“Political maneuvering?”
“Always.” He moved to the desk, shuffling through papers. “The Cousin’s War may seem quiet now, but the embers stillburn. One wrong word, one misplaced loyalty...” He shook his head.
Beth perched on the edge of a wooden chair, watching him. The sunlight caught in his hair, revealing strands of deep bronze and caramel among the chocolate brown. His hands, strong and capable, shuffled through the documents.
“What can I do?” she asked again.
He looked up, his expression unreadable. “Stay hidden.”
“Excuse me?” She fisted handfuls of fabric in her hands so she wouldn’t do anything she might regret.
“When the royal party arrives. Stay out of sight.” His voice was low, intense. “Jacquetta of Luxembourg has an eye for... oddities. Things that do not belong.”
Beth stiffened. Sure, she was a bit geeky, awkward at times, but that... hurt. “Things like me, you mean.”
“People talk of her second sight. Some say she practices the old arts.” He straightened, his height emphasized by the low ceiling beams. “I cannot protect you from her.”
The words stung more than they should have. “I don’t need your protection,” she said, though even to her own ears, the claim sounded hollow.
His mouth tightened. “Do not be daft. You know nothing of court, of the dangers?—”
“I have a PhD in chemistry. I’ve dealt with unruly teenagers for several years. I think I can handle a bit of medieval politics.” She wanted to stomp her foot, but the slippers didn’t make any noise on the floors. Talk about annoying.
“A what in—” He shook his head. “It matters not. Your strange knowledge will only draw attention, perhaps suspicion.”
“So I am to confine myself to my chamber, like some forgotten prisoner, while royalty parades through the halls?” Beth demanded, planting her hands on her hips.
Baldwin’s gaze flicked past her, unfocused. He looked every inch the lord. Brow furrowed, jaw set, voice turning cool and imperious. “It is necessary. There can be no risk. The queen is not fond of novelty.” A muscle twitched in his cheek as his attention darted toward the corridor as if half-listening for approaching footsteps.
But this was an incredible chance to see history up close. She didn’t want to miss it.
“I will not vanish like a shadow just because Her Majesty might find me peculiar.”
She jabbed the air with two fingers in a mockery of courtly decorum. “Honestly, wouldn’t it be more suspicious to hide me away? People notice secrets.”
He sighed, exasperation warring with preoccupation. “You misunderstand. Your chamber is required for our guests. I am sorry, Eliza — Beth. But it is no longer yours. My sister has offered you her company in her own chamber until the king’s progress takes him onward.”
Something in his posture softened, an apology in the set of his shoulders, though his tone remained resigned. “’Tis only for a se’nnight, mayhap less. All of Glenhaven will be crowded.”
She’d been paying careful attention to how everyone acted, moved, spoke, as she said, “So, I am displaced. How very convenient.”
Baldwin’s gaze faltered, looking everywhere but her face. “Eleanor will see you are welcome. This is the safest course for you and for all of Glenhaven.”
His jaw tightened. Finally, he sighed, a sound of reluctant concession. “Perhaps you are right. And if you are at all like Eleanor, you would be found lurking behind the tapestries, and then there would be trouble. If asked, we tell the same story, that you are a recent widow?—”
“I remember.” She rolled her eyes, waving a hand in front of her face.
He gave her what she thought of as his lord of the castle stern look. Then his mouth twitched. It might have been a smile, if a little begrudging, then vanished, replaced by a look of deep disapproval, eyebrows arching and shoulders squaring as if the weight of the entire castle had settled there.
A clatter sounded from the courtyard below, and both their heads turned to catch the faint thunder of boots. Guards running drills, or more likely, the staff scurrying under threat of royal disaster. Defiance simmered behind her smile.
“I’ll endeavor to behave,” she promised, careful to keep the sarcasm cloaked. “Though if you see me in the kitchens, it’s only to fetch a piece of pie, I swear.” She couldn’t help the impish glint in her eye.
His jaw flexed. “Do not think pie will save you from the queen’s scrutiny, mistress.”
The window beyond the desk overlooked the lake, placid and jeweled with sunlight. For a moment, tension flickered between them as he really looked at her.
Beth fumbled for something, anything, safe to say. “I could help with the accounts,” she offered at last, glancing down at the piles of ledgers scrawled in tight, crabbed script. “I’m good with numbers.” In truth, their chaos beckoned. Nothing soothed her like neat little rows of figures and solvent calculations.
