Page 28

T he dawn light slanted through the high windows of the solar, casting golden patterns across the floor.

Baldwin sat at the oak table, quill in hand, reviewing the steward’s accounts.

The summer had been kind to Glenhaven’s fields, but the farmers to the west reported concerns about the lack of rain.

His brow furrowed as he made notations in the margin.

The door burst open with such force that Baldwin’s quill jerked, leaving an unsightly blot on the parchment. Jason stood in the doorway, chest heaving, his sandy hair darkened with sweat and dust from the road clinging to his tunic.

“My lord,” the young man gasped, extending a rolled parchment sealed with crimson wax. The royal seal was unmistakable. The rose of York pressed deep into the wax.

Baldwin set down his quill and took the missive, breaking the seal with a swift motion, scanning the elegant script, and with each word, the muscles in his jaw tightened further.

He read the words once more, feeling a cold weight settle in his stomach.

The queen’s command was elegant but brooked no argument.

Present yourself at court with haste. We expect the woman you shield.

“Why summon you now?” Jason asked, his young face pinched with worry.

His expression darkened as he rolled the parchment and set it aside. “Because the queen does not ask,” he said grimly. “And she does not wait.” He rose from his chair, his dark blue tunic rustling with the movement. “We leave at sunrise.”

Beth sat cross-legged on the floor of Baldwin’s library, surrounded by a semicircle of open manuscripts. He’d given her parchment to make her notes. Her brown hair was escaping its pins, falling in wisps around her face as she leaned forward, squinting at an illustration of herbs.

“Ha!” she exclaimed to the empty room. “That’s definitely yarrow. I knew it.” She scribbled the modern name beside the medieval one, adding it to her growing compendium of medicinal plants.

She didn’t hear Baldwin enter, only becoming aware of his presence when his shadow fell across her notes.

She looked up with a smile that faltered when she saw his expression.

He stood in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, his tall form silhouetted against the light from the corridor.

The set of his shoulders was rigid beneath his dark tunic.

“I’ve identified six more herbs that have actual medicinal properties,” she said, trying to draw him into conversation. “The monks were right about yarrow stopping bleeding, but completely wrong about?—”

“We ride at first light,” he interrupted, his voice flat. “The queen has summoned us.”

Beth blinked. “Wait. Us?”

“Aye.” He stepped into the room, his boots making little sound on the rug. “You are specifically mentioned.”

The dread in her stomach intensified as she searched his face. The warmth that had begun to show in his eyes over the past month was gone, replaced by a guarded coolness she hadn’t seen since her first days at Glenhaven.

“You will need to dress as befits a noblewoman,” he continued. “Eleanor can help you prepare. At court, you must remain silent unless spoken to directly.” His voice grew harder. “This is not Glenhaven. They will not understand your wit or your knowledge.”

She gathered her notes, rising to her feet. The simple green gown she wore swished around her ankles. “What, is science illegal at court?” she attempted to jest.

Baldwin didn’t smile. Instead, he stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the leather of his jerkin and the faint scent of pine that always seemed to cling to him. “Do not reveal aught of what you know about the future,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Not even in jest.”

The gravity in his tone sent a chill through her. “Baldwin, what’s wrong? Why are they summoning me?”

For a moment, something flashed in his eyes, concern, perhaps even fear, but it was quickly shuttered. “The queen is curious. And a curious queen is a dangerous thing.”

Eleanor burst into the solar later that afternoon, her blue eyes alight with excitement. She wore a riding dress of deep burgundy, her golden hair braided back from her face.

“You’re taking her, aren’t you?” she demanded of her brother, who was standing by the window, staring out at the courtyard below.

Baldwin turned, his profile sharp against the light. “I’ve no choice.”

“Then I shall come too.” It wasn’t a request.

Baldwin studied his sister, then gave a curt nod. “Perhaps ’tis for the best. You can help her prepare.”

After he left, Eleanor turned to Beth with a determined expression. “We have much to do. Court is not like Glenhaven.”

Beth followed her to the chamber where Eleanor flung open the chest at the foot of the bed and began pulling out gowns.

“I need you looking like a lady, not a—” she paused, eyeing Beth’s simple gown and loosened hair, “—whatever it is you are.”

Beth laughed despite her anxiety. “A chemistry teacher from the future?”

“Precisely.” Eleanor held up a gown of deep blue velvet against Beth. “This will suit. The color will bring out the green in your eyes.”

Together, they packed the few belongings she had acquired during her time at Glenhaven. Eleanor chattered about court etiquette while Beth struggled once more with the complicated layers of medieval undergarments.

“Saints, I’ll never get used to these stays,” Beth muttered as Eleanor pulled the laces tight.

“Better tight laces than loose morals, as the old women say,” Eleanor quipped, tying off the cords with practiced fingers.

Beth turned to face her, suddenly serious. “Why summon me at all? I’m nobody important.”

Eleanor’s hands stilled on the fabric of the gown she was folding.

“Because you’re breaking all the rules,” she said simply. “And they want to see what manner of woman does such things.”

Night had fallen by the time Beth climbed the narrow stairs to the battlements.

The stone was cool beneath her feet, and she wrapped the borrowed cloak tighter around her shoulders.

The moon hung full and bright over the lake, casting a silver path across the dark water.

Summer had given way to fall, the air turning colder in the mornings and evenings.

She leaned against the stone parapet, breathing in the night air scented with pine and distant woodsmoke as she twisted the ring the queen had given her back and forth on her finger.

Glenhaven had started to feel like home.

The thought startled her with its truth.

She had stopped looking for ways back to her time and had begun to build a life here.

Now this summons felt like a verdict, a reckoning for daring to find happiness in a place she didn’t belong.

The soft sound of footsteps made her turn.

Baldwin stood at the top of the stairs, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the torchlight from below.

Without a word, he crossed to where she stood and draped his own cloak over her shoulders.

It was heavy with his warmth and carried his scent, pine, leather, and something uniquely him.

“You should be resting,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “The journey will be long.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Beth looked up at him, studying the strong lines of his face in the moonlight. The faint scar along his jawline seemed silver in the pale light. “Too much on my mind.”

Baldwin rested his hands on the stone wall, his signet ring glinting. “If they question you, speak plainly. Let me handle the rest.”

The distance in his voice hurt more than she expected. “Do you regret finding me?” she asked softly.

He turned to her then, and in his eyes she saw not the coolness of before, but a storm of emotion so raw it took her breath away. “Never,” he said, the word like quiet thunder.

For a moment, they stood in silence, the truth of his answer hanging between them like a physical thing. Then he stepped back, breaking the spell.

“Rest,” he said again. “Dawn comes early.”

The courtyard bustled with activity as the first light of dawn painted the eastern sky. Horses stamped and snorted, their breath visible in the cool morning air. Servants scurried about, loading the last of the provisions onto the carts.

Beth stood by her mount, dressed in a rich brown gown Eleanor had selected, with a traveling cloak of dark green wool pinned at her shoulder. Her hair was braided and coiled at the nape of her neck, making her feel strangely formal.

The household servants gathered to see them off, whispering among themselves about the court and what it might mean for Glenhaven. Old Martha, the kitchen mistress, pressed a small bundle of herbs into Beth’s hand.

“For calm nerves, milady,” she whispered. “Court can be a viper’s nest.”

Harry approached, offering Beth a small, smooth stone. “’Tis for luck,” he explained with a shy smile. “Looks like a useless rock, but it belonged to my nan. She said it kept her safe in troubled times.”

Beth closed her fingers around it, touched by the gesture. “Thank you. I’ll keep it with me.”

Eleanor mounted her horse with the grace of a knight, ignoring the scandalized whispers of the older women. She wore a riding dress split for the saddle, her golden hair braided back beneath a cap of burgundy velvet.

Baldwin emerged from the hall, resplendent in a tunic of midnight blue embroidered with silver thread, his cloak fastened with a brooch bearing his family crest. He moved with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to command, giving final instructions to the steward who would oversee Glenhaven in his absence.

As the party assembled, Beth found herself searching for Baldwin’s gaze. When their eyes finally met across the courtyard, something unspoken passed between them, a promise, perhaps, or a warning.

With a nod to his household, Baldwin mounted his stallion and led the procession through the gates of Glenhaven, toward the distant court and whatever fate awaited them there.