homey, micro brewery. But now she knew more about
barley fermentation than she cared to.
Oh, she’d forgotten that Lady Ardith did sit down
sometimes—to spin wool, make thread, weave cloth, and
then, for fun, to sew decorative needlework. Judy opened
her hands in front of her face, glancing at her palms
and her fingers. She had stabbed herself so often, she
looked like she’d had acupuncture! Besides that, the
skin had an unnatural, grayish cast. The color came
from dying wool the day before yesterday, and the blue
stain still hadn’t faded.
“Judith? Are you here?” Andrew asked softly as he
entered their room. “I looked for you with my sisters,
but they said you’d come upstairs. Are you well?”
“Not really.” Judy propped herself up on her elbow.
“Are you with child, perhaps?”
Yikes! I hadn’t even considered that possibility. Please,
God, don’t let it be so. It’s going to take years for me to be
able to endure daily life here as anything but a bored and
pampered guest. I couldn’t take being pregnant, too. I doubt
I could survive the delivery, after what I’ve seen of natural
childbirth lately.
“No, I’m not pregnant,” she assured him before
admitting, “My tooth is bothering me a little.”
“I’m sorry.” Andrew sat down gently beside her. “I’ll
have Sally bring you something that will help. Now, let
me see.” He peered at her. “Nay, your face doesn’t look
swollen.”
“No? It still hurts.”
“I’m sure it does.” He nodded sympathetically and
kissed Judy’s nose. “Why don’t you lie back again? I’ll
tickle your arm.”
Judy lay back down and couldn’t help smiling. How
sweet of him to comfort her when he probably had far
more thrilling, masculine pursuits that he could be
engaged in. Dragons to slay, or something like that.
“How was your day?” she inquired.
“My day?”
“Yes. What did you do today? Were you busy? Anything
interesting happen?”
Andrew appeared so bemused by her query, she
decided to let him off the hook. “It’s all right. I pretty
much understand what you do every day.” She closed
her eyes, savoring the feel of his fingertips gently raking
the skin on her arm. “Andrew, do you ever wonder about
my world? The time, so many centuries down the road,
that I was born into?”
“Nay.”
“Nay?” She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “Why
not? After all, I know a great deal about your world, your
time. I would think you’d be curious about mine.”
“I am curious,” he admitted, “but thinking about it
wouldn’t help me to know or understand. I like listening
to your stories, Judith, but I cannot see into your mind
or picture your memories. I can merely guess. Guessing
about matters that can never be clarified is fruitless,
don’t you agree? Thus, I do not wonder. You’re my
wonder, my gift from that future age. Glad I am that you
found your way into my world. My time. And to me.”
He smiled and kissed her shoulder. How she loved
Andrew’s kisses, wherever he chose to bestow them.
And his touch, so soothing on her arm. Yet Judy wanted
to press him, to ask him if he’d risk attempting to travel
through time with her to the future. Moistening her
lips with the tip of her tongue, she frantically sought
the right words to phrase her question, wondering why
it was suddenly important to her. She shouldn’t need to
ask him, because she had already made her decision.
She’d resolved to live in this foreign country in a bygone
era that was barely recalled by her own people in her
own century.
Yet before she could speak, Andrew said, “My day
was full. And it is always satisfying to me, attending to
both the major problems and the small details. It pleases
me.”
“Being your father’s castle-keeper?”
“Aye. And your husband.” He let his fingers drift up
her shoulder and down her breast before retracing the
route all the way past the bend in her elbow and back to
her wrist. “I enjoy being an officer in my sire’s household
more than I would have enjoyed being a guard.”
“But you’re good at other things, like being a knight.
All that jousting, sword fighting, and riding hard on Zeus.
You like to do those things, and they’re not required of
a seneschal very often.”
He tickled her neck and ran his fingers through
her short hair before retreating again to her arm.
“I am skilled in the knightly arts, and I also enjoy
them. Did I not earn my spurs? Yet I prefer...”
“Yes? What do you prefer?”
He sighed before speaking. “Working with my mind
rather than my muscle. I’m not much like Elfred.”
“Elfred wants to hunt witches.” Judy blinked up at
him. “In my time, Andrew, a lot of men use their minds,
not their muscles, to earn a living.” In my time, you could,
too.
She wanted to add that, but she hesitated when he
kissed her ear and paused to dip his tongue inside. For
a moment, she found herself distracted from her
questions, even from her toothache.
“Elfred’s a dolt,” Andrew continued, as though she’d
made no further comment. “He’s not a bad sort when
you know him, but he is a bit simple and very
superstitious. Now, though, he’s found his place with
Sir Roland.”
“And you have your place as seneschal for your
father.” She held her breath for a few seconds.
“Aye.”
Judy couldn’t ask him. Not about trying to reach her
world or attempting to live in it for a while. And there
really was no reason to ask, she reminded herself still
again. Andrew was right. She was here, she knew his
world. He belonged here, and so did she. Beside him.
Forever.
Andrew of Laycock was the love of her life.
His fingertips leapt from her wrist, lying against her
side, and landed on her thigh. He began caressing her
leg, moving ever upward.
Little sparks flared in the wake of the heat he
imprinted on her skin. Seeking comfort, perhaps
oblivion, in his embrace, she hugged Andrew close when
his hand slid between her thighs. Feeling his fingers
on her sex, she realized that her tunic hem had ridden
up. She was glad nothing, even a layer of fabric,
separated them. She reveled in her exposure, even her
vulnerability. Right now, she needed to be consumed by
her husband—his strength and his love.
“Sweetling, your lashes are not black today.”
She stiffened. Andrew should have been in the crow’s
nest on the Titanic—he’d have spotted the iceberg with
time to spare.
“They’re never going to be black again.”
“Nay? I rather lik
ed them thick and sooty.”
Taking a deep breath, she explained, “I used to color
them. That’s what women of my time do. But the color I
brought with me is gone. I can’t go to the drugstore and
buy a new tube.”
Andrew frowned. It was the look he always had when
he didn’t quite understand her. Then he kissed her
eyes, forcing her to close them. “I love your lashes,” he
said, “light or dark. I love everything about you, Judith
of Laycock.”
He proved it, too, in the next half hour, by making
tender love to her. She tried to lose herself in his ardor,
but she couldn’t keep his observation from her thoughts.
There was, in fact, something between them, something
far more difficult to breach than a single layer of fabric.
She did her best, so that Andrew would be satisfied
and pleased with her. And she’d have had to have been
a corpse not to respond to his lovemaking. Yet her mind’s
eye observed, and her senses recorded the details of
this intimate interlude. It seemed there was a need to
imprint it all on her memory.
When at last they found themselves sated and tired,
Andrew fell asleep. Judy remained awake, however.
Her mascara had dried up. Her razor was just about
dead, too. In another month or so, she wouldn’t have
any foundation, powder or blush left, either. Then she’d
use the last of her eye shadows and lipsticks as well.
It shouldn’t have mattered. Andrew would insist it
didn’t matter. Besides, none of the women around Judy,
from Lady Ardith to her sisters-in-law and the female
servants in the keep, wore cosmetics. Yet he’d fallen in
love with a woman who painted her face. A woman who
appeared different yet attractive, strange but alluring.
And in a very short time, Judy knew she would no longer
be that exotic-looking female. Then, her husband
wouldn’t recognize her as the woman he’d fallen in love
with.
She felt a stab of pain in her back molar, worse than
the dull ache she’d been enduring for some time.
Cautiously, so as not to disturb Andrew, she crept out of
bed and retrieved her aspirin bottle. Popping open the
lid, she dumped three tablets into her palm. With a swig
of water, she downed them. But as she went to replace
the cap, she noticed only two pills lay at the bottom of
the container. Two! How could she survive on a couple
of aspirin with a tooth needing a root canal?
If she had been alone, she would have sobbed aloud.
But because Andrew remained with her, she whimpered
silently and crawled back into bed.
I’m being selfish. Andrew’s so happy, and his family
has accepted me. I’m a lady, for crying out loud! Considering
what might have happened to me after flipping back through
time, I’ve come out on top, anyway you look at it. I even
found the only man in all the world, in all of time, I could
ever love as much as I do Andrew. And he loves me—for
now.
But now wasn’t going to last. Not only would Judy
stop looking like the girl he’d first met, she would stop
being the woman she had been. I’m a literary agent! she
screamed wordlessly. She wasn’t the chatelaine of a
keep. She didn’t want to brew beer, or make sure the
servants swept the old rushes out of the hall. She didn’t
want to learn to set broken bones or worse, deliver
babies. She sure as heck didn’t want to spend most of
the rest of her life sewing!
“Sweetling, what is it?” Beside her, Andrew rose up
on one arm. As he stifled a yawn, his eyebrows arched.
“Judith,” he observed soberly, “you’re weeping.”
“It’s my tooth,” she said, giving him a half truth,
perhaps only a partial truth. “It really, really hurts.”
He stood and righted his clothing. “I’ll fetch a servant
and have her bring you something. I don’t suppose you
feel like coming down to the great hall to eat?”
Judy shook her head.
“I’ll send you up some victuals. Mayhap a bowl of
soup and bread to sop the broth. Would you like that?”
“Sure.”
“I won’t be away long. I must speak with Father. But
I’ll return to you shortly.”
“Andrew, you don’t have to. I think I’d really prefer
to be alone, if you don’t mind.”
A little scowl flitted across his brow. Yet he returned
softly, “Whatever you wish,” and bent to kiss Judy’s brow
before departing.
***
Judy might have dozed, she couldn’t be certain. Then
she heard Sally’s voice and opened her eyes to find the
servant leaning over her. “Milady, are you awake? I
brought you something for your tooth.”
She sat up and took the tiny, earthen bowl Sally
held out. A dark, wet, unpleasant-looking substance sat
at the bottom of it.
“Black alder,” Sally explained. “Put a finger full on
the tooth what ails you. It should help ease the pain,
and if it’s loose, the bark will tighten it.”
“It will, huh?” Judy asked skeptically.
“I’ve brought you soup, bread and wine,” Sally said,
gesturing to the table as she moved about the chamber
lighting candles.
Judy didn’t feel very hungry, but as she looked
around, it surprised her to find that day had given way
to evening. “Is it late?”
“Midway between Compline and Matins.”
She understood now that Compline was nine o’clock
in the evening and Matins, midnight. “I must have fallen
asleep.”
“Aye, you did,” Sally confirmed. “Bridget came up
earlier but decided to leave you rather than wake you.
Come, milady.” Sally set the last candle on the table
and gestured to the food. “You should eat, and the soup
shan’t bother your tooth very much.”
Judy slid off the bed, sticking a dab of alder between
her molar and her cheek as she walked to the table.
But voices from outdoors snagged her attention. Veering
toward the window, she looked outside. “What are they
doing?” she asked.
“’Tis the summer solstice,” Sally explained. “This
eve the villagers and the servants will have another
bone-fire. There shall be dancing and drinking, and all
manner of carrying-on. Mayhap there’ll be some magic,
too.”
Rigid, barely breathing, Judy asked, “What do you
mean, magic?”
“Do not fret, Lady Judith. ’Tisn’t the sort of magic
Lord Elfred accused you of. We know you be no witch.”
“Thank you, but that’s not what I asked. What sort
of magic?”
“Well...” The servant scowled and didn’t explain.
“Well, what? Tell me!”
“There are certain nights of the year when queer
things can happen. Samhain, Beltane, the summer and
winter solstices. There may be more, but those are the
most important of
the lot. Not that we all believe, you
understand, but we leave room for the possibility.”
“Do—do people ever disappear on the summer
solstice? Have you ever heard tales of someone departing
this world without—without leaving a corpse behind?”
Sally nodded solemnly. “Aye. ’Tis said to have
happened to my own mother’s sister, afore I was born.
My grandsire believed she be killed and buried in the
forest. But my mother thought otherwise. She said my
auntie went nowhere, that a storm came up. When the
winds died down, she had gone, simply vanished. We
rarely speak of it.” Sally shivered and hugged her arms.
“Frightens me, it does, just thinking of it.”
“Then don’t think of it,” Judy urged, forcing a smile.
“It’s probably only a story.”
“Will you eat something, milady?” she asked as she
headed to the door.
“In a bit. Thank you.”
Sally nodded and left the room. Judy went to her
tote, deliberately removing all the things that most
delighted Andrew, from her lighter and flashlight to her
paper and pens. Her eyes filled with tears as she stacked
them up on the table near the wall and topped the pile
with her tape recorder. Andrew loved her things, her
common, ordinary, everyday things. She got a kick out
of watching him when she explained their functions
and he attempted to use them for the first time. She
always felt proud of him when he got the hang of
anything and used it just as efficiently as she did.
But Judy had already shared everything she’d
brought with her, everything that functioned without
electricity, everything that hadn’t been used up. She
had nothing more to show Andrew.
Her breath hitched in her chest. She swiped at the
tears blurring her vision and hunkered down beside the
bed. A box lay hidden beneath it, the same box she had
tucked away under the bed in her old room. It held the
things she’d pilfered from the stronghold—dice, a candle
holder, a cup. Judy put those items on the table as well.
She didn’t need them anymore. She wouldn’t be telling
her story to the media or trying to prove to the experts
that she’d traveled through time to live and love in 13th
century England.
Her story was a story of the heart, and that’s where
she’d keep it.
Kohl, Candice - A Twist in Time.txt Page 35