He stepped closer, and she saw he carried his sword, as though he’d been preparing to ride out. “Eleanor said you asked strange questions about the storm. About lightning.” His gaze fell to her experimental setup. “I should have known.”
“I need to know if it’s possible,” Beth said, her voice barely audible above the storm. “I need to know if I have a choice.”
Baldwin’s jaw tightened, a muscle working beneath his stubbled skin. For a moment, she thought he might sweep her equipment aside, might forbid this madness. Instead, he reached for her hand, his calloused palm enveloping her smaller one.
“If this is your choice,” he said, voice hoarse with emotion, “I will not stop you.”
The storm howled around them,rain driving in sheets across the battlements. Beth stared at Baldwin, stunned by his words. This was the man who commanded armies, who brooked no argument from his knights, yet here he stood, giving her freedom that would break his heart.
Lightning flashed again, closer still. The air crackled with electricity.
Beth turned back to her experiment, heart pounding. She lit the small candle, shielding it from the rain with her body. The flame caught, blue-tinged in the storm light. She added the final components, three drops of her blood, her movements now hesitant.
“The reaction should begin any moment,” she said, more to herself than to Baldwin. “The copper solution acts as a catalyst, while the iron serves as a conductor for the electrical charge. The blood, my blood, is the constant variable between worlds.”
A low hum began, barely perceptible beneath the storm’s rage. Then, impossibly, a blue glow emanated from the mixture, pulsing like a heartbeat. The light grew, spreading outward in a widening circle.
Baldwin stepped back, his face illuminated in the unearthly glow. “It’s happening,” he whispered.
The blue light intensified, swirling upward in a spiral. Within its depths, Beth caught a glimpse of her classroom, her desk, her books. Her old life, waiting like a paused film. And her parents sitting together in their house, happy.
She turned to Baldwin, who stood rigid, rain plastering his linen shirt to the muscled contours of his chest. His eyes held hers, filled with a love so fierce it made her tremble more than any storm.
“Go if you must,” he said, the words clearly costing him dearly. “Every day without you will be a year.”
He turned away, shoulders set in a line of resigned dignity. He would not watch her leave. Would not make her choice harder with his presence.
The portal hummed, beckoning.
Home.
Safety.
Science.
Everything familiar.
Beth looked back at the swirling blue light. One step, and she would return to fluorescent lights, to central heating, to antibiotics and computers and all the comforts of modern life.
One step.
She closed her eyes.
Baldwin stood aloneon the battlements, rain striking the surrounding stone. He didn’t turn when the blue light flashed brilliantly, then faded. Didn’t need to see the empty space where she had stood.
His chest rose with a deep breath, then fell hard. The pain was physical, a weight crushing his lungs. He had known, from the first moment he saw her strange clothing, her strange speech, that she was not of his world. Had known she might leave.
Knowing did not lessen the agony.
He forced himself to turn, to face the scorch marks on the stone where her experiment had been. Papers fluttered in the wind, already dissolving in the rain. Evidence that she had existed, that he had not dreamed her.
Baldwin closed his eyes briefly, then squared his shoulders. He was Lord of Glenhaven. He would endure, as he had endured his father’s cruelty, as he had endured war. He would?—
“You absolute dolt.”
The voice came from behind him, impossibly familiar. Baldwin whirled around, his heart stopping, then racing.
Beth stood ten paces away, drenched to the skin, her blue kirtle clinging to every curve. The portal’s light faded behind her, leaving only the gray storm and her bright, defiant eyes.
