Page 27

Father Gregory laughed, his eyes twinkling. “I believe Beth has had sufficient mead for one afternoon.” He gathered the remains of their meal, packing them neatly into the basket. “The sun will set soon, and these old bones protest at the thought of climbing the hill in darkness.”

Baldwin rose and helped the priest to his feet. “Allow me to carry the basket, Father.”

“My thanks, my lord.” Father Gregory turned to Beth, who was attempting to stand without tangling herself in her skirts. “And you, my dear, should perhaps lean on Lord Baldwin’s arm for the journey back. The path can be treacherous even for those with clear heads.”

Beth’s cheeks, already pink from the mead, darkened further. “I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own,” she protested, then promptly stumbled over the edge of the blanket.

Baldwin caught her elbow, steadying her. “Of course you are,” he said, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. “But humor an old priest and a concerned lord, if you would.”

She sighed dramatically, but slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “If you insist.”

Father Gregory smiled benevolently. “I shall go ahead and ensure all is prepared for supper. Do not tarry too long, the evening air grows chill.”

As the priest made his way up the hill, Baldwin gathered the blanket and tucked it under his free arm. Beth’s warmth against his side was distracting, as was the faint scent of lavender that clung to her hair.

“I really am sorry,” she said softly as they began to walk. “I’m not used to drinking alcohol, and the mead went straight to my head.”

“It’s forgotten,” Baldwin assured her, though in truth, her revelations had shaken him deeply. If what she said was true, the future held dark days for England, and for the royal children he was sworn to protect. Could he prevent what was coming? And if he did, what might happen?

They walked in companionable silence for a time, the only sounds the rustle of their clothing and the distant call of birds settling for the night. The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the grass and turning the lake to molten gold.

“It’s beautiful here,” Beth said suddenly, her voice wistful. “So... unspoiled. In my time, there would be buildings everywhere, roads, pollution...”

Baldwin frowned. “Pollution?”

“Contamination. Filth in the air and water from... machines and such.”

“Your time sounds most unpleasant,” he observed.

Beth laughed, the sound warming him more than the mead had. “It has its advantages. Indoor plumbing, for one.”

“Plumbing?”

“Water that comes directly into your home, hot or cold, whenever you want it.”

Baldwin considered this. “Like the Roman baths? I’ve read accounts of their ingenuity.”

“Similar, but more advanced.” She stumbled on a root hidden in the grass and let out a sharp cry of pain. “Ow! My ankle?—”

Baldwin was at her side in an instant, his brow furrowed with concern. “Can you walk?”

Beth tried to put weight on her foot and winced. “I don’t think it’s broken, just twisted, but?—”

Before she could finish, Baldwin swept her into his arms in one fluid motion, cradling her against his chest. Her breath caught in her throat at the sudden proximity, at the feel of his strong arms supporting her weight as if she were nothing more than a feather.

“My lord, this isn’t necessary,” she protested weakly, even as her arms instinctively went around his neck for balance.

“’Tis no trouble,” he said, his voice low and close to her ear. “The path grows treacherous ahead.”

The moon had risen, full and bright, casting an ethereal glow through the branches overhead.

It silvered Beth’s skin and caught in her eyes when she glanced up at him, turning them to luminous pools.

He was acutely aware of every point where their bodies touched.

Her side pressed against his chest, her breath warm against his neck, the subtle scent of herbs in her hair.

“The stars are different,” she murmured, her head tilted back to gaze at the night sky as he carried her forward. “Or rather, they’re the same stars, but they look different without all the light pollution. Brighter.”

Baldwin carried Beth across the courtyard, her weight slight against his chest. He felt her gaze shift upward and followed it to the night sky with its blanket of stars.

“Do you know their names? The constellations?” he asked, his voice low in the stillness.

“Some,” she replied, her breath warm against his neck. “That’s Ursa Major, the Great Bear. And there’s Polaris, the North Star.” She pointed, her body shifting slightly in his arms.

Baldwin tightened his grip. “Be still. You’ve had too much mead.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but made no move to demand he set her down. “Just... seeing the stars like this makes me feel small. Like a tiny speck in the vastness of time.”

Her words struck a chord within him. “I often feel the same when contemplating God’s creation. We are but moments in His eternal plan.”

Beth turned her face toward his, close enough that he could see the seriousness in her expression despite the mead’s influence. “Do you ever wonder about your place in that plan? If you’re where you’re supposed to be?”

The question resonated deeply. “Often,” he admitted. “Especially since my father’s death. The burden of lordship was not one I sought, yet here I stand.”

“Here we both stand,” she said softly. “Though I’m still not sure how I got here or why.”

Her face was tilted up to his, moonlight catching on her lips. Baldwin felt drawn to her, a pull as inexorable as the tide. His hand at her waist tightened fractionally.

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice rough, “some mysteries are not meant to be solved, but experienced.”

Her breath caught audibly. She shifted in his arms, whether from the mead or desire, he couldn’t tell. Her hand moved from his arm to his chest, resting over his heart, which thundered beneath her touch.

“Baldwin,” she whispered, and the sound of his name on her lips broke something loose within him.

He lowered his head slowly, giving her time to pull away. Instead, she tilted her chin up, her eyes fluttering closed as the distance between them narrowed to a breath.

“Baldwin!” Eleanor’s voice shattered the moment like a stone through glass. “Beth! Are you coming? Supper is nearly ready!”

He almost dropped her as she jerked back. He steadied her automatically, his jaw clenched in frustration.

“We should...” Beth gestured vaguely toward the castle, her cheeks flaming.

“Yes,” Baldwin agreed, his voice strained. “We should.”

He gently lowered her to her feet, but noting her unsteady stance, tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. The look that passed between them held a promise, unspoken but clear as the night sky above.

Later.

The air changed, charged with possibility.

Beth felt it too, he was certain. The slight tremor in her hand as she held onto his arm, the quick rise and fall of her chest, the way her eyes lingered on his face before darting away, all spoke of a desire that matched his own.

As they emerged from the trees to see Eleanor waiting impatiently at the castle gate, Baldwin allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps Father Gregory was right. Time was God’s river, and Beth had been carried to him on its current for a purpose.

It remained to be seen what that purpose might be, but for now, the promise of “later” was enough to sustain him.