Page 4

Before she could scramble upright or attempt child’s pose, the thunder of hooves shattered the quiet. The girl spun, bow raised again, then lowered it almost at once, swearing under her breath.

“Brother,” she called.

Beth straightened, brushing moss from her knees.

The man who emerged from the trees was tall and broad-shouldered, clad in black and silver.

His cloak caught the wind, flaring behind him with a sweep too perfect to be real, like something conjured from a fever dream or a scene carved into memory.

His hair, dark and tousled, curled slightly where it grazed his collar, and his jaw was carved in stern lines that spoke of command, not compromise.

He moved like a man well-accustomed to obedience, each step deliberate, the heavy tread of his boots stirring dust and dread alike.

Those eyes. She froze.

Grey. Cold. Unyielding.

The same eyes that had stared straight through her at the moment before the world had cracked open. The vision. The sword, the castle, those eyes, apparently, had not been a hallucination.

Panic surged, sharp and choking. Her breath caught. Her knees gave a wobble, and her hand flew to her chest as if she could press the memory back down, deny it. But the man was real. Solid. Terrifying in his certainty.

She stumbled back a step, heart thundering inside her ribs like it might tear free. Her hands were trembling. This couldn’t be happening.

But it was. He was here.

And he was watching her.

He looked at her as if she were a puzzle with missing corners. And then, in a voice that could have split oak, he said, “Eleanor. What, in God’s name, have you done?”

The girl, Eleanor, gestured at Beth. “Found this one wandering the woods. She dresses like a lad, speaks nonsense, and performs strange rituals.”

“I was doing yoga,” Beth muttered.

“Silence,” the man snapped, his gaze flicking to her again. “Who are you?”

With a glare, she straightened her spine, giving him her best unruly high school teacher voice. “Dr. Beth Anderson. I teach chemistry. I have no idea how I got here, but I think I may have time traveled?”

Alric snorted behind him.

Baldwin’s eyes narrowed. “Time … traveled.”

“Yes. It’s a science thing. Not sorcery. It involves, look, I really don’t want to go into the quantum mechanics right now.”

She took a breath, then blurted, “But it’s not magic, I swear! Copper sulfate. CuSO? might’ve been part of it, and maybe some random electrolysis? Possibly blood as a catalyst, though that’s not exactly FDA approved and, wait, you don’t have an FDA. Right. Okay.”

Baldwin stared at her like she’d just spoken in tongues.

Beth coughed. “Right. I’ll stop now.” But did she? No. Instead, she shrugged and blurted out the words, “Last night I was in my chemistry lab. It was the first day of summer, June 21st, 2025.” She blinked at them. “What year might it be?”

The man called Alric crossed himself, and the young woman, Eleanor looked entirely too interested in her. But him. Mr. Lord of the Vale and all that crap rolled his beautiful grey eyes.

“You speak madness,” he said flatly.

Beth huffed. “Well, I didn’t exactly plan to teleport into your enchanted woods, sir knight. Do you have a phone? Or, failing that, a library?”

“Brother,” Eleanor interrupted, “she claims her name is Beth. And she wears hose like a mercenary.” The woman tilted her head. “Today is the eighth of May. ’Tis the Year of Our Lord 1468.”

“1468?” The Wars of the Roses or it was also called the Cousins’ Wars. The House of York and white roses. The White Queen. A time of upheaval. For a moment, Beth thought she might be sick. But it passed as he looked her over, found her wanting, and turned his attention to Eleanor.

Baldwin turned back to his sister, gaze icy. “And you stole my second-best bow. Again.”

Eleanor’s smile was unrepentant. “It shoots true.”

He exhaled through his nose, then turned back to Beth. “You will come with us to Glenhaven.”

Beth folded her arms. “And if I don’t?”

“You will.”

He gestured. Alric dismounted, took her elbow, not roughly, but firmly.

“This is kidnapping,” Beth said.

“This is containment,” Baldwin replied. “Until I decide if you are danger or fool.”

“Definitely a fool,” Eleanor whispered, grinning.

The castle rose like a dream, or perhaps a warning, from the mist-laced edge of the lake, each stone steeped in centuries of silence and storm. Beth stared as they passed through the iron-bound gates, her breath catching in her throat.

High curtain walls encircled the stronghold, their grey faces pitted and scarred by time, yet still formidable.

Ivy draped the battlements like a velvet shroud, its green fingers clutching at the crenellations.

Above them, pennants embroidered with silver falcons snapped in the brisk wind, their colors catching the sun in flickers of silver and black.

The portcullis groaned overhead as they entered the outer bailey.

Inside, the castle teemed with life. The clanging rhythm of a blacksmith’s hammer echoed beneath the archways, mingling with the whinnying of horses from the stables and the uneven cluck and flap of chickens darting between boots and hooves.

A boy wrestled a bundle of kindling toward the kitchens, and a pair of servants hurried past with baskets of linens, their arms full and their eyes wide.

The scent of baking bread hung thick on the air, laced with woodsmoke and the sharper perfume of trampled herbs in the garden beyond.

The cobbled courtyard stretched wide, its stones smooth from generations of footfalls, leading to a towering keep that cast a long shadow across the yard.

Arched windows peered down like watchful eyes.

A cluster of stone steps wound up toward the solar and great hall, where banners fluttered at the entrance like a herald’s welcome or a challenge.

Beth’s gaze lifted to the tower that loomed above all, its pointed roof piercing the sky. A weather vane shaped like a falcon spun lazily in the breeze. She felt impossibly small.

Inside the keep, shadows clung to the walls like old secrets.

The air cooled instantly, rich with the scent of smoke from hearth fires and the earthy tang of dried rosemary and sage hanging in bundles near the rafters.

Thick stone muffled the outside world. Her sneakers squeaked against the ancient flagstones, a jarring contrast to the muted thud of Baldwin’s boots.

He strode ahead without a glance, his cloak whispering at his heels, shoulders set with the stiffness of command.

Beth followed, her breath catching in the hush, heart hammering like an intruder’s.

The walls narrowed as they climbed, torches guttering in iron sconces, casting flickering patterns that danced across tapestries depicting knights, saints, and beasts she couldn’t name.

At the top of the stairs, he stopped before a thick oak door banded in black iron. Turning, he fixed her with a gaze that held no trace of warmth.

“You will remain in this chamber. You will not leave without permission.”

His voice was low, clipped. Final.

Beth’s eyes darted to the door as he shoved it open.

The chamber beyond was austere but not cold with smooth wooden floors softened with a faded woven rug, a narrow bed tucked beneath a high, arched window, a small hearth with embers still glowing, and a single wooden chair beside a desk cluttered with parchment and quills.

A pitcher of water sat on the sill, catching what little light filtered through the cloudy glass.

She turned slowly. “And if I need the restroom?” she asked, too sweetly.

Baldwin blinked, clearly thrown.

“The what?”

“The garderobe,” Eleanor said from behind him with a sigh, appearing in the corridor. “Saints, she’s daft.” Her eyes rolled heavenward as she turned on her heel and disappeared down the stairwell.

Beth sighed. “You’ve no idea.”

The door clanked shut behind her with grim finality, and she jumped. A bolt slid into place. Beth leaned against it, slid to the floor, and exhaled.

Castle? Check.

Knight? Grumpy and brooding. Double check.

Chance of survival?

…To be determined.