Kohl, Candice - A Twist in Time.txt

by A Twist in Time. txt (lit)

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