He sighed, shaking his head in bemused resignation. “That she is.”
Above them, the sun broke through scattered clouds, sunlight threading golden rays across Eleanor’s victorious form, gleaming proudly against the armor she’d appropriated, justice unquestioned in every fierce line of her stance. Baldwin tightened his grip upon Beth, breathing the lingering remnants of fear away as pride swelled fiercely.
CHAPTER 22
Baldwin stood before the fire in his solar, watching the flames leap against the stone hearth. Outside, early October winds rattled the glass panes of the narrow windows, bringing with them the scent of fallen leaves and the promise of frost. He wore a black tunic of fine wool, its sleeves embroidered with silver thread that caught the firelight when he moved. His dark hair fell in waves to his collar, slightly damp from his earlier training in the yard despite the chill.
The time since their return from London had passed in a flurry of activity. Roland was healing well, miraculously well, thanks to Beth’s strange poultice of moldy bread. Baldwin’s mouth tightened as he remembered the sight of his friend’s festering wound clearing, the angry red lines retreating like an army in defeat.
Almost five months had passed since she had tumbled into his life with her strange garments and stranger speech. Five months that had changed his life. He traced the events in his mind like a well-worn prayer. The royal visit over the summer, with Queen Elizabeth’s curious gaze following Beth’s every move, and Lady River’s knowing eyes. Their summons to court where Beth had caused a stir with her “experiment” that almostblew up the king’s fountain. The ambush on their journey home that had nearly cost Roland his life.
And then there was Eleanor. His fierce, beloved sister, who had donned his armor and defeated Cedric in combat after locking him in his own damned chamber. A woman killing a man in sanctioned combat... ’twas unheard of, yet the king himself had ruled it fair. Cedric’s treachery had finally been repaid.
But it was Beth who had truly upended his world. Baldwin’s fingers tapped against his leg. The woman who claimed to be from a time yet unborn had saved Roland with naught but moldy bread and her strange knowledge. Knowledge that could not possibly exist.
And yet it did. She did.
Baldwin closed his eyes, the truth settling in his chest like a stone. He believed her now. God help him, he believed every word. Beth Anderson was from another time, a future he could scarcely imagine.
A time she must return to.
The thought pierced him like a blade between the ribs. He had fought against it, denied it, raged at the very idea. But he could no longer pretend. Beth did not belong here, in his world of plagues and wars and superstition. She belonged in her time of wonders, where her knowledge would not mark her as a witch.
No matter how his heart cried out against it.
The door opened with a whisper of wood against stone. He did not turn, knowing by the light footfall and the faint herbal scent who had entered.
“Would you tell me of your time?” he asked softly, his voice barely carrying over the crackle of the fire.
Her breath caught as he turned, taking in the sight of her standing uncertainly by the door. She wore a gown of soft navy wool, its simplicity only highlighting the grace of her slenderform. Her chestnut hair was down around her shoulders. Her green eyes, the color of spring leaves, widened at his question.
“You believe me?” she asked, taking a tentative step forward. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her linen apron, which bore faint stains from her work in the stillroom.
He gestured to the chairs before the fire. “I know not what to believe,” he admitted. “But I would hear the truth of it from your lips.”
She moved to sit, perching on the edge of the chair as if ready to flee. Baldwin poured wine from a flagon into two goblets, handing one to her before taking his seat opposite. The wine was deep red, almost black in the firelight.
“Where to begin? In my time,” Beth began, her voice soft but steady, “carriages need no horses. They operate via internal combustion engines that convert chemical potential energy into kinetic energy through controlled explosions—” She caught herself and flushed. “Sorry, I tend to over-explain when I’m nervous. What I mean is, they can travel hundreds of miles in a single day, powered by burning a substance called gasoline.”
Baldwin raised a skeptical brow but remained silent.
“We have metal birds that fly people across oceans in hours. We can speak to someone on the other side of the world as easily as I’m speaking to you now.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “Women are doctors and lawyers and scientists. They vote and hold office and—” She caught herself, noting his confusion. “Sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself.”
“These metal birds,” Baldwin said slowly, “they truly fly?”
A smile touched Beth’s lips. “Yes. I’ve flown in them myself.” She took a sip of wine. “It’s terrifying and wonderful at the same time.”
Baldwin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The fire cast half his face in shadow. “And kings? What of them in your time?”
Her fingers tightened around her goblet. “England still has a monarchy, but it’s mostly ceremonial. The real power lies with elected officials.”
“Elected?” Baldwin frowned. “Like a council?”
“Something like that.” She hesitated. “Baldwin, why are you asking me this now?”
He set his goblet aside, the wine untouched. “Because I’ve seen things I cannot explain. Your knowledge of the queen’s condition before it was announced. The way you healed Roland with that foul-smelling paste. The strange words you use.” His jaw tightened. “And because I need to know what becomes of my king.”
“Are you sure you want to know?” The look she gave him almost made him wish he hadn’t asked.
