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B eth stared at the massive chestnut mare with the same trepidation she’d once felt before presenting her doctoral dissertation. The beast, for she couldn’t think of it as anything else, shifted its weight and snorted, sending a cloud of warm breath into the crisp morning air.

“She won’t bite,” Baldwin said, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement that made her cheeks warm.

“That remains to be seen,” she muttered, adjusting the heavy wool skirts Eleanor had insisted she wear for riding.

The deep forest green fabric was beautiful but cumbersome, especially with the tight-laced bodice that made breathing a challenge even without the prospect of being hoisted atop a thousand-pound animal.

Baldwin stood beside her in his riding clothes.

A simple linen shirt beneath a leather jerkin that hugged his broad shoulders, and breeches that displayed the muscular contours of his thighs.

His dark hair was tied back with a leather cord, revealing the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones.

Beth forced herself to look away, focusing instead on the intimidating animal before her.

“In my time, I drove a Subaru,” she said. “It had seatbelts and airbags.”

“I know not these words,” Baldwin replied, “but I assure you Rosalind is gentle as a lamb.”

“A lamb the size of a small house,” Beth grumbled.

She narrowed her eyes as his mouth twitched. If he laughed, she’d push him into the mud.

“Come. The hunting party awaits, and we must make haste if we’re to join them before midday.”

He positioned himself beside her, his hands hovering near her waist. “I’ll need to lift you.”

Beth swallowed hard. “Right. Of course.”

Even through the layers of clothing, she felt the heat of his touch like a brand. With seemingly effortless strength, he lifted her, and she found herself suspended in air for one heart-stopping moment before being deposited onto the saddle.

“Sweet mother of—” She grabbed the pommel, her knuckles white.

Baldwin’s hands remained at her waist, steadying her. “Breathe.”

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until he commanded her to release it. The air left her lungs in a rush, and her shoulders relaxed marginally.

“That’s better,” he said, his voice low and close to her ear. “Now, sit straight. Your back must align with the horse’s spine.”

His hand pressed against the small of her back, guiding her into the proper position. Beth’s heart thundered in her chest, and she wondered if he could feel it through his palm.

“Like this?” she asked, her voice embarrassingly breathy.

“Almost.” His other hand came to rest on her shoulder, gently pulling it back. “You must appear as if you and the horse are one, moving in harmony.”

Beth bit her lip. The only harmony she felt was the synchronized racing of her pulse with the brush of his fingers against her neck as he adjusted her posture.

“Your feet go here,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to her inner turmoil as he guided her boot into the stirrup. His hand wrapped around her ankle, and Beth nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Sorry,” she said.

Baldwin’s gray eyes met hers, and something flickered in their depths. Amusement, perhaps, or something warmer. He stepped back, assessing her position, then nodded with satisfaction. “You look born to the saddle.”

“I feel like I’m about to topple over at any moment,” Beth admitted.

“Then I shall ride close,” Baldwin said, mounting his own steed, a massive black stallion, with a fluid grace that made her envious. “Should you fall, I’ll catch you.”

The words sent an unexpected thrill through her that had nothing to do with horseback riding.

The hunting party consisted of Baldwin, Sir Roland, three other knights whose names Beth couldn’t remember, and a handful of servants with hunting dogs.

Eleanor said she would rather work on her embroidery, though Beth would bet a hundred dollars that she was going to practice with her bow and arrow.

The forest was alive with birdsong and dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves.

The earthy scent of moss and fallen leaves filled her nostrils, occasionally punctuated by the sweeter fragrance of wildflowers.

Beth’s thighs ached from gripping the saddle, but she’d managed to stay mounted for over an hour without incident. A fact she took considerable pride in.

“You ride well for a novice,” Baldwin said, guiding his stallion alongside her mare.

“I’m pretty sure Rosalind is doing all the work,” Beth replied. “I’m just trying not to fall off.”

His laugh made her stomach flip. “You sell yourself short. Many ladies require weeks of training before venturing beyond the castle walls.”

“In my defense, I did spend a summer at horse camp when I was twelve.” At his puzzled expression, she added, “It’s where children learn to ride and care for horses.”

“A wise custom,” he said. “Children should learn such skills early.”

Their conversation was interrupted by excited barking as the hunting dogs caught a scent. The party quickened their pace, following the hounds deeper into the woods. Beth’s mare trotted to keep up, each bounce sending jolts up her spine.

“Slower,” Baldwin called to the others. “Mistress Beth is still learning the saddle.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Don’t hold back on my account.” Beth felt a flash of gratitude, followed quickly by embarrassment at being the reason they had to slow down.

Baldwin’s eyes traveled over her face, assessing. “As you wish.”

They continued at a moderate pace, the dogs’ barking growing more distant. Beth was secretly relieved not to witness whatever animal they were pursuing being brought down. The thought of watching a deer or boar being killed turned her stomach.

As they rounded a bend in the forest path, one of the hunting dogs, separated from the main pack, came bounding toward them, something dark in its mouth.

“What’s he got there?” Sir Roland called.

Beth squinted, then felt her blood run cold. “Stop him!” she shouted, sliding awkwardly from her horse before Baldwin could protest.

Her feet hit the ground with a jolt that sent pain shooting up her legs, but she ignored it, rushing toward the dog. “Drop it!” she commanded, her voice sharp with urgency.

The hound, confused by her tone, hesitated long enough for Beth to reach him. She grabbed a stick and knocked the berries from his mouth, then used her boot to scrape away what had fallen to the ground.

“What madness is this?” Sir Roland demanded, dismounting.

Baldwin was already beside her, one hand on his sword. “Explain.”

“Nightshade,” Beth said, pointing to the dark purple berries. “Deadly nightshade. It’s poisonous. It could kill him.”

The dog whined, pawing at his muzzle.

“How certain are you?” Baldwin asked, his voice tense.

“Completely. The berries contain atropine and scopolamine—” She caught herself. “They’re deadly poisons. We need to make him vomit what he’s already eaten.”

Without hesitation, Baldwin knelt beside the dog. “Tell me what to do.”

Beth looked around frantically. “Salt water would be ideal, but...” Her eyes landed on a patch of grass nearby. “That will work.”

She rushed over and plucked several blades, returning to the dog. “Open his mouth,” she instructed Baldwin, who complied immediately.

Beth tickled the back of the hound’s throat with the grass until he retched, bringing up the contents of his stomach. She repeated the process twice more until she was satisfied.

“He should be alright now,” she said, sitting back on her heels and wiping her hands on the grass. “I think we got to him quickly enough.”

The hunting party had gathered around, watching with a mixture of awe and suspicion.

“How did you know?” one of the knights asked.

“I’m a chem—” Beth stopped herself. “My father taught me about plants. Nightshade is distinctive. The berries are sweet but deadly.”

Baldwin was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher. Respect, certainly, but something else too. Pride, perhaps?

“You’ve saved Brutus,” he said, scratching the dog behind the ears. “He’s been my hunting companion for three years.”

“Just basic plant knowledge,” Beth said, uncomfortable with the attention.

“Few possess such knowledge,” Baldwin replied. “You continue to surprise me... Beth.”

The way he said her name made her cheeks warm again.

Later, as the hunting party regrouped by a stream to water the horses, Beth found herself alone with Baldwin. The others had moved upstream, giving them a rare moment of privacy.

She knelt by the water’s edge, washing the dirt from her hands. The stream was crystal clear, so cold it numbed her fingers almost instantly. Baldwin crouched beside her, his reflection wavering in the rippling surface.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For saving Brutus.”

“Anyone would have done the same if they knew what it was,” Beth replied, shaking water droplets from her hands.

“But they did not know. You did.” His eyes, when she met them, were intense. “Your knowledge is... remarkable.”

Beth looked away, suddenly self-conscious. “In my time, this would be basic high school biology.”

“In your time,” Baldwin repeated, his voice thoughtful. He picked up a smooth stone and turned it over in his palm. “Do you still think of returning?”

The question caught her off guard. Did she? At first, she’d been determined to recreate the accident that had brought her here. But lately...

“Less and less,” she admitted. “I miss certain conveniences. Indoor plumbing, antibiotics, coffee, but...”

“But?” he prompted when she fell silent.

Beth looked up at him, at the strong lines of his face softened by the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. “But there are things here I would miss more if I left.”

Baldwin’s eyes darkened. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face with gentle fingers. “What things?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that she felt more than heard.