too familiar. He suspected he owned the garment, though
Judith had cut it to a size she apparently preferred—a
child’s size. As well, she had cropped her hair and
changed its color anew. But her miraculous recovery
overshadowed that shock: No longer pale, her eyes
sunken deep, Judith’s skin had reclaimed its
flawlessness, and her cheeks glowed a robust pink.
He felt relieved, elated. Still, all he said was, “Your
hair.”
Judith’s lips turned down. “It looked awful. It probably
doesn’t look much better now, but at least maybe some
of the lice went with it.” She motioned to the pile of
clippings on the floor.
“Some did, no doubt,” he agreed. Reaching out, he
gingerly touched the blonde and brown fringe skimming
her brow. “I thought your tresses short before. Now, they
be shorter than mine.”
“Where I come from, women often wear their hair
short. Some women even shave their heads.”
“Good God—why?”
Judith shrugged. “To make a statement, I suppose.”
“A statement?”
“To be different. To prove that they are persons in
their own right, and that they don’t care what other
people think.”
“Do you care what other people think?”
She hesitated, revealing her reluctance to reply.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I don’t want Elfred—or you—to think
I’m here to cause you harm.”
“Yet you purposely declared yourself to be a witch,
and you brandished your fire-starter to prove it,” he
recalled with a smile.
“I was mad. Angry. And your brother’s such a twit!”
“A twit, is he? Am I a twit?”
Andrew’s hand lingered near Judith’s cheek. Her
lashes fluttered as she looked up at him. “No. You’re
not a twit.”
“And you are not a sorceress. I never thought that of
you, Judith.”
“What...do you think of me?”
He dropped his hand, but remained in the spot where
he’d been standing. The fabric of their clothes brushed—
another half a footstep, and he knew he could feel
Judith’s body, sense her heat. And then he would tell
her exactly what he thought of her, wanted of her,
needed from her.
“I think...” He cleared his throat. “...You are most
unusual. A woman like no other.”
“Ha!” She laughed and looked down at the floor. “I’m
a dime a dozen.”
“You’re what?”
“That’s an expression,” she explained, peeking up
at him through her wealth of ebony lashes. “It means
I’m ordinary.”
“You are not ordinary.”
“Well, I’m not special.” She moved, switching her
weight from one foot to the other. His clothing finally
grazed hers, and he felt the substance, the roundness,
of her breasts as they skimmed his chest.
He inhaled a sharp breath. “To me...you are special.”
No longer able to resist, he stepped closer. Judith’s
bosom plumped against him, and she took a breath as
she lifted her green-eyed gaze to his. He hadn’t noticed
the golden flecks in her eyes before. She looked lovely
and vulnerable.
“You only think I’m special,” she responded, “because
I’m different from the people you know.”
“You are special, Judith,” Andrew insisted, leaning
toward her, very subtly, to avoid frightening her. “Not
because your speech is odd and your clothing peculiar,
but because you...are you.”
He pressed his lips to Judith’s forehead. Her skin
felt warmer than he had expected, but he hadn’t a
moment to consider that fact. His thoughts hurried
elsewhere as he felt her lean her weight against him
while she settled her cheek against his chest. “Judith,
I—”
She slipped. Her legs gave way. Before she could
crumple, Andrew caught her in his arms and hugged
her to him. “Judith?”
Finding her feet again, she extricated herself from
his embrace. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—to—”
“You’re not well yet,” he announced, surprised and
sorry to know it was true. “You’re still running a low
fever. You should return to your bed.”
“No!” Judith scowled. “I’m not going back to bed. I
just had a bath and finally put on clean clothes.”
“The servants have surely replaced your linens by
now.”
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head stubbornly. “I would
like some fresh air, though.”
Judith feared another infestation of lice, that was
obvious. He wondered how to tell her what he knew. “I
could take you outdoors,” he suggested. “’Tis very warm
today, and there is, uh, something we might wish to do
out there.”
“What?”
He exhaled a loud breath before plunging ahead.
“You still have nits in your hair. I can see them. But I
can pick them out.”
She blushed to her roots. “I still have bugs on me?
And you want to go outside and nitpick, like a couple of
monkeys?”
“I do not understand what a ‘monkey’ is, but if you
fail to come with me, the eggs will hatch.”
“Eeeuuuwww!”
She made a face that made him smile—he very
nearly chuckled. Without requesting her permission,
he gathered Judith up and headed for the door. “Let’s do
it and be done,” he said. “I know you shan’t rest easy if
there remains the slightest chance you are home to a
louse.”
“But people will see!”
“Let them. ‘Twill not shock anyone, as they’ve all
been in your place one time or another. Many, no doubt,
share your problem even now.”
“Geez,” she muttered miserably as he carried her
down the stairs to the great hall, “little kids get lice.
Dirty people. Not ladies.”
“That isn’t so. You’re a lady, aye? And you have them.
But not for long,” he promised, smiling at her confidently.
With a resigned nod, Judith wrapped her arms
around his neck and clung to Andrew—like a monkey.
***
In the yard, Judy watched as he located a stool and
a bucket. He sat her down on the upended bucket, which
was lower than the stool, which Andrew took for himself.
Strand by short strand, he examined her hair, plucking
whatever nits were, exactly, and flipping them onto the
ground.
“Won’t they just hop right onto someone else?” Judy
asked.
“They’re eggs, Judith. Eggs don’t hop. And
I’m...preventing them from ever hatching.”
This situation ranked as the worst thing that had
ever happened to her—except, of course, for flying
through time. But on the mortification scale, having
her hair nitpicked by an English lord rated eleven on a
scale of ten. Having it done more or less in public, where
all the people who wo
rked at Laycock Keep could see
what Andrew was doing, probably pushed it up to a score
of fifteen. Her only consolation was that these people
certainly picked nits, lice, fleas and what have you quite
regularly. Besides, in her own time they had all been
dead so long, they did not remain even as dust. So, maybe
this episode retained the rank of eleven in the
humiliation competition.
Judy had to admit that it felt rather nice having
someone toy with her hair, nearly as nice as having it
washed. And Andrew certainly provided a more
comfortable seating arrangement than a beautician’s
chair. True, the bucket beneath her left something to
be desired. But not his muscled thighs, upon which she
rested her arms. Or the warmth of his crotch at her
back. She could feel all of him there, behind her. All of
him. She suspected some of that all seemed to be
growing.
“I’m finished,” he announced, drawing her abruptly
from her contented musings.
“Are you sure they’re all gone?” she asked, twisting
around to face him.
“Aye. Fairly sure.”
She saw his gaze flick upward. Immediately, she
touched her hand to the top of her head. “What is it?”
“Your hair is dry now. ’Tis much darker than before,
though some of it remains fair. How did you manage
that?”
“Magic.”
“Watch what you say, Judith,” Andrew advised. “You
should not make such a jest, especially if Elfred’s near.”
“He isn’t near. He and Robin left Laycock.”
“Who told you that?”
“Bridget. You’re in charge again, oh lord and master.”
He arched an eyebrow as the corner of his mouth
quirked on a smile. “You make still another jest?”
Judy grinned. “I guess so, because nobody’s my
master. Don’t need one, don’t want one.”
Andrew’s smile faded before it quite took hold. Gazing
over her head, he asked, “Not even him?”
Curiously, Judy turned around. “Philip!” she said,
seeing the fair-haired knight cantering into the bailey.
“Judith! Judith, is that you?” He reined his horse in
and leapt off.
“Yes, it’s me.” She stood as he approached, less wobbly
on her feet now.
“Why have you made yourself to resemble a lad?” he
asked.
Judy bristled. “I do not resemble a lad.”
“She doesn’t, Philip. Admit it.” Behind her, Andrew
also stood. She felt his hands as he braced them on her
shoulders. The gesture comforted her.
“Nay, of course she does not,” Philip conceded. “You
are beautiful, Judith, as always. But...I’ve ne’er seen a
damsel with hair so short. And in boy’s clothes!”
“They’re not boy’s clothes.” She glanced down at her
legs and feet. “Except for the shirt. It’s Andrew’s, but I
cut it shorter to fit. I had to make sure everything I put
on was fresh and clean.”
Philip frowned at Andrew, seeking some explanation.
“Judith has been very ill most of the past sennight.
We feared she mightn’t survive. But she’s nearly
recovered now.”
“Sweetling, how terrible! I’d no idea!” Philip grabbed
both her hands in his own. “That is why they cut your
hair again? The fever?”
“Actually, this morn Judith discovered—”
Judy ground her heel into Andrew’s toes. He ceased
his revelations immediately.
“I mean to say, Philip, you are precisely right,” he
amended. “Now tell us, how do you come to be here? I
thought you’d ridden out with your sire.”
“I did. But before we drew near to London, we had
word that King John had begun to balk once again. The
cur and his men have apparently renewed their veiled
threats against us, so Father sent me home to help
make ready for war.”
“Then why are you at Laycock instead of North
Cross?” Andrew inquired.
“Because I’ve not seen Lady Judith for so long, and
because I wondered if your messenger had returned with
good news.”
Judy knew immediately which messenger Philip
referred to. She also wondered if he’d returned to Laycock
Keep with bad news.
Freeing her hands from Philip’s, she turned around
to look at Andrew. “He must have come back by now.
What did he tell you?”
Andrew’s dark eyes met her own. “He hasn’t
returned. We have had no word.”
“What!” Philip said so loudly that Judy whirled to face
him again. “Andrew,” he complained, “you pledged to
send out another man if the first did not return the
same day I was last here. Surely something’s happened
to that messenger. Why did you not send another?”
“Because I had more pressing concerns than
confirming Judith’s noble lineage, that is why!”
“Naught is more pressing to me,” Philip confessed.
To Judith, he said, “Excuse us, will you, my lady? I would
speak to Andrew privately.”
She nodded, helpless to do otherwise, and both men
stepped aside. They needn’t have, because they
proceeded to converse in French. All Judy could do was
watch, attempting to interpret their body language.
“Andrew, why are you thwarting my efforts to confirm
Judith’s status as daughter of a knight?”
“I am not,” Andrew insisted.
“You are. And you know I must verify her bloodlines,
lest I am forced to ask for Lady Penelope’s hand. That
matter cannot be delayed much longer.”
“Then ask for Penelope’s hand. Naught prevents you
from doing so.”
“I’d prefer Lady Judith to be my wife.”
“If, indeed, she is a lady,” Andrew pointed out. “What
if she’s not? What if she’s no kin to Peter Lamb? What if
there remains the possibility she’s as gently born as
she claims to be, but ’tisn’t your grandsire’s friend to
whom she is related? What then, Philip?”
“I know not, Andrew. I fear I could not wait ‘til her
true family is located. But from what I know of her, I am
certain Sir Peter is her sire.”
“Then offer Judith marriage!” Andrew said so loudly
that he glanced around and, spying Judith looking at
him, smiled and nodded apologetically.
“I cannot do that, not until I am certain she remains
unwed and—”
“—Comes into the marriage with an estate large
enough to support you,” Andrew finished for him.
“Jesu,” Philip hissed. “You make me sound like a
greedy bastard, when you are in the precise same
position as I!”
“Not exactly,” Andrew amended. “I am not balancing
the fates of two women, trying to determine which I
shall love and hold dear based on the weight of her
wealth.”
“Talking to you is senseless,” Philip declared. “As I
am the one most keen to kn
ow Judith’s true
circumstances, I shall ride to York.”
“But you said your father sent you home to North
Cross to prepare for battle. How can you set off across
England when you have responsibilities at home?”
“Unlike you, Andrew, I have many brothers. I did
not return alone. Guy, Bertrand and Charles can prepare
our forces without my personal assistance.”
“Your father, Lord Cecil, will be angry that you
disobeyed his orders,” Andrew predicted.
Philip laughed sharply. “’Tis my mother, Lady
Edwinna, I fear more than my sire! She is intent on
having me make a good marriage, and she favors
Penelope. Should I lose that young lady’s hand and then
discover Judith is not suitable, she will personally send
me to the bishop to have me ordained.”
“You should not go to York,” Andrew insisted. “I will
send another messenger. You can send a messenger.”
“I can go, and I will go. ’Tis you who cannot,” Philip
observed, gesturing with one hand to the bailey and the
keep, over which Andrew ruled for the duration. “There’s
the rub, isn’t it, Andrew? You want to know who Judith
is, same as I.”
“Nay, I care not.” He shook his dark head. “The only
reason for my interest is so that I may return her to
her proper family. I am not the one hoping to wed her.”
“You speak falsely, friend. Since we were lads, I’ve
always known when you are lying.”
“Damnation, I am telling you the truth,” Andrew
exploded. “Do you want to know why there’s been no
response from Sir Peter? Do you want to know why my
messenger has failed to return with any word? Because
I never sent a man to York!”
The yelling worried Judy. As she watched the pair,
Philip squinted at Andrew as though in disbelief.
“I would have an explanation, Andrew,” he said, his
voice low. “You want her for yourself, don’t you? That is
why you’ve sought to delay finding evidence of her rank
and eligibility. Unable to wait, I would be forced to pledge
myself to Penelope Winfield, leaving Judith free. Then
you could take her to wife. I’m correct, am I not?”
Andrew said nothing.
“I shan’t allow you to manipulate me any longer. I
will know the truth before I settle on Penelope, if it comes
to that. And I will take Judith with me when I ride to
York, so that you cannot court her, or seduce her and
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