“In your homeland,” Eleanor asked, her words slightly slurred, “do they have kings and queens as we do?”
Beth took another swig of mead before answering. “Yes, though the system changes over time. Eventually, the monarch becomes more of a figurehead while elected officials make the actual decisions.”
Baldwin tensed. This was dangerous territory.
“How peculiar!” Eleanor exclaimed. “And who rules after our King Edward? His son, I presume?”
Beth nodded, then frowned, as if trying to organize her thoughts through the haze of mead. “Edward V, yes, but only briefly. Then his uncle Richard becomes regent and eventually takes the throne as Richard III.”
Baldwin’s cup froze halfway to his lips. He shot Beth a warning glance, but her eyes were unfocused, gazing out over the lake.
“Richard? The Duke of Gloucester?” Father Gregory asked, his voice carefully neutral. “A most... unexpected turn.”
“Mmm,” Beth agreed, oblivious to the tension suddenly crackling in the air. “There’s a whole controversy about whether he had his nephews killed, the princes imprisoned in the Tower,but then he’s defeated by Henry Tudor at Bosworth Field, and that starts the Tudor dynasty.”
Baldwin set down his cup with deliberate care, his knuckles white. “Beth,” he said, his voice low and tight, “perhaps we should speak of pleasanter topics.”
Swaying slightly, she blinked, confusion crossing her face before understanding dawned. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh! Oh no, I shouldn’t have, I didn’t mean to?—”
“What happens to the princes?” Eleanor asked, leaning forward eagerly, unaware of the dangerous nature of the conversation.
Before Beth could answer, Baldwin stood abruptly. “Eleanor, I believe the cook was looking for you earlier. Something about preparations for the feast?”
Eleanor pouted but recognized the dismissal in her brother’s tone. With a dramatic sigh, she rose, brushing crumbs from her gown, her face flushed. “Very well, though I suspect you simply wish to speak of matters too delicate for my ears.” She bent to kiss Father Gregory’s cheek. “Save some tales for me, Father.”
“Always, my child.”
As Eleanor departed, her figure growing smaller against the green hillside, silence settled over the remaining trio. Beth stared into her cup, her earlier animation replaced by mortification.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “The mead... I wasn’t thinking.”
Father Gregory refilled his cup with a steady hand. “Time is God’s river, Mistress Beth,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you are merely glimpsing its course.”
Baldwin’s jaw worked as he struggled with his response. “Glimpsing is one thing. Speaking of the king’s brother usurping the throne and murdering his children is quite another.”
“I don’t know for certain that he did,” Beth said quickly. “History is... complicated. Written by the victors.”
“And who are these victors?” Baldwin demanded. “These Tudors you speak of?”
Beth nodded miserably. “Henry Tudor marries Elizabeth of York, Edward’s daughter, uniting the houses of Lancaster and York.”
Father Gregory raised his bushy eyebrows. “A neat solution to the cousins’ war, if somewhat... delayed.”
Baldwin paced the edge of the blanket, his cloak swirling around his legs. The knowledge Beth possessed was both valuable and dangerous. If word of her “predictions” reached the wrong ears, they could both be accused of treason.
“You must never speak of this again,” he said finally, his voice low and urgent. “Not to Eleanor, not to anyone. Do you understand?”
Face pale, despite the mead, Beth nodded. “I understand. I’m truly sorry, Baldwin.”
The use of his name without title sent an unexpected warmth through him, softening his anger. He sighed and sat down beside her, closer than propriety might allow.
“It’s not your fault,” he conceded. “The mead is strong, and Eleanor can be... persistent in her questioning.”
Father Gregory chuckled, pouring yet more mead into their cups. “Indeed, our Lady Eleanor could extract confessions from the most hardened sinner. Perhaps she should have been a priest rather than a nobleman’s daughter.”
The jest broke the tension, and Beth’s shoulders relaxed. She took another sip of mead, then looked at Baldwin through her lashes. “Does this mean you believe me now? About where, I mean,whenI’m from?”
He considered her question carefully. “I believe you believe it,” he said finally. “And I cannot explain your knowledgeotherwise. Whether you are from the future or merely blessed, or cursed, with the gift of prophecy, I cannot say.”
