Page 39

B aldwin’s eyes flew open, his heart hammering against his ribs like a war drum.

Sweat dampened his linen nightshirt, plastering it to his chest despite the chill that had settled in his chamber.

The fire had dwindled to mere embers, casting ghostly shadows across stone walls that had witnessed generations of Devereux nightmares.

This one had been worse than most.

He had seen Beth walking away, the gown she wore replaced by her strange garments.

She had been heading toward a storm. Blue lightning crackling across an angry sky.

He had called her name, his voice raw with desperation, but she never turned.

His fingers had brushed hers, almost catching her hand, before she dissolved into mist.

Baldwin swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the cold floor a welcome shock against his bare feet.

Outside, rain began to patter against the window, a hesitant rhythm that promised to build into something fiercer by dawn.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, still damp with the memory of his dream.

The chamber felt like a prison, too small to contain the weight pressing against his chest. He rose, muscles taut beneath his skin, and crossed to the window.

Moonlight sliced through gaps in the clouds, illuminating the courtyard below.

Baldwin braced his hands against the cold stone of the windowsill, lowering his head.

He was not a man given to prayer outside the formal rituals of mass, yet tonight words spilled from him unbidden.

“She does not belong to this place,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion he would never show in daylight. “Nor to this age. I have no right to keep her here.” He closed his eyes, fingers digging into unyielding stone. “Yet I cannot bear to lose her.”

The admission cost him dearly. He, who had never begged for anything, now dropped to his knees for a woman who belonged to a world he could never comprehend.

“If You are merciful,” he continued, “grant me strength to let her go when the time comes. And if You are kind...” His voice broke. “Let her choose to stay.”

Beth couldn’t sleep.

She had tried counting sheep, reciting the periodic table, even mentally cataloging the herbs in the castle garden.

Nothing worked. Her mind refused to quiet, filled instead with thoughts of Baldwin’s face when she’d mentioned the possibility of returning home during their conversation in the library earlier that day.

Just one fleeting reference, an idle comment about how certain chemical reactions might recreate the conditions of her arrival, and she had watched his expression shutter closed like a fortress preparing for a siege.

With a sigh, she pushed back the heavy coverlet and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet, but she welcomed the sensation. It anchored her to this place, this time.

She reached for the woolen cloak hanging by her bed and wrapped it around her thin chemise, the fabric soft against her skin.

Her hair, longer now than she had ever worn it in her own time, hung loose past her shoulders in waves that Eleanor insisted made her look like a “proper lady” rather than the “disheveled scholar” she had been upon her arrival.

Beth smiled at the thought as she slipped from her chamber, intent on a walk to clear her head. The corridor was lit only by the occasional wall sconce, flames dancing in the draft that perpetually haunted the castle’s passages. She moved silently, enjoying the rare stillness of Glenhaven at night.

As she passed Baldwin’s chamber, a soft glow seeped from beneath his door. He was awake, too. She hesitated, her hand half-raised to knock, when she heard his voice. So quiet she might have imagined it, had she not seen his shadow move across the strip of light.

She leaned closer, drawn by the raw emotion in his tone.

“... cannot bear to lose her.”

The words froze her in place, her heart suddenly too large for her chest. She had never heard Baldwin so unguarded, so vulnerable.

This was not the stern lord who commanded respect with a glance, nor the careful diplomat who measured every word at court.

This was simply a man, afraid of losing something precious.

Before she could consider the wisdom of her actions, Beth pushed the door open just enough to slip inside.

Baldwin knelt by the window, his broad shoulders tense, head bowed as if in prayer. The dying fire cast golden light across the planes of his face, softening the hard angles that intimidated so many. At the sound of the door, he turned sharply, gray eyes widening at the sight of her.

“Beth.” Her name was barely a breath on his lips as he rose to his full height. In the firelight, with his dark hair tousled and his feet bare, he looked younger, more vulnerable.

“You prayed,” she said, her voice unsteady. “And I heard you.”

Baldwin felt exposed, more naked in this moment than if she had found him without a stitch of clothing.

He had been caught in an act more intimate than any physical encounter, baring his soul to God and the empty room.

Now she stood before him, wrapped in a cloak that couldn’t quite hide the thin chemise beneath, her hair tumbling around her shoulders like a curtain of silk.

“You should not be here,” he said, but there was no force behind the words.

Beth took a step forward, then another, until she stood close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes.

“I haven’t known peace since I arrived here,” she admitted.

“Everything has been confusion and fear and wonder.” A small smile touched her lips. “But I’ve never once felt unwanted.”

Baldwin’s throat tightened. “You were never meant to stay.” The words scraped his throat raw. “Even the stars chart a different course for you.”

“Then I’ll rewrite the stars.”

Something broke inside him at her words, some final wall he had built to protect himself from the inevitable pain of losing her. He reached toward her face, then faltered, his hand hovering in the space between them.

Beth caught his wrist, her touch gentle but insistent as she guided his palm to her cheek. Her skin was warm against his, soft in a way that made his chest ache. “I want to stay,” she whispered.

“For how long?” The question escaped before he could stop it.

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

Baldwin’s thumb traced the curve of her cheekbone, memorizing the feel of her. “Every day without you would be a year,” he confessed, the words torn from somewhere deep inside him.

“Then make a life with me in this one.” Beth stepped closer until he could feel the warmth of her body through the thin layers separating them. “Here. Now.”

“I do not know how to love you without breaking,” Baldwin admitted, his voice rough with emotion he had never allowed himself to show another living soul.

Beth’s smile was radiant, despite the tears that shimmered in her eyes. “Then let’s break together.”

The last of his resistance crumbled. Baldwin drew her to him, one hand cradling the back of her head as his lips found hers. This was a promise, a covenant between them.

Beth’s hands slid up his chest to twine around his neck, her body melting against his as if she belonged there, had always belonged there. Baldwin deepened the kiss, tasting the salt of tears, hers or his, he could not tell, and something sweeter that was uniquely Beth.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless, he rested his forehead against hers. “Stay,” he whispered. Not a command, but a prayer.

“I’m here,” she answered, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Outside, the rain fell harder, drumming against the stone walls of Glenhaven. Inside, in the warm circle of Baldwin’s arms, Beth found the peace that had eluded her since she first opened her eyes in this strange, beautiful world.

As Baldwin drew her toward the bed, his eyes never leaving hers, Beth knew with absolute certainty that she had made her choice. The future, her future, was here, with this man who looked at her as if she were more precious than all the knowledge in both their worlds combined.

The fire burned low, casting their shadows against the wall as they sealed their bargain with touches and whispers meant only for each other.

And when Baldwin finally pulled the coverlet over them both, Beth curled against his side, her head resting on his chest, where she could hear the steady beat of his heart.

“You have bewitched me,” he murmured into her hair, his arm tightening around her.

Beth smiled against his skin. “Not witchcraft,” she corrected sleepily. “Just chemistry.”

Baldwin’s soft laugh rumbled beneath her ear, the last sound she heard before drifting into the first peaceful sleep she had known since arriving in his time.

Outside, the storm gathered strength, lightning flashing in the distance. But neither of them noticed, lost as they were in the shelter they had found in each other’s arms.