Chapter Thirty-One

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

JULIET 2018

Juliet would never have expected she could be so thrilled about what was, essentially, a hole in the ground. She chalked that up to Noah, who understood and pointed out the details that made this particular hole unique.

"See the remains of the dressed stones?" He shone his high-powered flashlight down, tracing the outline of what looked like a squared-off stone to her. The light moved on. "And the absolute confirmation—steps."

Juliet rolled her eyes. "They look more like a ladder. A crumbly, medieval-ly ladder."

"Trust me—anything that's survived this long is stronger than it looks."

"Go on, then. Show me how strong it is," she dared him.

Noah eyed her mockingly. "Don't tell me you're not the least bit curious about what's down there. You're the one who got me involved, remember? Is it the dark you don't like, or the enclosed space?"

"I'm not especially claustrophobic, no, but that doesn't mean I want to go exploring without proper precautions."

"Which would be?"

Juliet thought of the things Duncan would be saying to her right now—barbed comments about … just about anything, really. He'd never been consistent in his criticisms. One day he'd attack her for being overcautious and the next for being too reckless. She had learned to calculate her choices depending on what she thought Duncan would attack her for. Long ago she'd stopped wondering what she herself wanted.

Faced with a man whose expression was pure curiosity, and with the opening of a medieval tunnel at her feet, Juliet found herself saying, "I suppose I am lighter than you. Fine, I'll test these so-called steps. But I'm not going out of sight of this opening."

"Fair."

It was more thrilling than she wanted to admit. She went down sideways, keeping one hand on the packed earth wall and the other on the irregularly sized stone steps as she eased her way down. Thanks to Noah's preparation, she wore a headlamp to give her light.

It wasn't as far down as she'd feared, which she supposed made sense. If one had to hack out a tunnel of any sort in the days before power tools, one wouldn't want to go any deeper than they had to. Her feet hit ground after twenty steps. "I'm down," she called.

"What do you see?"

Juliet turned her head carefully, adjusting the light as she went. "It definitely looks like a tunnel," she reported. "Just one." She oriented herself to the layout of the chapel above and added, "It's heading away from the house. North, I think."

"Nice. A crawling tunnel, or a walking one?"

"I don't think you could stand upright. I maybe can if it stays the same size. It's awfully narrow though. Might have to turn sideways."

"How far can you see down the tunnel?"

"I'm a historian, not a surveyor. I don't know—ten feet?"

"All right. Come back up now and we can make plans to explore more thoroughly."

She tipped her head back as she began to climb and halfway up turned off the headlamp so as not to blind Noah. In the sudden dimming, her eyes adjusted. Juliet froze four steps from the top, staring not at Noah's square jaw and steady eyes but over his shoulder at the pale, shimmery outline of a woman in long skirts. As Juliet watched, the woman crouched and slid an illusory grave slab over the opening.

Juliet yelped, and Noah's voice cut through the fog. "What's wrong?"

She blinked and all was normal. "Nothing," she said automatically, and finished her climb.

Noah showed her how the grave slab moved so easily. Although it appeared from above to be the same thick granite as the others, that was only on the edges. Much of it had been hollowed out inside, leaving edges that made it possible for someone to push against and move the slab from below.

Inside, they shed their coats and boots and, after checking the time, Juliet offered him a drink. "We're not expected at Rachel's for another hour, right?"

He quickly agreed, and they took a bottle of red wine and glasses into the little medieval sitting room and its far too comfortable sofa. As they talked about secret tunnels and medieval architecture, and made subtle attempts to discover what the other wanted for Christmas, Juliet's phone kept buzzing. She'd checked it when they entered the house and had seen three text messages from her mother. They'd all said basically the same thing: Call me, please. We're all fine, but I need to talk to you.

Finally, Noah asked, "Same person as before?"

"No, just my mom. I can call her later."

"Sounds like she's going to keep calling until you do."

Juliet sighed. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all. I even promise to save you some wine."

She pressed the callback button as she walked down the corridor toward the hidden solar staircase. Her mother answered immediately. Because of course this would be the day the cell reception was perfect.

"Juliet, where are you?"

"What do you mean, where am I? I'm in the middle of Northumberland. Where are you?"

True to form, her mother didn't waste time in snark or answering unnecessary questions. "I had to call the police on Duncan last night. He showed up at our door at midnight, drunk and furious, and looking for you. When I reminded him that threatening a federal judge was a felony, he took off in that stupid convertible of his."

Shit. "I'm sorry he bothered you. He's been suspended by the university—"

"I know. We keep tabs on him. It's you we're worried about."

"Mom, he's hardly likely to drive the convertible across the ocean. Even if he did know where I was."

"I've never thought him particularly stable," her mother retorted. "But if he has nothing to lose, I don't like the thought of what he might do. Sociopaths can be both clever and relentless."

Juliet closed her eyes, swearing freely in her head.

"Juliet, I'm not trying to frighten you. I just want you to be careful."

She wasn't frightened—she was furious. How long was Duncan Whittier going to keep contaminating her life? He'd already cost her ten years and the deepest grief she would ever feel. How dare he worm his way into this fragile new life she was beginning to construct?

Somehow Juliet got off the phone and leaned against the door that hid the solar staircase, an incipient headache coming at the base of her skull. Beneath her anger she could feel other emotions beating—loss and fear and hope and an absolute determination to do what she must to protect what she loved. Juliet could almost feel the weight of Liam in her arms, but instead of grief she felt only awe and gratitude. And when she focused her eyes, the infant she held wasn't pale and still but pink-cheeked and fair-haired, his eyes open and fixed on his mother's …

Edmund … I shouldn't name him for his father, but how can I not … already he looks entirely like a York … but not for my son the loss of war and the games of power … I will protect him, I will save him, I will hide him from danger …

"Juliet?"

Her eyes flew open. She'd forgotten about Noah. She'd almost forgotten herself. Juliet straightened up and knew, with irrational certainty, that those images and feelings had seeped into her from whatever lingered in the medieval solar. Edmund … could that be their nameless ghost boy? Oh God , she thought, I hope not . Because if he's a child ghost, it means his mother couldn't protect him from everything.

Her complicated emotions must have been written all over her face, because Noah didn't say another word. He simply drew her against his shoulder. The simple kindness—missing for so long from her life—undid her. For the first time since the hospital, Juliet began to cry.

At some point she slid to the floor, and he continued to cradle her while she wept out more emotions than she had names for. Slowly, her sobs lengthened out and stopped. Even more slowly, she became vividly conscious of every place she and Noah touched, of the rise and fall of his chest, of the fact that she hadn't been with a man for almost a year—ten weeks into her pregnancy when Duncan had laid a hand on her still-flat stomach and said, "You know you don't really need to gain more than fifteen pounds, right?"

That memory might have put her off, but Noah chose that moment to shift one arm—not to withdraw but to bring his hand to the back of her neck, where he rested it while his fingers stroked the bare skin beneath the collar of her sweater.

Suddenly she wanted nothing more in the world than to be kissing him. She tipped her head up and he met her mouth with his, his tongue flicking in and out until she groaned and moved her hands to the first of his shirt buttons.

Noah drew back and instantly Juliet dropped her hands, face flaming with embarrassment and swollen with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm such a fool. Your instincts must be screaming at you to run away from the crazy woman."

"Hey." He waited for her to meet his eyes. "If it were up to me and my instincts, we'd have gone to bed the day we met. I'm too often reckless and sometimes selfish, but I'm not in the habit of taking advantage of women. I wouldn't want you to regret anything done when you weren't thinking clearly."

"I am thinking clearly. I'm thinking that you're the kindest man I've met in years. I'm thinking that I don't deserve this chance after how badly I screwed up my marriage. I'm thinking Rachel would forgive us for missing dinner." She darted a quick, butterfly kiss to his chin. "And I'm thinking that my bedroom is right there and what are we waiting for?"

He pulled her up and swung her into his arms. As they passed into the bedroom, Juliet thought she heard a soft sigh, as though the house itself approved of their decision.