By the time he’d realized what clung to his hose and worse, how terribly difficult it was to dismount without great… unseemly stretching, half the stablehands were doubled over with laughter. Rumor claimed he’d marched up to the keep with bees trailing behind him like some cursed saint.
Baldwin had bellowed when he’d learned what happened, not because he disapproved (though he pretended to), but because the gelding’s saddle had to be re-stitched, and the hide never quite lost its sheen.
“I do not care if the man called you a milk-toothed chit,” he’d growled. “You’ve ruined a masterwork saddle and turned my stables into a bawdy stage.”
Eleanor had only smirked and said serenely, “Then perhaps next time he’ll remember his manners.”
Since that day, mention of honey and saddles could send Eleanor radiantly red and Baldwin muttering into his wine. Roland, of course, never let the chance go to waste.
Despite himself, Baldwin’s lips twitched. “If she proves difficult, yes.”
As Roland departed, Baldwin cast one last glance at the practice yard. Beth now sat alone on a bench, her face tilted toward the sun, eyes closed. Something in his chest tightened at the sight, at the vulnerability of it, the simple pleasure she took in the warmth.
He turned away abruptly. He had a castle to run, a sister to corral, and a messenger to attend to. He had no time for... whatever this feeling was.
And yet, as he strode toward the great hall, his mind was already turning to the manuscripts he’d set aside in his chambers. Books he thought she might appreciate, that might help her understand this world she claimed was not her own.
A peace offering, perhaps. Or a test. He wasn’t entirely sure which.
Beth had just managedto drag herself back to her chamber when she nearly collided with Baldwin in the narrow stone corridor. He seemed to materialize out of the shadows, tall and imposing in a deep blue tunic that brought out the silver in hiseyes. A heavy belt circled his waist, from which hung a dagger with an ornate hilt.
“Oh!” she gasped, stepping back quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
His gaze swept over her, taking in her disheveled appearance, the sweat-dampened chemise, the loose hair that had escaped its braid during practice. Heat crept up her neck that had nothing to do with physical exertion.
“I see my sister has been instructing you,” he said, his voice neutral.
Beth lifted her chin. “She has. Problem?”
One dark eyebrow arched slightly. “You favor enthusiasm over form.”
“And you favor brooding over conversation,” Beth shot back, then immediately wished she could retract the words. Antagonizing the lord of the castle, the man who controlled whether she ate, slept under a roof, or was thrown to whatever passed for authorities in medieval England, was probably not the wisest move.
To her surprise, something that might have been amusement flickered in his eyes. “You speak your mind freely for one in such a precarious position.”
“It’s a character flaw,” she admitted. “Along with my complete lack of swordsmanship.”
“That, at least, can be improved with practice.”
“Are you offering to teach me?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Baldwin stilled, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Beth thought she’d gone too far. Then he said, “Perhaps. Though I would be a harsher instructor than Eleanor.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I survived the American public education system. I can handle harsh instruction.”
“Again, you speak in riddles.” But there was no edge to his words, only a kind of weary curiosity.
An awkward silence fell between them as she became acutely aware of how she must look and smell after an hour of flailing around with a wooden sword. She reached for the water flask at her belt, suddenly parched.
Baldwin moved at the same moment, his hand brushing hers as he reached to help. The contact was brief, electric. Both froze.
His hand was warm, calloused. A warrior’s hand, but with an unexpected gentleness in the touch. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Baldwin stepped back as if burned, his expression closing like a shutter over a window.
“Be cautious,” he said, his voice low. “The castle has eyes, and tongues wag freely.”
Before Beth could ask what he meant, he was gone, his boots echoing on the stone floor as he strode away. She stared after him, heart pounding in a rhythm that had nothing to do with her earlier exertion.
“What just happened?” she whispered to the empty corridor.
