“She’s been poisoned,” he roared, fury and fear breaking through the usual self-control in his voice. “Lock the doors! No one leaves until we find the traitor responsible!”
The king was on his feet, face contorted in outrage, bellowing orders, while chaos washed the court into turmoil all around them.
Baldwin didn’t spare a thought for appearances as he scooped up Beth into his arms, her body dangerously slack against his chest, and bolted from the hall with a speed born of desperation.
The next hourspassed in a blur of panic and torment. In Baldwin’s chambers, Beth lay pale and shuddering, her breathing shallow as poison ravaged her body. The royal physician hovered, pouring over vials, tests, and half-whispered Latin.
Milk. Beth’s memory fought through the numb haze. She knew the toxin. “Milk,” she gasped weakly, drawing Baldwin’s urgent gaze. “Fat... slows poison...”
He seized her limp hands, and his voice was ragged, tortured. “Find milk!” he barked sharply to the attendants hovering by the chamber door. And when it arrived, he gently lifted her head, coaxing it down her throat himself, speaking quietly to keep her focus on his voice.
“Stay with me,” he implored softly. “I cannot lose you … not now … not like this.”
Her breathing steadied slightly as the antidote worked slowly, her vision growing clearer with each painful gasp. When exhaustion finally claimed her, Baldwin pressed a gentle kiss to her hand, utterly heedless of the physician’s interested gaze.
“Go,” Baldwin growled softly to the physician, voice thick with barely controlled emotion. The physician bowed and left in a whirl of black robes, leaving them alone.
Baldwin dropped his head, resting his brow against Beth’s cool hand, his voice barely audible. “This should never have happened. I promised to protect you, yet?—”
Eyes fluttering open, Beth attempted a weak smile. With a soft murmur, she whispered, “So, are you going to finally kiss me now?”
Baldwin chuckled hoarsely, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “You ask me now?”
Icy fingers brushed his cheek, trembling but firm. “Well...if it means anything...to you, Baldwin, you’re worth almost dying for.”
His heart gave a painful jolt at her words, at the truth shining behind them. He tenderly brushed her hair away from her pale face. “When you are well,” he promised softly, voice shaking slightly, “and if you still wish it, I promise to kiss you... until your knees give out.”
Her eyelashes swept down, closing as exhaustion took hold, but a small, peaceful smile lingered on her lips.
As he settled himself beside her, keeping quiet vigil, he knew the threat was not yet over. Barnaby and his ilk had escalated their schemes into deadly territory. This would not be the end. Yet, as he gently held her hand, Baldwin silently vowed that nothing and no one would harm her again.
In his heart, he knew with absolute clarity that loyalty to Glenhaven, to the king, would never be strong enough to take precedence over the fierce protectiveness he now felt for her.
His jaw tensed as he raised his gaze toward the shuttered windows where London’s darkness loomed beyond. “This is far from over,” he murmured grimly, conviction ringing through every word.
CHAPTER 18
Soft shadows wrapped around the chamber Baldwin had taken for himself while staying at the palace, the fading afternoon sunlight spreading molten gold across wide wooden floorboards and illuminating the intricate tapestries draping the walls. The air was infused with subtle hints of smoke from the hearth and the faint lingering scent of rosemary that Beth associated with Baldwin himself.
Propped up against a pile of embroidered pillows on the massive bed, Beth slowly opened her eyes, blinking as consciousness returned. Her head felt as though it had been threaded with snow, cold and fuzzy, and her thoughts sluggish. Carefully, she drew a shaky breath, her fingers trembling as they rested against the quilt that had been drawn to her chin.
Nearby, he stood silhouetted against the window, his broad-shouldered form outlined by the late sunlight. A simple tunic of midnight blue wool hugged his strong shoulders. He was facing away from her, one hand pressed flat against the glass as though to steady himself, his dark head bowed. Though his posture was tense, even rigid, there was an exhaustion in that quiet moment that made her heart clench.
She tried her voice, whispering hoarsely, “Did I miss anything important?”
He whirled around at once, relief flowering instantly across his usually guarded expression. In two quick strides, he knelt by the bedside, the sunlight catching silver sparks in the grey of his eyes as he took her hand in his large, calloused one, his hair mussed as if he’d been running his hands through it.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, his tone soft as velvet. “I confess you frightened me half to death. Do not do that again.”
Her throat worked painfully, a laugh half-trapped beneath layers of wool and linens. “As you command. Next time a poison is slipped into my wine, I’ll try to faint less dramatically.”
He shook his head, affectionate irritation tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the gravity in his eyes. His thumb stroked her wrist, making her shiver. “Never did I think a woman could lead me such a merry chase and still I would wish for more.”
She flushed, smiling faintly as warmth slowly returned to her limbs. “If it helps, I think I rather prefer provoking laughter from you than panicked knightly heroics.”
His chuckle was low, and strained even as worry lingered in his gaze. “See that you remember.” He reached forward with gentle fingers, brushing a strand of hair softly behind her ear where it stubbornly persisted in slipping free. “You must rest today. Ring for Eleanor?—”
“I will recover,” she cut in gently, meeting his gaze firmly. “And we both know whoever was behind this isn’t likely to stop now.”
