Kohl, Candice - A Twist in Time.txt

by A Twist in Time. txt (lit)

  covered her breasts in much the same fashion as her

  sex—completely but minimally.

  The effect proved evocative, tantalizing. Though she

  stood before him nearly nude and very nubile, his stolen,

  secret scrutiny no longer satisfied him. Andrew keenly

  aspired to strip her of those cloth scraps so that he might

  view all her essential femininity.

  No longer did he think or reason. Propelled by

  instinct and primitive desire, Andrew walked forward

  without weighing the possible consequences. Fast and

  direct, he headed toward Judith.

  “Andrew,” she shrieked when she saw him. Though

  initially surprised, she seemed to recover quickly. “God,

  you scared me. I didn’t know who you were, what you

  were.”

  He halted directly before Judith and took the drying

  cloth from her hand, dropping it on the ground. “By all

  the saints, madam. You are the most exquisite creature

  I have ever seen.”

  She did not respond, and he did not have the voice

  to say more. Instead he touched her, reaching out with

  sure but gentle hands. With purpose, he gripped the

  straps on her shoulders and ran his fingers up and down

  their length before sliding them down her arms.

  The cups on her upper garment sagged a bit. Just

  as purposefully, Andrew slipped a finger inside the top

  of each, stroking the swell of her breasts. Judith did not

  pull away. In fact, she seemed to lean forward a bit, giving

  him better access.

  He tugged on the cups. The curious garment slipped

  down her ribs, just a little, and her nipples popped out,

  exposed. He palmed them, swirling his hands over the

  hard, pink nubs.

  “Ummm.” The sound Judith made brought his eyes

  up to hers. Her eyes were closed. Still watching her face,

  he pulled the unique, useless garment down to her

  waist, freeing her arms as the straps slipped off her

  wrists. He bent his knees and lowered his face to her

  bosom. Finally, he began to suckle those nipples that

  had so enticed him earlier.

  Andrew tongued them, nipped them, drew on them.

  Judith made another noise, deep in her throat. The

  mere sound, indicative of her mounting passions, made

  his cock throb. Yet he still moved as slowly as a cat

  stalking a bird. Lowering himself to his knees in the

  damp sand, he skimmed Judith’s ribs with his fingertips

  as his lips heated a trail toward her navel.

  Judith cast aside the garment from which Andrew

  had nearly freed her. As his kisses drew lower, she

  leaned forward even more and clutched at his hair. He

  raised his head again; her breasts bobbed temptingly

  directly above his face. What could he do but stretch

  upward and grab first one, then the other, in his mouth?

  “Andrew,” Judith breathed, and beneath his hands

  on her hips, he felt her begin to undulate. He could not

  resist slipping his palms around her backside and

  clutching the smooth, round halves of her bottom. He

  squeezed them, kneaded them, and Judith increased

  the tempo of her swaying.

  If he did not get his cock out of his braies and into

  Judith soon, he felt sure his cod would explode. He’d

  heard tell of men dying of bursting cods. He did not intend

  to meet his own demise because of unsatisfied carnal

  need.

  Drawing his fingers up along the cleft of Judith’s

  derriere, he brought them forward, along the band

  encircling her hips. Then he slipped his fingers between

  the fabric and her skin and tugged, intending to lower

  and remove the flimsy barrier that presently kept him

  at bay.

  “No!” As though startled and completely unprepared

  for his actions, Judith suddenly pushed at Andrew’s

  shoulders and stumbled backward. “Andrew, don’t. I—

  can’t.”

  He did not respond straight away. To be rebuffed at

  this late stage came as a shock. Though his mind

  grasped the obvious, that the course of events had been

  abruptly altered from what he had envisioned, his body

  had not yet acknowledged the same facts.

  Breathing deeply, he purposely reined in his

  passions, praying his ballocks would remain intact.

  Then, gritting his teeth, he looked up at Judith, who,

  faster than he could have imagined, had put on her

  scanty breast binder and proceeded to draw her tunic

  on over her head.

  “Why not?” he asked, his voice nearly

  unrecognizable. “Are you married? Did the memory of a

  husband only now come back to you?”

  “No! No, that’s not it.” Shaking her head as she sat

  on the boulder and tugged on her shoes, Judith assured

  him, “I’m not married, Andrew.”

  “Then you are angry that I broke my vow to you.”

  “Your vow?” She looked confused at first, then she

  arched her eyebrows and said, “Why, yes, Andrew. You

  did promise not to try to—you know. But you did anyway.”

  With a scowl, she added, “I thought knights of old took

  their pledges seriously.”

  “Knights of old?”

  “Forget it.”

  “I don’t understand you,” he admitted, feeling

  frustrated. “Are you afraid of men, of me? I would ne’er

  hurt you.”

  “I know you wouldn’t. I think. And I’m definitely not

  afraid of men. It’s only—”

  “What?” Andrew demanded as he came to his feet.

  “Philip—”

  He felt a flash of anger. “You know he’s here, don’t you?”

  “Philip’s here? At Laycock?” Judith feigned surprise.

  “Aye, he’s at Laycock. Surely you saw him riding

  in.” Andrew narrowed his gaze as he considered Judith

  suspiciously. “I suppose you did all this—” He gestured

  with a sweep of his arm to the stream. “—To entice

  him. And I happened by instead.”

  “I did this—“ She mimicked his gesture. “—To entice

  Philip? Damn you, Andrew Laycock, you’re an idiot! As

  if I feel like some hot babe when I’m freezing my buns

  off washing in an icy stream in the middle of a forest.

  And listening to animals rustling through the woods,

  wondering if they intend to attack. Or worrying that

  maybe they aren’t animals at all, but some dirty old men

  spying on me. Right! That’s it. I came out here to impress

  Philip. Who, for all I knew, was somewhere hundreds of

  miles away doing something for his mother.”

  Grabbing her black bag, Judith began stomping up

  the footpath toward the keep.

  Andrew watched her go. He felt furious, not only

  because he’d been denied the full pleasure of Judith’s

  body, but because she dared to be angry with him. She

  had no right, no reason. She had got her way again—

  she’d kept him from making love to her. What had he

  got? A tremendous ache in his loins with no possibility

  of sweet release. He should be angry. Only he had the

  right to be angry.


  He hurried after Judith. Catching up with her, he

  grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to spin around and

  face him.

  “You are not to bathe in the stream again unless I

  accompany you,” he informed her.

  “The hell I won’t! It suited me just fine until you

  showed up today.”

  “Do you think you were alone before? You were not,

  Judith. Before, like today, one of my men stood guard.”

  “Stood guard?” Her green eyes grew round. “You had

  someone watching me?”

  Andrew nodded. “For your protection.”

  “For his enjoyment, you mean. And yours.”

  Again she spun around and headed off. Again, he

  grabbed her.

  “Damn you, Judith Lamb. You will do as I say!”

  “Damn you, Andrew Laycock! I will never do as you

  say!”

  He narrowed his gaze. “But you’ll do whatever Philip

  asks of you, I suppose?”

  “Maybe. Because he asks nice.”

  Eleven

  Judy muttered beneath her breath as she stormed

  up the hill toward the bailey. Her behavior with Andrew

  had been completely idiotic. No wonder he thought all

  bets were off. After the way she had acted, any man

  would. It sure hadn’t been fair, her trying to blame him

  for what happened at the stream. She knew full well

  she’d been as just as responsible as he’d been. That

  she had yielded to his moves that way...

  But they were smooth moves—no longer the abrupt,

  abrasive kind of groping Andrew had attempted when

  she’d first arrived. Any normal, healthy girl would have

  succumbed. It wasn’t as though he were ugly or anything.

  Yet he had promised not to touch her anymore, and if

  he hadn’t touched her, nothing would have happened.

  Heck, he didn’t know of the fantasies spinning out in

  her head or the yearnings that churned somewhat lower.

  He had no excuse for breaking his pledge.

  There was more that was worse. Not only had Andrew

  failed to live up to his word, he had manipulated her.

  The rudimentary psychology he’d used on her had been

  child’s play—act aloof so that she’d want his attention.

  The galling thing was, she had fallen into his trap like

  some naive, high school girl. She had never been played

  so easily by a ’90s guy. That Andrew, a veritable youth

  with little sophistication or finesse had “gotten her

  number,” as Judy’s mom liked to say—made her furious.

  With herself.

  What man wouldn’t play it any way he could to get

  what he wanted? That she’d fallen for his antics was

  the pathetic part of today’s episode. But, what an

  episode!

  Judy shivered remembering it. His lips on her skin,

  the way he had touched her. It might have been

  hopelessly romantic if he had wanted her, Judy Lambini,

  for herself. But, no. He wanted Judith Lamb for a quickie.

  Maybe a couple of quickies. And she needed more than

  that. At the very least, she needed the potential for more

  than that. It didn’t matter that she was a visitor from

  another country, another century, whose time here

  would (please, God!) be short. Andrew didn’t know her

  true circumstances. He didn’t suspect she might

  disappear as quickly and mysteriously as she’d arrived.

  Yet he still desired her for only a moment of lovemaking.

  No, a minute or two of sex. Hot sex. Torrid sex. But

  meaningless sex, just the same.

  He wasn’t going to get it from her. Philip, on the

  other hand—

  Philip! Andrew had said he’d returned. Why hadn’t

  he come to find her at the stream? Judy felt sure her

  response would have been the same if it had been Philip

  removing her bra and kissing her breasts a little while

  ago. He was no Frankenstein, either. And he had other,

  admirable qualities—his admitted intention to date

  her—no, court her—properly. The promise of

  permanence, of marriage.

  Judy stopped cold. Did she want to marry Philip? God,

  she had never thought about marrying except as an

  abstract, way-in-the-future sort of thing. But that

  thinking had been done in the modern, late, twentieth

  century. Maybe she needed to rethink the topic right

  now, in the ancient, medieval thirteenth.

  Plunking herself down in the grass, Judy pondered.

  She approached the subject methodically,

  dispassionately, considering the facts and conjecturing

  possible and probable consequences. All in all, things

  did not look good for her if she failed to marry anyone.

  In this world, women needed to be attached to a man in

  some fashion, be it a father, a guardian, or a husband.

  Without one, she had no means to earn a living, no

  place at all in society. Especially if she hoped to remain

  a member of the upper class, such as it was. Judy didn’t

  like to think of herself as conceited. But honestly, if

  she found herself doomed to stay in this time, she

  certainly intended to stay among the nobles. Life as a

  serf held no allure.

  “I will get home,” she told herself. But what if I don’t?

  What if I only had a one-way ticket, not a round-trip one?

  She wouldn’t know for sure, not for a while. In the

  meantime, it could only be in her best interests to

  cultivate a prospective husband. The choicest man she

  knew was Philip of North Cross. If she gave in to Andrew’s

  attempts at seduction, she would blow her one, slim

  chance for security. Well, Judy thought with conviction,

  Andrew Laycock would not be tempting her anymore.

  She’d grown wise to his ways. Henceforth, she’d be on

  the lookout and avoid his wily lures.

  Judy resumed her trek to the keep. When she

  entered the bailey, it puzzled her to find the activity

  more chaotic than usual. Laborers and servants

  scurried about while strange, saddled horses stood in

  the yard. Judy didn’t think even Philip’s recent arrival

  could have precipitated that much activity.

  “Judith!”

  She heard him call and turned to see Philip hurrying

  toward her. Geez, he looked perfect. Not only his face,

  but his clothes—A handsome, saffron-colored tunic

  edged in black at the cuffs and hem, black leggings,

  and black boots. He’d have made a great cover model for

  this year’s Gentlemen’s Quarterly, she found herself

  thinking.

  Catching Judy up in an embrace, Philip said, “I’ve

  been searching everywhere for you. Andrew told me you

  were in the keep.”

  He did, he? “I went to the stream. When did you

  arrive?”

  “Not very long ago. I came here directly after

  returning from my errand because I was gone so much

  longer than expected. Now, I’m doubly glad I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Haven’t you heard?

  “Haven’t we heard what?” Andrew demanded,

  intruding upon Judy’s reunion with Philip. “What is

  happening here?”<
br />
  She turned to look at him. Judy had seen Andrew

  only minutes earlier, but she hadn’t been thinking

  much about his appearance. Now, she took it in. Unlike

  his friend, Andrew was disheveled. His longish, dark

  hair looked tangled and uncombed, and his whiskers

  needed scraping. And—she sniffed discreetly—he

  actually smelled. His scent should have offended Judy’s

  sensibilities, but it didn’t. Somehow, she found the odors

  of manly sweat, leather and horse rather intriguing,

  almost appealing.

  With a determined blink, Judy focused on Andrew’s

  attire. He wore something they called a gambeson, a

  heavy, quilted shirt that served as armor. It hung

  shorter than Philip’s tunic, revealing more of Andrew’s

  muscled legs. He had great legs and broad shoulders.

  The sword on his hip, anchored not only by a belt around

  his waist but a leather strap that crossed over his chest

  and back, gave him a swashbuckling air. They didn’t

  grow twenty-two-year-olds like this back home. Andrew

  could never have been a college senior. He looked,

  instead, as though he could lead Hannibal across the

  Alps.

  Judy shook her head to clear it of such frivolous

  thoughts and concentrated on the men’s conversation.

  “Your brothers have returned to Laycock,” Philip was

  telling Andrew. “They say my father’s back at North

  Cross. Negotiations with the king have not been going

  well.”

  “Then war is inevitable?” Andrew asked.

  He shrugged. “Everyone fears for their lives and

  property. We cannot let Lackland’s men destroy us as

  he has so many barons who opposed him in the past.

  Jesu! He murdered his own nephew, Arthur of Brittany,

  because the lad stood in his way. A man who could do

  that could do anything.”

  “Who—” Judy began.

  But Andrew spoke, interrupting her as though she

  were not present. “Has my sire also returned?”

  “Nay. He remains in London, advising those who sit

  at the bargaining table. Lord William Marshal and the

  Archbishop of Canterbury also remain. Those two have

  become the key negotiators representing the English

  barons.”

  “I suppose you’ll be heading immediately back to your

  home?” Andrew asked.

  Philip replied with a quick nod and an equally quick

  glance at Judy. Then he said, “I would speak with Judith