opened her door and slipped into her room. “Lord Philip
is here. He asks to see you or Lady Judith.”
“Tell him I shall be down shortly.”
“Very well, milord.” The man turned and retreated.
“Shut the door!” Judy whispered loudly when Andrew
finally followed her inside. “Help me with these sleeves,
will you?”
Handily as a servant, he loosened the laces that kept
Judy’s sleeves attached to her gown while she undid
her girdle. Tossing them aside when she dropped the
belt to the floor, he grabbed her tunic hem and drew it
upward, pulling the dress off over her head.
Not until air caressed her nakedness did Judy recall
she wore no underwear. From the look on Andrew’s face,
he, too, had been in such a frantic hurry that he hadn’t
anticipated her sudden nudity. But when he saw her
unclothed, arms overhead because they remained
caught in the tunic he still clasped in both hands, he
threw the garment away. A second later, he had
fastened his lips to one hardened nipple while he
kneaded her other breast with his fingers.
“Oh.” Judy threw back her head as he fondled her
and kissed the column of her throat. “Andrew!” She
hooked one leg around his hip, straining to feel the bulge
of his sex against hers.
“Jesu,” he muttered, grabbing her buttocks so that
she could lift her other leg and twine it around him.
“Sweetling, I want you so badly.”
“I want—you,” she breathed, smothering his
handsome face with kisses.
“We—cannot.” He turned so that she hovered over
the edge of her bed.
“I—I know.”
Andrew lowered her but followed her, so that Judy
lay back against the mattress and he lay full atop her.
“We really mustn’t,” he insisted, undoing his belt.
“There’s no—time,” she agreed, scrabbling at his
tunic, trying to wrench it off over his head.
“Judith, are you within?” a man’s voice called from
beyond the closed bedroom door.
They both recognized Philip’s voice, and they both
froze. Then Andrew straightened, righted his tunic, and
picked his belt up off the floor. As he fastened it in place
around his waist again, Judy scrambled beneath the
covers.
“Yes, Philip, I’m here,” she returned breathlessly.
“May I come in?”
Andrew strode quickly to the door, kicking Judy’s
discarded clothes out of the way as he went. Then he
opened the door and said, “Of course, you may enter.”
Judy saw a scowl darken Philip’s fair features. “I
knew not that you were here as well,” he told Andrew,
stepping into the room.
“When I heard you’d come, Philip, I thought to learn
whether or not Judith felt well enough to receive you.
She thinks she is, though I do not.”
“I can’t go downstairs,” Judy put in, still trying to
catch her breath. “But I’d like you to visit.” She
punctuated the invitation with a wan smile.
“You do not sound well.” Philip continued to frown as
he approached the bed, though he now seemed more
concerned than irate. “Are you congested?”
“No. Just weak.”
He put a hand to her brow. “You are warm and
flushed. Methinks you still suffer a fever.”
Judy couldn’t help glancing beyond Philip at Andrew,
who remained near the door. Oh, she suffered a fever,
all right. A lustful fever!
Philip did not sit. He stood, his hands clasped in front
of him, and glanced back at Andrew before telling Judy,
“I had hoped to take you to York. ’Tis a fairly long
journey, and I haven’t much time.”
“Because you’re preparing to go to battle against the
king’s men?” Judy inquired.
“What?” He blinked at her. “Oh, aye. That’s it.”
Yeah, yeah, that’s the ticket, Judy added in her mind.
He was such a liar! She hadn’t expected that of Philip.
And yet, she didn’t care. If he didn’t really have the time
to drag her up to York, so much the better.
“I wouldn’t want to keep you,” she told him. The truth
being that she couldn’t wait for him to go, so Andrew
would return to her, alone. “Besides, I think I need to
sleep now.”
“Forgive me, my lady.” Chivalrously, he took her
hand and bowed over it, kissing her knuckles. “I do not
mean to tire you.” Turning, he walked to the door and
said to Andrew, “I need speak with you. Will you join
me?”
“Aye. Judith, we’ll leave you to rest.” Andrew backed
out of the room following Philip, but he awarded her a
subtle look, full of promise, before he shut the door.
***
“God’s bloody wounds,” Philip muttered as they
headed downstairs together. “I would suspect you of
trying to keep me away from Judith, if I had not seen
with my own eyes that she is ill.”
“We’ve been friends our whole lives,” Andrew
returned as they paused upon entering the great hall.
“Why would I thwart your pursuit of true love?”
Philip cocked an eyebrow. “I know not, except,
perhaps, because you fancy Judith your own true love?”
He flinched but covered his reaction quickly with a
merry laugh. Until that moment, Andrew had failed to
realize feelings that Philip assessed so accurately. He
did not merely wish to bed Judith; he loved the wench,
short hair, sharp tongue, strange possessions and all!
He wanted her at his side for decades to come, ’til they
grew old and had raised a dozen children between them.
Yet he insisted, “I think not. My brothers are
suspicious because she insinuated herself into our
household with no endorsement. In these troubled
times, they trust no one. And Elfred actually believes
she’s the daughter of a wizard or some such. Nay. I’ve
no need to entangle myself with a damsel of dubious
origin.” He leaned an elbow on a table and peered at
Philip. “Why do you?”
“I told you. I care for her. She intrigues and delights
me. If her father is both knighted and wealthy, and she
comes dowered through him or another source, I would
gladly make her my bride. Certainly, she is more woman
than Penelope.”
“Penelope can be little more than a child. She’ll grow
into a woman, given time. Besides, she was certainly
reared to be a landlord’s wife and trained to run his home
as a chatelaine. Judith was not. Though intelligent,
mayhap even educated, she knows naught about a lady’s
place in our society.”
Philip closed his eyes and shook his head. “She stirs
my blood, Andrew.”
If Philip hadn’t opened his eyes the moment he
spoke, Andrew would have punched him. But he did,
unwittingly avoiding the attack.
“Then you must bide your time.” He straightened,
him to the keep’s front portal. “Mayhap all this business
with the king will be finished soon. Afterward, you’ll have
the leisure to escort Judith to York. When you learn
her true identity, if you still wish, you may wed her
then.”
“Damnation, Andrew!” Halting, Philip threw off
Andrew’s arm as he turned to him. “Do you not
understand? ’Tisn’t battle preparations that limit my
time, ’tis Lady Penelope and my very own mother! They
would have me go to Winfield and propose marriage
promptly. I am running out of excuses to put them both
off.”
“Then proceed to York alone,” Andrew suggested.
“Verify that Judith is the alchemist’s daughter, a
noblewoman born and reared, and return with that
information. Certainly, Judith will be pleased.”
“What if she isn’t?”
“Pleased?”
“Nay. What if she isn’t Peter Lamb’s daughter or any
kin to him at all?”
Andrew shrugged nonchalantly. “Then I suppose
you’ll know the better choice for you is Lady Penelope.”
“Obviously, I am not making myself clear,” Philip
conceded irritably. “Judith must be identified by her kin
in the flesh. I haven’t the luxury of leisure time, not
with my mother and Penelope pressing me to make a
decision. Riding alone to York, speaking with Sir Peter,
returning here, and then escorting Judith back to York,
would take too long now. If you had but sent your
messenger when you promised—”
“I didn’t,” Andrew interrupted curtly. “So what will
you do?”
“I don’t know.” He looked down at his shoes. “I must
put off both Edwinna and Penelope longer still. Perhaps
I can, because they will see the tensions between the
barons and the king’s men, as well as our preparations
for war, as legitimate priorities. If only Judith recovers
quickly now.”
“Not for her sake, but for yours?”
“Damn you, Andrew,” Philip exploded. “Judith cares
for me, too, you know. She wishes to have me court and
marry her as much as I want to.”
He bristled. “Is that so? Then why don’t you wed her
immediately and let your mother and Penelope be
damned?”
Philip set his jaw and narrowed his blue eyes. “Why
don’t you?”
“Because...I am not looking to marry. Chandra cured
me of that notion. Besides, my family would ne’er
welcome her. My brothers think her too fey, too strange.”
“Ha! You care not what Elfred thinks, or Robin, or
even your sire. You have no future here at Laycock, so
you are free to go where you will, do as you wish. But
you know you need a wealthy bride if you’re ever to
marry. ’Tis one matter to earn your living as a
mercenary or even to take holy vows. But to risk
marrying a cottar’s daughter and being reduced to the
life of a tenant farmer, as though you were born a serf?
Never! You would no more take that chance than I.”
Philip sounded so certain, but Andrew wondered.
Would he? Would he risk everything to marry Judith?
“I don’t know what else I can say to you, Philip.” He
shook his head and resumed his trek to the door. “You
have your choices: Ask for the hand of either damsel
immediately, or bide your time, hoping that Judith is
dowered or, if she is not, that Penelope has waited for
you. ’Tis your risk, your decision.”
Philip nodded in agreement as they stepped outdoors.
“You will send word when Judith is recovered, or if you
learn anything about her situation that might concern
me?”
Andrew nodded, too, but he did not say aye.
Seventeen
Andrew delayed returning to Judith’s bedchamber.
He could hardly believe he restrained himself, for the
anticipation of making love to her heated not only his
blood but his flesh— indeed, he felt feverish.
But he understood he’d arrived at a critical juncture
in his life. Everything he did from this moment forward
would have a lasting impact. No longer could he idle
away his time, resenting his status as younger son but
enjoying his family’s indulgence, doing naught to carve
a place for himself in this world. He’d lived two and
twenty years already. He was a man, not a boy. He had
to stop behaving like a youth and finally make a man’s
choices, living with the consequences, whatever they
might be.
He poured himself some wine and sat in his favorite
chair near the fire pit. Though he could only feel
contempt for his friend’s callousness, Philip was right
when he insisted that the two of them shared similar
circumstances and faced similar fates. Yet there
remained a singular difference between them: Philip
could wed Penelope, who would provide him with the
privileged life he’d always known. If Andrew married
Judith, he had no proof she could do the same for
himself. Nor was he confident that he could provide
adequately for her.
Finding his goblet empty, though he did not recall
drinking the wine, he refilled it and sipped thoughtfully.
Did he truly care whether or not Judith had land or
money? Would he view her differently once he had proof
she was a lady in fact or, on the other hand, if he found
it impossible to determine her heritage at all? Andrew
believed he would not. He hoped he was a better man
than Philip and that living a simple life with Judith
would prove superior to living in abundance without her.
Yet it was one thing to sit in the comfort of his sire’s
keep and conjecture on the matter. It would be
something else again to face being a landless pauper
with a wife and babes to provide for.
Raising his cup to his lips, Andrew again discovered
it empty. He set it aside, annoyed. Getting drunk would
solve naught. Nor would worrying about events yet to
happen—that might never happen. The wise thing to
do would be to take Judith to York as Philip had intended.
The old knight might well claim her as kin and confirm
that she remained an eligible maiden. And if it
happened that Judith owned an estate, however small,
which would come to Andrew through their marriage,
then the two of them might live together happily without
facing hard choices. So to take her to York, Andrew
decided, was what he must do.
He took the stairs slowly, not eager to return to
Judith’s chamber, and entered her room without
warning. She remained abed, no longer flushed but
radiant. She smiled invitingly and held out her arms.
Andrew winced and glanced away. It took all his
willpower not to accept her unspoken invitation, the
one he had yearned for, dreamt of, and anticipated for
so many weeks. Yet he managed to close the d
oor and
remain standing near it. He did not go to Judith.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, her tone sharp as
her smile disappeared. “Did Philip say something? Are
you angry?”
“Nay.” He shook his head. “Nothing untoward has
happened, and Philip has returned to North Cross. But
we did have a conversation that made me realize...”
“What?” Judith leaned forward. “What did you
realize?”
“’Twould be wrong for us to make love now.”
“What!”
Andrew couldn’t hold his position. He strode stiffly
to the bed, sat down, and took Judith’s hand in his own.
“’Tisn’t that I’ve no wish to. By the saints, there is
nothing more I want than to know the delights of your
sweet body! But Judith, ’twould not be right for me to
have carnal knowledge of you.”
“Not be right...?” she repeated, blinking at him in
obvious disbelief. “Andrew Laycock, you tried to have
carnal knowledge of me the very first day I was here.
Not once but twice, if I recall. You made another attempt
that day you found me bathing at the stream. Now that
I’m willing, you no longer can? What is this?” she
demanded, her voice growing higher. “Do you only have
sex with women you have to force yourself on? Do you
get off on brutality or something?”
“Nay!” That Judith could suggest such a wicked thing
appalled him. “I have ne’er forced myself on a woman. I
told you that. By now, you should know me well enough
to be sure I would not.”
“I don’t know you at all.” She yanked her hands free
from his and looked away toward the window.
“Judith.” He turned her face back to his with a touch
of his fingers. “Judith, I shall escort you to York to see
your sire. I cannot present you to him with any honor if
I’ve lain with you first. Even if he never knew, ’twould
be a grave insult to him.”
Her lashes fluttered. “Why do you have to escort me
to York? I don’t care if Peter Lamb is my father or not. I
thought Philip was the only one who cared about that.”
She paused and met his eyes. “But I was wrong, it seems.
You do, too, don’t you?”
Andrew took a deep breath. “I shall escort you home
for the purpose of reuniting you with your kin and, when
we confirm your assertion that you are—” he almost
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