questioned.
“Nay, I am not.”
“You are thirsty, though.”
“Aye, that I am.”
Philip dismissed Andrew with a casual glance and
ducked his head toward Judith’s. “Andrew tells me he
found you wandering this morn, that you were lost.”
“Yes, I was. Very lost.”
“He also tells me you’re from York.”
Judith snapped her head around and stared at
Andrew with wide eyes. Sea green eyes.
“Did he?” she asked as she turned back to Philip.
“Did Lord Andrew also tell you I was dressed like a boy,
in leggings and a sweat—a tunic, and that I was dirty
and damp?”
“Why, nay, he did not. Dear lady! Did you have a
terrible mishap? Did you lose your escort?”
“I had no escort. I set out on my journey alone. I did
not intend to. It—just happened. Suddenly I found myself
here—that is, on the road outside the village.”
“Wixcomb,” Philip supplied.
“Yes, Wixcomb.”
“’Tis good, then, Andrew found you and brought you
to the keep.”
“He did not exactly find me.” She glanced narrowly
at Andrew. “What he did was nearly run me down with
that huge horse of his.”
“Andrew, you cur,” Philip chastised him, shaking
his head.
“I did not nearly ride her down,” he protested in his
own defense. “She should have got out of my way. As it
was, Zeus and I cleanly avoided her. She’s not damaged,
is she?”
“I’m not a thing, an object, that could be damaged,”
Judith snapped, turning to face Andrew directly. “I am
a person, a woman, a lady who could easily have been
injured, even killed. But not damaged.”
Andrew did not appreciate her censure. He should
have sent her from the table, even locked her in her
chamber. Instead, he muttered, “’Tis probably the
difference in our dialects. As you said, Judith, we have
different words, not merely different pronunciations.
And you have no French at all.”
“I do not live in France. I never saw the need to
learn.”
“Very good, Lady Judith.” Philip had the audacity to
applaud her conviction. “England is not Normandy, Anjou
or Maine. I agree with you—we should speak the
language of our ancestors, just as our servants and
tenants do. Saxon served our people well before William
conquered. Do you know what I think?”
As Andrew observed him, his best friend leaned so
close to Judith, his nose nearly brushed her cheek.
“I believe that one day the language of the common
man will again be the language of the country. Not even
Latin will prevail for the courts.”
“I believe that, too,” she returned emphatically,
making no move to put the slightest distance between
herself and her golden-haired champion.
“Surely your father and mother speak French,”
Andrew felt compelled to say.
Finally, Judith looked at him, giving the back of her
head to Philip. “My...father?”
“Aye. Peter Lamb.”
Her lashes—her long, thick, ebony lashes—fluttered.
“Sir Peter Lamb,” Andrew elaborated. “The
alchemist. Philip, here, deduced that he may be your
sire. Is he?”
Judith moved her head. Andrew couldn’t tell if she
were nodding or shaking it, confirming or denying.
“If not your sire, mayhap your grandsire?” Philip
asked.
“I—I—“ She turned back to him. “What makes you
think this...knight...is my father—my sire?”
“You share the same name, and you both hail from
York.”
“Oh.”
“Is he your kin?”
Judith failed to reply to Philip’s question. Instead
she urged, “Tell me what you know of him.”
“As Andrew said, he is an alchemist. A friend of my
own father’s sire, he visited North Cross when I was a
lad. Though Sir Peter is now aged, I recalled he was
wed to a much younger woman. Andrew and I surmised
she may be your mother and he your sire.”
“I see.” Judith nodded, though a tiny, vertical line
creased her brow directly above her small, straight nose.
“You call him an alchemist. Does that mean he tries to
transform other metals into gold?” Judith asked.
“Aye.” Philip nodded. “And he fashions new
implements to make men’s tasks go easier. He is an
inventor as well, you see. I recall as much because I
found his work fascinating. Flight most especially
intrigued him. Sir Peter eternally searched for a means
by which man might fly, exactly as the birds do.”
Andrew felt taken aback. Obviously, Philip had failed
to relay to him all that he knew about Peter Lamb. If
the ancient lord were an inventor who created new and
clever tools, mayhap even talking devices, Judith might
well be his daughter. ’Twas the only reasonable
explanation for the possessions she carried in her sack.
“Is he your father?” Andrew asked again when Judith
looked his way. His tone was sharp, though he hadn’t
meant it to be.
“I don’t know,” she replied.
“We should send word to him,” Philip declared. “I
understand your mind is not completely clear, milady,
mayhap because you were recently ill with fever. But if
we wrote to him, made inquiry, we could surely confirm
that you are Sir Peter’s missing daughter.”
“Does he have a daughter who’s missing?” Judith
asked Philip.
“We will not know that ’til we receive a reply, and
that could take a little while. If you wish it, instead we
might ride to York straight away,” Philip volunteered,
his eyes alight with excitement.
“I don’t think—” Judith began.
“Nay, absolutely not!” Andrew interrupted. How dare
Philip concern himself with Judith’s welfare, offering
to escort her home? She had stumbled into Laycock,
not North Cross. “Philip, you know full well I cannot leave
the stronghold, not with the rest of the family gone.”
“I could escort the lady myself. I would bring my
squire. There’s no need for you to come with us.”
So this had been Philip’s intent all along. “She
cannot go,” Andrew insisted, glaring at his friend and
now, apparently, his rival. “The damsel was, as you
know, recently ill. And she surely traveled a far distance,
arriving here not on horseback but on foot. She is not
well enough for another journey. Not so soon. You do
agree, do you not, Judith?”
His gaze met hers as he willed her to concur. Andrew
felt enormously relieved when she muttered, “Yes. I’m
afraid I do.”
“Then perhaps we’ll compose a letter for Sir Peter
later this eve, or first thing in the morn, shall we?” Philip
suggested. “Now, having eaten so fine a meal, I am in
the mood to take a stroll.” He stood and held out his
hand to Judith. “My lady, will you accompany me?”
Andrew put his hand on Judith’s thigh to restrain
her. None could see; the table hid his action.
Judy stiffened, as though her hollow body had been
filled with quick-hardening cement, when she felt him
place his hand on her leg. The audacity! The gall!
Turning slowly, she gave Andrew the most withering
glare she could muster.
And yet...the discreet caress seemed more sensitive
than rude, more possessive than imperious. It implied
something between them, something potent and private.
But there was nothing between Andrew of Laycock and
her. They’d shared no intimacies. Intruding on her bath
and attacking her in bed hardly amounted to a personal
relationship.
She escaped outside with Philip, glad he did not
invite Andrew to join them, happy to be free of all those
raucous, unmannerly men in the hall. Knights, they
were, to a one. And knights of old, not like Paul
McCartney or Andrew Lloyd Webber, but the sort who
wore armor and carried broadswords. God Almighty, the
world had gone mad—or she had. Judy preferred to
believe the world was the culprit.
The shock when Judy first came down the stairs,
had nearly sent her scurrying. The great number of
people and the noise—from their chatter in an
unfamiliar language to the clatter of dinnerware—and
the scents, from the aroma of cooked food to the stench
of smoking torches, had hit her hard. It felt much like
opening the door on a wood stove only to be blasted in
the face by the fire’s searing heat. The only reason she
hadn’t bolted was that she’d known similar experiences
in her own time: power lunches, departmental
meetings, contract negotiations with men, all older, all
with more experience, who attempted to use their
maturity and their finesse to intimidate and outwit her.
But Judy had dived headlong into those situations. Flying
by the seat of her pants, she had learned, she had
adapted, she’d acquired her own maturity and finesse.
So she resolved to plunge into her medieval dinner
in a medieval keep with medieval warriors, and she
felt sure she would have held her own even if the
handsome, blonde, blue-eyed gallant had not waded
through the tables of boisterous knights to collect her.
But thank heavens Sir Philip of North Cross did. His
help, his attention, his companionable conversation had
given Judy the confidence she may otherwise have
lacked, enabling her to ignore that ass, Andrew. At least
until the end, when he’d purposely touched her thigh.
“My lady?” Philip turned to her and spoke softly. They
had been walking together silently, side by side, in the
enclosed yard Bridget called a bailey. “Do you wish to
continue? We could sit, if you’d prefer.”
“Walking’s fine.” Judy smiled at her handsome
escort. He stood shorter than Andrew—if she’d worn
heels, he’d have stood shorter than she. But, geez, he
was easy on the eyes and helpful, too.
“Are you chilled? Take my mantle,” Philip offered,
whisking off his cape and placing the wrap on Judy’s
shoulders. “I should have called for a servant to bring
you your own before we came outside. Evenings are
always chilly, no matter the season. You must forgive
me for being so thoughtless.”
“It would not have mattered if you had sent someone
after my—my mantle.” She spoke slowly, avoiding
contractions and enunciating clearly. “I do not have
one.”
“That’s correct! You explained that you arrived in
boy’s clothes, a simple tunic and leggings. I presume,
then, your gown is borrowed. But Andrew found no cloak
for you among all his mother’s and sisters’ possessions?
He is the thoughtless one, I must say.”
“Oh, he has plenty of thoughts.” Judy sighed. “But
none of them have to do with my comfort.”
“If you were staying in my home at North Cross,
your comfort would be my primary concern.”
Philip halted; Judy did, too. He smiled at her as
though he adored her.
Judy quickly resumed walking. She’d never had a
man look at her with such open admiration. She didn’t
know quite how to handle that behavior from a veritable
stranger.
A little nervous and eager for distraction, Judy
glanced around. Starlight and torchlight illuminated the
yard well enough for her to see. “What are all these
buildings?” she asked, gesturing with her arm. Though
curious, her question was prompted by an urgent need
to fill the silence with words. “Do...do people live in
them?”
“Only in the barracks, which houses the guards who
protect Laycock. The other structures all serve one
purpose or another—there’s the armory, the stables, the
wash house, the mews. Of course, the buttery’s in the
keep, beneath the great hall.”
“The buttery?”
“Where the stores are kept.”
“Stores?”
“The foodstuffs, and the wine and ale.” Philip paused
again and this time, turning to Judy, he frowned. “Surely
you have such things where you come from, in York?”
“Oh, sure. Yes. At least, I think so. I don’t truly
remember.” Judy shrugged. “And as I explained to you
at dinner, your accent—the way you speak—is
sometimes difficult for me to understand. Our words are
not quite the same. But of course, we have butteries,”
she lied. “Do Laycock’s servants all live in Wixcomb?”
“The laborers do. But the servants live at the keep.”
Philip grabbed her elbow. The action startled Judy,
and for a second, she thought he intended to make a
move on her, same as Andrew. But then she saw that
he had kept her from tripping over a dog nursing a litter
of puppies. Philip bent down and picked one up. The
puppy was a tiny, liver and white spaniel. Again, she
was reminded of the viscount’s dogs. But these were
more closely related to Thomas Laycock’s hounds than
those who would one day belong to the software designer.
“Would you like to hold it?” Philip asked.
“No, that’s okay. I have always been more of a cat
person.”
“There are plenty of cats around here, too,” he
assured her, returning the puppy to its mother’s side.
They watched as it promptly squirmed in among its
siblings and set to suckling the bitch’s teat. “Without
them, we’d be overrun with rats and mice.”
“Yuck!”
“I beg you pardon?”
“I’m terrified of rats and mice.”
“You need not be terrified.” Philip smiled. “But I agree,
they aren’t likeable creatures. They fight us for our food.”
“That isn’t why they scare me. They’re so dirty. Th
ey
carry disease.”
“Carry disease?”
“You know,” Judy insisted before suddenly realizing
Philip didn’t know. Should she tell him? Should she
explain about germs and fleas and blood contamination?
“If they bite you,” she elaborated, “you can get sick and
die.”
“If any animal bites, the victim may fall sick and
die.”
“I suppose that’s true,” she conceded. “What’s this?”
she asked, approaching a stone circle rising up from
the middle of the yard. “A well?”
“Aye. The bailey walls always enclose the well, so
that if enemies lay siege, the people within shan’t die
of thirst.
“Lady Judith,” Philip continued, pausing as he leaned
one elbow on the edge of the well, “you seem unfamiliar
with the most commonplace things. Have you lost nearly
all your memory?”
I wish I had. “A lot, certainly.”
“Then you do not recall an old man, an alchemist?”
Heck, I was glad I knew what an alchemist was! I guess
I absorbed more in school than I thought. “No.”
“At least you remember your name, your home. Even
should Sir Peter prove not to be your sire, I feel confident
we shall discover where you belong.”
But can you get me back to where I belong?
“Andrew is right, it’s not reasonable for him to leave
Laycock when all else are gone away. But if you would
like me to escort you—if you feel well enough, that is—
I should be delighted to make the trip,” Philip
volunteered again.
“Maybe—maybe later.”
Judy wondered why she declined. Of course, she
knew that a trip to York, a visit with the alchemist,
would prove fruitless. But she also knew the excursion
would remove her from Andrew’s proximity. That would
be a blessing in itself. So why did she hesitate?
Philip pushed himself away from the well and stood
straight. The toes of his shoes and Judy’s touched.
“Are you not curious to know if you are wed?” he
asked. “You may have a husband and children who are
missing you. Would you not like to know?”
Though Philip phrased his comments as though he
felt concern for any immediate family Judy might have,
she recognized a man on the make. This fair and
handsome knight only wanted to know whether or not
Kohl, Candice - A Twist in Time.txt Page 10