.
In sleep, she looked younger, the sharp wit and fierce intelligence that animated her features softened into something vulnerable.
She had already endured his illness at the inn, had tended him through fever and cough.
But that had been a mere cold and nothing compared to what awaited him.
What awaited her, if she remained by his side.
Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. Dominic would not subject her to that fate.