Kohl, Candice - A Twist in Time.txt
Page 15
“God’s teeth, I care not what you want, Judith!”
Andrew took a step toward her so that they nearly
touched. But he kept a few inches between them, placed
his hands on his hips, and glared at her. “I do not want
the keep’s servants occupied toting water from the well,
heating it, and carrying it up the stairs—for you! They
have work to do. A lot of other work to do. Work my sire
and my mother, chatelaine of this keep, expect to be
done. Work I must ensure is done. Work that is not being
done if the servants are spending all their time seeing
to your damnable baths!” Andrew dropped his arms and
tilted his head back. With narrowed eyes, he looked Judy
up and down. “Good God, woman! No one can get so
begrimed so fast, especially not a female who has no
chores to do. You don’t dig in the garden, you don’t dye
cloth or brew beer. By the saints, Judith—what do you
do all day?”
Judy had never in her life been accused of laziness.
The injustice of his criticism, the indignity of it, floored
her—until she remembered she did do very little except
try and while away the time.
“I—I’m a guest. It’s my understanding guests are
not set to work.”
“A guest, are you? Did someone invite you to Laycock
Keep?”
“No! You carried me here when I was out cold. I had
no choice in the matter.”
Andrew crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you
think yourself a prisoner, madam? If so, let me assure
you, you are not. Go—take yourself off to London, if that
is where you were truly headed when you stumbled into
Wixcomb.”
“Fine!” Judy screeched the word but then failed to
move, making no attempt to gather her belongings,
dress and get out. She had feared this moment, and yet
she’d brought it on herself.
Andrew continued to glare at her. “Well?” he said
finally. “Are you leaving or nay?”
“I’m leaving. But not ’til I’ve had my bath. It’s foolish
to waste it, especially when I won’t be having another
one for a long time to come.”
“Get in the tub, then.”
“Not ’til you leave.”
“Then you shan’t be bathing, because I am not
leaving. This is my family’s home, and while the others
are away, I’m the—”
“—Lord and master here,” Judy finished for him,
singsonging the familiar phrase.
“God’s teeth! I am the lord and master here—don’t
you forget it.”
Andrew strode toward Judy and she retreated, still
facing him, until she felt the bed brush the backs of
her thighs. Because he seemed to keep coming forward,
she sat down with a plop before he knocked her down.
He did halt, straddling Judy’s knees and bending
slightly at the waist so that they were nearly nose to
nose. “I told you before, you should seek to please me,
not anger me.”
“What did I do to anger you?” She really didn’t know.
She wasn’t sure she cared to know.
But she wasn’t about to find out, either, because
Andrew did not say. He simply glowered at her
menacingly, his face flushed and his breathing noisy.
Judy could actually feel his breath brush her cheeks. It
smelled minty, and despite the certain fact he failed to
bathe as frequently as she, he smelled...good. If a fashion
icon bottled the fragrance to sell at Bloomingdale’s and
Macy’s, the cologne would be called “Andrew”—a musky,
masculine perfume concocted not from flowers and oils
but mined from men’s pores.
Dear God, what is wrong with me?
Even as part of her mind objectively evaluated—and
condemned—her own wayward notions, Judy felt and
fought an impulse to reach up, twine her arms around
Andrew’s neck, and pull him down against her so that
they both sprawled on the mattress, their arms and legs
tangled together.
“You needn’t leave,” he told her suddenly, his voice
dropping an octave. “I care not if you stay ’til your dearling
Philip returns, or we have word from Peter Lamb. I do,
however, care that you cease bathing every damnable
day of the week. If you need to wet yourself all over,
there is a stream some little distance from the keep.
Go there. Jump in. Drown,” he bellowed.
Flinching in the face of his verbal assault, Judy
instinctively closed her eyes. In that brief second she
couldn’t see, she felt Andrew’s lips touch hers. Shock
pried her eyes open, and when she looked, she found
herself gazing into his dark, molten eyes. A frisson of
pleasure, of delicious desire, coursed through her limbs
and into the pit of her belly. The feeling was incited not
only by his kiss but by his own heavy-lidded eyes
studying hers. He did not only scrutinize her face—he
seemed to be searching her soul.
That’s it! Falling back so that the rumpled bedclothes
pillowed her head, Judy drew up her knees and rolled
away. She promptly jumped to her feet, backed away
from the bed, and commanded, “Get out! Now. My bath
water’s getting cold.”
Andrew straightened, turned and stared at her, the
thoughtful expression on his face tightening into a
grimace. “I will not,” he countered, his words clipped. “I
have the right to be anywhere in this dwelling while
you, who have yet to prove you hold any rank at all,
have no right to order me about.”
“Very well. Stay. But I’m not passing on my bath.”
Judy wasn’t sure she had made the right move.
Ideally, Andrew would storm out of the room. But Andrew
was anything but ideal. The possibility loomed large he’d
remain, forcing his presence upon her during what
should have been, by all inalienable rights, a time of
deserved privacy.
Judy retrieved her shampoo and body wash. Setting
them on the floor within reach, she kept her back to
Andrew as she opened her robe and stepped into the
tub. Carefully, with a precision that would have
impressed Gypsy Rose Lee, she shed the robe precisely
as she lowered herself into the water, allowing nothing
to be seen that shouldn’t be seen by the leering lord.
Andrew remained, as he had insisted he would. Judy
attempted to ignore him, concentrating on using her
lavender puff to suds her arms, legs and chest. After
the fact, it occurred to her she should have shampooed
her hair first. But she hadn’t thought of that because
she’d been thinking about Andrew lounging against one
of the bed posts, arms crossed over his chest, one ankle
crossed over the other, his sultry, sable eyes trained on
her overexposed body. Now she’d have to wash her hair
using the pitcher and bowl, which wouldn’t be easy.
Damn him!
Covering her breasts with her arm, she attempted
to grab t
he corner of one of the drying cloths Bridget
had set out. Unfortunately, she hadn’t thought to put
them on the floor near her other supplies, so they
remained on the table. Unluckily, too, Sally had brought
in her trencher of food while Judy had been in the jakes,
and she’d pushed the towels even farther away from
the tub. The only way Judy could reach them now would
be to stand up and give Andrew a big show.
“What are you attempting there, wench?” he asked
curiously. All trace of rancor had disappeared from his
tone.
She took a deep breath. “To grab a towel.”
“What of your hair? Do you not wash it every morn
as you do the rest of your body?”
“Normally, yes. Not today.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t like an audience,” she snapped,
turning to glare at him. “Also, because it’s damned near
impossible in this tiny little tub.”
“Tiny? I bathe in that tub.”
“One toe at a time?” she sneered.
“Nay. But then, I do have assistance. I do not insist
on trying to bathe alone.”
“Where I come from, we bathe alone. But we also
have tubs big enough to stretch out in.”
“Do you?”
“I don’t know!” Geez, she had to watch what she said.
“I think so.”
“But we do not, so why don’t you allow me to help
you? I could wash your hair,” Andrew volunteered,
already approaching.
Judy froze, clutching herself. Why did he do this?
Nasty one moment, helpful the next. A minute ago,
hollering, but now picking up a stool and setting it down
behind her, insisting on washing her hair. What next?
Would he clip her toenails?
“I thought servants did that kind of thing,” she said.
“Not the lords and masters of fine keeps.”
“Lords and masters do what we will. And I will wash
your hair if it amuses me to.” He grabbed a plastic bottle
off the floor. “Is this your special soap?”
“Yes. Shampoo.”
“Aye. Shampoo.”
“What are you doing?” she asked in concern.
“Andrew, this isn’t going to work! My hair has to be wet
before you put the shampoo in, and then it has to be
rinsed. You can’t—”
Judy shut up when Andrew tugged on her hair,
forcing her to drop her head back over the edge of the
tub. Next thing she knew, he poured a cascade of warm
water into her hair from the bucket he’d set aside
earlier. She expected water to splash onto the floor,
running everywhere, but she heard it trickling into an
empty bucket.
“How much of this concoction do you use?” Andrew
asked, sitting down on the stool.
“Just a dab.”
“A dab?” He leaned over her, looking into her face
with a questioning expression on his own.
Judy smiled thinly, nervously. “Yeah,” she said, “a
dab. A very little bit. Squeeze out a dollop about the size
of the end of your thumb.”
Raising her own hands to demonstrate, she
encircled one thumb at the knuckle with the finger and
thumb of her other hand. Immediately, she realized
she’d completely bared her breasts and that Andrew had
a clear view of them. With a squeal, she quickly covered
herself again.
He chuckled but said nothing. Judy could hardly
believe it—Andrew Laycock was smiling, actually
laughing! She hadn’t ever seen him smile quite that
way or laugh aloud before. And no one would guess that
they’d been screaming their heads off at each other a
little while earlier...most especially if they saw Andrew
massaging her scalp as he lathered her hair.
Oh, what a delight! This was a favorite pleasure of
Judy’s. She always looked forward to having her hair
washed before Vittorio trimmed it. Now, she closed her
eyes and succumbed to ecstacy.
“Your hair is two colors,” Andrew commented.
Snapping open her eyes, she almost pulled away and
sat upright. Instead, she held herself still and asked
tensely, “What do you mean?”
“Two colors,” he repeated. “More than one hue.”
“I got that part,” she assured him tartly. And though
she already knew the answer, she asked, “Where are
there two colors?”
“Most of your hair is fair. But near your scalp, ’tis
considerably darker. Why is that?”
Because my roots need to be done! “It just is, that’s
all.”
Closing her eyes again, Judy found she had lost the
delighted feeling, and she couldn’t relax. All she wanted
to do was get out of the water, now growing tepid, and
take a good, long look at her roots. She had been so
overwhelmed by her circumstances, she had completely
forgotten how long it had been since she’d had her hair
touched up. Though black roots should have been the
least of her worries, vanity suddenly pushed them
nearer the top of her list of troubles.
“Could you rinse it, please?” she begged. “I’m getting
cold.”
Andrew stood and poured more water through her
hair. He used the hem of his tunic to dab a stray rivulet
that trickled down her face. Grabbing a towel, he wrapped
it around her head before offering another cloth to Judy.
As she accepted it, she asked, “Could you turn
around?”
He gave her a look, the kind that would have
compelled her to give out her personal phone number
had it been on the face of a man she’d encountered at a
party, in the elevator in her office building, or even in
the produce section of the grocery store. Then Andrew
turned away.
Judy didn’t take the time to dry herself very well
before stepping out of the tub and shrugging on his robe.
He made her crazy! First she wanted to wring his neck,
then she wanted to kiss him. Hell, she had kissed him,
or at least she’d kissed him back.
Why were they kissing, anyway? If she kissed
anyone, she ought to be kissing Philip. He was the better
man. He never tried to jump her bones, he stopped when
she said no, and he wanted to court her. Didn’t that
mean he wanted to marry her? Besides, Andrew, here,
had promised not to try to “bed her” ever again.
But if he did, Judy knew she’d be tempted to let him.
Only she couldn’t, because she had the curse. And, she
noted with chagrin, he hadn’t tried. Oh, he had kissed
her, sure enough. But she suspected he’d been as
surprised about that as she had been. Now, he reverted
to being gentlemanly—at least as gentlemanly as
Andrew Laycock could ever be.
Damn him.
“On the morrow, the stream,” he reminded Judy as
he opened the door to leave. Then he was gone, just
like that.
***
Andrew fairly ran down the stairs to the great hall.
Shouting at the first servant
he encountered, he waited
impatiently ’til the man brought him a cup and a jug of
wine. Pouring his own badly needed spirits, he splashed
wine on the high table and did not even move his feet
when he felt the liquid dripping over the edge and onto
his shoes.
He could have had her! Andrew had not expected
such an opportunity, not when he had gone to Judith,
furious at having learned she bathed each and every
day. But it seemed his temper served to fuel his lust,
and Judith— appeared to react the same. Jesu! When
he’d kissed her, it had been all Andrew could do not to
force the damsel onto the bed and climb above her. But
she was a damsel, he had reminded himself, a lady. He
could not defile her. He could not break his vow.
So instead he had done what—washed her hair?
Whatever had possessed him to volunteer for a servant’s
duty? But he hadn’t felt like a servant. He had felt like
a lover, and he yearned for all the privileges being a
lover would bring him. But again, he had restrained
himself. By all the saints, he must be mad.
He refilled his cup and emptied it once more, wiping
the trickle from his chin with the sleeve of his tunic.
Attempting to expel Lady Judith Lamb from his thoughts,
he glanced idly about the hall until his eyes rested, not
on something there but on something gone—the dice
that should have sat atop the backgammon board.
Striding over to the small game table, where last he
had played with Philip several sennights ago, Andrew
examined the board. And the stools. And the floor
beneath the table. He even stooped down and ran his
fingers through the rushes, searching for fallen dice.
But his eyes had not deceived him, the bones truly had
gone missing!
He whirled again, and immediately his glance
settled on the chair his sister, Beatrix, normally used
when she was in residence. She had embroidered a tiny
pillow that she tucked behind the small of her back
when sitting there. Always, it remained at the ready in
that very chair. But not now, not today. It had vanished.
Andrew closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with
two fingers and his thumb. Could Bea have taken it
with her? Nay. He had seen it often since she went
with their mother to Alnwick. In fact, he had seen the
pillow as recently as yesterday.
Of course, a servant might have removed it to his