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Beth’s breath caught in her throat. “People,” she whispered. “Connections I never expected to make.”

He leaned closer, his gaze dropping to her lips. Beth’s heart hammered against her ribs, and she found herself leaning toward him, drawn by an invisible force she couldn’t resist.

A twig snapped loudly in the underbrush.

They jerked apart as Sir Roland emerged from the trees, leading his horse. He paused, taking in their proximity with a knowing smirk.

“Forgive the interruption,” he said, not sounding remotely apologetic. “The others are ready to continue.”

Baldwin stood abruptly, offering Beth his hand. “We’ll join them presently.”

Beth accepted his help, her skin tingling where his fingers wrapped around hers. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and she saw in his gaze a promise, or perhaps a question, before he turned away.

By the time they returned to the castle, the sun was setting, painting the stone walls with golden light. Beth’s body ached in places she hadn’t known could ache, but there was a satisfaction in having completed the day’s ride without falling off her horse.

Baldwin helped her dismount, his hands lingering at her waist a moment longer than necessary before he stepped back.

“You did well today,” he said, his voice formal in a way it hadn’t been by the stream.

Beth searched his face, trying to understand the sudden shift. “Thank you for your patience. I know I slowed everyone down.”

“Not at all.” He handed Rosalind’s reins to a stable boy. “If you’ll excuse me, I must speak with Sir Roland about tomorrow’s training.”

Before she could respond, he strode away, leaving her standing alone in the courtyard.

That evening, she joined the household for supper in the great hall.

The trestle tables were laden with roasted meats, bread, and early spring vegetables.

Normally, Baldwin would gesture for her to sit beside him, but tonight he was deep in conversation with Father Gregory, seemingly oblivious to her entrance.

Eleanor waved her over. “Come sit with me,” she said, patting the bench beside her. “I hear you saved my brother’s favorite hound today.”

Beth slid onto the bench, her eyes straying to Baldwin. “It was nothing. Just lucky timing.”

“The men speak of little else,” Eleanor said, tearing a chunk of bread. “Roland says you knew at a glance what would kill the beast.”

“Basic plant knowledge,” Beth repeated her earlier explanation.

“Hmm.” Eleanor followed Beth’s gaze to her brother. “He’s been in a strange mood since your return. Did something happen?”

“No,” Beth said, too quickly. She sighed. “Almost. I don’t know.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “That clears everything up.”

Beth laughed despite herself. “We had a moment by the stream. I thought he might... but then Roland interrupted, and now he’s acting like I don’t exist.”

“My brother,” Eleanor said with exaggerated patience, “is the most honorable, stubborn, thick-headed man in all of England. Whatever is troubling him, I assure you, it has nothing to do with lack of interest.”

She wasn’t so sure. Throughout the meal, Baldwin barely glanced her way, and when the tables were cleared for the evening, he disappeared without a word.

Unable to settle, Beth wandered to the library. To her surprise, Baldwin was there, standing by the window, his broad shoulders tense beneath his tunic.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pausing in the doorway. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He turned, and in the candlelight, his expression was unreadable. “You never intrude.”

“You’ve been avoiding me since we returned.” She took a tentative step into the room.

Baldwin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Not avoiding. Thinking.”

“About?”

He was silent for so long that Beth thought he might not answer. Finally, he said, “Your knowledge makes you valuable to the crown and Lady Rivers and the Queen have shown an interest in you.”

Beth frowned, confused by this apparent change of subject. “I don’t understand.”

“Your knowledge of plants, of remedies, of things yet to come... it makes you a prize they might wish to claim.”

Understanding dawned. “You think they’ll demand I come and live at court?”

“Or worse.” His voice was grim. “Knowledge is power. And those with power guard it jealously.”

“So you’re pushing me away to... what? Protect me?”

His jaw tightened. “I’m being cautious. The king favors me now, but royal favor is fickle. If he knew the extent of what you know about the future...”

Frustration mounting, she moved closer. “So this is about my ‘dangerous’ knowledge? Not about what almost happened at the stream?”

His eyes met hers, dark with an emotion she couldn’t name. “Both,” he admitted. “I cannot protect you if I cannot control my own actions around you.”

The confession hung in the air between them, heavy with implication.

“I don’t need protection,” Beth said softly. “I need honesty.”

Baldwin’s laugh was bitter. “Honesty? Very well. I desire you in ways that keep me awake at night. I think of you when I should be thinking of my duties. And every time I consider acting on these feelings, I remember that you possess knowledge that could get us both killed if the wrong ears heard it.”

He really liked her. Her heart raced at his words, even as his warning sent a chill down her spine. “So what do we do?”

“We maintain distance,” he said, though the way his eyes lingered on her lips suggested he wanted anything but. “For both our sakes.”

With that, he strode past her, his cloak brushing against her skirts as he left the library.

She stood alone among the ancient books, her confusion and hurt mingling with the undeniable thrill of his confession. He wanted her, but feared for her safety. He pushed her away to protect her.

She sank into a chair, her fingers absently tracing patterns on the wooden table. Baldwin of Glenhaven was the most frustrating, honorable, complex man she had ever known. And despite his warnings, or perhaps because of them, she was falling hopelessly in love with him.