Page 20

T he last of the royal party’s dust had settled on the horizon three days past, yet Baldwin found himself still checking over his shoulder, half-expecting to find another courtier lurking with some new ridiculous demand.

The castle had exhaled its collective breath, servants no longer scurrying with that particular wide-eyed panic that accompanied royal visits.

Even the stones of Glenhaven seemed to settle back into their familiar patterns, no longer straining to impress.

He paused at the window of his solar, watching as rain clouds gathered over the distant hills.

The royal visit had left him with new lands to the south, a generous gift from King Edward, and a strange emptiness he couldn’t quite name.

His gaze drifted to the courtyard below, where Beth stood with Eleanor, their heads bent together as Beth demonstrated something with animated hands.

Even from this distance, he could see the passion that lit her features when she explained things, the way her entire body seemed to participate in her thoughts.

The woman was a mystery wrapped in contradictions.

Brilliant, yet vulnerable and awkward at times.

Foreign yet somehow belonging. She had charmed the White Queen herself, made Edward laugh with her strange demonstrations, and somehow survived the scrutiny of Jacquetta, who missed nothing.

And now she remained at Glenhaven, bringing light to corners he’d forgotten existed.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. “Enter,” he called, turning from the window.

Father Gregory stepped inside, his robes rustling softly against the rush-strewn floor. “My lord, I’ve brought those manuscripts you requested.” The old priest’s eyes twinkled knowingly. “The ones about the stars and heavenly bodies.”

Baldwin cleared his throat. “My thanks. I thought they might interest our... guest.”

“Indeed.” The priest set the bound volumes on the table. “She has a most curious mind. Yesterday she asked me about the properties of sulfur and saltpeter in a way that suggests she knows far more than she reveals.”

“She claims to be a teacher of natural philosophy,” Baldwin said carefully, running his fingers along the tooled leather of the nearest manuscript.

“Whatever she is,” Father Gregory said with a small smile, “she has brought life back to these halls. I haven’t seen you so engaged with your library since before your father’s passing.”

Baldwin frowned, uncomfortable with the priest’s perception. “She will need occupation. The royal visit distracted her, but now...” He trailed off, unsure how to explain his concern that Beth might grow restless, or worse, melancholy, now that the excitement had passed.

“The lady seems to find occupation wherever she goes,” Father Gregory observed. “Just this morning, I found her collecting rainwater in glass vials. When I inquired as to her purpose, she spoke of ‘testing theories’ in a most enthusiastic manner.”

Baldwin’s lips quirked despite himself. “No doubt she’ll set something ablaze before the week is out.”

“No doubt,” the priest agreed cheerfully. “I shall leave you to your... preparations.” With a knowing bow, he departed, leaving Baldwin alone with the books and his thoughts.

Rain began to patter against the window, a gentle drumming that promised a downpour. He gathered the manuscripts, his fingers brushing vellum worn soft with age, a familiar comfort that did little to ease the knot tightening in his chest. Saints, why should he be nervous? Yet he was.

He’d overheard her in the solar just the day before, her voice low but kind as she spoke to one of the new maids, Gera, with the ginger hair and a face full of freckles that earned her no end of cruel jests from the others.

“Do not worry over what is said,” Beth had told her, tucking a strand of hair behind the girl’s ear. “You’re lovely, just as you are.”

Gera had wiped her eyes, visibly heartened, managing a weak smile. Beth had sighed and added, “I’m envious of your freckles. I’ve never been what anyone would call pretty. I accepted that long ago.”

The daft woman couldn’t have been more wrong.

She had no notion what her smile did to a room. How her eyes turned luminous when some puzzle stirred her clever mind, how even her frown caused a flutter beneath his ribs. She was striking in her own peculiar, wholly unknowing way, and it confounded him.

Would she find his books primitive? Would she scoff at pages written by candlelight and studied by fire instead of cold, clinical lamps? Or would her eyes spark with that hunger for knowledge, the one he found himself desperate to see again?

He clutched the manuscripts tighter, reluctant to admit even to himself how eager he was to see her reaction.

Beth stood at her chamber window, watching lightning flash in the distance. The storm was moving closer, electricity crackling in the air in a way that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. It reminded her of that night in her lab, the night everything changed.

Her small collection of makeshift equipment sat arranged on the wooden table by the hearth.

Glass vials borrowed from Father Gregory’s stores, copper wires salvaged from broken jewelry, various powders and substances she’d managed to collect or create.

She’d spent weeks gathering what she needed, preparing for a storm like this one.

One last attempt. One final experiment to see if she could recreate the conditions of her accidental time jump.

The ring Elizabeth Woodville had given her, a delicate band of gold set with an emerald, glinted on her finger.

A gift from a queen five centuries dead in Beth’s original timeline.

The thought no longer chilled her, as it once had.

Somehow, impossibly, this medieval world was beginning to feel like a place she could belong. Somewhere to call home .

A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts.

“Enter,” she called, hastily draping a cloth over her experimental apparatus.

The heavy oak door swung open to reveal Baldwin, his broad shoulders filling the frame, several books and rolled parchments cradled in his arms. Rain had darkened his hair where droplets clung to the ends, and his grey eyes seemed to reflect the storm gathering outside.

“I thought you might desire something to occupy your mind,” he said, stepping into the room. “Now that the king and his entourage have departed.”

Genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness, she smiled. “Books are always welcome.”

He placed them carefully on a small table, his movements surprisingly gentle for such a powerfully built man. “These contain observations of the heavens. Ancient theories on the movements of stars and planets.”

Beth’s heart quickened as she moved closer, running her fingers reverently over the oldest volume. “Ptolemy?”

Baldwin looked impressed. “You know of him?”

“I studied his work—” She caught herself. “That is, I’ve heard of his theories.”

Baldwin’s eyes narrowed slightly at her slip, but he didn’t press. Instead, he opened the top manuscript, revealing intricate, hand-drawn diagrams of celestial bodies. “Father Gregory believes these copies date back nearly three centuries.”

The pages smelled of dust and aging parchment, the ink faded to a warm sepia. Beth’s fingers hovered over the delicate illustrations, not quite touching. In her time, these would be museum pieces behind glass, but here they were living documents, meant to be read and studied.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispered.

Baldwin watched her face, something softening in his expression. “You truly love knowledge.”

“It’s been my whole life,” she admitted. “Understanding how things work, why they happen... It’s like solving the most fascinating puzzle imaginable.”

A crash of thunder shook the castle walls, making Beth jump. The storm was almost directly overhead now, the rain lashing against the narrow window.

“Perfect timing,” Baldwin said with a wry smile. “We shall have ample opportunity to discuss the heavens while they rage above us.”

Beth glanced at her covered experiment, then back at Baldwin. The intensity of his gaze made something flutter in her chest. “I’d like that.”

Hours later, they sat before the hearth in Baldwin’s library, manuscripts spread between them on a low table. The fire cast dancing shadows across the stone walls, warming the otherwise chilly chamber. Outside, the storm continued unabated, rain drumming steadily on the roof.

“So you believe the earth moves around the sun, not the other way around?” Baldwin asked, his voice a mix of skepticism and fascination.

Beth bit her lip, considering how much to reveal. “It’s... a theory I find compelling.”

“It contradicts everything written here,” he said, gesturing to the open books.

“Sometimes the most revolutionary ideas seem impossible at first,” she replied carefully. “Think about it. Have you ever seen the sun actually move across the sky? Or does it appear that way because we’re the ones moving?”

Baldwin leaned back in his chair, regarding her thoughtfully. The firelight caught the planes of his face, highlighting the strong jaw and the small scar near his temple. “You speak of such things with such certainty.”

“I speak of possibilities,” she corrected, warming her hands on the cup of spiced wine he’d provided. The rich scent of cinnamon and cloves rose with the steam.

“And what of other possibilities?” he asked, his voice dropping lower. “The possibility that you were sent here for a purpose?”

Beth’s heart skipped. “What purpose could that be?”

His gaze held hers, unwavering. “Perhaps to teach us things we would not otherwise know. Perhaps to change what might have been.”

The air between them seemed to thicken. Beth was acutely aware of how close they sat, of the intimacy created by the storm raging outside while they remained safe and warm within these ancient walls.

“I’m not sure I believe in destiny,” she said softly.