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“Yet here you are,” he countered, “in a time not your own, speaking of stars and earth moving in ways no one has conceived.”

A particularly violent crack of thunder made Beth start as she sloshed wine on her gown.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, dabbing at the spreading stain.

Baldwin reached for a cloth, his fingers brushing hers as he helped blot the spill. The brief contact sent a jolt through her that had nothing to do with the lightning outside.

“I should go,” she said suddenly, standing. “The storm, I need to... observe it. For scientific purposes.”

Baldwin rose as well, his height making the room seem smaller. “Beth,” he said, the rare use of her name stopping her retreat. “Whatever you seek in this storm, be careful. The lightning strikes close tonight.”

Their eyes met, and Beth wondered if he somehow knew what she planned to attempt. The concern in his gaze made her chest ache.

“I’m always careful,” she lied, and slipped from the room.

The rain soaked her to the skin within moments of her reaching the small courtyard garden.

She’d chosen this spot carefully, sheltered from view by stone walls, yet open to the sky.

Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating her makeshift apparatus.

Copper wires arranged in a circle, vials of carefully prepared substances, and at the center, a small metal basin.

Her hands trembled as she worked, partly from the cold, partly from the enormity of what she was attempting.

The conditions weren’t perfect. She lacked most of the chemicals from her lab, but the storm provided the energy she needed.

If her theory was correct, the combination of electrical charge, certain chemical reactions, and perhaps.

.. blood... might recreate whatever portal had sent her here.

Her parents had to be frantic, wondering what had happened to her.

Thunder cracked directly overhead as she mixed the final compounds. Rain streamed down her face, plastering her hair to her scalp. The gown she wore was soaked, the heavy fabric clinging to her legs, hampering her movements.

“Come on,” she muttered, positioning the copper wires to better attract the lightning. “Just one good strike.”

As if in answer, the sky split open with a blinding flash. Beth gasped as electricity charged the surrounding air. Now or never. She pricked her finger with a small blade, letting three drops of blood fall into the mixture.

The solution bubbled and hissed, turning a familiar blue. Beth’s heart raced. It was working! She stepped into the center of the copper circle, holding her breath as another lightning bolt raced toward the earth.

The strike hit nearby, close enough that Beth felt the charge in her teeth. The mixture in the basin glowed eerily blue, exactly as it had in her lab that night. For one wild moment, she thought she glimpsed the fluorescent lights of her classroom, the familiar outline of her whiteboard.

Then... nothing.

The glow faded. The mixture stopped bubbling. Rain continued to pour, indifferent to her failure.

Beth stood frozen, water streaming down her face, mingling with tears she couldn’t hold back. It hadn’t worked. She was truly trapped here, centuries from everything she’d known.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, letting the rain wash away her hopes of return, before she became aware of a presence behind her.

“Beth.”

Baldwin stood at the garden entrance, soaked to the skin, his expression unreadable in the darkness. How long had he been watching?

“It didn’t work,” she said, her voice breaking. “I can’t go back.”

He moved toward her slowly, as one might approach a wounded animal. “Did you want to?”

The question hung between them, weighted with implications neither had voiced. Beth looked at the failed experiment, then back at Baldwin’s face, illuminated briefly by another flash of lightning.

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” she admitted. “I thought I did, but now...”

He reached her side, rain streaming down his face. Without speaking, he gathered the copper wires and vials, dismantling her experiment with careful hands. When he’d cleared everything away, he turned to her again.

“Come inside,” he said simply, offering his hand.

Beth hesitated only a moment before placing her fingers in his. His hand was warm despite the rain, solid and real in a way that anchored her to this time, this place.

As they walked back toward the castle, the revelation hit. The failure of her experiment should have devastated her, and part of her was devastated, but if she were honest, another part, growing stronger by the day, felt something like relief.

The great hall was quiet save for the crackling of the fire when Baldwin returned from changing his wet clothes.

Beth sat before the hearth, wrapped in a woolen blanket, her damp hair catching the firelight like burnished copper.

She’d changed into a simple linen shift, her feet bare on the rush-strewn floor.

“You’ll catch a chill,” he said, settling on the bench beside her.

“Probably,” she agreed with a small smile. “Though I’m not convinced ‘catching a chill’ works the way everyone here thinks it does.”

Baldwin studied her profile, the delicate curve of her nose, the stubborn set of her chin. “What were you attempting in the garden?”

For a long moment she was silent, watching the flames dance. “I thought I might find a way home,” she finally said. “The storm... it reminded me of the night I arrived here. I thought perhaps I could recreate the conditions.”

“And now?”

She turned to face him, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “Now I accept that this is where I am. Where I’m meant to be, perhaps.”

Something loosened in his chest, a tension he hadn’t fully acknowledged until it released. “And does that thought bring you sorrow?”

“Not as much as it should,” she admitted softly. “There are... reasons to stay even as I miss my parents.”

Their eyes met, and Baldwin felt the world narrow to this moment, this woman. The space between them was charged with something more powerful than the lightning outside.

Before he could respond, the hall door opened, and Jason entered with a tray. “My lord, I’ve brought mulled wine to ward off the chill.”

The spell broken, Baldwin nodded his thanks as his squire set down the tray and discreetly withdrew. He poured two cups, handing one to Beth.

“To new beginnings,” he said, raising his cup.

Her smile was tentative but genuine. “To accepting where you are, even if it’s not where you expected to be.”

They drank in companionable silence, watching the fire burn lower. Outside, the storm began to abate, the thunder growing more distant, the rain softening to a gentle patter.

“The other manuscripts you brought,” Beth said after a while, “I’d like to study them more. Perhaps tomorrow?”

Baldwin nodded, pleased. “The library is yours to explore. I have matters to attend to, seeing the new lands the king granted me, but afterward, I would welcome your thoughts on what you discover.”

“I’d like that,” she said, stifling a yawn.

“You should rest,” Baldwin said, rising. “It has been... an eventful night.”

She stood as well, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said suddenly. “For not asking too many questions. For just... being there.”

“Always,” he replied, the word carrying more weight than he’d intended.

She held his gaze for a moment longer, then turned toward the stairs that led to her chamber. At the foot of the steps, she paused and looked back.

“Baldwin?”

“Yes?”

“I think... that is... I’m glad it didn’t work.”

Before he could respond, she was gone, her footsteps fading on the stone stairs. Baldwin remained by the fire, a strange lightness filling his chest. Outside, the clouds parted, revealing a sky washed clean by the storm, stars emerging one by one in the vast darkness.

For the first time since Beth’s arrival, Baldwin allowed himself to hope that she might stay, not because she had no choice, but because she wanted to.

Was he actually starting to believe her claims of being from the future?

The thought didn’t startle him as much as it used to.

Perhaps he would ask her about her time and the flying machines he heard her telling Eleanor about.