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T he candle guttered as Beth pressed her palm to Roland’s forehead.

Heat radiated from his skin, baking like the stones of the great hearth after a full day’s fire.

His breathing came in shallow gasps, each one raspier than the last. The wound at his side, a vicious slash from Cedric’s men during the ambush, had turned an angry red, with tendrils of infection creeping outward like spilled ink.

“His humors are unbalanced,” Father Gregory murmured, his weathered face creased with concern. “The wound festers.”

The healer, her sleeves rolled to the elbow, wrung out a cloth in a basin of tepid water. “I’ve seen this before. When the flesh turns like this, there’s naught to be done.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We should prepare his lordship.”

Beth’s stomach knotted. She knew exactly what this was, sepsis. Without antibiotics, Roland would be dead within days. Maybe hours.

The stillroom had been transformed into a makeshift infirmary, Roland’s prone form lying on the wide oak table that normally held Beth’s experimental apparatus.

The room smelled of sweat, blood, and the pungent herbal poultices the village healer had applied throughout the night.

Outside, rain lashed against the narrow windows, as if the heavens themselves mourned.

Baldwin stood at the foot of the table, his face a mask of stone. Only his eyes betrayed him. Stormy gray, filled with a grief he refused to voice. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the table.

“Fetch the leeches,” the healer instructed a serving girl. “We must draw out the bad blood before it poisons his heart.”

“No.” Beth’s voice cut through the room. All eyes turned to her. “That won’t help him.”

Baldwin’s gaze locked with hers, questioning, desperate. In that moment, she saw not the formidable lord of Glenhaven, but a man terrified of losing his closest friend.

Eleanor burst through the door, her face pale and tear-streaked. She grabbed Beth’s arm. “Roland is like a brother to me. I cannot bear to lose him.”

Beth hesitated, thinking of the moldy bread she’d been nurturing for a se’nnight. The greenish-blue fuzz had grown exactly as she’d hoped, but she hadn’t tested it yet. What if it didn’t work?

“I might have something,” she said carefully. “But I cannot promise?—”

“Anything is better than watching him die,” Eleanor whispered.

Baldwin’s eyes narrowed. “What manner of remedy do you speak of?”

“In my time—” Beth caught herself. “In my studies, I learned of a healing substance that grows on bread. I’ve been cultivating it, but I haven’t had a chance to test it properly.”

The healer hrumphed. “Rot to cure rot? ’Tis madness!”

Father Gregory’s brows furrowed. “And yet, did not our Lord turn water to wine? Perhaps this is God’s will working through her hands.”

Baldwin studied her face, searching for certainty. “You believe this will save him?”

“I believe it’s his best chance,” she answered honestly.

Eleanor clutched Beth’s hands. “Please. Try.”

Baldwin held Beth’s gaze for one heartbeat, two. Then he nodded. “What do you require?”

Relief flooded through her. “I’ll need clean cloth, honey, and warm water.”

“See to it,” Baldwin thundered, and the healer scurried off, muttering under her breath.

As the others prepared, Beth gathered her supplies from the table in the far corner of the stillroom.

The small wooden box sat on the windowsill, exactly where she’d left it.

Inside, three pieces of bread bloomed with the precious mold.

Her heart wrenched inside her chest. Would it be enough? Would it even work?

When she returned, Roland lay still, his face ashen. The wound in his side had festered, angry red streaks spreading outward. Death’s fingers, reaching for his heart.

Eleanor stood by his head, gently stroking his hair. “He took that blade protecting you,” she said, without accusation. “Said a knight must always shield a lady.”

“I won’t let him die.” She crossed her fingers, hoping this would work.

She worked quickly, grinding the moldy bread into a paste, mixing it with honey. The others watched in silence as she cleaned the wound with warm water, then applied the mixture and bound it with clean linen.

“Now we wait,” she said, wiping her hands.

Baldwin stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him. “How long?”

“I don’t know. Hours. Perhaps a day.”

His eyes softened fractionally. “Such uncertainty from one usually so certain.”

“This is medieval England, not a laboratory,” she whispered. “I’m doing the best I can.”

To her surprise, Baldwin’s hand found hers, squeezing briefly. “Then it will be enough.”

After the others left, Beth slumped against the wall, trembling.

What was she thinking? This wasn’t a sterile lab.

This was the Middle Ages, where people died from paper cuts.

And she was attempting to recreate one of the most important medical discoveries in history with medieval tools and a prayer.

The rain continued its relentless assault on Glenhaven as the hours stretched into the night.

Beth refused to leave Roland’s side, checking his fever every hour, changing the poultice when needed and starting more mold cultures.

The room grew quiet, with only the occasional crack of the fire and Roland’s labored breathing breaking the silence.

Eleanor had fallen asleep in a chair nearby, her head at an uncomfortable angle. Baldwin paced like a caged lion, his heavy tread across the floor marking time more reliably than any clock.

“You should rest,” she said softly as he completed his twentieth circuit of the room.

He paused, running a hand through his dark hair. “I cannot. Not while he—” His voice caught. “Roland has been at my side since we were boys. He has saved my life more times than I care to count.”

“And now you’re helpless to save his,” Beth finished, understanding all too well. “That’s the hardest part, isn’t it? The waiting.”

His jaw clenched. “I am a man of action. This... this stillness...” He gestured helplessly.

“Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is wait.” Beth rose and approached him, stopping just short of touching him.

His eyes met hers, vulnerable in a way she’d rarely seen. “Tell me truly. Will your remedy work?”

“I hope so. In my time—” she lowered her voice, “—this mold saves millions of lives. I know how to do it, but I’ve never made it myself. There was never any need.”

Baldwin nodded once, accepting her honesty. “Then we shall pray it does.”

Near dawn, Roland’s fever broke. Beth awoke from her half-slumber to find him looking at her through half-lidded eyes.

“Am I in heaven?” he croaked. “For I see an angel before me.”

Relief washed over her. “If I’m an angel, then you’re definitely dead.”

Eleanor startled awake at the sound of his voice. “Roland!” She rushed to his side, tears streaming down her face.

Baldwin approached more slowly, his expression guarded as if afraid to hope. “How fare you, brother?”

Roland attempted a weak smile. “As if I’ve been trampled by a herd of horses. But I live.” His gaze shifted to Beth. “I thank ye for saving my life.”

Word spread quickly through the castle. By midday, servants were whispering that she had performed a miracle. The wound that had been angry and festering now looked clean, the red streaks receding.

“’Tis witchcraft,” the village healer muttered as she examined Roland’s side. “Rot curing rot. Against nature, it is.”

“Not witchcraft,” Father Gregory corrected gently. “God’s wisdom, revealed through study. Did not Solomon himself speak of the healing properties of plants and herbs?”

Beth kept her silence. Let them believe what they would. The important thing was that Roland would recover.

That evening, as she prepared a fresh poultice, Baldwin found her in the stillroom.

“The household speaks of nothing but your miracle,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, his voice low as Roland slept.

Beth shrugged. “It’s not a miracle. It’s science. In my time, we call it penicillin.”

“Pen-i-cillin,” he repeated slowly, testing the strange word. “Whatever its name, you have saved a good man’s life.” He stepped closer. “A man I love as a brother.”

“He took that blade for me,” Beth said quietly. “I couldn’t let him die.”

Baldwin’s gaze was intense. “You risked much. Had your remedy failed, many would have called for your head.”

“I know.” She met his eyes steadily. “It was worth the risk.”

Later that day, Eleanor found Beth outside enjoying the brisk air, her cloak wrapped around her as Baldwin talked with a guard on the battlements.

“Roland is asking for you both. Says he has something important to tell us.”

They found Roland propped up against pillows, his color much improved. He grinned when they entered.

“Ah, my saviors arrive. Come, I must share what I learned during our ambush.”

Baldwin’s expression darkened. “You should rest.”

“Rest? When I have information that may save us all?” Roland scoffed. “One of Cedric’s men spoke freely, thinking me too near death to hear. They were not merely trying to kill us, they sought to capture Mistress Anderson.”

The blood drained from her face. “Capture me? Why?”

“It seems Lord Cedric believes your knowledge of... unusual remedies... would be valuable to him. He plans to force you to share your secrets.”

Baldwin’s fists clenched at his sides. “That will never happen.”

“There’s more,” Roland continued. “Cedric has been gathering men. Many men. I fear he plans something beyond simple kidnapping.”

“An attack on Glenhaven?” Baldwin’s voice was dangerously quiet.

“Perhaps. Or worse, he may seek to discredit you with the king. Turn your protection of Beth into treason.”

Eleanor gasped. “He wouldn’t dare!”

“He would,” Baldwin said grimly. “Cedric has coveted Glenhaven since we were boys. My friendship with the king is all that stands between him and what he desires.”

Beth felt sick. “This is because of me. Because of what I know.”

Baldwin turned to her, his expression fierce. “No. This is because Cedric is a man consumed by envy and spite. He has hated me since we were squires together.”

“What do we do?” Eleanor asked.

Baldwin straightened, determination hardening his features. “We prepare. For whatever comes.”

Roland reached for Baldwin’s arm. “Be careful, my friend. Cedric fights with poison and lies, not honor.”

“Then it is time he faced steel and truth,” Baldwin replied. He looked at Beth, his gaze softening slightly. “Your knowledge has saved Roland. Now we must ensure it remains beyond Cedric’s reach.”

As they left Roland to rest, she caught his sleeve. “I never meant to bring danger to your home.”

He studied her face for a long moment. “You have brought many things to Glenhaven. Danger is but one of them.”

The way he looked at her made her breath catch. But before she could respond, he continued.

“We will face Cedric together. And when this is done...” He paused, something unspoken passing between them.

“When this is done?” she prompted softly.

Baldwin’s lips curved in a rare, genuine smile. “We shall see what other miracles you might work.”