Page 37

B aldwin stood before the fire in his solar, watching the flames leap against the stone hearth.

Outside, early October winds rattled the glass panes of the narrow windows, bringing with them the scent of fallen leaves and the promise of frost. He wore a black tunic of fine wool, its sleeves embroidered with silver thread that caught the firelight when he moved.

His dark hair fell in waves to his collar, slightly damp from his earlier training in the yard despite the chill.

The time since their return from London had passed in a flurry of activity.

Roland was healing well, miraculously well, thanks to Beth’s strange poultice of moldy bread.

Baldwin’s mouth tightened as he remembered the sight of his friend’s festering wound clearing, the angry red lines retreating like an army in defeat.

Almost five months had passed since she had tumbled into his life with her strange garments and stranger speech.

Five months that had changed his life. He traced the events in his mind like a well-worn prayer.

The royal visit over the summer, with Queen Elizabeth’s curious gaze following Beth’s every move, and Lady River’s knowing eyes.

Their summons to court where Beth had caused a stir with her “experiment” that almost blew up the king’s fountain.

The ambush on their journey home that had nearly cost Roland his life.

And then there was Eleanor. His fierce, beloved sister, who had donned his armor and defeated Cedric in combat after locking him in his own damned chamber.

A woman killing a man in sanctioned combat.

.. ’twas unheard of, yet the king himself had ruled it fair.

Cedric’s treachery had finally been repaid.

But it was Beth who had truly upended his world. Baldwin’s fingers tapped against his leg. The woman who claimed to be from a time yet unborn had saved Roland with naught but moldy bread and her strange knowledge. Knowledge that could not possibly exist.

And yet it did. She did.

Baldwin closed his eyes, the truth settling in his chest like a stone. He believed her now. God help him, he believed every word. Beth Anderson was from another time, a future he could scarcely imagine.

A time she must return to.

The thought pierced him like a blade between the ribs.

He had fought against it, denied it, raged at the very idea.

But he could no longer pretend. Beth did not belong here, in his world of plagues and wars and superstition.

She belonged in her time of wonders, where her knowledge would not mark her as a witch.

No matter how his heart cried out against it.

The door opened with a whisper of wood against stone. He did not turn, knowing by the light footfall and the faint herbal scent who had entered.

“Would you tell me of your time?” he asked softly, his voice barely carrying over the crackle of the fire.

Her breath caught as he turned, taking in the sight of her standing uncertainly by the door.

She wore a gown of soft navy wool, its simplicity only highlighting the grace of her slender form.

Her chestnut hair was down around her shoulders.

Her green eyes, the color of spring leaves, widened at his question.

“You believe me?” she asked, taking a tentative step forward. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her linen apron, which bore faint stains from her work in the stillroom.

He gestured to the chairs before the fire. “I know not what to believe,” he admitted. “But I would hear the truth of it from your lips.”

She moved to sit, perching on the edge of the chair as if ready to flee. Baldwin poured wine from a flagon into two goblets, handing one to her before taking his seat opposite. The wine was deep red, almost black in the firelight.

“Where to begin? In my time,” Beth began, her voice soft but steady, “carriages need no horses. They operate via internal combustion engines that convert chemical potential energy into kinetic energy through controlled explosions—” She caught herself and flushed.

“Sorry, I tend to over-explain when I’m nervous.

What I mean is, they can travel hundreds of miles in a single day, powered by burning a substance called gasoline. ”

Baldwin raised a skeptical brow but remained silent.

“We have metal birds that fly people across oceans in hours. We can speak to someone on the other side of the world as easily as I’m speaking to you now.

” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “Women are doctors and lawyers and scientists. They vote and hold office and—” She caught herself, noting his confusion. “Sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“These metal birds,” Baldwin said slowly, “they truly fly?”

A smile touched Beth’s lips. “Yes. I’ve flown in them myself.” She took a sip of wine. “It’s terrifying and wonderful at the same time.”

Baldwin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The fire cast half his face in shadow. “And kings? What of them in your time?”

Her fingers tightened around her goblet. “England still has a monarchy, but it’s mostly ceremonial. The real power lies with elected officials.”

“Elected?” Baldwin frowned. “Like a council?”

“Something like that.” She hesitated. “Baldwin, why are you asking me this now?”

He set his goblet aside, the wine untouched.

“Because I’ve seen things I cannot explain.

Your knowledge of the queen’s condition before it was announced.

The way you healed Roland with that foul-smelling paste.

The strange words you use.” His jaw tightened.

“And because I need to know what becomes of my king.”

“Are you sure you want to know?” The look she gave him almost made him wish he hadn’t asked.

“Nay,” he said grimly. “But I must.”

She took a deep breath and told him. Of Edward IV’s relatively short reign, his death, and the seizure of power by his brother Richard.

Of the two young princes who vanished from the Tower of London, presumed murdered.

Of the battles to come, the Tudor dynasty that would rise from the ashes of York and Lancaster.

Baldwin listened in silence, his expression growing more troubled with each word. When she finished, he rose abruptly and paced the length of the solar, his heavy tread echoing across the stone floor. The muscles in his jaw worked as he struggled to contain his turmoil.

“If I believe you, and saints help me, I am beginning to, then what is my duty?” His voice was low, pained. “Do I owe fealty to a crown destined for corruption? To a king whose sons will be...” He could not finish the sentence.

“I don’t know,” Beth admitted. “That’s the problem with knowing the future. It raises impossible questions.”

He stopped pacing and turned to her. “Could we not prevent it? Warn the queen? Save the princes?”

Beth set her goblet down with a sharp click against the table.

“And what then? What happens to the future I know? Elizabeth I was one of England’s greatest monarchs.

She ushered in a golden age. If the princes live, she might never be born.

” She stood facing him. “Who am I to decide which lives matter more? Who am I to rewrite history?”

Baldwin’s gaze was piercing. “Who are you not to if you have the power to prevent suffering?”

The question hung between them like smoke.

“When do I die?” Baldwin asked suddenly, his voice rough. “In your history, do you know my fate?”

“No,” she whispered, turning the color of fresh snow. “I’d never heard of you before I came here. Most people from this time are just... forgotten.”

“And what of us?” he asked, his voice barely audible as he stalked towards her. “Is there any mention in your histories of a lord who loved a woman not of his time? One who would burn the world to keep her?”

The word ‘loved’ hung in the air between them.

“No, time travel isn’t possible. At least the world thinks it isn’t.” She met his gaze, her eyes shimmering. “I should go,” she whispered, though she made no move to leave.

Baldwin nodded, but his eyes never left hers. “Aye, you should.”

Later, as twilight deepened into night, Beth found herself in the inner garden courtyard.

The air was crisp and clean after the stuffiness of the solar, carrying the earthy scent of autumn.

She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, grateful for its warmth against the chill.

Above, the sky was clear, stars beginning to prick the darkening canopy like distant lanterns.

She needed to think, to sort through the tumult of emotions their conversation had stirred. Baldwin believed her now. Truly believed her. The knowledge brought both relief and a new kind of tension. If he accepted her truth, what else might he accept? What else might he want?

A leaf drifted down from the oak that dominated the courtyard, landing at her feet. She bent to pick it up, admiring its deep russet color in the moonlight.

“I’ve always found peace here,” Baldwin’s voice came from behind her, low and resonant in the quiet evening.

She turned to find him standing a few paces away, his tall figure silhouetted against the torchlight from the castle. He’d removed his formal tunic and wore only a simple linen shirt, open at the throat, and dark breeches. The sight of him made her heart beat faster.

“I needed air,” she explained unnecessarily.

He nodded, taking a step closer. “As did I. Our conversation... it has left me with much to consider.”

“I’m sorry,” Beth said. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Nay.” Baldwin shook his head. “Do not apologize for the truth, however difficult it may be to hear.” He moved closer still until barely an arm’s length separated them.

“All my life, I’ve known but one path. Duty.

To my king, to Glenhaven, to my name.” His voice softened. “Until you. Now I know I crave more.”

Her breath caught. “Baldwin?—”