Kohl, Candice - A Twist in Time.txt

by A Twist in Time. txt (lit)

“You had no right to imprison me. I haven’t done

  anything but get lost and wind up on your doorstep. I’m

  no criminal.”

  “Nay? You’re not a thief?”

  Judith’s mouth dropped open. “Me? A thief? How dare

  you even suggest such a thing.”

  “How dare I?” he repeated, perversely glad for an

  excuse to fight with her now that he knew she’d recover.

  Hunkering down beneath the bed, Andrew retrieved the

  casket he’d inadvertently discovered. Opening the lid,

  he held up, one at a time, the various items Judith had

  removed from his household, ending with his sister’s

  pillow, which he placed right in the middle of her lap.

  Judith blushed guiltily but insisted, “I didn’t steal

  those things. Not really. I just never thought you’d miss

  them.”

  “Whether my family missed them or not doesn’t

  make your taking them any less thievery. Why, Judith?

  Why did you steal from those who took you in and

  provided for you?”

  Her eyes met his. For a moment, she stared at

  Andrew. Then she blinked, looked away, and admitted,

  “To prove I’d been here.”

  The explanation so surprised him, Andrew didn’t

  know how to respond. He felt a horrible, sinking feeling

  in his stomach. She was not a sorceress, but could she

  possibly be engaged in intrigue?

  “Judith, are you in someone’s employ? Were you

  sent here to gather information against us?”

  “You mean for King John or his people? No, of course

  not.”

  “Then why would you need to prove you’d lived among

  us?”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Judith shook her head

  and hugged herself. Within moments she was

  scratching, raking her uneven nails up and down the

  length of her arms. “I swear to you,” she vowed, opening

  her eyes again, “I’m not employed by anyone—at least

  not in the way you suspect. I’m not here to spy on your

  family, to find out how many soldiers your father has or

  if and when he plans to attack the king’s...what-do-you-

  call-them? Fiefs. Geez, Andrew.” She shook her head

  impatiently. “Even if your enemies wanted to know your

  secrets, do you really think they’d send a lowly woman

  to do the job? Not!”

  What she said sounded reasonable. Yet he suggested,

  “There is one way a woman could learn many more

  secrets than a man ever might.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Through seduction.”

  Judith’s mouth dropped open. “Me? Seduce you? I’m

  the one who threw you out of my bed, remember?

  Besides, you’re the low man on the totem pole. If I was

  here to seduce some man in your family, it would be

  your father, if he were around. Or at the very least,

  Robin. Next in line—” she made a face— “would be

  Elfred.”

  Judith reached behind her neck and scratched some

  more. She looked sad, but she chuckled. “You know, if I

  had come here to find out what you people were up to,

  I’d have had the good sense to show up looking like a

  princess, dressed to the nines and smelling wonderful.

  I would not have arrived wearing damp, dirty clothes

  and then stood around in the road, just hoping you or

  someone else from Laycock might try to run me down

  with a big, fat horse.”

  Judith’s argument seemed as logical as any man’s.

  She had convinced him, but before he could tell her,

  she asked distractedly, “Do I have the measles, by any

  chance?”

  “What?”

  “The measles. Oh, hell, I can’t have. I had German

  measles when I was a kid, and I was vaccinated against

  the regular kind. I must be allergic to something—I’m

  itching like crazy!”

  “Allergic?” he repeated.

  Judith ignored him. Instead, she asked for her bag,

  which he gave to her. Digging inside, she pulled out

  the exceptional mirror. “Maybe I do have something like

  measles,” she muttered tiredly. Then, when she spied

  her reflection, she gasped in horror.

  “Oh, my God! How could you suggest I might be a

  seductress? Were you being purposely cruel? I have

  never, ever looked this awful before in my entire life!

  How can you stand to look at me?” She glanced up at

  Andrew as she shoved the offending mirror back into

  her bag. “I look like death warmed over. And this god.

  awful itching...!”

  Judith grimaced as she squirmed and reached

  beneath the covers to scratch somewhere hidden. “I

  don’t remember itching before. What’s causing this?”

  Andrew had a passing familiarity with a woman’s

  vanity—he had sisters, after all. He knew Judith did

  not look her best. But who would, after the days of dire

  illness she had just endured? Still, he leaned toward

  her and peered at her face, looking for blotches,

  something that might indicate the reason for her

  discomfort. Seeing nothing visible, he suddenly knew

  the cause of Judith’s distress had to be nearly invisible.

  “Be still a moment,” he urged, parting the lank

  strands of Judith’s multi-hued hair to examine her

  scalp. As he had suspected he might, Andrew

  immediately spied a little creature scurrying across her

  head. “’Tis naught to fret over, Judith. You itch because

  you have lice.”

  “Lice!” She shrieked so shrilly, Andrew took a step

  backward. As he moved away, she stumbled out of the

  bed, dragging the top sheet with her and wrapping it

  around her torso. She weaved dizzily as she cried, “There

  are bugs on me?”

  “Only very small ones.” Andrew grabbed her arms so

  that she wouldn’t lose her balance and fall.

  Judith’s face puckered, and she wailed. “Only very

  small ones! Oh, God! Oh, God!”

  Her wobbly legs gave out, and she sank directly to

  the floor. With a vengeance, she began clawing at her

  scalp.

  “Cease. Cease, now,” Andrew told her, scooping her

  up and sitting her down on the bed. “It sometimes

  happens. ’Tis naught to be upset about. I’ll have your

  bedding changed, and you can bathe.”

  “Indoors? In a tub?”

  “Aye. Indoors, in a tub. In my room, so the servants

  may clean this chamber.”

  “But the lice. Are they going to drown in the water?

  I thought you had to have a special shampoo, something

  medicinal...”

  “I’ll give you strong soap, Judith, so strong, you’d best

  take care or it shall remove a layer or two of your skin.”

  “Now,” she commanded, apparently never too weak

  to give orders. She grabbed his arm with one hand and

  held the sheet modestly in place with the other. “Now,

  please. I can’t wait. I can feel them crawling all over

  me!”

  “Very well. Straight away,” he assured her in what

  he hoped was a calm, soothing tone. By all the saints,

  he’d
never seen anyone grow so frantic over a few silly

  lice. “Come with me to my bedchamber.”

  Nodding, Judith insisted on walking but leaned on

  Andrew as he helped her to the door. Suddenly she

  stopped and reached out. “My tote!” she said, pointing.

  As Andrew grabbed the satchel, Judith gathered

  some clothing. Then they quit the room together.

  “Sally!” he barked as they entered the hallway.

  “Sally’s elsewhere, milord.” Andrew recognized Elmo’s

  voice as footsteps clamored up the stairs. “How may I

  serve you?” the manservant inquired when he reached

  him and Judith.

  “Elmo, I need a bath in my bedchamber. A hot one,

  very hot, and extra water, left in buckets. I also want

  strong soap, the strongest we have. See to it

  immediately.”

  “Aye, milord.” Elmo turned and sprinted back down

  the stairs.

  Though Judith managed stubbornly to keep on her

  feet, Andrew caught her up in his arms again and carried

  her most of the way. When they entered his room, he

  settled her into a chair.

  “I shouldn’t,” she muttered. “The little buggers are

  going to jump off me and all over your things.” She looked

  at him. “You already probably have them on your

  clothes!”

  “Don’t fret. I’ll bathe when you’re done. Now, drink

  this.” Andrew poured Judith a glass of strong, red wine—

  when she swallowed it down, she made a face.

  Immediately, he regretted serving her spirits when

  she’d gone without food for so long. Belatedly, he worried

  that she might puke.

  “Milord?” Bridget pushed open the door and presented

  a tray. “Elmo said you’d be here. I’ve brought Lady

  Judith’s victuals, and the men’ll be here shortly with

  the tub and the water.”

  “Good. Set the food down, and then you may go. If we

  need you to assist, I’ll call.”

  “Andrew?” Judith said when the servant had gone.

  “Aye.”

  “When the others come, would you please hide me?

  I’d rather no one else saw me looking like this.”

  He couldn’t help pitying her as he watched Judith

  scratch and squirm, hating that she felt so miserable.

  But she was alive! She hadn’t succumbed to that awful

  fever.

  “Judith,” he said gently, “I know you’re distraught

  over your appearance. But, truly, you look—”

  Wonderful. God’s blood, he had almost said

  “wonderful!” He had no business saying any such thing,

  and he knew she would only scoff at the compliment. So

  Andrew amended, “You look as well as anyone could

  expect, after so many days abed with a raging fever.

  Besides, Elmo, Bridget and the others are merely

  servants of no consequence. What they see, what they

  think, matters not.”

  “It matters to me.”

  Andrew saw that it did, though it puzzled him why a

  lady would concern herself with the opinions of lowly

  servants. Yet when the men brought the tub to his room

  and others toted in the buckets of hot water, he did as

  Judith requested by standing in front of her chair to

  shield the damsel from their prying eyes.

  He tested the temperature when the tub was filled.

  “It’s hot, but not too hot,” he assured her, drying his

  fingers on his tunic. “Have you finished eating? You’ll

  want to get in, now, before the water cools.”

  Judith set her trencher aside, though she had

  consumed next to nothing. “Yes, I’ve eaten plenty. But I

  prefer to be alone when I bathe.”

  Andrew did not want to leave her alone. She’d been

  very sick and remained quite weak. And she hadn’t

  eaten enough to fortify a louse. She could faint, fall,

  hurt herself. But he didn’t wish to antagonize her,

  either, so he reluctantly agreed. “Very well. But I shan’t

  be far. If you need me, call.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  ***

  Judy waited until Andrew left the room and shut

  the door behind him. In her whole life, she had never

  felt so vile. And she looked as bad as she felt! To think

  that once upon a time she’d actually called in sick to

  work because she’d had a bad hair day... She had been

  clueless then, absolutely clueless.

  Dropping the grimy sheet and glad to be free of it—

  the linen probably teemed with lice, too—she opened

  her tote and retrieved the mirror. She felt a sick

  temptation to gaze at her reflection again, the sort of

  urge people had to look at car wrecks as they drove by.

  Instead, she dug through her belongings, looking for her

  comb and scissors.

  It took awhile—she panicked, thinking she’d left the

  scissors behind, either at the London hotel or Laycock

  Inn—but she found it tucked safely away in a zippered

  pocket sewn into the tote’s lining, the same pocket

  where she kept her wallet secure.

  Next, she steeled herself to examine her hair.

  Avoiding any glimpse of her face by angling her head

  just so, she peered into the mirror she propped on

  Andrew’s table. Carefully, she parted her hair and

  combed her greasy, lice-infested locks. Dear God, but

  her roots had to be two inches deep! And her ends seemed

  split to infinity. How long had it been since she’d visited

  the hairdresser’s? Too long, obviously.

  That hardly mattered now. What did matter was

  cutting off this smelly seaweed clinging to her scalp. So

  Judy did, attempting, as best she could, to emulate what

  she had seen Vittorio do fifty times.

  When she finished, it was apparent she hadn’t her

  hairdresser’s training or skill. In fact, she suspected

  she looked worse than when she started. Her only

  consolation was the knowledge she had most certainly

  left a lot of those awful buggers on the floor along with

  her badly shorn locks. If she needed to, she’d wear one

  of Beatrix’s pointy hats or Camilla’s scarves every

  waking hour of the day to hide her shaggy coiffure. After

  all, it wasn’t as though she had a meeting scheduled

  with an editor anytime soon, now, did she?

  Armed with her dwindling supplies, she soaked and

  scrubbed with the soap Andrew provided, starting at the

  top of her head and working her way down to her toes.

  When every inch of her flesh glowed rosily, she doused

  her hair with conditioner and wrapped her head in a

  towel. While the emollients soaked into her follicles,

  she shaved her legs and underarms. Then, using the

  clean water Andrew had ordered left in extra buckets,

  she rinsed not only her hair, but her entire body.

  After toweling herself dry, she donned her own under

  things and pulled on her powder blue leggings. Purposely,

  she’d grabbed her own clothes from her room instead of

  a borrowed gown, because she felt sure her sweater and

  pants had less chance of being bug-infested. Yet it felt

  too w
arm for a thick, ribbed sweater today, so she decided

  to borrow something from Andrew. Rifling through his

  trunk, she found what she needed—an old linen tunic,

  one obviously well-worn and a bit frayed at the hem.

  Using her scissors, she cut it short and put it on as a

  shirt, which she belted.

  “Judith! Judith, are you faring well?” Andrew called

  through the closed door.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him. “I’ll be done in just a

  little while.”

  She returned to her mirror, surprised that she had

  the strength to continue. But determination energized

  her. With the speed and expertise she had acquired

  since discovering the wonderful world of makeup in her

  early teens, she smoothed foundation over her face,

  dusted her cheeks with powder and blush, and lined

  her eyes with kohl. Lastly, she dabbed thick coats of

  black mascara on her lashes.

  “Judith? May I enter?”

  “In a minute!” Do they have minutes—on sundials,

  maybe? Does Andrew know what a minute is? “In a

  moment. Please, give me just a little more time.”

  Her hair remained damp, especially with the mousse

  she had worked into it. She couldn’t tell what it would

  look like when dry, but she crossed her fingers, hoping

  she’d appear more like an actress playing Peter Pan

  than a biker girl or a punk rocker. She also hoped the

  strands that remained visibly bleached would look more

  like frosting than an old, growing-out, dye job. Not that

  anyone here knew what “frosting” was, or Peter Pan.

  But she did. It was what she thought that mattered.

  “Judith, I must see—”

  Andrew flung open the door and Judy realized, as

  she turned to him, she’d been lying to herself. What

  Andrew thought mattered, too.

  As he burst inside the room, he left off his

  explanation. The look on his face when he stared at

  her transformation made her uneasy. His expression

  reminded her all too much of his brother Elfred’s, just

  before that idiot declared her a witch.

  Maybe she had gone too far, even for him. Maybe

  Andrew wouldn’t think she looked nice at all. Just

  bizarre. Like a...witch.

  Fifteen

  Andrew did not know what to make of Judith. She

  wore her own clothing, the leggings and shoes in which

  he’d first seen her. The tunic, however, seemed rather