He regarded her, long and searching, weighing risks as a knight might size an opponent. “Then prove your mettle.”
“Bring it,” Beth answered, surprised by her own steadiness.
He motioned to the nearest ledger. “Do you truly know your sums?”
She shot him a look of feigned reproach, recalling more than one boy in her AP class who had doubted just that. Without waiting, she seated herself and paged through clumps ofparchment. Debts for flour, entries for spice, the careful tracking of every goose and pomegranate.
Numbers became anchors. Columns stacked themselves beneath her nib, and soon, drowned in calculation, Beth nearly forgot the awkwardness, the threat of royalty, the uncertainty of where, when, she belonged. And how it hurt just a little that Baldwin pretended her widow story was true, that he didn’t want to know anything about ‘the damned future,’ as he put it. If their positions had been reversed, she’d want to know everything. She detested surprises.
She sat in the quiet, rubbing her hands along her thighs, heart thudding harder than she’d like to admit. “Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium…” she whispered, barely audible. The familiar rhythm of the periodic table wrapped around her like an old blanket. “Boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, fluorine, neon…”
From his post at the window, Baldwin watched, arms crossed tight. His silence tangled with the chirr of birds. At one point, he murmured, “You have skill,” as if it half pained him to say it.
“I told you,” she replied, not looking up. “I may be crap with sewing, but I know numbers.”
He grunted, a sound stern, but not unfriendly. “Saints, preserve me.”
The moment built, delicate as eggshell between them. When at last he spoke, it was nearly soft. “Why are you unafraid?” He hesitated. “What if you slip?”
Beth paused, pen hovering above the parchment. The answer tumbled through her. She was afraid, terrified, if she let herself admit it. But she was alive, and his respect, grudging as it was, mattered more than she wished.
When she looked up, he was right in front of the desk, the scent of leather, and something green mixing with the parchment as she inhaled, wondering if she could bottle the scent. She let the smallest smile crack her mask.
“Because I’d rather count coins than cower in corners.” She shrugged. “I will be careful... I shouldn’t have told you I’m from the future, but in my defense, I was dealing with a great deal at the time. The truth just came out.”
Before he could say a word or scold her, she held up a hand. “I will not slip.” Then a smile escaped. “I rather prefer my head attached to my shoulders.”
“Your head is rather fetching.” Baldwin inclined his head as the sterness melted into a faint curve of his lips. “Let us see if you might keep Glenhaven solvent till the King departs. You must promise to guard your tongue. No talk of your... time. No strange words or customs.”
“I can be normal,” Beth protested. “I mean, I can blend in.”
His expression suggested profound doubt.
“I can!” she insisted.
He came around the desk, closing the distance between them in one long stride. Her breath caught as he reached out—but he only adjusted the collar of her kirtle where it had folded inward.
“See that you do,” he said softly. His fingers lingered a moment too long, warm against her collarbone. “For both our sakes.”
CHAPTER 7
The next several days passed in a blur of preparation. Beth found herself swept into the frenzy despite Baldwin’s reservations. Eleanor insisted she needed Beth’s help with inventorying linens and selecting which tapestries should be displayed in the guest chambers.
“The blue one with the hunting scene, or the green with the unicorn?” Eleanor held up swatches of fabric that would be hung to divide the large chamber prepared for the Queen.
“The unicorn,” Beth said confidently. “It’s more feminine.”
Eleanor nodded approvingly. “You have a good eye. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”
They were in what would become the Queen’s chamber, a spacious room with a massive canopied bed that had been freshly stuffed with sweet-smelling straw and covered with the finest linens in Glenhaven. A fire crackled in the hearth despite the summer warmth outside, keeping the room dry and pleasant.
“So,” Beth said casually, laying out embroidered pillows, “what’s she like? The Queen?”
Eleanor glanced toward the door, then lowered her voice. “Beautiful. A commoner before she caught the King’s eye. Some whisper she bewitched him.”
“Bewitched? Like, actual magic?”
“Her mother, Lady Jacquetta, comes from Luxembourg. They say strange blood runs in her veins.” Eleanor shivered dramatically. “But speak not of such things when they arrive. The walls have ears when royalty visits.”
