Kohl, Candice - A Twist in Time.txt
Page 19
know, in fact, that you are an eligible maiden with
wealth and land of your own. Because if you are not,
Philip of North Cross will never have you as his bride.”
That’s okay. I’m not planning on sticking around long
enough to really have to marry anyone. It’s just plan B, and
you’re...you’re...
Judith couldn’t think anymore. Andrew had
maneuvered himself directly in front of her. He stood
there, looking down into her face as though he could
read her mind, which, thank heavens, had gone
thoroughly blank. And now— he reached up his hand.
Did he intend to touch her cheek? Judy braced herself
for the whisper of his fingertips against her skin. She
didn’t want him to touch her. Like a shell filled with
the sounds of the sea, she found herself saturated with
the echoes of his earlier touches, his fingers, lips and
tongue against her skin. No, she didn’t want him
touching her. She couldn’t take it if he did.
Andrew flipped his hand over, palm up, exposing the
disposable lighter he had been clutching all this time.
As he moved past Judy and sat on the edge of her bed,
he asked, “How do you keep it burning?”
With jerky steps, she sat beside him and
concentrated on her explanation. Talking with Andrew
about a disposable lighter would keep her from thinking
about kissing, stroking and doing the deed—she hoped.
“That tab beneath the wheel,” she said. “Hold it down,
and the flame will stay ’til you let go again.”
Andrew followed her directions and kept the flame
alight. He smiled, pleased with himself, with the toy.
“Your strange implements fascinate me, Judith. The
paper is so plentiful and fine. The—what did you call it?
The pen makes writing so easy. And this fire-starter is
a marvel. Spontaneous fire, even a flame as small as
this, could change the lives of everyone in the world.
“But the mere fact these exquisite articles exist and
you own them would surely frighten more people than
Elfred. They would want you locked away for more than
just Beltane.” He paused and met Judy’s gaze. “What
does Philip think of these enchanted objects you
possess?”
“Beltane.” Judy leapt on that second reference,
ignoring Andrew’s question. “What is it?” she asked.
“Why do your brothers want me under lock and key
tonight?”
“Elfred fears you are a witch. But a witch who does
not know Beltane?” Andrew chuckled, smiled, and flicked
the lighter again. A new flame wavered in the air as he
explained, “Beltane is the first day of May, the beginning
of spring. The Scots, the Irish, and many Saxon
peasants believe Beltane is a mystical time. They think
ordinary souls can work magic, and that people can even
slip through time. ’Tis foolishness, but some respect
the old ways, just as I admire the new.” He upended the
lighter to examine the bottom.
Beltane. To Judy, it sounded much like Samhain,
at least the way Ian MacCoombs had explained that
historic holy day. According to legend, then, souls could
slip through time on both those dates. According to
personal experience, Judy knew people could slip
through time on All Hallow’s Eve—maybe she could slip
through time again on May Day.
Oh, God! She needed to be outside tonight, not locked
away in this cold chamber high up in the keep. She
needed to go directly to that spot outside the bailey wall
and hope for the energy charge as she willed herself to
travel forward through the centuries to her own world.
Then she wouldn’t have to worry about how
inappropriately Andrew made her feel, or whether or
not Philip’s intentions toward her were sincere. She
sure wouldn’t have to worry that Elfred of Laycock would
convince his elder brother to cast her out because he
believed her to be some kind of sorceress. Home again,
in her own time, her own country, Judy could once more
be herself, a modern woman not beholden to any man
at all.
“Are there celebrations?” she asked curiously.
“Rituals?”
“What?” Andrew stopped playing with the lighter and
peered at her. “Oh, aye. Some of the peasants light bone-
fires to keep the spoorns away.”
“Bone-fires? Spoorns?”
“Aye. They burn animal bones to frighten the
spoorns, the evil spirits. And they will pass their children
through the flames because it is said ‘twill better the
youngsters’ futures and fortunes. But mostly, what the
people do on Beltane is make merry and make love. On
the following morn, they can blame the fairies and too
much drink for their wanton behavior.” Andrew snorted.
“There are always quite a few babes born just before
the new year, all conceived on Beltane.”
Judy barely listened. She turned to look out the
window and saw the top of the bailey wall. Beyond it lay
her freedom, even the road home. Certainly she could
manage to slip out of the keep later, after darkness fell.
No matter that she would be locked in, she’d get out—
she had to.
“It sounds exciting,” she said, trying to tone down
the excitement, the anticipation, she felt. “I’d really like
to see it.”
“Would you?” Andrew toyed with the lighter, rolling
the plastic tube between his fingers.
“Um-hm.” Judy leaned toward him, attempting some
manipulation of her own, and rubbed her cheek on his
shoulder. Her heart did a little flutter, so she willed
herself to feel nothing. She had a purpose in coming on
to Andrew, and that purpose was not to get laid. “I’d like
to see the bone-fires. I’d like to dance and...drink.”
“And make love?” Andrew turned his face toward
hers. The dark bristle on his chin scratched her smooth
skin, yet she found the sensation pleasant despite her
resolve to feel nothing.
“Yes,” she answered, vaguely promising him
something she never expected to give.
“We need not wait ’til evening to roll about in the
damp grass.” Andrew turned more fully toward Judy,
embraced her, and pushed her down on her back. When
he lay down beside her, he mumbled in her hair, “We
could make love here in this nice, soft bed.”
Oh, yeah. “But...it wouldn’t be the Beltane
celebration.”
“We need no peasants to celebrate.” Andrew kissed
Judy’s ear, her throat, her chin. He moved one hand
down her chest, cupping her breast.
Her insides were turning to pudding. She had to stop
him before she couldn’t stop herself. “This isn’t right,”
she announced, forcing her limbs to go stiff. “I—I can’t.”
“Oh, aye, of course you cannot.” As though in full
agreement and understanding, Andrew calmly slid off
the bed and found h
is feet. “You must save yourself for
Philip, eh? Mayhap he’ll come ‘round and take you off
so that you may both enjoy the dancing, the drinking,
and other...pastimes...by the Beltane fires. Because I
surely will not.”
“Andrew!” Judy rolled to her knees and called to him
as he opened the bedchamber door.
“What?” he snapped, pausing to glance over his
shoulder.
Judy refused to beg. She had never begged anyone
for anything, and she certainly did not intend to start
with Andrew Laycock, junior lord-and-master of this
medieval keep. Besides, she didn’t need him. She would
do what she had to do on her own.
“My lighter,” she said primly, holding out her hand.
“My fire-starter. Give it back.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s mine, not yours.”
Andrew hesitated, glancing at the object in his palm.
Then he looked up at Judy and said, “I never take what
is not offered freely,” and tossed the lighter back to her.
She caught it as he exited the room. Immediately,
she scrambled off the bed and tried the latch on the
door.
He’d locked her in.
Twelve
Nobody fed Judy that evening. It seemed they
intended to let her go hungry rather than risk opening
the door. What did they think, that she would overpower
anyone who dared bring her supper into her room?
In fact, Judy had been planning ways to do just that.
But—having glanced at the digital timepiece secured
to the leatherette cover of her daily planner—she knew
it was hours past mealtime. Damn! The Laycock
brothers treated her as though she were a female
Hannibal Lechter. If only she had the powers that Elfred
feared and Robin suspected. If only she’d come from even
farther in the future, she could vaporize her huge,
heavy door with a laser gun. She’d hurry downstairs,
then, and outside, and straight to that place of power
where the winds of time would carry her away.
Place of power. Wow! That’s what Ian MacCoombs
had called those spots he’d come to explore, which he
insisted were numerous in the Wixcomb area. That’s
what lay beyond the bailey wall, where she occasionally
had that weird, undefinable sensation and where, that
first night, she had felt as though she’d exploded into a
million sparkling particles.
The mystery of Judy’s time travel suddenly began to
come together in her mind. Ian had spoken of yin and
yang, had said that some places of power were masculine
and others feminine. Some, he had explained, filled a
person up while others dissolved or dispersed energy.
Judy felt certain she had dispersed in some fashion,
probably the way the crew of the Enterprise did whenever
Scotty beamed them up. She had traveled centuries,
nearly a thousand years, unencumbered by her body,
only to reassemble as the woman she was in an age
where she wasn’t meant to be.
“I have got to get out,” Judy muttered with renewed
determination. Again, she attempted to open her door
as she had fifty times already. Failing once more, she
frowned pensively as she walked to her window.
Rain had begun to fall softly, the gentle mist
glistening as the moisture drifted to earth. But Judy
spied no human activity, heard no singing, saw no bone-
fires. In spite of the lateness of the hour, full darkness
had yet to fall—they had incredibly long daylight hours,
here in the England. So perhaps it wasn’t time yet.
Perhaps they had to wait for night to descend. Or,
perhaps, the rain forced them to cancel their revelry.
Judy began to sink into despair. Then she roused
herself, demanding aloud, “What am I thinking?” She
didn’t need company. She had no plans to bring human
exhibits home with her to 1998. Her travel plans could
only be solitary; tonight, she would make her journey
alone.
***
Judy had broken four of ten fingernails. For hours,
she had pulled, tugged, even rammed her door with her
shoulder. She had attacked the hinges and called to
anyone she thought she heard passing in the corridor.
She had even lain on her stomach and peered through
the slim crack between the door and floor—for what
purpose, even she hadn’t been sure. Now her hands
looked rough and raw, and her arms hurt. Yet still that
damned door refused to budge.
Faint music drifted to her ear, not from below but
from beyond. Rushing to the window, she spied in the
blackness a huge, smoking fire on a distant hill. The
revelers had proved heartier than she’d presumed.
Despite the rain, they had ventured outdoors and
climbed the hills to celebrate.
Judy panicked and felt the urge to pace. Resisting
that compulsion, she took a deep breath instead and
sat on a stool. Clearing her head, she forced herself to
calmly consider the door again and analyze its
configuration. There had to be a way to open it based
on...physics? Some laws of nature. Some principles that
people of this time did not know but she, a college
graduate, had to have tucked away in her brain. Once
the knowledge came back to her, Judy would breach
the barrier and escape.
But it wasn’t coming to her, the way her little bit of
French had surfaced when she needed it, and all that
darned history she hadn’t realized she knew just popped
out of her mouth.
***
Judy wiped the perspiration from her brow. Why was
she sweating? It wasn’t that warm, and she surely hadn’t
overexerted herself physically, not for some time. Had
to be nerves.
Okay. If she couldn’t unlock her door or break
through it, she would trick someone else into opening
it from the other side. Deciding on this new tactic, she
grabbed coals from her fire and dropped them into the
earthen bowl she used for washing. Though she used a
towel to pluck the glowing chunks of wood from the pit
and toss them into the basin, she still burned the pads
of her fingers, which immediately began to redden and
blister.
Her flesh stung, but she didn’t care. Music and voices
continued to drift to her window from the peasants’
celebration, and it spurred her to action. She had to get
out now. Carrying the bowl to the door, she set it on the
floor and then scurried back to the table, where she
wet her towel and wrung it out. Then, like an Indian
sending signals, she lay the damp cloth over the coals
till they smoldered and smoked. Fanning the gray, acrid
fumes toward the door, she hoped they would seep below
and between the banded boards.
“Fire!” she cried dramatically. “Help me, please.
Fire!”
Footsteps pounded up the stairs. “Eeeyesss!” Judy
made a fist and pulled it toward h
er body in a triumphant
gesture. Her ruse had worked! When they opened the
door, she would fall against whoever stood there,
startling that unwary person and knocking him aside.
Then she’d run like mad down the stairs and on outdoors.
God willing, she wouldn’t trip and no one would catch
her. She had to make it through the gate in the bailey
walls to that place of power.
The gate. Would the portcullis be raised or lowered?
Up, she had a chance. Down, she was doomed. But stuck
in this room high up in the keep, she knew she couldn’t
even make a grab at freedom. So she decided not to
worry about the portcullis. Her immediate and only
concern remained the chamber door.
She kept fanning her towel and blowing, encouraging
the smoke to billow and swirl around her. This didn’t
seem like such a hot idea after all, she reconsidered,
coughing and rubbing her itchy eyes. Where had the
people gone whom she’d heard coming up the stairs?
Why didn’t they open the door and let her out?
“Hey! You! Whoever’s in the hallway, let me out! I—
I’m suffocating!”
“Witch!” Judy recognized Elfred’s voice. “You used
your magic fire-starter to set your room ablaze. Now use
other magic to put out the flames.”
“I didn’t. I—I can’t!”
“You can,” Elfred insisted.
“But the keep. It’ll burn down.”
“Nay, it shall not. ’Tis made of stone. Only the
furnishings in your room will be destroyed, if you fail to
put out the fire.”
“But I’ll die,” Judy wailed.
“That may be true,” he conceded. Elfred sounded not
at all displeased at the notion. “Witches die when set to
flame. You should have thought of that before—”
“Where’s Andrew?” she interrupted, putting the wet
cloth over her mouth as she dragged in a gulp of air.
Andrew would let her out. He wouldn’t let her die, even
if she were near to dying, which she wasn’t.
Elfred laughed. “Nowhere about,” he informed Judy.
He said nothing more after that, not even when she
spoke to him. Though she hadn’t heard retreating
footsteps, she knew he’d gone away.
Damn him! Squinting in order to see through the
smoke and the tears welling in her eyes, Judy grabbed
the pitcher of water off her table and dumped the entire