Beth’s breath caught at his touch. “Thank you,” she managed. “I’ve never owned anything so beautiful.”
“It is not the jewel that is beautiful,” he said quietly.
Before she could process his words, a call came from the castle. “My lord! A messenger arrives from the north!”
Baldwin’s hand fell away from hers, his expression closing like a shutter. “Duty calls,” he said with a sigh. “But perhaps... later... we might continue our conversation in the library? I have some texts that might interest you.”
“I’d like that,” Beth said, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through her chest.
He nodded once, then strode toward the castle.
Beth remained in the garden, the queen’s ring cool against her skin, her thoughts anything but. For the first time since arriving in this century, she wasn’t thinking about how to get back home. She was wondering what it might mean to stay.
CHAPTER 11
The last of the royal party’s dust had settled on the horizon three days past, yet Baldwin found himself still checking over his shoulder, half-expecting to find another courtier lurking with some new ridiculous demand. The castle had exhaled its collective breath, servants no longer scurrying with that particular wide-eyed panic that accompanied royal visits. Even the stones of Glenhaven seemed to settle back into their familiar patterns, no longer straining to impress.
He paused at the window of his solar, watching as rain clouds gathered over the distant hills. The royal visit had left him with new lands to the south, a generous gift from King Edward, and a strange emptiness he couldn’t quite name. His gaze drifted to the courtyard below, where Beth stood with Eleanor, their heads bent together as Beth demonstrated something with animated hands. Even from this distance, he could see the passion that lit her features when she explained things, the way her entire body seemed to participate in her thoughts.
The woman was a mystery wrapped in contradictions. Brilliant, yet vulnerable and awkward at times. Foreign yet somehow belonging. She had charmed the White Queenherself, made Edward laugh with her strange demonstrations, and somehow survived the scrutiny of Jacquetta, who missed nothing. And now she remained at Glenhaven, bringing light to corners he’d forgotten existed.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. “Enter,” he called, turning from the window.
Father Gregory stepped inside, his robes rustling softly against the rush-strewn floor. “My lord, I’ve brought those manuscripts you requested.” The old priest’s eyes twinkled knowingly. “The ones about the stars and heavenly bodies.”
Baldwin cleared his throat. “My thanks. I thought they might interest our... guest.”
“Indeed.” The priest set the bound volumes on the table. “She has a most curious mind. Yesterday she asked me about the properties of sulfur and saltpeter in a way that suggests she knows far more than she reveals.”
“She claims to be a teacher of natural philosophy,” Baldwin said carefully, running his fingers along the tooled leather of the nearest manuscript.
“Whatever she is,” Father Gregory said with a small smile, “she has brought life back to these halls. I haven’t seen you so engaged with your library since before your father’s passing.”
Baldwin frowned, uncomfortable with the priest’s perception. “She will need occupation. The royal visit distracted her, but now...” He trailed off, unsure how to explain his concern that Beth might grow restless, or worse, melancholy, now that the excitement had passed.
“The lady seems to find occupation wherever she goes,” Father Gregory observed. “Just this morning, I found her collecting rainwater in glass vials. When I inquired as to her purpose, she spoke of ‘testing theories’ in a most enthusiastic manner.”
Baldwin’s lips quirked despite himself. “No doubt she’ll set something ablaze before the week is out.”
“No doubt,” the priest agreed cheerfully. “I shall leave you to your... preparations.” With a knowing bow, he departed, leaving Baldwin alone with the books and his thoughts.
Rain began to patter against the window, a gentle drumming that promised a downpour. He gathered the manuscripts, his fingers brushing vellum worn soft with age, a familiar comfort that did little to ease the knot tightening in his chest. Saints, why should he be nervous? Yet he was.
He’d overheard her in the solar just the day before, her voice low but kind as she spoke to one of the new maids, Gera, with the ginger hair and a face full of freckles that earned her no end of cruel jests from the others.
“Do not worry over what is said,” Beth had told her, tucking a strand of hair behind the girl’s ear. “You’re lovely, just as you are.”
Gera had wiped her eyes, visibly heartened, managing a weak smile. Beth had sighed and added, “I’m envious of your freckles. I’ve never been what anyone would call pretty. I accepted that long ago.”
The daft woman couldn’t have been more wrong.
She had no notion what her smile did to a room. How her eyes turned luminous when some puzzle stirred her clever mind, how even her frown caused a flutter beneath his ribs. She was striking in her own peculiar, wholly unknowing way, and it confounded him.
Would she find his books primitive? Would she scoff at pages written by candlelight and studied by fire instead of cold, clinical lamps? Or would her eyes spark with that hunger for knowledge, the one he found himself desperate to see again?
He clutched the manuscripts tighter, reluctant to admit even to himself how eager he was to see her reaction.
Beth stoodat her chamber window, watching lightning flash in the distance. The storm was moving closer, electricity crackling in the air in a way that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. It reminded her of that night in her lab, the night everything changed.
