Kohl, Candice - A Twist in Time.txt
Page 21
London. There shall be no more incidents involving the
wench.”
“The lady,” Andrew corrected.
“Aye, then. The lady. Surely, by the time we all
return, either to go to battle or because the king has at
last agreed to our demands, Judith—Lady Judith—shall
long since be reunited with her kin.”
Andrew nodded.
“Speaking of ladies, I’ve had word from Mother,”
Robin continued. “She and our sisters have gone on to
visit other relatives. They shan’t be returning to
Laycock for some weeks yet. ’Tis a good thing, I believe,
that they not be in residence while we ready ourselves
for war.” He cocked an eyebrow at his youngest brother.
“You will prepare to command our men, aye? Sir Roland
is an excellent captain of the guard, but should Father
send word that our knights are needed to attack the
king’s fiefs, a lord of Laycock should lead them to the
site of battle.”
“It should be me,” Elfred grumbled. “I am Andrew’s
elder.”
“You were the one who wished to join Father and
me, and now he has other tasks for you. Cease your
complaining and get dressed,” Robin ordered before
quitting the room and taking Andrew with him.
In the corridor, he said quietly, “The girl should go.
I do not believe her a fey creature, but even you must
admit she is most unusual, in both appearance and
demeanor. If this knight, Peter Lamb, is indeed her
sire, he has done his daughter a great disservice.” Robin
shook his head, his expression troubled. “Mayhap, in a
small society of students of nature, Judith is deemed
an asset. But she can be naught but an outcast among
gentility, as the daughter of a Jewish moneylender would
be among good Christian people.”
Andrew clenched his jaw, yet he nodded silently.
“Mind my warning,” Robin urged. “Get her gone from
Laycock Keep before Mother returns.”
***
“Where is Lady Judith?” Andrew asked Bridget as
he sat down at the high table to partake of the evening
meal. He had not clapped eyes on her since Beltane,
not since before his brothers rode off. “Have her join
me.”
Bridget frowned. “Milord, she remains abed.”
“Still?” The wench had been abed for two whole days
and the evening between. He had surmised that she
was avoiding him purposely, but perhaps she had fallen
ill with something more than mere exhaustion. “Why?”
he asked the servant brusquely to cover his rising
concern. “What ails her?”
“I fear I know not.”
“She’s not dead?” he demanded, jumping to his feet.
“Oh, nay, milord. I saw her returning from the
garderobe once yesterday and again today. But she’s
eaten nothing that I’ve noticed, and she sleeps the days
away. Methinks she has a fever, milord.”
“Why did you say naught?” He stomped off the dais
and headed toward the stairs.
“You’ve been occupied, Lord Andrew.” Bridget
hurried after him. “I did not think you’d wish to be
bothered.”
“As you did not think I’d wish to be bothered when
my cockshead of a brother left her to burn to death in
her chamber?” He glanced over his shoulder and
glowered at the young woman who had once been his
playmate.
“I—I did not know where you and Lord Robin had
gone,” she explained. “Besides, Lord Elfred was quite
unyielding. He forbade me and anyone else to unlock
Lady Judith’s door.”
The two of them reached Judith’s room. Andrew
pushed the unlatched door open and walked directly to
the bed.
He felt a start. Sweet Mother Mary, but she looked
sickly, so pale and drawn. Her closed eyes seemed
bruised and sunken.
“God’s blood, Bridget!” he said in a harsh whisper.
“We must do something.”
“I know not what, milord. Mayhap if she wakes and
tells us what is wrong—”
“Judith!” he interrupted, speaking directly to her.
“Judith, do you hear me? Please, sweetling. Open your
eyes. Speak to me.” He shook Judith’s shoulder gently
and touched her face. She didn’t move, and her skin
felt hot and moist with perspiration.
“The lady is burning up. Bridget, bathe her with cool
water. Now! Try to bring her fever down.”
As he stood by watching the servant tend Judith, he
wondered if he had been prophetic when he told her
she might have caught her death in that cold rainstorm.
But he had merely meant to chide the wench. He hadn’t
truly believed what he said. The damsel was too
substantial and too robust, too youthful and too vigorous,
to succumb to what—a damnable spring rain? Judith
couldn’t die from getting wet!
But she could will herself to die. With an abrupt
feeling of dread, he suspected she actually wanted to
die. This illness might serve as the method—the
excuse—to be released from a life she no longer wished
to live. The other evening, on the hillside beyond the
bailey, she had been imploring God to take her. Now,
God would take her—if Andrew let Him.
But he didn’t intend to let Him. God could have her
one day. He would have them all one day. But not today,
nor tomorrow, nor any day soon. Now, Judith was here.
And if she belonged to anyone, she belonged to Andrew
of Laycock.
Bridget wrung out her rag and set it aside. She looked
at Andrew helplessly. “Mayhap, if we got a bit of water
into her? The lady’s lips are parched.”
Agreeing, he gave Bridget a nod and replaced her at
Judith’s bedside. Taking the cup she handed to him, he
raised Judith’s head and touched the rim to her lips.
“Judith.” He tried to tip some liquid into her mouth.
“Judith, drink.”
It seemed more dribbled down her chin than down
her throat, but he hoped she took a little into her
stomach. “Leave us,” he told the servant as he laid
Judith’s head back against the pillow. “I’ll call you when
I must leave her room. Then, I shall want you beside
the damsel at all times. If she soils herself, clean her.
If she can drink more water, give her broth for
nourishment. Do you understand?”
“Aye, milord,” Bridget assured him, though he did
not even turn to look at her before she left the chamber.
He looked only at Judith’s face, his innards twisting in
fear as he watched the illness begin to ravage her
beauty.
Suddenly she thrashed, startling him as she began
to break out of her lethargy with a violent energy.
Attempting to keep her still and comfort her, he grabbed
Judith’s shoulders and held her close until she finally
fell quiet. When he released her, he found she’d turned
her face away.
He tou
ched her chin, drawing her face back toward
him. “Sweetling, listen to me. You’ve been asleep for
days now. You must awaken. Do you hear? Awaken!”
Nothing. The wench again lay still as stone.
Regretting it before he did it, he slapped her cheek
lightly with three fingers of one hand. Judith mewled
like an annoyed feline and rolled away, burying her face
in the covers.
He grabbed the bowl and cloth, and drenched the rag
in water again. He knew Bridget had already bathed
her, but he felt a need to do something. Touching Judith’s
chin so that she lay looking upward, he clumsily placed
the sodden cloth full over her face.
“No!”
“Aye,” he countered stubbornly, relieved to hear her
protest. He rubbed the cloth roughly over Judith’s face,
as though she were a dirty child who needed scrubbing.
He hoped she would protest some more.
“N-n-n-n-n...” she muttered, grabbing blindly for the
rag.
Andrew let her catch it and toss it off. It heartened
him to see her blink her eyes again. “Who am I, Judith?”
“I don’...” She breathed heavily. “Drew. An...drew.”
His heart leapt at this small accomplishment, this
mumbled response.
“Aye! I be Andrew. And you be Judith. Judith?”
“Don’ yell... My head...hurts. Hurts!” She closed her
eyes again, grimaced and touched her hand to her brow.
“As...pirin. Gimme...aspirin. Please.”
“Ass-brin?” he repeated. “What is ass-brin?”
She didn’t reply. Her eyes remained closed, and her
hand dropped to her side. He feared she might be slipping
away again.
“Nay, Judith Lamb, do not drift off! Stay with me, do
you hear? And tell me!” He leaned over and shook her
shoulders one more time. “What is ass-brin?”
“You...know.”
“I do not know! Tell me!”
“Please...don’ shout. My head...”
“Where do I find this thing you want? In your
satchel? Is it in your satchel?”
Her eyes opened only to slits, and she nodded almost
imperceptibly.
A moment later, he had her tote perched on the edge
of the mattress. Unzipping it, he pulled the sides apart
and stared into the abyss.
“What does it look like, Judith? For what do I search?”
“Pills. In a...a bottle.”
He had no idea what “pills” or a “bottle” might be.
Taking the tote to the unoccupied side of Judith’s bed,
Andrew spilled most of its contents across the wrinkled
bedclothes.
God’s toes, what a clutter of indescribable objects!
Which among them might be ass-brin?
“Judith? Here. Look. Tell me what item you desire.”
She resisted him. After a time, either because she
wanted ass-brin more than she did sleep, or because
she simply wanted to be free of his pestering, Judith
managed to roll onto her side and run her hand over
the collection of debris beside her. He watched as she
felt with her fingertips first one object and then another,
discarding each without looking at any.
Finally, she clasped a small container in her hand
and held it toward him. He marveled at the remarkable
vessel. He could actually see into it and its contents,
which appeared to be a great number of flat, white
pebbles.
“Open,” she mumbled.
He tried. He failed.
“Line up the arrows...the triangles. One on cap. Other
on neck.”
He peered at the bottle and finally made out the
emblems. Rotating the cap until the minute figures
matched, he managed, on this attempt, to pop the lid
off.
“Two. No—three,” Judith told him.
He tapped three of the pebbles into his hand and
gave them to her.
“Water. I need...water.”
He brought her the water cup, and she tossed the
pebbles into her mouth. She swallowed much more
liquid to ease them down her throat than she had sipped
earlier. Then, as though the effort drained the last of
her feeble strength, she fell back against her pillow and
closed her eyes.
She appeared to be asleep again already. But as he
straightened the coverlet, tucking it beneath Judith’s
chin, she mumbled, “Three. Every...hours.”
Judith said something between “every” and “hours,”
but he couldn’t make it out. He decided to give her three
of the pebbles every Church hour. Terce had just passed.
He would give her more at Sext, when the sun rode high
in the sky.
***
Andrew had carried a high-backed chair into Judith’s
chamber. He sat in it now, near the foot of her bed.
Tired, he fought to stay awake. All day he had busied
himself with preparations for war. The burden of
leadership had not wearied him, but his gnawing
concern for Judith stretched his raw nerves taut. Never
completely out of his thoughts, whenever he heard the
priest ring the bells at Sext, None and Vespers, Andrew
interrupted what he was doing to go to Judith’s room
and force the pebbles into her mouth. He could have
instructed Bridget to feed her the mysterious disks. But
Judith trusted him to do it, so he did.
It seemed that her head no longer hurt so violently
as it had. She slept peacefully, without thrashing. If the
ass-brin could make a headache vanish, he hoped the
ass-brin could cure whatever else ailed Judith.
A short while ago, at Compline, he had given Judith
three more of the...what? Not pebbles, he decided as he
sat examining two of the small, white circles in his palm.
Earlier, he had broken one apart with his thumbnail. It
appeared to be powder, not rock. As it crumbled into his
hand, he thought it might be flour, a bit of dried bread, a
piece of holy wafer, mayhap. Then he gingerly put his
tongue to the white dust and found it tasted bitter. No
wonder Judith preferred to swallow them whole. What
had she called these things? Pills. He would have to
remember her word, because he had no word of his own
for them.
His eyes flicked to the form lying so motionless in
the bed. Did Judith’s stillness portend good or bad? Her
quiet state could mean her health improved and that,
no matter what her desire, she was growing stronger.
But perhaps her stillness indicated only that she slipped
nearer to death.
Impulsively, he pushed himself to his feet and went
to her bedside. Noticing a cup of broth still sitting on
the table, he retrieved it and tried to force a bit between
her lips. Much of the liquid dripped onto her sheets, but
he saw her swallow. And then, suddenly, she began to
choke. With a mutinous cry, she knocked the cup from
his hand, sending it spewing broth as it tumbled to the
floor with a clatter.
He chuckled, laid her down again, and wiped both
her chin and her neck with a rag. Judith could not be
so near death after all, if she could force her will on
him with such vehemence!
Bending down to retrieve the cup, he noticed a
casket hidden under the bed. He pulled it out and opened
it. Inside lay his things, his family’s things! Beatrix’s
embroidered pillow, a goblet, and his own bone dice. He
had known Judith had taken them—but why? Could she
be a common thief, a poor peasant who had tricked them
into letting her live here like a noblewoman? Were
these the spoils of her clever victory over her betters,
who thought themselves educated and wise but whom
she considered easy foils?
Nay. Judith was many things, but common wasn’t
one of them. Certainly, she could be no petty thief. He
would, in fact, have given her these paltry household
items if she had asked. But she hadn’t asked.
He shook his head firmly before returning the
casket to its hiding place. Despite the evidence, he could
not believe she was a thief anymore than he could
believe she was a witch.
He sat down in his chair. Beside it, near his feet,
lay Judith’s satchel. Because he had been thinking of
all her fantastic possessions, he pulled the bag into his
lap, opened the zipper, and began to examine the items
carefully, one at a time.
Judith did indeed own more than one writing pen.
He discovered two. Again he came upon the fire-starter,
which erupted so handily with a spontaneous flame. He
also fondled the brocade pouch with the fasteners she
had called Velcro. There were other containers like her
pill bottle, too, some large, some small. A few contained
salves, and others held more pills of different shapes
and colors. However, he found Judith’s sheaf of bound
pages had gone missing, though the paper she had
written on remained, folded in half and clasped together
with a curious device of looped metal.
He toyed with a hefty tube that seemed to be capped
with a big, shiny eye. When he moved the lever on the
side of the tube, the eye burst into light. He exclaimed,
swearing furiously, and flung it away. Then, feeling
foolish and glad no one had seen his cowardice, he
retrieved the device. When he thumbed the lever up
and down, a cool, steady beacon, too white to be fire,
appeared and disappeared, though he could find neither