And when she signedhelp, showing him the simple motion of one hand lifting the other, Gareth went very still.
He copied the gesture. Then signed it again, slower, while meeting her eyes.
Help, his hands said. And something in his expression asked a question his silence wouldn’t let him voice.
Yes, Elodie signed back.I’ll help. As long as I’m here.
She didn’t add what they were both thinking, that “here” was a castle in 1192, that she had no idea how she’d arrived or whether she could ever leave, that the necklace she’d come to suspect had something to do with bringing her here, was gone and the life she’d known was centuries out of reach.
But for now—for this strange morning in a medieval training yard—that didn’t seem to matter.
She’d found someone who listened with his eyes instead of his ears. Someone who understood that words weren’t the only way to be heard.
And when Gareth signedthank youwith his battle-scarred hands, something warm and terrifying bloomed in Elodie’s chest.
Oh, this was going to be a problem. And for one moment, she didn’t care she’d fallen more than eight hundred years through time.
CHAPTER 8
The offerings started on the third day. Elodie woke to find a small pile outside her chamber door. There were a handful of wildflowers, stems still damp with dew. A chunk of bread wrapped in cloth and a copper penny, green with age.
She gathered them carefully, confused, and nearly tripped over Marian—the young kitchen maid with quick eyes and a gap-toothed smile who’d been assigned to help her.
“Don’t touch those!” Marian’s face went pale. “Not until you’ve—I mean—” She caught herself, remembering who she was speaking to, and dropped into an awkward curtsey. “Forgive me, my lady. I only meant... it’s best to leave offerings where they lie. Until sunset. So the giver knows their gift was accepted.”
“Offerings?” Elodie looked down at the flowers in her hand. “Who left these?”
Marian’s eyes went very wide. “I couldn’t say, my lady. But the fair folk... they notice kindness. And they remember slights.”
The fair folk.
Of course. She’d appeared in a flash of lightning, dressed in gossamer and wings, speaking in a strange accent. What else would they think she was?
By the end of the week, the pile had grown. More flowers. A carved wooden bird. A ribbon, bright blue. Someone had left an egg, and someone else a twist of dried herbs that smelled of lavender and something bitter beneath.
“They’re protecting themselves,” Bertram explained when she asked. “Making offerings to appease you. In case you’re...” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“In case I’m actually a faerie.”
“The thought has crossed many minds.”
Elodie wanted to laugh. Or cry. Possibly both. “I’m not. I’m just—I’m just a woman. A very lost, very confused woman.”
Bertram’s expression said he believed her. But belief didn’t matter much against centuries of folklore.
The hopeful ones came first. A young mother appeared in the great hall during dinner, a feverish infant in her arms. She fell to her knees before Elodie’s chair, words tumbling out in a desperate flood.
“Please, my lady, the healer says there’s nothing more to be done, but you—you’re one of the blessed ones—if you could just touch her, just lay your hands upon her?—”
Elodie didn’t know what to do. The baby was sick—she could see that much, the flush of fever, the labored breathing—but she wasn’t a doctor, she certainly wasn’t magical. She was an archaeologist with a cursory knowledge of medieval medicine and a growing certainty that washing hands and boiling water might help more than prayers.
“I’m not—I can’t—” She reached out instinctively, brushing the baby’s forehead, and the mother sobbed with gratitude.
“Thank you, my lady. Bless you. Bless you.”
The baby survived. The fever broke two days later, and suddenly Elodie was a miracle worker.
More came after that. An old man with aching joints, wanted a charm to ease his pain. A girl barely past childhood, blushingcrimson, asking for a love spell to catch the blacksmith’s apprentice. A farmer whose crops were failing, who wanted to know if the fae had cursed his fields.
