His sister’s face was flushed with anger, but it was Beth who held his gaze. Her eyes were wide, her face pale, but there was no fear in her expression, only a stunned sort of wonder.
“The market is ended for today,” Baldwin announced to the villagers, his voice brooking no argument. “Return to your homes.”
As the crowd dispersed, he approached Beth, acutely aware of the eyes still watching them. “Are you harmed?” he asked, the words rough in his throat.
She shook her head. “No. But you didn’t have to?—”
“I did,” he interrupted. “And I would again.” He glanced at Eleanor. “Take her back to the castle. Now.”
Eleanor nodded, for once not arguing. She took Beth’s arm, guiding her toward where their horses waited.
Baldwin remained in the square a moment longer, his gaze lingering on the discarded iron rod, now cooling on the cobblestones. The rage still burned in his chest, all the moredisturbing for its intensity. He had faced enemies in battle with less fury than he’d felt watching Cedric threaten Beth.
This woman from another time was becoming dangerous, not because of any witchcraft, but because of how she made him feel. How she made him act. The realization troubled him as he mounted his horse and followed the women back to Glenhaven.
The rideback to the castle was silent. Baldwin led the way, his broad shoulders tense beneath his tunic, while Eleanor and Beth followed. The summer sun beat down, but Beth shivered occasionally, the memory of what almost happened still fresh.
As they passed through the castle gates, Baldwin dismounted in one fluid motion, then turned to help Beth from her horse. His hands at her waist were strong and sure, and for a brief moment, she found herself close enough to see the flecks of darker gray in his eyes, to catch the scent of leather and cedar that clung to him.
“My thanks,” she murmured as her feet touched the ground. “For what you did back there.”
His expression remained grave. “Cedric is dangerous. More so now that I’ve challenged him publicly.”
“I’m sorry,” she began, but he shook his head.
“The fault is not yours.” His voice softened slightly. “Though perhaps in future, speak less of your... chemical compositions... in the village.”
A small smile touched her lips at his careful pronunciation of the modern term. “I’ll try to remember.”
Eleanor had already dismounted and stood watching them, her expression thoughtful. “I should see to the preparations for dinner,” she said, though dinner was hours away. With a knowing glance at Beth, she disappeared into the castle.
Baldwin and Beth remained in the courtyard, the bustle of castle life continuing around them. Stable boys leading horses away, servants carrying baskets, a dog barking somewhere in the distance.
“He’ll come for you now,” Beth said softly. “Cedric. He’ll try to use me against you.”
Baldwin’s jaw tightened. “Let him try.”
“I don’t want to be the cause of trouble for you. For any of you.” She gestured toward the castle, where Eleanor had vanished. “Maybe I should?—”
“No.” The word was sharp, final. Baldwin’s gaze held hers, intense and unwavering. “You remain under my protection.”
“Why?” she asked, the question escaping before she could stop it. “Why risk your position, your reputation, for someone you barely know? Someone you don’t even fully believe?”
For a long moment, he said nothing, and she thought he might not answer. Then, his voice low enough that only she could hear, he said, “Because he fears what he cannot understand. And that fear will not touch you while I draw breath.”
The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. A warmth that had nothing to do with the summer heat spread through her at his words.
Before she could respond, a distant rumble of thunder broke the silence. Baldwin glanced at the sky, where dark clouds were gathering on the horizon.
“A storm comes,” he said, his voice returning to its usual practical tone. “We should go inside.”
CHAPTER 5
Physical education classes stunk when she was in school, and to this day Beth hated working up a sweat, which was why she’d always avoided gyms, jogging, and hiking of any type. As she wiped her brow, all she wanted to do was sit in a corner under a tree in the shade, whimpering as her muscles screamed. A week of sleeping on a straw mattress had done nothing for her back, and Eleanor’s idea of “basic training” involved movements that would make Olympic gymnasts weep.
“Again!” Baldwin’s sister commanded, circling her with the grace of a predatory cat. Her dark hair was braided tightly against her head, and despite the early hour, she wore a simple linen kirtle that allowed for movement, its forest green fabric cinched at her waist with a leather belt that also held a small dagger. “You must learn to parry before you can attack.”
A rather unladylike groan escaped as Beth hefted the wooden practice sword. It weighed approximately three metric tons. “In my time, we have these things called guns. Point and click. No upper body strength required.”
