“Nay,” he said grimly. “But I must.”
She took a deep breath and told him. Of Edward IV’s relatively short reign, his death, and the seizure of power by his brother Richard. Of the two young princes who vanished from the Tower of London, presumed murdered. Of the battles to come, the Tudor dynasty that would rise from the ashes of York and Lancaster.
Baldwin listened in silence, his expression growing more troubled with each word. When she finished, he rose abruptly and paced the length of the solar, his heavy tread echoing across the stone floor. The muscles in his jaw worked as he struggled to contain his turmoil.
“If I believe you, and saints help me, I am beginning to, then what is my duty?” His voice was low, pained. “Do I owe fealty to a crown destined for corruption? To a king whose sons will be...” He could not finish the sentence.
“I don’t know,” Beth admitted. “That’s the problem with knowing the future. It raises impossible questions.”
He stopped pacing and turned to her. “Could we not prevent it? Warn the queen? Save the princes?”
Beth set her goblet down with a sharp click against the table. “And what then? What happens to the future I know? Elizabeth I was one of England’s greatest monarchs. She ushered in a golden age. If the princes live, she might never be born.” She stood facing him. “Who am I to decide which lives matter more? Who am I to rewrite history?”
Baldwin’s gaze was piercing. “Who are you not to if you have the power to prevent suffering?”
The question hung between them like smoke.
“When do I die?” Baldwin asked suddenly, his voice rough. “In your history, do you know my fate?”
“No,” she whispered, turning the color of fresh snow. “I’d never heard of you before I came here. Most people from this time are just... forgotten.”
“And what of us?” he asked, his voice barely audible as he stalked towards her. “Is there any mention in your histories of a lord who loved a woman not of his time? One who would burn the world to keep her?”
The word ‘loved’ hung in the air between them.
“No, time travel isn’t possible. At least the world thinks it isn’t.” She met his gaze, her eyes shimmering. “I should go,” she whispered, though she made no move to leave.
Baldwin nodded, but his eyes never left hers. “Aye, you should.”
Later,as twilight deepened into night, Beth found herself in the inner garden courtyard. The air was crisp and clean after the stuffiness of the solar, carrying the earthy scent of autumn.She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, grateful for its warmth against the chill. Above, the sky was clear, stars beginning to prick the darkening canopy like distant lanterns.
She needed to think, to sort through the tumult of emotions their conversation had stirred. Baldwin believed her now. Truly believed her. The knowledge brought both relief and a new kind of tension. If he accepted her truth, what else might he accept? What else might he want?
A leaf drifted down from the oak that dominated the courtyard, landing at her feet. She bent to pick it up, admiring its deep russet color in the moonlight.
“I’ve always found peace here,” Baldwin’s voice came from behind her, low and resonant in the quiet evening.
She turned to find him standing a few paces away, his tall figure silhouetted against the torchlight from the castle. He’d removed his formal tunic and wore only a simple linen shirt, open at the throat, and dark breeches. The sight of him made her heart beat faster.
“I needed air,” she explained unnecessarily.
He nodded, taking a step closer. “As did I. Our conversation... it has left me with much to consider.”
“I’m sorry,” Beth said. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Nay.” Baldwin shook his head. “Do not apologize for the truth, however difficult it may be to hear.” He moved closer still until barely an arm’s length separated them. “All my life, I’ve known but one path. Duty. To my king, to Glenhaven, to my name.” His voice softened. “Until you. Now I know I crave more.”
Her breath caught. “Baldwin?—”
“You speak of changing history,” he continued, his gaze never leaving hers. “Yet you’ve already changed mine. The man I was before you arrived would not recognize the man I’ve become.”
“Is that good or bad?” she whispered.
A smile touched his lips, transforming his stern features. “Good. Terrifying, but good.”
He reached out slowly, giving her time to retreat if she wished. When she didn’t move, his hand cupped her cheek, his thumb grazing the delicate skin beneath her eye. His palm was warm against her cool skin, calloused from years of swordplay, yet impossibly gentle.
“I’ve no right to ask for tomorrow,” he murmured, “but I would dearly like tonight.”
