His mind turned to Beth, as it so often did these days. Her face when Cedric had demanded the trial by combat, shock dissolving into horror, then that stubborn set to her jaw that both infuriated and captivated him. She had tried to stop this, claiming that in her time, men no longer settled disputes with steel and blood.
“Then your time is the poorer for it,” he had told her.
Now, as he prepared to defend her honor, to prove she was no witch but merely a woman of extraordinary knowledge, he wondered if she was right. There were other ways to defeat a snake like Cedric Whitmore.
But not in this world. Not in his world. A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. “Enter,” he called, expecting his squire with the remainder of his armor.
Instead, Beth herself slipped into the chamber, her eyes wide with fear and determination. She wore a simple gown of black embroidered with silver that brought out the gold flecks in her eyes. Her hair was braided back from her face, revealing the delicate curve of her neck.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.
“I know.” She stepped closer, her scent, herbs and something else pungent from her stillroom filled his senses. “I came to give you this.”
She held out a small cloth pouch, her fingers trembling slightly.
“What is it?” He took it, careful not to touch her skin. Such contact before battle was ill-omened, or so he had always been taught.
“It’s a mixture I made. Salts and... other things.” She gestured vaguely. “If you’re wounded, it will help stop the bleeding and prevent putrefaction.”
Baldwin’s chest tightened. Her concern for his safety should not affect him so, and yet it did. “I have no intention of being wounded.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Neither do most men who end up that way.” She stepped back, wringing her hands. “Please be careful. Cedric is a bully, and I’d bet he doesn’t fight fair.”
“I am well aware of Lord Whitmore’s nature.” Baldwin tucked the pouch into his belt. “And I have faced far more dangerous men than he.”
Beth nodded, but her eyes remained troubled. “I know you have to do this. I just wish?—”
“What?” he prompted when she fell silent.
“I wish I were worth the risk.”
The words struck him like a physical blow. Did she truly not know? Could she not see that he would face a hundred men like Cedric, would walk through fire and flood, would challenge the king himself if it meant keeping her safe?
Baldwin closed the distance between them, his armor creaking softly. “Beth.” Her name on his lips felt like a prayer, a benediction. “You are worth far more than you know.”
Her eyes widened, lips parting slightly. For a moment, he thought she might weep, but instead she straightened her shoulders and nodded once, firmly.
“Then win,” she said simply.
“I intend to.”
She turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Baldwin?”
“Yes?”
“In my time, we say ‘kick his ass.’” With that startling declaration, she was gone, leaving behind only her scent and the echo of her strange words.
Baldwin allowed himself a brief smile. Kick his ass indeed.
The courtyard hummedwith chatter and wagers, a restless crowd of nobles and villagers jostling to witness Cedric’s trial by combat. Breath fogged the cool morning air as anxious gazes flicked toward the empty arena. Beth stood near the lists, heartlodged firmly in her throat. A chill foreboding prickled her skin beneath the sleeves of the gown she’d donned as she searched in vain for Baldwin.
Where was he?
Cedric strode arrogantly into the arena, his broad figure sheathed in elaborate armor that shone like polished silver. His black feathered helm caught weak sunlight, the arrogant tilt of his chin obvious even from a distance. His shield bore the Whitmore crest, a hawk clutching a serpent, a detail Baldwin would have found grimly fitting, had he been anywhere nearby.
What was taking him so long?
Below, Father Gregory stepped forth, expression solemn, a wrinkled hand raised beseechingly to the crowd. “This trial by combat will determine the truth of Lord Whitmore’s accusations against Mistress Beth Anderson, who stands under the protection of Lord Baldwin Devereux. I will send word of the outcome to King Edward’s court. May God render justice upon this field.”
