down, she decided to drag her own heels. Obstinately,
she reined in her palfrey so that the animal would not
take off after Zeus when Andrew kicked his stallion into
faster speeds. She felt pretty cocky when she realized
she could control the mare so well, and she enjoyed a
perverse satisfaction in being able to force Andrew to
travel at the slower pace she set.
Judy tried to ignore the fact that her efforts would
make no difference in the long run. Instead, she
wallowed happily in her churlish, silent tantrum and
behaved like a kid balking at bedtime. Obviously, their
confrontation with Peter Lamb would prove as inevitable
as falling asleep. But for the time being, she clung to
the notion that she could forestall it indefinitely.
***
Andrew couldn’t fathom Judith’s behavior. He’d
known she was out of sorts since they’d cantered away
from the Ackworth manse. Now, her delaying tactics
were putting them well behind in their journey.
Because she balked, sticking to a snail’s pace, he could
no longer be sure they would reach York on the morrow
after all.
“Judith, are you ill?” he asked curtly as he hobbled
their horses for the night. Though darkness would be
long in coming, Judith had stubbornly insisted she could
go no farther today, so he had reluctantly agreed to stop.
Now he needed to be sure she wasn’t suffering a relapse
before he let his temper get the better of him.
“Why, do I look ill?” she shot back, hauling her bundle
of belongings off her palfrey’s rump.
“In truth, you look pale.”
“I’m just tired.”
“But you had better accommodations at Lord
Geoffrey’s house than we do on the road. Methinks you
should have slept fairly well.”
“Did you?” Judith dumped her sack on the ground,
put one hand on her hip, and cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Not all that well,” he admitted as he busied himself
gathering twigs for their fire. He glanced at her
surreptitiously, instinctively wary of her every move.
He was glad he had no need to leave her to hunt small
game for supper, as Lydia had provided food aplenty for
their journey. Today, he would not dare risk leaving
Judith unattended, else she might escape his watchful
eye.
Escape! That’s how she seemed today, like a prisoner
intent on escape. But why would she wish to leave him?
Only last eve she’d confessed again that she desired
him most passionately. Surely those feelings hadn’t
cooled as the sun rose in the sky.
“Why not?”
Judith’s query caught Andrew off guard. “What?”
“Why didn’t you sleep well? You had a pallet and a
roof overhead, same as I did. What was your problem?”
“I haven’t any problem,” he snapped, annoyed by her
tone and annoyed with himself for succumbing to such
vulgar emotion.
“The hell you don’t!”
He threw the armful of sticks he’d collected down on
the ground. Tight-lipped, he demanded, “Judith, what
are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’ve got a problem. I’m your problem. I
stumbled into your life, and you thought you’d get lucky
and have a little fun. But it hasn’t been much fun, has
it? I’ve been nothing but a big pain in the butt since
you met me.”
“Judith.”
“Don’t interrupt,” she advised, pacing back and forth,
clenching and unclenching her fists. Judy knew picking
a fight with Andrew would help nothing. But, damn, it
felt good. She was going with it. What the hell.
“Let’s face it, though I probably intrigued you at first,
you’ve never known quite what to make of me. I’m not
like anyone else you know, I don’t fit in. I talk funny, I
have funny things. I bet you’re starting to think Elfred
was maybe right about me.”
“I have never believed you to be a witch.”
“Then what is it you believe I am?” she demanded,
striding forward and stopping a few paces in front of
Andrew. “You don’t know, and it bugs the heck out of
you that you don’t. You’ll move heaven and earth to find
out. Boy, was I wrong before when I said you and Philip
were nothing alike. You’re exactly alike. Neither of you
can accept me for what I am, for what you know of me
firsthand. No, I have to have credentials, people to vouch
for my rank and status, to confirm my name is Judith
Lamb and that they know my father, my friends, the
place I was born, who my mother was, whatever. You
can’t just—”
She broke off abruptly. She had almost said “love,”
that Andrew couldn’t love her for herself. Where did that
come from? She wanted him to desire her, yes. To care
for her, yes. But she didn’t want him to love her any
more than she wanted to love him. They had no future,
at least no more than several months, until next
Halloween. After that, she’d be outta here. Gone. History.
Or future. Yes, she’d be the Future Girl, Judy added to
herself with a wry, despairing chuckle. And in her future
world, Andrew Laycock had been dead close to a thousand
years, while in his, her oldest ancestor had yet to be
born. They had no business even being together. Their
time was stolen time. Eventually, the cosmic mistake
that had caused their lives to intersect and overlap
would be rectified. Then, this interlude would be
snatched away.
Yet that intuitive glimpse at a future without Andrew
clutched at Judy like a pair of icy hands. With a wavering
intake of breath, she dropped her head and willed the
painful sensation away.
Andrew felt something in his own chest, a pang of
fear. What a self-centered fool he had been! The damsel
had been ill off and on for months. She’d also trekked
across half of England or more on foot, completely lost.
Now, he’d been forcing her to ride horseback league after
league, day after day, when she had no experience at
it. Jesu, did he intend to cause her death?
He rushed to Judith, believing her about to collapse.
But she didn’t even stagger. When he approached, she
spun around and stomped sure-footedly away.
The wench made him crazed! She was too volatile
and mysterious a creature for any man to bear, let alone
love. But he did love her. If he’d ever doubted it, the
panic he felt at the thought of losing her swept those
misgivings away.
“What?” he demanded. He shouted so loudly, a flock
of startled birds fluttered noisily out of the branches of
a nearby tree. “Tell me what’s amiss, Judith, so that I
may amend it. God’s blood, but I’ve done all in my power
to make things right for you, even neglecting my duties
at Laycock to take you home to your father in York.
What else—”
; “My father doesn’t live in York,” she shouted, whirling
around to face him and gesturing widely with her arms.
“My father isn’t Peter Lamb! My father’s name is Anthony
Lambini, and he lives in—”
“America.”
Judith’s sudden, wild outburst surprised Andrew, but
not nearly as much as the foreign word that left his lips
so matter-of-factly. Yet such was the place she had
named as her homeland when he first met Judith on
the road to Wixcomb. He had forgotten about it when he
heard her mention York not long after. The memory
had slipped further away when Philip claimed to know
her kin. But it came back to Andrew now, as though
she had told him of it only yesterday.
“Yes. He lives in America in a city called New York.”
Judith sniffed and gave him a teary-eyed smile. “So do
I. My name is Judy Lambini.”
He felt stunned, numb—his skin had gone cold, and
his mind had gone blank. “Judy Lambini,” he repeated.
“Well, actually it’s Judith Lambini. Judith Rose
Lambini. But I generally go by Judy.” She struck out
her hand, feigning bravado. Dear God, let me get through
this! “Pleased to meet you,” she said.
Andrew didn’t know how to respond. He took her
hand, and before he could do more, she pumped it up
and down.
“That’s how we say hello where I come from.”
“This place, America.”
“Um-hm.”
“You never lost your memory, did you? Only your
way.”
“What? Oh, yeah. When I met you, I sure as heck
was lost. And looking for Wixcomb. Not your little village,
but a different Wixcomb. The rest, well...I didn’t exactly
lie. You and Philip kept filling in the blanks—providing
answers to your own questions. I just went along with
everything you two said because I couldn’t tell you the
truth.”
He braced himself. They had set out for York to learn
the truth. He wanted to hear it, needed to hear it, but
he understood there was no cause for them to travel on
in order for him to have his answers. “Can you tell me
the truth now?”
Judith flung her head back and looked up at the
azure sky that fitted the green meadowland like a
tortoise shell dome. “Sure, I can. In fact, I’d like nothing
better. Because, honestly, Andrew,” she confessed as
she brought her head down and met his gaze directly,
“I’ve been dying to tell you the truth for a really long
time.”
Tentatively, he stepped closer to her. Firmly, he put
one arm around her waist. Gently, he flicked away a
tear that streaked down her cheek.
His insides clenched. He felt as though he faced
dragons, for he feared that what he learned now might
be worse than anything he had ever considered before.
“Then tell me,” he urged, his voice rough and low. “I
shall listen.”
“But will you believe?” Judith asked anxiously.
“I promise you, I’ll believe,” he said. And he meant
it.
Twenty-one
They sat down together, side by side, their backs
against a tree. Evening always took its own, good time
in coming, so while daylight lingered, Judy began her
fantastic confession.
“Let’s see,” she began. “I guess I should start with
my trip to England with my friend and client, Carla
Whittaker. She writes those long stories I mentioned
the other day. Hers are mostly about people who lived
and died a long time ago. The one she was working on
was about King John.”
“But John is alive.”
“No, he’s not. Not in my world, Andrew. In my world,
he’s been dead nearly 800 years.”
She knew that news would hit Andrew like a bomb.
It did, the explosion followed by a long, long moment of
astonished, incredulous silence. But Andrew didn’t
protest. In fact, he said, “Tell me more.”
She began to think maybe when she got home again
she should see a shrink. What a relief it was to get
everything off her chest! It would be worth $150 an hour
to have someone listen so patiently while she droned
on and on and on, completely self-absorbed and self-
important. Once she got rolling with Andrew, describing
her brief meeting with Viscount Laycock, Andrew’s
distant progeny, and seeing the jeweled dagger, she
rushed to relate the events of that first morning. After
she described awakening outside the bailey walls that
weren’t in ruin anymore, and how she had thought
everyone was an actor in period garb, well, Judy just
couldn’t stop. Not until she covered it all, right up through
this very afternoon when she’d realized she simply
couldn’t go through with facing the old knight in York
who worked at changing base metals into gold. Which,
she informed Andrew in an aside, couldn’t be done
anyway. Only then did she pause for breath and wait for
Andrew to respond.
She saw by the look on his face that he didn’t believe
her. Despite his pledge and for all his quiet patience,
he didn’t believe her!
“Judith, mayhap you are no kin to Peter Lamb, but...”
He shook his head and looked down at his lap. “You were
sick, very sick. Mayhap you had wild dreams that
seemed so real—”
“Damn you!” Judith flew to her feet and, as he peered
up at her, Andrew knew the most painful regret. He had
vowed to believe her, but he couldn’t, and now she
despised him.
“Listen to me.” He stood and grabbed her wrists. “I
care not if your name is Lambini or Lamb, if you hail
from York or New York, if you’re gently born or common.
I shan’t abandon you. I’ll find a way to provide for you. I
have no other obligations, Judith, and as I’m free to do
as I will, I shall stand by you.”
“Stand by me!” Her eyes narrowed to slits. If she’d
been a cat, she’d have laid back her ears and extended
her claws. “I wanted—I wanted more than that from you.”
“More than my love?”
Her lashes fluttered. Oh, God. Now he told her he
loved her? Andrew’s timing was really off. She didn’t
want to hear about love now, not when he’d made it
clear he didn’t believe her.
“You don’t love me,” she insisted.
“Aye, I do.”
“You can’t! A man who can’t believe me can’t love
me.”
“How can I believe you?” he implored, feeling helpless
in a manner no man, most especially a knight, should
feel. “Your tale is too fantastic, Judith. ’Twould be easier
to believe you have magic powers, as Elfred believes
you do.”
“Elfred can go to hell! So can you!”
Judith stomped away, and Andrew prepared to sprint
after her and detain her. But she only went as far as
her black satchel. Tearing it open, she began digg
ing
out her belongings, tossing most onto the ground at her
feet. “I’m not from this world or this time,” she grumbled,
“and I can prove it. Look.”
She had removed an item from the satchel Andrew
had never noticed before—a leather purse of some sort.
She opened it and took something from within, which
she held out to him.
“These are photographs,” she explained when he
approached. “Bet you’ve never seen anything like them
before, have you? They’re pictures—likenesses—of my
family. This one shows all of us in front of the Christmas
tree two years ago. Those are my parents and my
brothers, Gary and Jeff. This one—” She held another
in front of Andrew’s face— “is just my parents, Tony
and Nancy Lambini. And these are my nephews,” she
continued, flipping another photograph on top of the last,
“Adam and Jason, Gary’s kids. Here’s Melissa, Jeff’s baby
daughter.”
In her fury and righteous pain, Judy flipped more
pictures at Andrew so quickly, a couple fluttered to the
ground. When he bent to retrieve them, she grabbed a
fistful of paper money from her billfold. “See this,
Andrew? This is our currency. Actually, this—” She
waggled a couple of five pound notes in front of his nose—
“is English money. This—” She pulled out a ten dollar
bill. “This is American money. Never heard of paper
money, have you? Didn’t think so.”
“Here’s my driver’s license. I am not even going to
attempt to explain what it is or what it’s for, but trust
me—if you can,” she sneered contemptuously. “This tiny
rectangle is a legal document. It has my picture on it.
Though it’s a terrible picture, I think if you look, you’ll
be able to see it really is me. I suppose it’s impossible
for you to read the small print—the spelling and letters
are not like those you’re used to—but give it a try.” She
waggled the New York State driver’s license under his
nose until he snatched it away and peered down at it.
“See my name there? Judith Rose Lambini. And the
short series of numbers? 8-12-71. They refer to the
eighth month and twelfth day of the year 1971. I was
born August 12, 1971, Andrew. 1971!”
She dropped her hands to her sides and leaned
forward, screaming into Andrew’s face, venting all her
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