Eleanor sighed softly, gathering her skirts as she settled on the edge of Beth’s bed. “The king speaks again of arranging a marriage for me.”
Beth crossed the room and joined her, sympathy flickering through her heart. “Did he say to whom?”
“Not yet, thank the Saints.” Eleanor stared down at her folded hands, her voice strained. “I don’t want to be sent away from my home, away from everything I love. I know it is my duty, but...” She swallowed hard, a flush rising in her cheeks. “It’s not fair. I don’t wish to marry at all. I’ve seen how so many husbands treat their wives as though, by marrying them, they own them.”
She paused, then hurried on softly, “I know my brother isn’t like that, but too many are. The thought of belonging to someone in such a manner sickens me. I would stay at Glenhaven forever if I could.”
Beth reached out and gently covered Eleanor’s trembling hands with her own. “Perhaps there’s another way.”
“Impress the king. If he asks what you want... would you... would you ask that I can stay at Glenhaven?” Eleanor whispered shakily, squeezing Beth’s hand in return, before withdrawing with a long, steadier breath.
“Of course I will.”
“Thank you. I’m going to the stables. I’ll be back soon.” Eleanor rose, casting one last glance of quiet kinship toward Beth before slipping out the door, leaving Beth alone again beneath the weight of her own troubled thoughts.
CHAPTER 17
The morning sunlight spilled through the leaded windows of the great hall, catching motes of dust that danced above the polished stone floor. Long tapestries swayed faintly in the breeze from the open windows, their embroidered scenes of battles and hunts casting shifting shadows across the gathered courtiers below.
Beth wished she could disappear into those shadows. Every eye seemed to fix on her as she entered beside Baldwin, her steps faltering under the weight of so many scrutinizing gazes. The hall was noisy with the sound of clinking goblets, murmured conversations, and the rich timbre of laughter, but it all stilled as word of her arrival rippled outward, drowning even the light trill of a lute in the far corner.
She fisted the folds of the deep blue velvet gown in her fists. Eleanor had chosen the dress for her this morning, weaving her hair into an intricate braid threaded with a ribbon of silver silk. Despite these efforts, Beth couldn’t shake the feeling she looked more like a lamb in borrowed finery than a lady. Despite the cold day, sweat dripped down her back.
Beside her, Baldwin wore a tunic of green damask that hugged his broad shoulders and tapered perfectly along his leanframe. Gold embroidery traced the edges of his collar, catching the light in flashes. He kept her hand in the crook of his arm, his presence a bulwark against the whispered insults she half-heard.
Around the hall, courtiers watched and waited like predators scenting blood on the breeze. Lord Barnaby Skeffington, cousin to Cedric, stood apart from the cluster gathered near the dais, casting long, appraising glances toward her. His doublet, sharp-edged and the color of claret wine, made his round face seem softer than it was, but his calculating smirk darkened the illusion. His eyes gleamed with malice as he whispered something to the woman beside him, who covered her mouth with delicate fingers as her gaze darted toward Beth.
At the high table, King Edward lounged comfortably, his doublet of cream and gold brocade practically glowing in the sunlight. His golden hair gleamed beneath a pearl-studded cap, and his laugh rumbled warmly as he listened to the queen, who sat beside him, resplendent in pale blue damask trimmed with ermine.
Jacquetta sat to the queen’s left, her silver hair coiled into an intricate coronet of braids. Even seated, she commanded an almost predatory grace. She observed the room with cool dispassion, her sharp eyes missing nothing as they moved from Beth to Baldwin.
“Lord Baldwin,” Edward called, his voice cutting effortlessly through the murmurs. “You bring your interesting ward to us again. We are pleased to see you both, and so soon after your most singular performance in the courtyard.”
Beth resisted the urge to wince. Beside her, Baldwin inclined his head, his voice even as he said, “Your Grace, the Lady Eleanor and I remain your humble servants, as does my companion, the widow Anderson.”
Before Edward could respond, Lord Barnaby stepped forward, his polished boots clicking against the stone floor.“Your Grace, what is most singular, I think, is the manner of the lady’s... philosophy. It raises questions among those who serve you.” He twisted to give a smile too sharp to be polite. “Questions about where it is rooted.”
Her pulse spiked. She stared at Barnaby, stomach knotting, deciding that she’d been wrong. It wasn’t fun to be smack dab in the middle of history.
“She is skilled,” Baldwin answered coolly before the king could reply. His voice didn’t waver, but Beth could hear the steel threaded beneath it. “As I have said before, her talents lie in understanding nature’s mysteries, which are beyond the average person’s understanding. Surely we would not punish a mind eager to learn.”
Barnaby’s smirk widened. “No punishment intended, my lord. Only... observation. Knowledge unchecked can become dangerous in careless hands.”
The subtle derision in his tone pulled a murmur throughout the room like dry leaves in a soft breeze.
The king’s expression darkened, though his good humor barely flickered. “Barnaby,” he said, and his voice was a blade. “We tire of these tedious insinuations. Should you doubt my judgment in permitting the lady’s presence, I suggest you take the matter up with her protector.”
Baldwin’s piercing look could have skewered Barnaby where he stood, and Beth felt a small flare of relief.
Jacquetta waved a languid hand. “The Lord Cedric’s absence leaves such matters poorly represented.” Her voice was smooth as honeyed wine, but Beth caught the undercurrent of something sharper beneath it. “In his stead, my daughter and I shall study the matter further. Perhaps Mistress Beth would do me the favor of joining me this afternoon in my chambers.”
Jacquetta’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Beth’s throat tightened. “I would be delighted, Lady Rivers.”
Baldwin’s handscurled into fists as he stalked the edges of the hall after they were dismissed. The whispers followed Beth like smoke, curling around her even now. Damned Barnaby, with his smug insinuations. Cedric’s absence hadn’t defanged his cousin, for he was still plotting from afar.
And Beth. Saints above, she made things worse by standing there too proud, too exposed, her very presence a challenge to anyone brave or foolish enough to test her.
