A Twist in Time
     ***
     Candice Kohl
     Judy Lambini was a modern-day career woman, so how  did she end up with a knight in medieval times?  "I'm fairly confident I can manage all of them and  Judith as well," Andrew of Laycock told his siblings.  "Farewell, brothers! Rest easy in the knowledge that  Laycock Keep shall still be standing upon your return."  With Judy still cradled in his arms, he strode across  the hall and began to climb the exceedingly narrow,  winding staircase to a floor somewhere above.  "Where...are you taking me?" she asked.  "To bed."
     Damn! Judy went rigid in Andrew's arms when she  recalled his true intentions. Her mouth dropped open  in startled concern as he kicked open a door, banging it  against an inside wall, and dropped her roughly onto a  bed. When he jumped onto the bed and stretched out  beside her, she finally found her voice.  "What the hell do you think you're doing?"  "If you don't know, I shall teach you. I'm told I'm  rather good at it."
     Oh, geez. She didn't need this. What she needed  was a good, long nap--and a seat on H.G. Wells' time  machine.
     "Listen, I--"
     Andrew kissed her, open mouth on open mouth. His  lips felt soft and warm, and when his tongue darted  between her lips, Judy felt a tremor of sexual  excitement. The heat in her belly flared when he began  nibbling her lips and his thumb gently stroked the line  of her jaw.
     Oh, God. Her reaction to him went beyond anything  rational. Judy, however, had no intention of giving in to  him. Of all the women she knew, she was the least  likely to sleep with a man she'd just met. Having never  done so in the past, she did not propose to do so now.  Most certainly, she did not intend to sleep with a ghostly  stranger who'd been dead in his grave at least 700 years!
     To my husband, Philip,
     and a timeless love.
     A Twist in Time
     ***
     Candice Kohl
     One
     "His name is Laycock. That's all you know, except  that he lives in some town called Wixcomb," Judy  commented idly. She and Carla had time to kill. A dozen,  black-nosed sheep had ambled onto the road in front of  their car, forcing the young women to wait while the  animals made for greener pastures through the break  in the hedgerow.
     "I know he lives in the only hotel in town, which  bears his name. And his first initial is V. V. Laycock,"  Carla elaborated, her hands gripping the wheel as  though she continued to steer.
     "Hmmm." Judy brushed her bangs off her forehead  while peering through the dusty windshield. "Could you  imagine if people heading into New York had to wait for  sheep to stroll across the highway?"
     "There'd be a lot of dead sheep in New Jersey!" Carla  laughed. "But we're in England now, and the idea is to  kick back and relax a little on this trip, right?"  "Right," Judy agreed, squirming in the passenger  seat. She sat with her feet on her tote bag, her knees  pressed against the dash, one elbow out the open  window, and her hat being flattened by the ceiling above.  Carla honked the car horn, at last scattering several  sheep, and cautiously inched the vehicle forward until  a few more of the woolly beasts lumbered out of the way.  Seizing the opportunity, she accelerated slowly and  pressed on through the cluster of animals.  "I liked London," Judy volunteered as they sped  along the open road. "I hope we'll have a few more days  there before we go home."
     "Oh, we will," Carla assured her. "I'm not going to  spend a long time doing research on this Laycock  person's old family archives. We'll have plenty of time  to do the tourist bit in London."
     "That means nightclubs, too, not just museums."  "Of course! Honestly, Judy, just because I'm engaged  to be married and make my living holed up in my den
     writing biographies of dead people doesn't mean I'm not  up for a good time. Actually, between the two of us, I'll  bet I have the better social life. You never have time to  date because you're always working, working, working."  She glanced at Judy, quickly adding, "Not that I'm not  glad you live your life the way you do. You're the best  agent I've ever had."
     "Well, thanks."
     The tires hit a bump in the pavement, and Judy's  head thwacked hard against the ceiling of the car. "Ow!"  she squawked, yanking off her flowered, burgundy velvet  cloche and flipping down the sun visor. She peered into  the attached mirror, muttered, "Damn," and flipped the  visor up again. "I missed last month's appointment with  my hairdresser. What was I thinking? I should never  have flown off to England without getting a touch-up first.  My roots look awful."
     "Put your hat back on," Carla advised casually. "I'm  sure we can find a drugstore in Wixcomb. Just buy a  bottle of shampoo-in hair color and bleach it yourself."  She put her hat back on, and to help get her mind  off her muddy roots, Judy said, "Tell me something more  about this Laycock person. How did you ever find  somebody with private papers dating back to the reign  of King John?"
     "The magic of the Internet. I told you. I posted notices  with all my sources and resources, and Laycock  responded, inviting me to his home to study his  medieval parchments, which he says appear to be signed  by Lackland himself."
     "Lackland?"
     "That was sort of King John's nickname."  "Really."
     History bored Judy. Carla loved everything old and  ancient, including the lives of long-dead souls, while  she herself admired cutting edge technology.  "So you're saying you don't know this man from  Adam. Carla, did you ever consider that he might be  some kind of pervert, luring you to his lair?"  "He's a computer guru, not a pervert. Owns his own  company. Develops spam control and antivirus  software."
     "You know this how?"
     "Because he told me."
     "He told you." Judy sighed. "I am so glad you invited  me along on this trip. You're too trusting. The real world  can be a lot more dangerous than you suspect."  "That's why I've got you, to protect me from the  dangers of the real world." Carla shot her a fast smile.  But Judy frowned as she attempted to rearrange her  bottom in the passenger seat. "Do you think we'll be in  Wixcomb soon? I'd like to stretch my legs."  "You'd have more room if you put your tote in the  back seat."
     "Uh-uh." Solemnly, she shook her head. "My bag is  always with me. It's my security blanket in the city,  but even more so when I'm traveling. Except for clothes,  everything I could ever need is in there."  "It shouldn't be much longer. In fact, there's a sign!"  ***
     "I thought your Mr. Laycock owned a computer  business," Judy commented when they pulled into the  small, graveled lot off the street and looked to the  building posed atop a hill. Unlike the black beam and  white stucco houses they had passed in the business  district, Laycock Inn was an imposing stone structure  overlooking the town from its southern edge.  "He does," Carla insisted as she climbed out of the  car and closed the door with a smart thud. "The inn is  probably a family enterprise. But, wow, it's great, isn't  it? It looks as though it used to be a manor house."  Judy wasn't sure what a manor house was, exactly,  so she said nothing. But as she exited the car and slung  her tote bag over her shoulder, she noticed another great  edifice on a much higher hill north of town. "Look at  that!" She pointed. "Whatever it is, I'll bet it's a lot bigger  than Laycock's place."
     "I believe that's the remains of an old castle," Carla  surmised as she popped open the trunk.  Before hefting her own suitcase out of the "boot,"  Judy smoothed the lapels on her burgundy velvet jacket  and brushed the creases from her black wool pants.  Together, the women headed up the stone path to  the inn, though suddenly they found themselves
     accompanied by a pair of liver and white spaniels. The  dogs seemed to know their way around; they bounded  through the entrance ahead of Carla and Judy, who  paused to survey the huge room they encountered. "I'll  bet this was the great hall," Carla mused. "In the old  days, the floor would have been covered with rushes."  Judy preferred the area rugs she found now. She  strode across them, directly to the reception desk,  leading both Carla and the pair of dogs. "Hello," she  greeted the clerk, a plump, matronly woman with a cap  of gray curls.
     "Hello," the woman returned, her glance including  Carla. "I see you've met the master's hounds, Duke and  Duchess. Don't let them bother you, they're just friendly.  Sometimes too friendly." She rested her ample breasts  on the high desk as she leaned over it and shooed the  animals away. Then, smiling, she said, "Welcome to  Laycock Inn, dearies. Are you having a holiday here?  Usually we have older couples on day trips from the city  or odd ducks, intellectual chaps who come to poke among  the ruins or other such things. It's so nice to see pretty  young girls like yourselves. Do you have reservations?"  "No," Judy said, shaking her head, "though we would  like to stay if there are rooms available. Actually, we're  here to meet with Mr. Laycock."
     "Mr. Laycock? Oh, you mean the viscount."  "Viscount?" Judy shared a look with Carla as she  suddenly realized what the "V" in V. Laycock stood for.  "Yes." The older woman nodded. "The only surviving  Laycock is his lordship, the viscount, and he was lost  for a while." Suddenly, her eyes widened. "Oh! You're  the authoress, are you? The one who's come to look at  his old parchments? I never expected you to be so young."  "Actually, Carla Whittaker is the author." Judy  gestured to her friend. "I'm Ms. Whittaker's agent, Judy  Lambini."
     "It's indeed a pleasure to meet you both. I'm Mrs.  Haversham. I manage the inn for the viscount."  "It seems to be a popular place," Carla commented.  Several people were seated at dining tables arranged  near a huge, stone fireplace, and a group wearing jeans  and hiking boots were coming down the stairs, chatting
     noisily as they headed for the door.
     "Oh, yes. Laycock Inn is most always full up. It was  a boon to the town when his lordship claimed his  inheritance and turned the empty old manor into an  inn. Now, when people come to Wixcomb to poke about,  they actually stay here and spend their money in the  local shops."
     "Poke about?" Judy repeated, raising her eyebrows.  "Yes. They poke about in the ruins of Laycock Castle.  You must have seen it, up on the far north hill. Of course,  today is Samhain--All Hallow's Eve, you'd call it--so  we've even more visitors than usual, since the other  business brings them round."
     "Speaking of business," Judy pressed politely, "I  think Mr.--ah, Viscount Laycock--is expecting to see  Ms. Whittaker. Could you tell him she's arrived?"  "Oh, yes, of course. Unfortunately, he's on one of  those calls where people from other places get on the  same line to chat it up, so you'll have to wait until he's  finished. Meantime, why don't you have a seat and a  spot of tea to refresh yourselves?" She gestured to a  grouping of overstuffed furniture that included a  sideboard.
     Judy spied a warming plate and tea kettle along with  cups and a tray of cookies. On cue, her stomach growled,  and Carla chuckled, nudging her shoulder. "Come on,"  she urged. "You're hungry. We haven't had anything to  eat since that continental breakfast."  "What about rooms?" Judy asked, glancing at Mrs.  Haversham.
     "Oh, there's a pair set aside for you, compliments of  the viscount."
     "But how did he...?" Judy intended to ask how he  knew there would be two of them arriving. It had been  very last minute when Carla suggested Judy join her  on the trip.
     But another guest snagged Mrs. Haversham's  attention, so they left the desk and headed for the  refreshment table.
     "I'd kill for a cup of coffee. Real coffee!" Judy confessed  after taking a sip of hot tea. "Did you notice if we passed  a Starbuck's on our way through town?"
     "Not very likely," a gangly fellow of about thirty put  in as he, too, helped himself to a cup of complimentary  tea. "I'm Ian MacCoombs, by the way," he informed  them. "Are you guests here? I don't recall seeing you  earlier."
     "We only just arrived," Carla explained before  introducing herself and Judy.
     "You're Americans. I presumed so, though I hadn't  thought Wixcomb's reputation had extended so far yet.  It's a fascinating area, to be sure. You'll enjoy it. The  hills are simply abundant with places of power."  "Places of what?" Judy screwed up her face as she  peered at Ian.
     "Places of power," he repeated, setting down his  teacup and using his big hands for emphasis. "Energy  fields. The land around here is well-known for them.  Did you know some are masculine and some are  feminine? Like yin and yang. The masculine sites fill  you up while the feminine ones disperse or dissolve.  It's quite remarkable."
     "Remarkable," she repeated.
     MacCoombs monopolized the conversation,  announcing his intent to explain about seven different  sorts of places of power. By the time he got around to  describing the fourth, the type that served as gateways  between worlds, Judy felt her mind as well as her behind  going numb. So she abandoned her tea and company  and set out for a stroll around the former "great hall."  Between two tall, mullion windows, she spotted a glass  case atop an ornately carved wooden stand. Wandering  closer, Judy discovered a fabulously jeweled dagger lying  on a bed of satin.
     "Don't touch that, dearie!" Mrs. Haversham warned  from her post at the desk. "An alarm will go off if you  touch the case. That piece is quite valuable. It's been  in Lord Laycock's family for nearly a thousand years."  Judy stuffed her hand in her pocket and marched  back to the manager. "Speaking of Lord Laycock, is he  going to see us now?"
     "Yes, actually. If you'll collect Miss Whittaker, I'll  take you to his office out back. Feel free to leave your  shoulder bag with your other luggage, dearie," she
     advised. "No one will make off with it, I promise."  "That's all right. I'm used to carrying it around," Judy  insisted, patting her tote almost affectionately.  Rescuing Carla from Ian's place of power lecture,  they followed the hotel manager through the kitchen  and out a back door.
     "His lordship works in a separate building because  of all the power and phone lines he needs for his  business," Mrs. Haversham explained as they crossed  the brittle, brown remains of a summer garden, heading  toward a slate-roofed, stucco cottage. It looked like the  sort of place that Lady Chatterly sometimes met her  lover. "Here you go," she announced, opening the cottage  door and gesturing Carla and Judy inside. Then, without  advising her employer of their presence, she left.  Judy blinked, feeling disconcerted. Outdoors, they'd  seen a picturesque little cottage surrounded by bracken  and climbing vines. Inside, they slammed headlong into  twenty-first century technology supported by sleek,  satiny black furniture, pearl gray carpet, and track  lighting. Hard drives, monitors, printers, shredders and  scanners hummed, beeped and buzzed. Keyboards and  speakers, their cords dangling disconnected, were  strewn helter-skelter, while CDs and floppies dotted  nearly every flat surface, much like the leaves in the  yard.
     "Be with you in a moment," a masculine voice  promised, drawing both Judy's and Carla's eyes to a  figure hunched over a work station in the center of the  room. Laycock promptly spun around in his ergonomic  chair, and Judy felt a shock--not of recognition, but  rather like deja vu.
     "Ms. Whittaker, I presume?" he inquired, coming to  his feet and veering straight toward Carla. As he  approached, Judy realized she couldn't see the man's  eyes through his amber-tinted glasses. Yet the funky  glasses seemed to go with the rest of his casual  ensemble, consisting of a Cleveland Indians baseball  cap, pulled low on his forehead, a Cambridge University  sweatshirt, jeans, and Nike athletic shoes. Judy felt a  bit alarmed when she found herself thinking that  everything he wore fit rather nicely on a body that looked
     extremely well-muscled for a man who spent most of  his time in front of a computer.
     Laycock did not suit her image of a viscount. Judy  imagined viscounts to be skinny old men wearing tails  and striped ascots.
     "I'm Carla Whittaker." Carla shook Laycock's hand.  "I really appreciate this."
     Turning to Judy, he asked, "You are the agent Mrs.  Haversham mentioned?"
     He's kind of short, but his presence looms large... "Yes,"  she replied, stupefied by that wayward thought. "I'm with  the Edwin Grant Agency, out of New York." Reaching  into her pocket, she retrieved a business card. "Judy  Lambini. Ms. Judy Lambini."
     Laycock took the card but not her hand. Instead, he  walked past her, reaching for a pile of spreadsheets  stacked in a nearby chair. Picking them up and  dumping them on the floor, he indicated Carla should  sit.
     "I'm sorry," he said to Judy. "I don't seem to have  any other chairs available."
     She scowled. Perhaps nobility never had to consider  the needs and comfort of others, so he didn't realize he  was being offensive. More likely, though, guessing his  age by the hint of gray in Laycock's dark sideburns, he  had been locked away writing computer language for so  darned long, he'd lost most of the social skills he'd  learned in kindergarten.
     "No problem," she insisted graciously. "I've been  sitting in a cramped little car all day. It feels good to  stand."
     "As I was saying," Carla continued, gingerly perching  herself in the chair, "I'm really grateful to be here. But  I don't want to impose, so if I could, I'd love to see those  documents, the ones from the Barons' War, right away."  Laycock nodded. "The drafts of the concessions the  barons eventually won from King John," he said. "I  brought them out in anticipation of your visit. They're  over there." Without turning his head, he gestured to a  long, shallow table under a high window.  Glancing where he pointed, Judy saw what seemed  to be a few framed pictures on top of it.
     "They're encased in glass," he explained, as if he'd  read her thoughts. And when Judy looked back at him,  she found he'd been studying her profile. That realization  gave her a tingle--pleasant or unpleasant, she wasn't  quite sure.
     Carla shot to her feet and hurried over to the table.  "My God! They're so well-preserved!"
     "They've been very well cared for. And though I don't  mind you reading them, Ms. Whittaker, I must insist  you do it here. I wouldn't feel right letting them out of  my sight."
     "Oh, I understand," Carla assured him breathlessly.  Judy thought her friend sounded like a woman who'd  just run into her first love and learned he'd never  married. No wonder Carla had gone into writing  biographies of dead people. She got off on reading nearly  illegible old papers!
     The viscount wheeled the solitary spare chair over  to Carla, who sat down again without looking, as though  Laycock were a waiter seating her at a dining table.  "Could you use some help?" Judy offered.  "Oh, no." Carla waved her hand and shook her head,  still not looking up from the papers. "And don't be mad,  Judy, but I probably won't be able to meet you for dinner."  "I'm not mad." She wasn't. But she did feel  superfluous, and she didn't much like the feeling.  Lord Laycock gestured to the door. "Your room should  be ready for you now, Ms. Lambini. Why don't you make  yourself comfortable there? I suspect you have work of  your own to do. I understand literary agents work seven  days a week."
     "Who told you that?"
     He shrugged. "Just something I heard, I suppose."  It was true enough in Judy's case, but she didn't  admit it. "Actually," she said, "I'm here on vacation."  "Then a walk up to the ruins might be in order."  The last thing Judy wanted to do was walk around  any old ruins. But she decided to take off while her  dignity remained intact. "I'll think about it," she told  his lordship. "'Bye, Carla," she added.  Judy headed for the door and reached for the knob,
     but the viscount, who had kept pace with her, grabbed  it at the same moment. Their hands touched, and Judy  felt a searing jolt run up her fingers and tickle the length  of her arm. She drew her hand away as though she'd  been zapped with an electric current.
     "Excuse me," he apologized, opening the door and  glancing back toward his work station as though he  regretted the minutes he'd spent away from it. Judy  stepped outside, and he pushed the door closed after  her without another word.
     "Well, that was rude," she muttered aloud at the door.  She didn't know what bothered her more--Carla not  needing her, the viscount's shabby manners, or the fact  that she felt an immediate attraction to him, despite  his shabby manners.
     With a sigh, she trudged back across the barren  garden, feeling an alien in an unfamiliar world.
     Two
     "Thank you for bringing all our bags up," Judy said,  wishing Ian MacCoombs hadn't insisted.  "It was my pleasure," he returned, crossing the  threshold to put both hers and Carla's luggage down  inside Judy's room. "Are you sure you won't reconsider  joining me for a look at the Samhain bonfires tonight?"  "No. I'm not much into Halloween."
     "This has nothing to do with Halloween, but with all  sorts of pagan beliefs, those both curious and mystical.  One is that the curtain which separates our world from  others, past and present, living and dead, lifts to let  mortal and other beings pass through." Ian grinned,  apparently pleased when Judy shivered exaggeratedly.  "I think not." She grabbed the edge of her door, forcing  Ian to back step into the hallway. "Thanks again," she  repeated before locking him out.
     Alone, she surveyed the room, which seemed to  contain all the comforts of home except for a private  bathroom or a telephone. Sighing at the inconvenience,  she strolled to her bureau and gazed into the mirror.  Pulling off her hat and ruffling her hair, Judy again  confronted her muddy roots. "Okay, I'll find a drugstore  and buy some hair dye." Her stylist could have a hissy  fit, charge her a fortune, and repair the damage later.  Quickly, she changed her clothes, replacing her  smart, velvet and wool ensemble for black leggings and  a powder blue tunic sweater. She also exchanged her  pumps for ankle-high, flat-heeled boots. Then, grabbing  her tote bag, Judy left the room and skipped down the  steps. The dining area had filled up with guests hungry  for an early evening meal, but the manager remained  at her post.
     "Mrs. Haversham, is there a drugstore in town?"  "A what?" The woman looked up from the plate of  chicken and potatoes she was attempting to nibble  discreetly. "Oh, you mean a chemist. Yes, dearie, there
     is. But the shop's closed by this hour, and it's closed  Sundays as well. You'll have to wait 'til Monday if you  need to make a purchase there."
     Judy hoped to be gone from Wixcomb by Monday.  "There's a table available if you'd like to have supper  now."
     She glanced at the dining area and spotted Ian  MacCoombs seated alone. "No, thanks." She shook her  head. "I'm not hungry."
     "You must be," Mrs. Haversham insisted, holding  up her plate. "Try a bite. It will whet your appetite."  The chicken did smell good. Judy hesitated only a  few seconds before grabbing a drumstick off the plate.  She took a dainty taste, swallowed, and admitted, "That  is good. Barbecued?"
     "You Americans might say that. It's roasted over an  open hearth fire with a special combination of herbs.  The recipe's been in the viscount's family forever, so  he says."
     Judy glanced again at Ian, who had his nose in a  newspaper. "I may come down for a whole meal before  the kitchen's closed," Judy announced. "Thanks for the  taste," she added before turning to head back upstairs.  But a door opening onto a library caught her eye, so  instead of veering left to the staircase, she veered right  into the book-lined room.
     The collection couldn't be the viscount's, she  decided, after glimpsing several of the titles. The subject  matter stored without system on the sagging shelves  appeared too eclectic. A book on America's space  program stood beside a volume of Burns' poetry. An  English language grammar text sat squeezed between  a Stephen King novel and a history of the automobile.  Surely the Englishman's reading preferences leaned  toward the technical. He had most likely inherited all  these volumes, collected by his forebears according to  their own whims and interests.
     Judy ditched her chicken bone in a wastepaper  basket and finally headed upstairs, licking her fingers.  When she entered her room again, tossing her tote on  the bed, she wondered if she shouldn't have borrowed a  book from the library. She certainly had nothing much
     to do here without Carla to keep her company. Her eyes  swept the room again--not even a "telly" so that she  could catch a round of snooker on the BBC.  I wonder if the viscount is keeping Carla company?  Drawn to the window, Judy pulled back the curtains and  gazed at the quaint cottage beyond the dormant garden.  Dusk had settled, night was fast approaching, but the  cottage windows glowed, beckoning little rectangles of  warmth and light boldly piercing the gathering gloom.  He's not keeping her company, she decided. Carla was  surely poring over the delicate old pages King John once  held in his hands, and the viscount--Does he have a  first name?-- was certainly writing binary code, his  guest--guests--completely forgotten.
     "Why is that rude, so-called nobleman on my mind?"  Judy asked herself aloud. Then she remembered  Laycock's assumption that she had work to do, so she  pulled her cell phone from her tote, called the office,  and listened to her voice mail. It almost gave her a sense  of satisfaction, knowing that bit of "work" would cost a  fortune, but that she could expense it.  When she returned her cell phone to her tote, it slid  across her laptop case, which she also stored in the  bag. Glimpsing her computer, it occurred to her she'd  have more e-mail than she did voice mail. It would have  been nice to plug in, log on, and download, but her boss  would kill her if she used the cell phone for that purpose.  Usually, hotels provided an extra jack for guests'  computers. But here at Laycock Inn, she didn't even  have the convenience of a phone extension in her room.  The pay phone on the staircase landing would not allow  her to plug in her modem, and she would be damned  before she'd intrude into Laycock's lair again, even if  he had a hundred phone jacks in his office!  Disgruntled and bored, she pulled a sheaf of proposals  from her suitcase. Turning on a pole lamp, she curled  up in her overstuffed chair and skimmed the outlines  and sample chapters submitted by writers hoping for  representation. They all seemed bad until she realized  she wasn't even reading, but merely staring at the typed  pages. Climbing out of her chair, she grabbed her daily  planner from her tote and checked the hour on the
     digital time piece glued to the leatherette cover. It was  nearly ten, London time.
     "Enough!" she announced, tossing the stack of  unread pages onto her bureau before heading down to  the lobby yet again.
     Because her stomach had begun voicing its  displeasure at being neglected for so long, Judy hoped  to find that the kitchen remained open. Obviously,  though, it had closed. All the tables in the dining area  were set with fresh linens, glasses and silverware. Not  a single hotel guest--not even Ian--lingered at one,  nursing a coffee or a glass of wine.
     It felt spooky, all this vacancy, especially considering  how populated the inn had been earlier in the day. Carla  remained conspicuously absent, and even Mrs.  Haversham had deserted her post. Judy wondered if the  town itself had rolled up its streets until the dawning of  another day.
     "The bonfires!" she said aloud, recalling suddenly  what Ian had told her. Everyone had no doubt gone to  the bonfires, with the exception of Carla and Viscount  Laycock, who could not be torn from their work.  I may as well go, too. It will slay Carla that I saw the  Samhain fires, and she totally missed them. It will also  make her crazy having to draw every detail out of me so  that she can have a clear picture of what she missed. Judy  smiled at the thought as she let herself out the front  door.
     Immediately, she spied the hillside fires. A trio of  them burned on the gently rolling northern slopes, which  meant she had a bit of a hike before her. Not just the  hills themselves, but the trek across town first.  Fortunately, Judy found herself with unexpected  companionship, the viscount's dogs, Duke and Duchess.  "You want to escort me?" she inquired, finding them  panting at her feet. They seemed willing, because even  before she located a flashlight at the bottom of her tote,  the hounds were dancing ahead, only pausing to turn  back and gaze at her impatiently.
     It took Judy a good twenty minutes to make the  journey to the nearest of the conflagrations. It surprised  her a little that none of the Halloween celebrants
     appeared to be children. In the States, she believed,  little kids would have made up most of the spectators.  But here, they'd been left behind at home. Only adults  and teenagers had gathered to sing and dance to the  hauntingly eerie music some played on fiddles and  flutes.
     Ian MacCoombs. Judy saw him among the crowd and  quickly circumvented the first bonfire to head toward  another farther along. This excursion was getting to be  a bit more than she'd ever intended. But if she was going  to be on her own tonight, she preferred truly being alone.  Or at least, only in the company of a couple of spaniels,  with whom she needn't make polite chitchat.  Duke and Duchess must have caught some poor  creature's scent, because Judy watched them scurry  off, side by side, their noses in the damp grass as they  determinedly tracked something that avoided the fires  and the revelers.
     "Hey, you mutts! Come back!" she pleaded. But they  ignored her, and before she knew it, Judy was trailing  Duke and Duchess instead of walking straight to the  nearest bonfire.
     It was then she saw it, the looming, crumbling  edifice, black on black, at the top of the highest rise.  The meager starlight and crescent moon managed to  make some of the ragged stones gleam with a creepy  iridescence, and she recognized them as the ruins of  Laycock Castle, still impressive in their decay.  She veered toward the rubble, only vaguely aware  that all the villagers, the fires, even the hounds, were  now well behind her. Judy used her flashlight to search  out the way as she climbed the final crest. She didn't  wonder why this pile of old rock intrigued her, why it  wasn't Carla leading the way while she herself protested.  Judy just kept moving forward, upward, unthinking,  compelled, driven and drawn.
     Duke and Duchess whined. Judy heard their  whimpering and understood they had ceased tracking  whatever small creature had caught their attention.  But they didn't join her, and after a few more whimpers,  they fell silent again.
     Directly ahead yawned the open maw that had once
     supported a gate in the now crumbling curtain wall. Judy  did not pass through it, into what once had been a  courtyard. Instead, she ambled along the outside of the  castle's remains, keeping her flashlight beam on the  ground. From the corner of her eye, the flickering yellow  light of a crackling bonfire gave her a point of reference,  until it abruptly blinked out. Judy stopped cold then and  spun around as a flash of panic seized her. But though  she strained to see the fire, the only light she saw was  the wild slashes her flashlight cut through the air as  she waved her arm crazily.
     Of a sudden, she became aware of her own  foolishness, having gone out in the dark to a place no  one knew she might go. That she had walked so far,  alone at night, for no good reason except an inexplicable  whim involving a rock pile, appalled and alarmed her.  Struggling to reclaim her calm, she slowly realized that  the big bonfire had not gone out. The blaze had simply  become hidden from view as the deteriorating wall she'd  been following got between her and the flames.  Judy smiled ruefully and shouted, "Duke! Duchess!"  as glad for the sound of her own voice as she would have  been if the spaniels had come running. They didn't  come, though, so she began retracing her steps,  intending to find them. But her foot hit a tree root  jutting from the ground like a menacing snake.  Faltering, she stumbled backward. The flashlight fell  from her hand and went out.
     Heart racing again, she dropped to her knees and  groped the rough, stubby grass with her fingers,  searching for her handy plastic flashlight. She couldn't  find it, and straining to see pained her eyes, for she  was cloaked in palpable darkness. Since she'd lost sight  of the bonfire, a cloud had slithered over and shuttered  the waxing moon. Now scuttling clouds blanketed most  of the stars as well. With the bonfire beyond her view  and the flashlight beyond her reach, she may as well  have been in the bottom of a deep, dark well.  The wind gusted, swirling leaves and dust that  tangled her hair. The wind portended rain--a cold,  needling, wintry rain--and though Judy knew she  needed to find shelter, she also felt a wild exhilaration
     that held her in place. In fact, she raised her face to  the sky and opened her arms to the wind. And let herself  go.
     Rationally, Judy knew she remained kneeling in  the cold dirt, yet she felt a static charge that warmed  her wherever her body made contact with the ground.  Then, impossibly, she began to feel lighter than air.  She imagined herself a kite that caught the wind and  flew.
     Madness, it was, but a delightful madness. No toke  on a joint in her college days had ever proved this heady!  She loved it, so she ignored her sensible, life-preserving  instincts, which screeched in a voice like an angry  crow's: Get up! Run! Hide! A storm is coming, a bad storm!  Finally, surrendering to futility, the voice fell silent.  Judy fell, too, across her carryall. Clutching it to her  bosom like a pillow, she closed her eyes and drifted. On  the wings of the wind that eddied about her, she felt  herself carried off, like Dorothy in the tornado on her  way to Oz. Giving herself up to the tingling sensation  that vibrated through her limbs, it seemed as though  she actually exploded, pieces of herself and her soul  scattering everywhere, like a sparkling meteor shower.  After that, she had no sense of being. Like the  bonfire and the moon and her flashlight, she'd blinked  out.
     ***
     Judy woke in a fog. Not only was her mind muddled,  but the air glistened with a heavy, swirling mist  It took her a minute to orient herself, and then she  began to recall the previous evening in heart-rending  fragments. With a start, she sat up, stretched her arms  and legs, and began surveying them for damage. Her  sweater and the knees of her leggings looked a little  dirty, but she saw no bloodstains. Everything, from her  fingers to toes, flexed without pain.
     Obviously, she hadn't hurt herself. So why had she  stayed outdoors all night? A rational person--especially  one who'd refused to go to Girl Scout Camp because she  would have to sleep in a tent--simply didn't do that sort  of thing, not in the rain!
     Again, she glanced down and fingered the fabric of
     her clothes. They felt a bit damp on the surface, but no  more than she could blame on the fog and the morning  dew. She was far from soaked through, as she should  have been had she lain without cover in a pounding  rainstorm.
     It hadn't rained, then, despite the clouds and the  wind she recalled. What the hell had happened?  A queer feeling fluttered in her belly, a sensation  akin to panic. Something was wrong, very wrong.  "Damn," she muttered beneath her breath. Carla  had to be worried sick. By now the poor thing had probably  organized a search party.
     Judy pushed herself to her feet. As she rose, she  grabbed her flashlight and dropped it into her tote.  Immediately, she headed in the direction she'd come,  slipping on the slick, dewy grass as she hurried to return  to Wixcomb and Laycock Inn.
     She glanced up. The sun hung low, a small, white  circle in a colorless sky glowing like a dim light bulb.  As a celestial beacon, it proved a pitiful guide. She would  have to trust her internal compass to find her way.  The trek back seemed interminably long--longer  than the expedition out. Odd. Usually return trips felt  shorter than the original traveling time. At least, Judy  consoled herself, the haze seemed to be burning off as  the sun continued to rise. There were only little tendrils  of ground fog when she reached Wixcomb's main street.  Except it wasn't any kind of street, and the town  could not be Wixcomb.
     Judy halted, staring with awe and a sinking feeling  at the buildings lining the rutted dirt track. None were  quaint or sturdy stucco and timber. These weren't shops,  either, only dwellings--huts, actually--made of...what  did they call it? Daub-and-wattle. They even sported  thatched roofs.
     "I'm dreaming," she told herself firmly as she  watched people coming and going. "I'm still in bed at  Laycock Inn. I never went for a walk last night. I never  climbed the hill or saw the bonfires. Pretty soon, I'm  going to wake up. When I do, I'm going to laugh."  She felt no urge to laugh right now. Despite assuring  herself figments of her own imagination couldn't see
     her if she did not wish them to, she pressed hard against  the wall of a cottage at her back. Boy, her imagination  had slipped into overdrive! All the town's people appeared  to be dressed in costumes. They wore tunics, the men's  belted, the women's flowing free. Some wore hoods so  deep, Judy couldn't see their profiles when they passed  her.
     She had the bizarre notion she stood on a movie  set, that she'd arrived on location for the filming of  Braveheart. But Braveheart had been made years ago,  and this was England, not Ireland, where they had filmed  the Scottish tale. Of course, somebody could be making  another period movie. Kenneth Branagh did it all the  time.
     This wasn't a movie set, though. Judy had no  explanation for what she saw, but she knew a movie  set couldn't be the answer.
     "I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming," she  muttered like a mantra as she flattened herself against  the wall. An unexpected, sharp pain interrupted her  chant. "Ow!" she cried, drawing her hand forward to  examine it.
     Something sharp had gouged her palm as she  pressed it against the mud wall. It had pierced her skin  deeply enough to draw blood. Could you bleed in a dream?  she wondered, sucking the tiny wound.
     As she fretted, a woman with two small, dirty  children clinging to her skirts stopped directly before  her. Scowling, the stranger stared at Judy with  narrowed eyes. "Who you be?" she demanded.  "I--I--"
     Frightened as a hare, she pushed herself off the wall  and sprinted up the road, away from town. She'd been  seen. No one should have seen her, not in a dream! But  that woman had. And she'd bled, too. Judy paused when  she had run far enough to grow winded, and examined  her injured palm again. God in heaven, you couldn't  hurt yourself inside a dream, could you?  She might not be dreaming after all. She might be  awake. But she wasn't where she should have been--  in her room at the inn or, more rightly, in her New  York City apartment. Where in God's name was she?
     Not Wixcomb.
     "I got turned around," Judy decided. She spun about,  gazing again at the strangely dressed people, the odd  little huts, and the assorted animals barking, pecking  and rooting in the dirt. "I walked beyond the old castle  ruins," she recalled, concluding, "I came down the wrong  hill in the fog. This isn't Wixcomb, it's--"  The Renaissance Fair. That's what it was, or at least,  that's what it was like. That Old English fair in the  States, where all the performers dressed in period  costume, and they sold roasted pig instead of pizza by  the slice, and actors dressed as knights jousted before  their medieval "king."
     What a fool she'd been! That woman who'd  approached her had simply been wondering why a tourist  had come visiting the fair so early in the day. They  weren't open yet. The ticket booth was neither set up  nor manned. Judy hadn't paid her entrance fee, and  she obviously didn't belong among the performers.  Well, she'd go right back and ask for directions to  Wixcomb. She couldn't have strayed too far.  With new determination, Judy walked the several  yards that brought her back to the edge of the village. A  man eyed her suspiciously as she approached, but  instead of ducking for cover, she stepped directly up to  him.
     "Excuse me," she said, "but I seem to be lost. Could  you tell me the way to Wixcomb?"
     He stumbled backward warily. "Wixcomb?" he  repeated.
     "Yes. I'm from New York, but I'm staying in Wixcomb.  Could you tell me how to get back there?"  "Wixcomb," he said again, spreading his arms and  gesturing to the left and the right. Then, looking her up  and down once more, he dashed off and insinuated  himself among several people clustered in a group. He  spoke to them in low tones, and they all looked at her  with obvious disapproval.
     "Damn." What was that all about? She'd only asked  for directions. Why wouldn't he tell her? Why were the  others looking at her so oddly?
     Because this place wasn't like the Renaissance
     Fair--it was like Plymouth Plantation, another  American tourist attraction. Judy had gone to the town  near Plymouth Rock on a class trip years ago. She  recalled the "villagers" lived on site and toiled at the  same sort of tasks the original settlers had. Not only  did they dress in period costume, they spoke "period"  English. Rather annoyingly, they purposely ignored the  tourists and any evidence of modern life so that visitors  felt as though they'd stepped back in time.  Judy remembered something else: Mrs. Haversham  had said people stayed at Laycock Inn when they came  to poke about the castle ruins and "the other." Maybe  this was the other!
     Shifting her tote from her right shoulder to her left,  she set out again from the theatrical recreation of an  old English village. Geez, she found herself thinking  testily, didn't they have enough authentically ancient  things in Britain that they shouldn't feel compelled to  recreate more? First, the Globe Theatre in London and  now, this village. The Brits were definitely mad. And  rude. But if nobody would break character long enough  to assist her, she'd help herself. Now that the mist  seemed to be dissipated, she'd hike back up the hills  and on past the castle ruins. On the far side, she'd make  her way down again. At last, she'd be in Wixcomb.  Veering off the dirt road, Judy hadn't yet looked  around to get her bearings when she felt more than  heard a large horse pounding toward her. Turning  slightly toward the rolling hills she'd recently descended,  she saw a massively huge beast hurtling toward her as  though its rider intended to trample her into the ground.  Instinct should have propelled her to leap out of the  way, but Judy froze. In the split second it took for the  animal to reach her, she had no time to be afraid, only  astounded. She expected soon to find herself either dead  or grievously injured.
     Somehow, at the last possible moment, the rider  steered his horse away from Judy. When beast and man  swerved, they came so dangerously close, she caught  the scent of horse sweat in her nostrils. Yet she  remained on her feet, swaying only a little, and watched,  transfixed, as the man reined in his mount and then
     walked it back in her direction.
     Her numb incredulity dissolved, a hot, pulsing rage  replacing it. God Almighty! He was one of them, a  thespian, a player, a re-enactor, whatever the villagers  called themselves! No doubt he claimed the role of  leading man, because he was obviously young and good- looking. Also, he alone wore the clothes of a king, not a  peasant. What the heck--did he think he was a king?  Judy opened her mouth to berate the idiot actor  who'd nearly ridden her down, when he opened his  mouth and swore venomously. At least, she thought he  cursed her. Judging from his angry glower and the  thunderous tone of his voice, he didn't seem to be  inquiring about the weather. But she couldn't be sure,  because he spoke French.
     Judy knew she hadn't wandered that far afield. She'd  have remembered taking the Chunnel. "Speak English!"  she demanded, muttering a choice expletive of her own  beneath her breath.
     "By all the saints, what did you think you were  doing?"
     Okay. He'd switched to English--at least Judy  presumed he had. She caught a few familiar words. But  he had an accent as thick as the morning's mist. And  it didn't matter what he said to her. She had plenty she  wanted to say to him.
     "Don't you shout at me, you jerk! You nearly killed  me! How dare you race around like that? In another  few seconds, you'd be in the village. There are people  there, even children. I don't think the rest of your troupe  would take kindly to being trampled by you and your  damned--" She paused to breathe and glanced again at  the animal. It was obviously, very obviously, as male as  its rider. "--stallion!" she resumed. "And what if you  had paying patrons? If you injured any tourists who'd  come to gawk at your quaint medieval village, the  lawsuits would put you all out of work! Did you ever think  of that?"
     She glared at him, forehead furrowed, hands  clenched into fists. He stared back at her as though  she'd just beamed down from a spaceship. How dare he?  He was in the wrong, not she--the arrogant, reckless
     prima donna!
     He kicked his stallion's flanks, and the animal  moved even closer to Judy. The beast's nostrils flared  and his eyes--at least the one she could see--showed a  great deal of white. But Judy held her ground bravely.  This was nothing compared to having the half-ton animal  charging her at forty miles an hour.
     "Who are you?" the man asked. "From whence do  you come?"
     "America. And Americans don't put up with the kind  of crap you just pulled."
     He pulled a face. "America?" he repeated,  emphasizing the wrong syllables and making the word  sound odd, foreign.
     "Yes. America. Don't act like you've never heard of  it."
     "I have not heard of it."
     Judy took a deep breath. She had to remember he  was immersed in his role. These people were perverse,  the whole lot of them. Couldn't step out of character for  a second, just like the suspects in one of those murder  mystery weekends she'd attended with friends at a  Catskills resort.
     "Forget about America," Judy said, suspecting it  would prove futile to try to make him acknowledge the  year as 1998, not 1298. "I suppose Columbus hasn't  discovered it yet, that's why you haven't heard of it. How  about Wixcomb? Ever heard of Wixcomb? Nice little town  somewhere around here. While I'm visiting England,  that's where I'm staying."
     The young man screwed his well-shaped mouth to  the side, letting his skepticism show. For an instant,  that mouth seemed familiar to Judy.
     But before she could sort it out, she reacted to his  sarcastic query, "Are you blind?"
     "No," she replied. "But you're rude!"
     "'Tis there." He pointed.
     Judy looked back down the beaten path to the fake,  historical hamlet populated by actors in period garb.  "This isn't funny," she ground out slowly. "I want to  know where Wixcomb, the real Wixcomb, is. I got turned  around last night, and now I have to get back. Where is
     it?"
     "Are you deaf? 'Tis there, as I said." He narrowed  his gaze contemptuously.
     "I'm neither deaf nor blind, and it's not there!"  Frustration and impatience made Judy's eyes well with  tears. "If that's Wixcomb, it's a re-creation of what  Wixcomb might have been a few hundred years ago. I  want the real one, the modern one!"
     She felt like giggling hysterically. Yesterday, she  would never have described Wixcomb as modern. Then,  before this cretin actor could drive her to madness by  insisting the nearby cluster of thatch-roofed cottages  was the town she sought, Judy added, "I'm staying at  Laycock Inn. I have to get back to Laycock Inn. I have a  friend waiting for me there."
     "Laycock?" he repeated, swinging his leg over the  stallion's neck and dropping effortlessly to the ground.  "Yes, Laycock," she assured him wearily. "Listen, I  know my accent must sound as strange to you as yours  does to me, but we both speak the queen's English, don't  we? You do understand what I'm asking?"  "The queen?"
     He stepped close and peered curiously into her face.  They were nearly eye-to-eye as Judy returned his gaze,  aware, peripherally, that he was even better looking up  close. If this guy ever gave up role-playing in the English  countryside and auditioned for movies, Brad Pitt and  Tom Cruise would have to watch their backs. He had  thick, dark hair and even darker brown eyes that drooped  a bit at the outside corners. He looked either sleepy or  sated, as though he'd just awakened or just been laid.  But he was a kid, no more than early twenty. something, at least a half dozen years her junior. Judy  hadn't time for the nonsense he was putting her  through. Damn it all! He could stop acting long enough  to give her directions to Wixcomb--the Wixcomb, not this  replica constructed for tourists.
     "Forget the queen. I'm telling you I have to return to  Laycock Inn. Is it that way?"
     She raised her hand and pointed. For the first time  since feeling the rumble of pounding hooves  reverberating under her feet, she faced the hills she
     had recently descended. At the top of the highest, most  distant rise, the mists had lifted to reveal a sight that  nearly stole her breath away: a castle surrounded by a  crenelated wall. It looked in perfect condition, not the  least bit rotting or crumbling.
     Slowly, Judy dragged her eyes back to the matinee  idol beside her. Meeting her gaze, he said simply,  "Laycock."
     Swallowing with a throat that felt as though it were  lined with sandpaper, she asked, "Laycock Castle?"  "Nay. 'Tis merely a keep, though a substantial one."  Thank God! Judy smiled weakly and began, "I  thought--for a moment, I thought--"
     But she couldn't admit what she had thought, not to  this perverse stranger. She could barely admit to herself  that, for a second, she'd entertained the very real fear  that the town to her left and the fortress above were the  selfsame Wixcomb and Laycock Castle she'd been  seeking.
     "Some, though," the actor continued, "call it Laycock  Castle."
     Judy refused to faint, though blacking out seemed  like a really comforting thing to do. She had surely  fainted last night, and look at the consequences. Not  again. No way.
     "I am Lord Laycock."
     "What?" She snapped her head around to study his  face again. He wasn't Lord Laycock, not Carla's Lord  Laycock. They were both dark, in hair color and  complexion, and they shared a similar, athletic build.  But this guy was too young, and with those bedroom  eyes, he was definitely too handsome.
     "Andrew of Laycock," he elaborated. "Son of Thomas  and Lady Ardith, brother of Robin and Elfred."  "I--I met a Lord Laycock yesterday," Judy told him,  aware she was beginning to babble. "I never caught his  first name. I'd guess he was in his thirties."  "There are no other Lords of Laycock except for my  sire, my brothers, and me. None of us encountered you  yesterday. Had we, we would have spoken of it."  Judy recalled another fragment of information she  had gleaned yesterday. The Laycock manor house had
     stood empty for some years until Carla's Lord Laycock  inherited the place and turned it into an inn. Mrs.  Haversham had said there were no other surviving  Laycocks except for "his lordship." No sires or sons, just  the one computer guru.
     "Behold!" Andrew pointed, and Judy followed the line  of his extended arm. Emerging from beneath the iron- toothed gate in the wall came two riders, decked out  like Knights of the Round Table. "My brothers," he  announced.
     By then, Judy's heart, if not her head, suspected  they were not actors. Neither the princely fellow beside  her nor the peasants in town. Yet they had to be! Her  mind warred with her intuition until, looking around,  she found herself distracted by something else alarming.  The landscape didn't look autumnal. The leaves hadn't  turned, the grass was neither brittle nor yellow. Quite  the contrary, the trees in the vicinity appeared to be  budding, and wild flowers dotted the high ground.  "Tell me something," she whispered, holding herself  stiff, knees locked, hands clenched. "Is it springtime?"  "Aye."
     She swallowed hard. "And the year...?"  "'Tis the sixteenth year of King John's reign."  Judy was no history buff, but in the extended  company of Carla Whittaker, she'd acquired, by  osmosis, a few random facts. A particular scrap of  information leapt to the fore of her mind now: Only one  King John had ever ruled England, and he'd succeeded  his brother, Richard Lionheart, in 1199. That meant  the early morning sunshine warming the English soil  beneath her feet did so on a spring day in 1215!  She might easily have protested, calling Andrew a  liar. But Judy said nothing, watching mutely while the  pair of horsemen trotted down the slopes directly toward  her. As the sound of shod hooves crescendoed, she gave  up resisting.
     She fainted.
     Three
     As Judy came to, her heart seized in fright. This  time the world wasn't just upside down, she was, too. It  took a few seconds to orient herself, but she finally  realized that Andrew of Laycock had slung her over his  shoulder, like a sack of potatoes, and set off on his horse.  Though Andrew's arm gripped her thighs, holding her  securely, the rigid bone in his squared shoulder was  ramming her belly with every hard, bouncing stride the  horse took.
     "Let--" Oof. "Me--" Oof. "Down!" she demanded,  pounding her balled fist against his back.  Andrew ignored both her assault and her command,  yet as they rode beneath a portcullis' iron spikes, Judy  was glad he did. The brothers Laycock rode too fast, too  hard, to have made her dismount and landing anything  but treacherous.
     Suddenly, however, Andrew did halt. Belatedly and  quite abruptly, he acceded to Judy's wishes. Sliding her  off his shoulder, he grabbed her waist and set her down  without warning. It seemed to Judy that he let go while  her feet still dangled a few feet from the ground, because  she landed hard, her knees buckled, and she had to  brace herself, hands in the dirt, to keep from tumbling  onto her backside. Robin and Elfred--Judy didn't know  who was who--watched her with expressions of curious  disdain as she pushed herself upright. Neither offered  assistance.
     "Where's my tote?" she demanded, slapping the dust  from her hands. She felt a bit anxious, fearing that  Andrew had left her bag behind in the road where  someone could make off with her laptop, gadgets and  personal necessities. But she was far more angry with  these men, whoever they were, whatever their time,  for daring to make off with her. Why, they had all but  kidnapped her! Yet, in light of her bizarre and  unfathomable circumstances, Judy decided it might be  prudent not to get in their faces, New Yorker-style. So,
     instead of voicing her outrage over their treatment of  her, she merely demanded, albeit testily, "Where did  you leave my tote?"
     "Eh?" He squinted, appearing confused. Then he  muttered, nodded and gestured to one of his supposed  brothers. That one produced the black nylon carryall  and tossed it to Andrew.
     "This satchel, do you mean?" He dangled it from the  strap, allowing it to swing, and examined both sides. "I  have it here," he told her. "Now, come."  "It's mine!" Judy tried to grab it from him.  "For the moment, 'tis mine." He tucked it under one  arm, in the manner boys always carry their schoolbooks.  With his free hand, he gave Judy a forceful nudge in  the small of her back. "Inside with you," he commanded.  She had no choice. She went inside.
     Climbing a tall, cement staircase, they passed  through an entryway and stepped into a cavernous,  stone-walled chamber. The hard floor had been strewn  with grass, and a cluster of high-backed chairs were  arranged beside a fire pit. Pushing her much harder  than Andrew had, one of the other knights urged Judy  toward the chairs. He muttered something she  presumed meant, "sit," so she sat.
     Servants shuffled into the room, brief conversations  ensued, then the servants hurried off. Within a minute,  though, the men were given pewter mugs. When the  servant seemed to hesitate in front of Judy, she grabbed  the remaining mug he'd been holding and held it up  pointedly, until he filled her cup with the same beverage  he provided the others. Judy sniffed and sipped. Wine.  Not bad, but a little strong for this early in the day. Well,  not this particular day. Nothing could be strong enough.  Andrew and his cohorts also drank, but they  remained standing. They moved about, gesticulating--  frequently pointing at Judy.
     She chose not to watch them, not to listen. It wasn't  as though she could understand a word they said. The  men all spoke French, which Judy suspected was not  the French she'd suffered through for two years in high  school. Their French sounded as strange as Andrew's  English. The difference was, she could at least
     comprehend his English. The Laycocks' French would  have been beyond her scope even if she'd passed her  foreign language class with better than a "C."  Instead, Judy emptied her cup, waggled it discreetly,  and smiled encouragingly when the servant came to  attend her. When her mug had been refilled, she tippled  and looked around idly. This room, a true "great hall,"  dwarfed Laycock Inn's main chamber. The ceiling  loomed high, and what passed for windows were merely  chinks in the stones with no glass of any sort to bar the  elements. Which proved a good thing, since the fire  blazing in the pit, along with the flaming wall torches  that attempted to ward off the chill and the gloom,  smoked horribly. Were it not for those narrow slits, the  smoke would have had nowhere to go.
     Judy noticed decorative tapestries and banners  hanging on the walls, as well as weapons on display--  broadswords, shields, maces, and implements she could  not name and prayed she'd never know the business  end of. On a raised platform at one end of the enormous  chamber, sat a long, plank table and several more carved  chairs. When she craned her neck, she glimpsed, in a  corner behind her, the lower stone steps of a staircase  that spilled out onto the floor.
     Two springer spaniels suddenly bounded through the  archway near the keep's front entrance. Judy had a  start. For a second, she thought they might be Duke  and Duchess. If only they'd been! If only they'd bounded  over the hills last night, hot on her trail. Then  everything that had happened to her this morning would  be somehow explainable, and she'd prove that the people  she had encountered were merely cruel, stubbornly  holding to their oaths to live and behave as though this  year were nearer the last millennium than the pending  one.
     But the dogs weren't Duke and Duchess--they had  long tails, and one had a scar on his side where no fur  grew. When they leapt at one of Andrew's compatriots,  he spoke to them familiarly. The dogs understood his  command better than Judy could, for they promptly sank  back on their haunches, awaiting further instructions.  The three men then turned as one, compelling Judy
     to look at them as they strode toward her chair and  halted. Without doubt, these men were brothers, so they  could not possibly be performers unless they were a  family of actors like the Baldwin boys. One had Andrew's  eyes but a lighter complexion and sandy-colored hair  and beard. The other had blue eyes, but everything else  about him, from his dark locks to the angle of his clean- shaven chin, appeared the same as Andrew's. And  though each stood at a different but somewhat modest  height, the trio had identical builds, even identical  strides!
     The blue-eyed man--Judy thought he seemed the  eldest, probably only slightly older than herself--thrust  out his arm, pointing at her. The tip of his finger nearly  touched her nose, and she flinched, pressing herself  against the back of her chair. He barked at her in his  sharp, incomprehensible language.
     Judy hadn't a clue as to what he had said. But she  heard herself respond with the only French phrase that  remained in her vocabulary ten years out of high school:  "Je m'appelle Judith."
     Judith. God, how she hated her given name, or at  least she had as a teenager. But Mademoiselle O'Flynn,  her tenth grade French teacher, had insisted she use  it in class. So that's what came out now. I am called  Judith.
     The man scowled but continued to address her. Judy  remained bewildered, and she'd used up her entire  repertoire of conversational French. So she sat there  finishing her second large mug of wine and fighting the  urge to bring her legs up under herself and curl into a  protective ball.
     "She doesn't speak French, Robin," Andrew  announced. "She appears only to speak English, though  not very well. If you wish her to understand, speak slowly  in that tongue."
     "You have no Norman French and speak English  badly?" Robin asked Judy with a frown. "Where are you  from, wench? And do not lie, I warn you."  She refrained from announcing--haughtily--that  she hailed from America. Andrew hadn't been very  impressed with that information. And if she really had
     traveled back in time, America did not yet exist as a  country. If she named it, this man, Robin, would believe  she lied. Since he had warned her not to, she hedged.  "A faraway land." In miles and time.
     The thought made her wince, and she swallowed  back tears. When the servant with the jug appeared  again, unobtrusively topping off the men's tankards, she  held out her own for refilling. As soon as she could bring  the cup to her lips, she swallowed back more wine.  "Your family. What are you called?"
     "Lam--"
     Her history, not surprisingly, failed her. Judy didn't  know what the situation between England and Italy  might be. Was there an Italy? Weren't they all city-states  with petty kings to rule them? Did the Pope and King  John get along? Were these English nobles Catholic or  Protestant? When had the Reformation occurred? Judy  couldn't remember, if she'd ever known. Her head hurt,  so she gulped the dregs from her cup, hoping to dull the  pain.
     Fortunately, she found herself spared having to  provide her surname, which sounded so obviously  Italian to anyone with an ear, because Andrew  commented, "Judith Lamb. A fair enough name. Indeed,  an English name."
     The third brother--Elfred, she presumed--reached  out and roughly tucked up her chin. "Aye, a fair name  and a fair face. But why is her hair unseemingly shorn?  And these clothes." He lowered his hand from her chin,  grabbed her wrist, and yanked her to her feet. "What  manner of garments are these?"
     Judy's metal mug clattered to the floor as she lost  her grip on the handle. It rolled toward her tote, which  Andrew had set down a few feet away. Immediately Judy  stooped down, as though to pick up her tankard but  actually to retrieve her bag. Unfortunately, her head  swam and she wobbled, allowing Robin a second to  perceive her intentions. Moving more quickly than she,  he scooped up the tote and stepped beyond her reach.  "Give it back," she cried, lurching as she stood  upright. If Andrew hadn't caught her about the waist,  Judy thought she might have sunk to her knees.
     Cradling the tote in one arm, Robin attempted to  open it with his free hand. He had no success. "There  is no string," he observed, "no tie. 'Tis sealed."  "How can a satchel have no opening?" Elfred asked  curiously as he leaned forward to peer at the bag in  Robin's hands.
     "No doubt it's been sewn shut," Andrew surmised,  taking the tote from Robin.
     "It is not sewn shut," Robin declared with authority.  "I examined it."
     "Then 'tis a mystery I will solve."
     "And what will you do with the wench here?"  "She is a mystery I should also like to solve."  Robin made a scoffing noise. "What? You've naught  to do otherwise?"
     "Nothing except protect those who remain here after  you and Elfred leave." Andrew gestured with a broad  sweep of one arm to include no one at all.  "You needn't mock me, Andrew. Though 'tis true  Mother and our sisters are away at a wedding, and Elfred  and I will soon be joining our sire near London, you are  needed to protect the demesne, our servants, and the  town's folk of Wixcomb."
     "I mock no one, Robin," he insisted, though Judy  heard a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "Why should I resent  being left behind, still again, to watch over the babes  and the aged when I have such a comely wench to  amuse me?"
     Robin tsked, and Elfred said testily, "You could do  other with your life, Andrew. You could do as I do, and  ride the circuit with other knights, competing in  tourneys that earn us good, solid coin."  "Is that where you are going? To compete for money?"  "Nay, I--"
     "Elfred is coming with me, as you certainly know,"  Robin put in. "He asked to join Father, and I decided he  could."
     "But I asked, and you said nay," Andrew pointed out.  "Damn you! For a brother I love well, Andrew, you  try me sorely! What do you think, that we are joining  our sire and the other English barons to tryst with  comely damsels and drink ourselves into sweet dreams?
     This business with King John is serious. If Lackland  fails to concede to our demands, there will be war!"  Judy jerked, and Andrew tightened his hold around  her waist. His hand actually slid upward so that his  splayed fingers pressed against her ribs, and the edge  of his thumb grazed the underside of her breast.  Under other circumstances, Judy would have  extricated herself from his embrace. Certainly, she'd  have given the groper a good tongue-lashing. But Robin's  bellowing had the same effect as someone beating a  kettle drum--she flinched and her lashes fluttered. So  Judy remained anchored by Andrew's arm, deciding that  staying on her feet was preferable to falling down, even  if the man who served as her anchor copped a feel.  "Grow up, little brother," the blue-eyed knight urged.  Judy felt sure that he and Andrew had had similar  conversations before, and that Robin had grown tired of  them. "There is slim chance that Elfred will ever rule  Laycock, and none at all that you will. Elfred accepts  his lot; you must, too. For now, enjoy your days as lord of  the keep, while Father and I are away. Mayhap the  experience will enable you to oversee your own fief  wisely, should you obtain one."
     "I shall bear your advice in mind, Robin. And I shall  most surely enjoy my authority, fleeting as it is, by  entertaining myself however I like."
     Robin glanced at Judy. "Aye, that you will, I'm sure,"  he said before turning to Elfred with a shrug. "Let us be  off. This curious wench has delayed us, and we've no  time to dawdle. I must join Father as soon as I'm able."  "You can't mean to leave that--that urchin here with  Andrew!" Elfred sputtered.
     "Aye. Why not? She appears harmless enough, and  she seems to amuse him. At least, she soon shall."  "Robin, you cannot be serious! We should take her  with us and, at the very least, leave her far away from  Laycock Keep."
     "Why should you do that?" Andrew demanded.  "Because she is not one of us," Elfred explained. "She  speaks no Norman French."
     "That only marks her as a common peasant. Do you  fear the humble folk who work our land?"
     "She doesn't work our land, nor is she wedded to a  man who does. She doesn't even dwell in Wixcomb--  she could be anyone from anywhere! In these troubling  times, 'tis not a risk I think we should take." Elfred  paused but continued to scowl at Andrew. "What ails  you? You cling to her as though she were your lady love."  "I thought we determined she is no lady."  "I sure as hell am a lady!" Judy announced  indignantly, snatched from her languor by the insult.  In the boozy state that, like Demerol, dulled Judy's  senses, she'd been content to try to understand as much  of the conversation floating around her as her drink- addled mind and their curious accents allowed. She had  even permitted Andrew's subtle groping without too  much indignation. But she would be damned if she'd  allow these ghosts, or whatever they were, to insult her.  There, she drew the line.
     To emphasize her assertion, Judy belatedly grabbed  Andrew's offending hand and threw it off. Unfortunately,  dignity failed her when she tried to step away and  stumbled, nearly falling.
     Again, Andrew seized her. This time, when he  caught her, he hugged her to him. He even gave her a  speculative smile before raising his chin to gaze over  her head at his brothers.
     "Did you hear that, Elfred? The damsel here insists  she's nobly born. Mayhap 'tis true, despite her  questionable use of English and her appalling attire. If  it is, I should locate Lady Judith's kin. It might improve  my lot if her sire, or her husband, could reward me for  my efforts."
     "Lady Judith!" Elfred sneered contemptuously. "Not  in a thousand years."
     "If she be not a lady, it matters naught to me." Andrew  made his eyebrows dance.
     "You are ailing," Elfred insisted, shaking his head  in disgust, "if a female in chausses and a child's short  tunic heats your blood. Have your way with her, if it  pleases you. But if she proves to be a spy working for  our enemies or--or a witch, your swiving will cost us  dearly."
     "A spy? A witch?" Andrew sneered. "I am not ailing,
     Elfred, but your wits are addled!"
     "Be still, both of you," Robin snapped. "Indeed, Elfred,  you speak foolishly, and I've no time for it. I am leaving  now. Join me if you wish, or go joust, or stay here and  keep a wary eye on Andrew and the girl, whichever you  will. Father and I have serious matters to attend to."  He turned and strode away.
     Elfred hurried after him. "What of that sack she  carried?" he asked Robin. "It has no seams, it must be  enchanted. And what of the wench herself?" Without  missing a step, Elfred turned back and pointed to Judy.  "Her speech is neither true Saxon nor English. Her  clothes are all male. And her hair! She is too foreign  and curious to shelter anywhere but the scullery.  'Twould be better if she be disposed of."  Disposed of. A pang of fear permeated the alcoholic  haze still cocooning Judy, and she whirled within the  circle of Andrew's arms to call out to his brothers.  "I--ruined my clothes!" she announced, barely  thinking up the lies before they spilled from her lips.  Yet her explanation caught Robin's and Elfred's  attention, for they halted at the archway near the door  and turned around to face her. "I--I caught my hems on  fire. Luckily, a boy--a lad--offered me these garments  he'd outgrown, or I'd be naked. As for my hair--"  "What of your hair?" Elfred prompted.
     Judy recalled a scene from one of her authors'  manuscripts, a period story, a historical. "I was ill with  fever not long ago," she informed them. "They--they  shaved my head."
     "There!" Andrew said. "A fever and deliriums could  well explain why this damsel--mayhap a noble damsel--  was wandering about unescorted."
     "She was lost?" Robin asked, peering at his brother  with narrowed eyes.
     "Aye," Andrew replied. "When I first encountered her,  she asked me for directions."
     "To where?" Robin had drawn closer, and he spoke  directly to Judy now. When she failed to answer quickly,  he pressed, "From whence do you come?"  The Twilight Zone.
     "What place do you seek?"
     Another dimension.
     Robin's handsome face turned ruddy, and Judy knew  she had better say something quickly. "London," she  told him, naming the first city Americans thought of  whenever they thought of England.
     "London! No matter where you began your journey,  be it within or beyond England's borders, to find your  way here when looking for London, you surely traveled  far out of your way."
     "You don't know the half of it."
     He transferred his scowl from Judy to Andrew. "What  is it she said?"
     "I told you, she does not speak English properly."  "Then how is it you understand her strange tongue  so well? And what language is it that she does speak  properly?" he fumed. "Latin?"
     "Not even close," Judy remarked with a snort. Then,  peering into Andrew's tankard and discovering it still  held wine, she decided not to let the grape go to waste.  Taking the mug, she hoisted it, threw back her head,  and downed the contents. It was, she determined, much  easier dealing with these horrors smashed instead of  sober.
     "God's tears, the waif is drunk," Elfred observed as  he retraced his steps to stand beside Robin.  She definitely was that, and knowing it, Judy  grinned. So far today, it was the best thing that had  happened to her.
     "'Scuse me," she apologized with a hiccup, covering  her lips with her hand and closing her eyes.  That proved a mistake. The moment she did, she  felt nauseous. Even when she snapped her eyes open  again and tried to focus on Robin's face, he and the room  beyond him whirled. Judy's stomach churned as she  fought the urge to vomit.
     "Aye, she's drunk," Andrew confirmed, slipping an  arm behind her thighs and lifting her like a baby. "Don't  fret, Elfred. I doubt the wench can do much harm. Even  I should be able to handle her."
     Though her lids felt heavy and remained nearly  closed, Judy detected the leer in Andrew's chocolate- colored eyes when he glanced down at her. She'd visited
     enough singles' bars to recognize the gleam and to  understand that "handling her" was precisely what he  had in mind.
     "See that you do, Andrew," Robin advised. "Use her  'til you're sore, and if you determine where she belongs,  send her back there. But I remind you, little brother,  you do have duties at Laycock which you'd best not  neglect."
     "I'm fairly confident I can manage all of them and  Judith as well," Andrew returned. "Farewell, brothers!  Rest easy in the knowledge that Laycock Keep shall still  be standing upon your return."
     With Judy still cradled in his arms, he strode across  the hall and began to climb the exceedingly narrow,  winding staircase to a floor somewhere above.  "Where...are you taking me?" she asked.  "To bed."
     Oh, bed. That sounded nice. A mattress and covers  to cuddle up in.
     Damn! Judy went rigid in Andrew's arms when, a  heartbeat later, she recalled his true intentions. Her  mouth dropped open in startled concern as he kicked  open a door, banging it against an inside wall, and  dropped her roughly onto a bed. When he jumped onto  the bed and stretched out beside her, Judy finally found  her voice.
     "What the hell do you think you're doing?"  "If you don't know, I shall teach you. I'm told I'm  rather good at it."
     Oh, geez. She didn't need this. What she needed  was a good, long nap--and a seat on H.G. Wells' time  machine.
     "Listen, I--"
     Andrew kissed her, open mouth on open mouth. His  lips felt soft and warm, and when his tongue darted  between her lips, Judy felt a tremor of sexual  excitement. The heat in her belly flared when he began  nibbling her lips and his thumb gently stroked the line  of her jaw.
     Oh, God. Her reaction to him went beyond anything  rational. It was worse, even, than her fleeting attraction  to Carla's Lord Laycock. Was there something about the
     Laycock bloodline that heated her blood? By all rights,  she should have been slipping into madness, wailing  and pulling her hair. Instead, this obnoxious boy in a  knight's costume sparked a fire that could have melted  her insides, if she let it.
     I am going insane, she decided. Yet there remained  something oddly comforting about Andrew's attentions,  base as they were. Judy, however, had no intention of  giving in to him. Of all the women she knew, she was  the least likely to sleep with a man she'd just met.  Having never done so in the past, she did not propose to  do so now. Most certainly, she did not intend to sleep  with a ghostly stranger who'd been dead in his grave at  least 700 years!
     That last idea made her head whirl. The impossible  events of that morning swam through her mind in a  blur of dizzying images. Judy lost her ability to make  any kind of choices, rational, determined, or otherwise.  She pulled away, leaned over the side of the bed, and  threw up noisily all over the floor.
     "Jesu!" Andrew leaped to his feet. "How much did  you drink, woman? Shite." He stomped toward the door  and pulled it open. "Bridget! Sally! Someone, come here  and clean up this room!"
     He turned back to Judy, who peered at him from a  precarious angle--to her, he seemed to be standing on  his head.
     "You may have put me off for the moment," Andrew  conceded, "but there are many days and nights to come.  You'll be mine yet."
     Hell, she'd never been anyone's before, and Judy  didn't expect to belong to anyone in the near future--or  past, she added perversely. She would certainly not  belong to a medieval knight who only wanted her for a  quickie.
     "I've got more pride than that," she mumbled to  herself before retching again most piteously.
     Four
     After falling into a restless sleep, Judy woke again  late in the afternoon with a heart-pounding start. For  the briefest moment, she thought she might be in a  Pullman car, because she found her bed enclosed by  draperies. But then all the events of the past eighteen  hours or so came back, and she felt sick. Not nauseous,  just miserable.
     Dry mouth, headache. She had a hangover! And  when Judy's stomach grumbled, she knew she was  starving as well. She'd have killed for a few aspirin, a  Virgin Mary, and some crisp, buttered toast.  Knowing there was little likelihood of satisfying her  cravings, she parted the curtains and climbed out of  bed, wincing as she pressed a palm to her throbbing  forehead. Looking around the room, she noticed details  that had escaped her when Lord Andrew Laycock had,  like some caveman, carried her up here. Now she saw  that the stone walls boasted a few decorative hangings  and the stone floor was strewn with grass. Not grass,  rushes. Yes, Carla had mentioned rushes just the other  day. And there was a window, a crude, uncovered opening  like those downstairs in the great hall. But this one  seemed considerably larger. Near it, in a small pit,  burned a woefully inadequate fire. Judy walked toward  it, warming her hands over the glowing coals.  Geez, hasn't anyone thought of fireplaces yet, the sort  with chimneys?
     Judy decided not, as she watched the smoke drift to  the window. She drifted in that direction herself, and,  leaning on the sill, stuck her head outside for a gulp of  fresh air.
     The scene in the yard below amazed her. It appeared  that the protective walls surrounding the keep also  housed a village. She saw buildings, people, animals...it  looked very much like Wixcomb, at least the Wixcomb  she had visited that morning.
     Was that rapping at her door? Judy whirled around  just as a voice beyond called, "Milady?"  Am I "milady?" Judy didn't know, so she didn't  respond. Yet the door opened, and a girl, probably in her  late teens, entered carrying a covered tray.  "Milady!" she said, seeing Judy at the window. "You  did not answer. I thought you still asleep."  "I just woke up."
     "Lord Andrew said you would be waking soon. He  ordered these victuals brought to you." The girl set the  tray down on a small, utilitarian table.  "Victuals?" Judy repeated, peering at the wooden  platter cautiously.
     "Aye."
     The servant whisked away the cloth, and Judy  quickly learned victuals meant food. Eagerly, she picked  up a small loaf of warm bread and broke off a piece. It  tasted as heavenly as it smelled.
     "What's that?" Judy asked as the girl poured amber  liquid into a goblet. The last thing Judy needed was more  wine.
     "Beer."
     Beer! Something else with an alcohol content.  Judy shook her head. "Do you have anything that's  not fermented? Juice, milk, water?"
     "Oh, aye. Mulberry juice. Would that do, milady?"  "Yes. Please."
     The girl turned to leave. Judy stopped her. "Excuse  me. What's your name?"
     "Bridget."
     "Bridget, could I get a bath?" She looked down at her  sweater and gestured. "I'm really filthy."  "A bath? Oh, aye. If you wish, Lady Judith. It'll take  some while, though."
     "I don't mind. I've got time on my hands." About 800  years' worth.
     With a bob, the servant departed. Judy sat on a three- legged stool and sampled the food on her...what was this?  Not a plate. She explored the container with her finger.  Bread! A hollowed-out bread crust. Not a bad idea.  Anybody who was really hungry could eat their dishes  for dessert.
     Bridget returned carrying a cup of mulberry juice.  Two men, who carried a wooden tub between them,  followed. Though they seemed unperturbed crowding into  the small room, Judy felt uncomfortable with the crush  of bodies.
     "Bridget," she whispered, grabbing the girl's sleeve.  "I need to use the bath--the toilet. Where is it?"  Bridget frowned. Obviously, she did not understand.  To convey the urgency of her request, Judy clasped her  hands in front of her crotch and danced up and down.  "Oh!" Bridget grinned and giggled. "The jakes are in  the corner."
     "The jakes?"
     "Aye. The garderobe," she whispered and then  stepped through the doorway. When Judy followed, she  pointed to a distant corner at the end of the hallway.  "Thanks." Judy headed down the corridor and slipped  into an odoriferous cubicle with a hole in the floor. Not  daring to peer into the shaft, she yanked her leggings  off one foot, straddled the hole, did what she had to do,  and pulled her pants back up. Damn! If only she'd had  her tote, she'd have had facial tissue to use for toilet  paper. Thank goodness the next item on her agenda  was a soak in a tub.
     When Judy returned, Bridget announced her bath  ready and set out some folded linen rectangles she called  drying cloths. Judy thanked her again, but instead of  departing, the girl remained.
     "Milady?" She looked at Judy questioningly.  "I'll take my bath as soon as you leave."  "I should assist you."
     "No, thank you. I'm quite capable of washing myself."  Bridget looked doubtful. "Are you certain?"  "Very."
     With as disapproving an expression as a servant  dared make, Bridget left the bedroom again. Judy  promptly stripped off her clothes and climbed into the  tub.
     The water felt heavenly, which briefly compensated  for her lack of toiletries. But the small tub forced her to  sit with her breasts squashed against her knees.  Exasperated, she soon resorted to swinging her legs over
     the rim in order to dunk her head in the water, and by  that time the initial pleasure had all but faded.  While wetting her hair and wondering how clean  she could get it without shampoo, Judy heard the door  open and close. "Bridget," she said, "I told you I can bathe  just fine on my own."
     "Is that what you call what you're doing?" a  masculine voice inquired.
     "You!" Judy hauled herself upright and brought her  feet back inside the tub. "What are you doing here?"  "Looking at you." Andrew cocked an eyebrow.  Judy spied her tote in his hand. "You have my bag.  Please, give me my bag!"
     "Why? Have you a magic wand in here or some other  device to work black magic on me and mine?"  "No. I have soap in there, and shampoo."  "What is 'shampoo?'"
     "Soap for hair. Special soap for hair."  Andrew approached the tub. "You may have your  satchel, but only if you give me something in return."  She arched an eyebrow right back at him. "Fine.  What?"
     He sauntered over to the bed, still carrying the tote,  and sat. As Judy watched, wide-eyed at his effrontery,  he tugged off his shoes, unbuckled his belt, and pulled  off his tunic. Wearing only hose and baggy drawers, he  crawled between the sheets and drew the covers up as  far as his waist. With a grin, he said, "Lie with me."  "Bite me!"
     Andrew's smile vanished, and he flew off the bed.  With two strides, he reached Judy. "That did not sound  much like an invitation," he observed, grabbing the tub's  rim with both his hands. "You'd do well to remember I  am the master here."
     "I thought your father was master here. And after  him, your brother, Robin. And after him, your other  brother--"
     "I am lord and master when they're away, which I  remind you, woman, they are! Andrew of Laycock is the  only lord you need deal with. And...seek to please."  He smiled again, like a snake, and touched her  cheek.
     Judy drew her head back sharply. "You're a bastard."  "Nay, I am not. My parents were wed long years before  I entered the world."
     "I mean, you're an ass! A real slime ball. You have  me alone, and you want to rape me!"
     "Rape you? I've ne'er forced myself on any female,  not even the village wenches or the servants." He  straightened and backed away a step, looking  righteously offended.
     "You could have fooled me. We met only hours ago,  and you're trying to get me into bed again. I'm not a  slut. And I'm no village girl or servant, either!"  Judy nearly added that she was an important literary  agent, intending to embellish her success and  reputation, until she realized how unimpressive that  bit of information would be to this medieval lord.  "Mayhap you are, mayhap you are not." Andrew  leaned toward the tub, the muscles in his arms bulging  and those of his belly taut and rippling. With that slight  movement, he loomed over Judy threateningly. "One  thing for certain, you are no local wench. So if I swive  you 'til I'm tired of you and then break your long, slender  neck..." He traced the column of Judy's throat with the  tip of his finger, and she shuddered. "...None would be  the wiser, eh? Consider that, wench, before you let loose  your sharp tongue on me again."
     He understood the situation perfectly. So did Judy.  But she refused to let Andrew intimidate her.  Recklessly, she stood and wrapped a towel around her  body as she rose from the water.
     "You may as well kill me outright," she informed  him. "'Dispose' of me is how your brother put it, didn't  he? Because, Lord and Master Andrew of Laycock, you  are never going to have any kind of sex with me unless  I'm a corpse!"
     She leapt out of the tub, splashing water. The soaked  lower hem of her drying cloth dripped as well. Ignoring  Andrew, she pulled her long sweater on over her head,  removing the towel only after she was modestly covered  and the sweater seriously damp. Then she reached for  her dirty leggings. If she could just get her clothes on,  Judy felt certain she could better deal with this brute
     who looked, with his shirt off, too much like a calendar  pinup guy.
     But she did not have the opportunity to pull on her  pants, because Andrew grabbed her from behind and  carried her, flailing and screeching, to the bed. Again,  he dumped her in the middle of it. Again, he climbed in  beside her.
     "No! Stop! I won't let you!"
     Judy fought like a desperate, trapped animal. She  kicked and clawed and slapped. Vaguely, she noticed  that her sweater had ridden up, exposing her hips and  belly. But modesty was her last concern.  She half expected Andrew to beat her, perhaps knock  her unconscious, so that he could do whatever he wished  whether she gave in or not. But he never so much as  backhanded her. Instead he rendered her powerless by  pinning her arms and throwing himself full atop her.  "I--can't--breathe," she gasped.
     "Good. Then mayhap you'll cease your caterwauling."  "Why? Are you--afraid--the servants will overhear?"  He laughed. "I cannot imagine where you hail from,  wench. But here, servants fear their masters, not the  other way 'round. Still, I have no taste for women who  claw and scream. I prefer willing wenches."  Willing wenches. Dear God, this was playing out like  a bad movie! But it wasn't a movie. It was...real.  Judy let her body go slack as she focussed on more  important matters. Being assaulted by a strange man,  by any man at all, she would normally deem extremely  important. But nothing about her current  circumstances were normal. Why, then, had she been  acting like they were? Anybody would have thought she  had merely been stranded without her belongings in  some resort hotel, the way she had preoccupied herself  with her hangover, getting a bath, and finding something  to eat. But an airline hadn't lost her luggage. She had,  impossibly, traveled through time!
     There was no point to fighting this man. Obviously,  he could overpower her. If she continued to resist, he  might beat her, even kill her. She couldn't risk death  over a dubious degree of honor. It wasn't as though she  were a virgin. And she needed time, time to find a way
     home.
     Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and  resigned herself to enduring the inevitable. When  Andrew used her body, he would not be violating Judy  Lambini. Judy Lambini did not exist. Tony and Nancy's  baby girl wouldn't be born for nearly 800 years. And in  just about 800 years, she'd be missing, having  disappeared in England on a Halloween night, the  presumed victim of foul play. The person in this draped  bed, the one under Andrew, was no one. They called her  Judith Lamb, but she had been born only hours ago, a  grown woman with no past, no future, and apparently,  not much of a present.
     ***
     Andrew felt Judith go limp. He had expected her to  respond to the pressure of his hands and his lips--  earlier, he had felt her respond when she was in no  condition to be amorous. But now she lay beneath him,  lifeless as a sack of grain, so he rolled off her, feeling  contempt.
     Peering at Judith's closed eyes, her damp cheeks,  he cringed and muttered, "Jesu! Are you crying?"  "I'm sorry you don't excite me as much as I apparently  excite you."
     Had this giant of a woman, nearly as tall as he, with  her cropped hair and thick, dark lashes, ever excited  him? Aye, she had. But those feelings, like his cock,  had withered.
     "Damnation! The only thing I hate more than a  woman who fights is a woman who weeps--not that any  woman I've had in my bed has ever done either," Andrew  added.
     "You're in my bed," she clarified, opening her eyes  to slits and glaring at him.
     "Not any longer." He stood up and pulled on his  clothes. Andrew had never--never--had a wench reject  his advances. High born or low, his first love, Lady  Chandra, or one of Laycock's servants, they spread their  legs eagerly, they giggled and they moaned. True, he  hadn't had many women, compared with other knights  his age. But he'd had a goodly number. So obviously it  wasn't he who had the problem, it was she.
     "What ails you?" he asked Judith suspiciously. "Are  you made of stone? Have you no passion in your heart,  no sensation between your legs? What sort of woman  are you?"
     If he had pricked her in the arse with the point of a  lance, Judith could not have flown up off her back any  faster. Sitting upright and leaning toward him, she  screwed up her face and stared at him unblinkingly with  wild, daring eyes.
     "Don't you get it?" she shouted. "I'm a witch, just  like your brother said!"
     Before he could stop her, Judith grabbed her sack  from the foot of the bed and somehow opened the top  seam. Then she retrieved a black object from within,  something no longer than the length of Andrew's hand.  She pulled a stem from the top and proceeded to  brandish it at him menacingly.
     Andrew had never seen the like. "What is that?"  "A weapon! If I fire it, you'll die. Worse, you'll  disappear, as though you never existed!"  Andrew considered the article in Judith's hand.  Whatever the curious thing might be, it did not look  dangerous--it had neither blade nor point. So he grabbed  it from her, squeezed it, shook it, and waved it. When  nothing happened, he laughed.
     "If this be magic, it requires another spell to restore  its powers. A rock would be far more deadly."  Judith's face turned pink. God's tears, if only he  could arouse her ardor the way he aroused her fury!  But as he could not, Andrew decided to tamp down her  temper. Calmly, he asked, "What is this object, really?"  Judith sighed and shook her head. "I could tell you,  but you wouldn't understand."
     He scowled. "I may be young, but I am far from  witless."
     "I didn't say you were stupid," she insisted. "I just  said you wouldn't understand. And you won't."  "Make the attempt," he ordered.
     "I--I'd like to put some clothes on first."  "Have no fear, I shan't try to bed you again."  "Really? Not ever?"
     God's teeth! The wench looked so damnably hopeful!
     Why did she feel no desire for him?
     He glared at her, his mouth quirked to one side.  "Not anytime soon."
     Judith glanced down at her tunic and then at her  leggings, which remained on the floor near the tub. "My  clothes are damp and dirty," she observed.  Andrew harumphed. "I'd not have deemed you a  fastidious wench," he admitted. Then, quite graciously,  he thought, he decided to supply her with fresh  garments.
     He left Judith very briefly, calling for Bridget as he  strode to his private bedchamber. Ordering the servant  to lend Judith one of her own tunics, he grabbed  something from his own clothes trunk, something the  wench could wear until Bridget brought her a suitable  gown.
     When Andrew returned to Judith, she no longer  looked hopeful. She looked disappointed. Apparently,  she'd been praying he would not return.  He bristled. "Bridget will bring you a tunic to wear.  In the meanwhile, you may use this." He tossed his  silk bed robe at her, and it fell across her bare knees.  Her lashes fluttered as she mumbled, "Thank you."  And for an instant, she looked as comely and demure  as any young damsel hoping to win a knight's favor. But  even if she were the lady she claimed to be, Andrew  was not the sort of knight whose heart a damsel hoped  to claim. Women of noble birth rejected landless  knights--those younger sons with neither power, wealth  nor land--in favor of eldest sons and heirs. Chandra  had rejected Andrew for just such cause.  Judith sat again on the edge of the bed, though now  she was wrapped in the emerald green silk that  enhanced her eyes. Andrew settled himself beside her  and brusquely pulled her satchel into his lap. "You're  not truly a witch, are you?"
     "No."
     "Nor are you in King John's employ, sent here to  learn our secrets?"
     She shook her head.
     "Then what are you, Judith? A lady, a peasant, a--"  "--Wreck," she volunteered suddenly as a giddy laugh
     erupted from deep in her throat. "That's all I am right  now, Andrew. Confused. Lost. Homeless. Scared."  Judith continued to laugh, sounding more and more  mad. Jesu! 'Twas a good thing Elfred was nowhere about  to witness this behavior. He'd drown her in the river if  he heard such cackling.
     "Stop! Cease!" Andrew grabbed her shoulders and  shook her 'til she quieted. "I understand you've little or  no memory, so of course you are befuddled. But your  memory will return, and in the meanwhile, you're safe  here."
     "I am?"
     By the saints! She sought another vow from him,  another pledge.
     "Aye. I shan't touch you again." Did I say that? Did I  truly say that? Andrew gritted his teeth before  demanding, "How did you open the satchel?"  "You were supposed to figure it out on your own,"  Judith reminded him. "You told your brothers you would."  "I tell my brothers all manner of things," he  admitted. "I rarely mean half of them."  She smiled, and it was lovely. It seemed her first,  truly genuine smile since she'd stumbled into his path.  Andrew noticed that Judith had very good teeth, like  his own. Few could boast having a mouthful, and almost  no one had teeth that gleamed white.
     "Here. See this little tab?" Judith asked, at last  demonstrating the process by which she'd opened her  bag. "You pull it one way to open the zipper, the other  way to close it."
     "The zipper?"
     "That's what this fastening is called. I think because  of the sound it makes."
     Andrew pulled the tab himself. "I would have puzzled  out its workings if I'd had more time."  "I'm sure you would have," Judith agreed. Andrew  suspected she was being accommodating, not honest.  "This thing has teeth!" he observed aloud. "What  creature grows so many tiny teeth?"
     "No creature. They're not real. They're  manufactured, made of plastic and nylon."  "Plastic? Nylon?"
     "Materials. Like the silk this robe was made from."  She fingered her sleeve. "Or the brass somebody  fashioned into your buckle, here." She touched his belt.  Their eyes met. Andrew's thoughts no longer  remained on his buckle. They had sprinted south to a  particular part of his anatomy not far below his belt.  As though she'd burned her fingers, Judith drew her  hand away. He wished she had not, but because of his  pledge, he searched for another diversion. Abruptly, he  upended the satchel onto the bed.
     "Hey! Don't do that," Judith shouted.
     "I would see what mysteries you carry in this  enchanted satchel."
     "It's not enchanted. It's just my gear."  "Gear?"
     "Belongings," she explained impatiently.  "Show me," he demanded.
     "No! These things are personal. Besides, you  wouldn't understand what any of them are. They're  nothing you could use."
     "I shall be the judge of that." Simply because he'd  decided to treat the damsel kindly did not mean she  had any right to tell him what to do. In the end, she  would do what he demanded.
     "Fine," she conceded.
     Or at least Andrew thought Judith conceded. She  used the word as though it had another meaning than  the one he knew.
     "Here's another pouch with no opening, no strings."  Judith picked up a small brocade purse. A flap folded  over one side, and when she lifted it, the cover opened  noisily.
     "You've torn it!" Andrew said when he heard the  ripping sound.
     "No, I haven't. Look at this." Judith ran her fingers  over the flap, sealing it in place again.  Disbelieving, Andrew took the pouch and imitated  Judith's actions. To his surprise, the flap came away  again intact. "How does it work?"
     "It's Velcro." She showed him two black strips, one  on the outside of the pouch, the other inside the flap.  "The top here is made up of a million little hooks. On
     the bottom, there's just as many little loops. When you  press them together, they latch."
     Andrew found himself fascinated. Holding the small  bag only inches from his nose, he studied the Velcro  strips.
     "Are these plants?" he asked, running his fingertips  across the fuzzy surface. "Something that grows in the  ocean, perhaps?"
     "No. I don't know how, but they're man-made."  "So small...I would deem it impossible, if I saw this  not with my own eyes. What is within?" he asked  curiously, plunging his fingers into Judith's cache before  she had the opportunity to explain.
     "I told you, those are my personal things." She  snatched the lumpy little purse away from him.  Judith owned so many fantastic possessions, Andrew  decided not to interrogate her further about the small  bag's contents.
     "What is this, then?" He grabbed a box. It was  shallow, wide, and quite heavy.
     Judith's brow furrowed. She looked weary. "It's a  machine," she informed him.
     "Machine?"
     "A device. It can do many things."
     "What can it do?"
     "Oh, Andrew, a whole lot of things. I can't explain it  all to you now. It's just--too complicated."  He scowled thoughtfully before picking up the black  object she had threatened him with. "This is no weapon,  is it?"
     Judith shook her head. "I just wanted to frighten  you."
     He grinned. She'd been so foolish. "I know."  She pursed her lips and made him wait a long  moment before saying, "It's called a cell phone. Where I  come from, people use them to speak to each other if  they're far apart."
     "Nobody shouts?"
     "Sure, we shout plenty. Especially in New York. We  use phones, though, when we're too far apart to shout  and be heard."
     He pounced on the information Judith had let slip.
     "York," he repeated.
     "What?"
     "You come from York. You said so but a moment ago."  "No, Andrew." She shook her head, but Andrew  suspected the gesture was a weak attempt to make her  denial plausible. "I'm not from York."  Damnation, the wench lied! Andrew intended to  accuse her of prevarication, but before he could, a gust  of wind blew in through the window. Judith gasped and  shivered.
     Impulsively, Andrew touched her damp head. "You  should dry yourself," he informed her gruffly, actually  glad to be diverted from their pending argument. He rose,  went to the window, and tied a piece of tanned hide  across the opening to shutter out the brisk breeze.  "Warm yourself by the fire, Judith. Bridget should show  herself soon with the clothing I asked her to bring you."  Surprisingly, the woman did as he ordered,  approaching the fire with her arms stretched out before  her. As she rubbed her hands together, Andrew headed  toward the door. He could not resist her possessions,  though. Impulsively, he scooped her belongings back  into her satchel as he passed her bed.  "What are you doing?" Judith squealed.  "You can see well enough what I am doing."  "Don't! Andrew, please, my things are of no use to  you."
     She must be a lady, chatelaine of her own keep. She is  certainly used to giving orders!
     "I wish to examine all of them," Andrew announced.  "Then I shall decide what's of use to me. You will not."  "You don't know what anything is if I don't explain  it. Besides, most of it is girl stuff."  "'Girl stuff?'" He squinted at her. The phrase sounded  disagreeable.
     "Yes. Things--items, possessions--that only women  use. Like your mother and sisters. Things a guy--a  man--wouldn't be caught dead with."
     "Scents?" he asked suspiciously. "Potions?  Unguents? Materials you use when you have the flux?"  "Yes! Exactly."
     Andrew tossed the black bag back onto the bed. He
     wanted nothing to do with the curious concoctions and  accoutrements women used in private upon their  persons. "You may keep it for now. But," he added,  emphasizing that word, "I would have you show me  everything your bag contains in due time."  "In due time. Sure, Andrew. Yes."
     He deemed Judith quite appealing when she was  obedient and obliging. He would have her obedient and  obliging while he pumped himself into her and she  writhed naked beneath him in bed. Why, by all the  saints, had he promised not to touch her ever again?  He had not meant it.
     Somehow, this mysterious female had beguiled him.  Chagrined at being a victim of her cunning, Andrew  felt compelled to say in an imperious tone, "Wench, I  am the master here. As such, you must always defer to  me and address me as Lord Andrew."
     Judith's mouth fell open, and her eyes glinted with  fire--what he saw was no reflection from the nearby  flames but her own temper flaring.
     "You call me 'wench' and expect me to call you 'Lord  Andrew?' I have a name, too! I think I should be  addressed as Lady Judith! Because I am a lady, and you'd  do well to remember it."
     "I shall remember only what I choose to. Besides, I  am far from convinced you are a lady. Until I am, to me  you're no more than a wench."
     ***
     Andrew quit the room and closed the door--just in  time to avoid being pelted by Judy's cell phone, which  she pitched in his direction with the force and speed of  a professional baseball player.
     That brief, spontaneous action seemed to relieve  her last spurt of anger. She had too much on her mind  to stay worked up over petty insults and youthful  arrogance. Hell, she'd not only traveled through time,  she'd nearly been...well, not raped, but forcibly seduced.  Judy picked up the phone. She had the wild idea  that, with nothing to lose, she may as well try. So she  punched the required buttons and then...felt afraid to  put the phone to her ear. If it worked, if her call went  through, she would know she had not gone back in time.
     If not asleep or delirious with fever, she'd have proof  she had become the random target of a mean-spirited  practical joke by performers who took their roles too  seriously.
     Warily, not daring to glance at the digital display,  Judy brought the phone to her ear. Nothing. Dead air.  She'd traveled out of range--by about 800 years.
     Five
     "Bridget? Bridget!" Andrew shouted as he made his  way down the dim corridor.
     "Milord, I was just coming to find you," she said as  she reached the landing on the stairs. "Sir Philip's  arrived. He's asking for you."
     "And our visitor, Judith, is asking for some clean,  dry clothes of which she's sorely in need. I thought I  sent you to get her something of yours."  "I'm doing that, milord. I've been looking for shoes  that might fit the lady."
     "First give her a tunic to put on. Worry about shoes  later."
     Bridget nodded and scurried off.
     Andrew took to the stairs. At the bottom, in the great  hall, he spied his close friend, Philip of North Cross.  Despite the ride from his sire's estate to Laycock, Philip  looked, as always, impeccable. Not only did he wear the  most fashionable clothes--today he sported a "mi-party"  cotehardie and leggings, the opposite sides of each  garment contrasting yellow and green--it seemed he  repelled dust and grime. Only Philip could ride hard  miles and appear as though he had recently stepped  out of his bedchamber after a bath.
     Glancing down at his own rumpled self, Andrew  strode forward to greet his friend. "I didn't expect you,"  he confessed.
     "But you're glad I've come, nonetheless?"  "Aye, of course I am, Philip. I see you already have a  mug of beer to slake your thirst."
     "And one waiting for you." Philip retrieved another  cup from a nearby table and handed it to him. "Where  has everyone gone? Bridget told me the whole clan is  away, except for you."
     "Always except for me," Andrew groused, sitting in a  chair near the fire. When Philip joined him, he  explained, "Robin and Elfred rode off to join Father and  the other barons who've united against King John. If
     Lackland fails to agree to their terms, we'll soon be at  war against the king. Surely your sire has gone, too?"  "Oh, aye. And my uncles and eldest brothers."  "But not you?"
     "Nay, not I. If there is war, which I hope there shan't  be, I'll of course be obliged to fight. But even I saw no  need to loiter about while they negotiate terms." Philip  sipped from his cup. "Where are your lovely mother and  sisters? Surely they didn't accompany your father, Robin  and Elfred."
     "They left days ago to attend a wedding at Alnwick.  They invited me to accompany them, which I declined.  Of course, the idea that I join my brothers and my sire  never once entered anyone's head, save my own."  "We're both youngest sons, Andrew. We cannot  change the order of our births. I, for one, am glad. There's  far too much responsibility that comes with being heir  to a barony. I've no desire to rule North Cross."  "Then what is there?"
     "For us?" Philip looked at Andrew with upraised  eyebrows. "We could hire on as mercenaries. We've both  earned our spurs."
     Andrew chuckled, glad for the distraction his friend  presented. "Even you might get dirty if you had to don  armor and fight a battle or two."
     "Don't even suggest such a thing." Philip grinned,  his blue eyes twinkling as he feigned a shudder and  shook his fair head. "I'd prefer to wed a comely damsel  with a decent dower. I do not care to oversee an estate  so large it requires all my time. But I'd like one rich  enough to support me and my bride."
     "Then you'd best spend more time seeking such a  damsel, else your mother will be sending you to the  bishop to have you made a priest."
     Philip made a face. "Fie on you, Andrew! I came here  to have a bit of sport--perhaps a hunt, at least some  entertainment. And there you sit, describing all manner  of gruesome futures I might face. What of you? Do you  intend to hire out as a mercenary or join the Church?  Or is it also your intention to find a bride? Since the  lovely Lady Chandra threw you over for that rake from  Normandy--what was his name? Jean-Paul du Lac--no
     damsel's caught your eye."
     One damsel had, this morning in this hall. Andrew  hadn't thought much of her earlier when, like a witless  mute, she'd stood directly in his path as he charged  down the hill on his stallion. God's wounds! In truth he'd  believed her to be a lad, because of her clothes and her  height. Though he soon discerned she was female, after  Judith began ranting in her unfamiliar dialect, his  opinion of her had not very much improved.  Then she fainted, and Andrew had decided not to  leave her in the dirt but to take her to the keep. Once  he had her on his shoulder and had gotten a good feel of  her round bottom and long, shapely legs, his opinion of  the damsel began to change. His curiosity had been  piqued, and that hadn't been the only thing that she'd  aroused. Damnation! By the time the wench had drunk  enough wine to be giddy, stumbling, and weak in the  knees; by the time he had taken advantage of her  condition to hold her close, to feel her curves and sense  her heat, he'd wanted to bed the green-eyed wench with  the soft cap of golden hair.
     "Am I boring you already?" Philip inquired, rousing  Andrew from his private reverie.
     "You never bore me, my friend."
     "Then answer my question. Has any wench at all,  let alone an eligible maiden of gentle birth, caught your  eye since Chandra became Lady du Lac?"  "We have a visitor," Andrew announced.  Philip frowned and cocked his head to the side. "Does  that answer my question?"
     "Nay. I choose not to answer your question. But you  said you wished to enjoy a diversion of some sort, and  Laycock's 'guest' may amuse you."
     "Is this a female guest?" Philip asked, and Andrew  nodded. "Tell me who she is. Do I know her?"  "No one knows her. Even she seems confused about  her identity."
     "How so?"
     Andrew provided Philip with a succinct report on his  morning encounter with the wench upstairs.  "How curious! Has she lost her memory, then? No  recollections of either her home or even her name?"
     "She has a name. Judith Lamb. And a brief while  ago, she let it slip she hails from York. Yet when I  questioned her, she denied she'd even mentioned that  city."
     "Intriguing! Mayhap she ran away to avoid a  despicable marriage or something of that like. Now she's  feigning memory loss so that no one will feel obliged to  return her to her home and a situation she wishes to  avoid. Silly of the wench to have provided her name,  though. Now you can send word to Sir Peter."  Andrew started, splashing beer from his cup onto  his knee. "Who is Sir Peter?"
     "Peter Lamb," Philip explained. "You've ne'er heard  of him? He has a reputation, though 'tisn't necessarily  flattering. He is an alchemist. I know of him because  he and my grandsire, the old lord of North Cross, were  fast friends. They earned their spurs together. Despite  the years and distance separating them, the two  remained comrades, so he sometimes visited my home.  Methinks 'twas a decade or more that they last stayed  with us, Sir Peter and his wife. Shortly afterward, my  grandsire died. I was about ten and two at that time."  "He sounds aged," Andrew commented.
     "He is, certainly. But I mentioned his wife. I found  myself besotted with Lady Sophie when she also stayed  at North Cross." Philip grinned. "She was much younger  than her husband, and as they had children together--  this was mentioned in conversation, I never saw any of  them--mayhap Lady Sophie is your visitor's mother."  Andrew digested this information. "Possibly. But  surely there be other branches of the family with the  same name."
     "All from York?"
     "You did not say the alchemist resides in York."  "Sorry. But he does. I put the name and the city  together in my mind the moment you mentioned them.  Tell me," Philip urged, "what does Lady Judith look like?  Sir Peter's wife was dark. Hair like sable, eyes like jet."  "I did not say Judith is a lady. She claims to be, but  she does not sound or look like a woman gently born.  The wench has neither French nor Latin, but speaks  English like a peasant from some unknown shire. As
     for her appearance..." Andrew paused, flashing for a  moment on her naked thighs and belly, which he'd  glimpsed when trying to have his way with her. "She is  fair-haired, like you, and her eyes are light. A sort of  grayish-green. Sea green, I suppose one might say."  Andrew recalled those eyes and the fan of dark lashes  that framed them. He had never seen anyone with  blonde hair and black eyelashes--the effect was  striking. Judith was striking.
     He felt glad he could say the girl looked nothing like  Sir Peter Lamb's wife, Lady Sophie. Andrew didn't want  Judith to be the daughter of nobles. He wanted her to be  a peasant. Then, despite any vows to the contrary she  had tricked him into making, he could take her at his  whim. After all, he ruled here as master, while she had  yet to prove herself more than a beggar.  "Ho, ho!" Philip chortled, tipping his cup to finish  the last of his beer. "The way you describe the color of  her eyes, it sounds to me as though you're smitten."  Heat flared under Andrew's skin, and he hoped his  face had not gone red. "Nonsense."
     "Is it, now?" Philip smiled. "When do I get to see this  mystery wench?"
     "Supper, I suppose."
     "How long until we dine?"
     "Not 'til evening." Andrew stood. "What should we do  meanwhile?"
     "Dice? Backgammon? Draughts?"
     "Nay. My ride this morning ended prematurely, and  I've been indoors since. I need some exercise. Is your  arse too sore for a good gallop?" Andrew asked.  "A knight never gets saddle sore," Philip insisted,  coming to his feet. "Indeed, I'll race you. What should  we wager?"
     That Judith Lamb is no lady.
     ***
     Judy had done some washing after Andrew left her.  First she shampooed her hair in the tub, then she  laundered her sweater and leggings, hanging them off  the edge of the table to drip dry. With no blow dryer, she  resorted to toweling her hair. Pulling a stool closer to  the fire, she sat beside the embers, running her fingers
     through her damp locks in an effort to dry them  completely.
     "Milady!" Bridget called from beyond the door.  Judy recognized her voice. "Come in."
     The servant entered, her arms full of clothing.  Depositing the bundle on the bed, she exclaimed, "It's  growing dark. No one came to light your candles?"  "No. And I didn't think to do it myself. I guess I started  daydreaming, sitting here."
     Bridget tsked and grabbed a short, squat candle off  the table. Lighting it from the fire coals in the pit, she  quickly lit several more that sat in dishes and holders  scattered about the room. Then she stirred the fire so  that flames leapt and danced.
     "You must be freezing in that light robe," the servant  observed. "'Tis always cool in the keep, even in the  warm months of summer. Though it be spring, the chill  of winter lingers, especially in the evenings." Bridget  smiled and gestured to the bed. "Please, milady. Let me  help you select something to wear downstairs to supper."  Judy stood and considered the clothing the servant  unfolded and laid out upon the bed for better viewing.  The gowns looked far more elaborate than anything  Bridget should have owned.
     "I thought Lord Andrew asked you to lend me  something of yours," Judy said.
     Bridget scrunched up her face. "That he did, milady.  But surely he was angry and ordered me to do so out of  spite. He'd regret it, though, if I obeyed him."  "Whose clothes are these?"
     "His sisters'. Beatrix and Camilla are not as tall as  you, but I think their clothes will do. Besides, I only  took items they have surely forgotten they own."  "I don't know if I should." Judy shook her head.  "Camilla and Beatrix aren't here to offer them, and  Andrew--Lord Andrew--didn't suggest I help myself to  his sisters' clothes."
     "They won't mind, truly," Bridget insisted. Lowering  her voice, she added confidentially, "They're spoilt, they  are, with more gowns to their names than either could  ever wear. And I did not choose from among their  favorites."
     "This isn't someone's favorite?" she asked  doubtfully, fingering a tunic of fine, soft wool that had  been dyed a stunning shade of turquoise.  "Nay, it's not. The color doesn't flatter either of the  girls the way it would you." Bridget smiled.  "You're sure Andrew--Lord Andrew--won't be upset?"  "He'd be upset if he saw you dressed as a servant,  and though he would be responsible, I would get the  blame. My lord could not have meant it when he told me  to garb you in clothing such as mine." Bridget looked  down at her dress, a dun-colored garment, serviceable  but drab. "'Twould be an insult to a noblewoman."  "He doesn't believe I'm a noblewoman," Judy confided.  "Oh, he does. Of course, he does! He's just behaving  badly. Lord Andrew often sulks and becomes  quarrelsome, all because he resents being Lord Thomas'  youngest son. As such, he's left out of important  matters--or at least matters he feels must be important,  because Lord Robin, and sometimes Elfred, are involved."  Judy considered Bridget with a new sense of  appreciation. "You know the family well. And you're not  afraid of Andrew, who is your lord and master--  especially, as he pointed out to me, when his father  and brothers are away?"
     The younger girl giggled. "Nay. We grew up in this  keep, he and I. Before I was old enough to work and  Lord Andrew old enough to foster, we played together in  the dirt in the bailey."
     "The what?"
     "The yard. Outside. Within the walls. The bailey."  "Oh. Yes."
     "I remember when he used to wet his braies."  Bridget chuckled, and Judy frowned, unable to  comprehend the meaning of still another word. "His  under garments," the servant explained. "So nay, I do  not fear him, even though he's a man now and a knight.  Lord Andrew knows I keep some secrets from our  childhood. Besides, he's not a harsh master. None of  the baron's family is."
     "Good. Glad to hear it."
     "Which gown do you prefer, Lady Judith?" Bridget  inquired, returning to the matter at hand. "'Twould
     seem the turquoise is the better choice."  "The color's stunning, and the fabric is so soft."  "Aye. That's scarlet wool. Usually, it's dyed crimson  more than any other shade."
     "Scarlet is crimson."
     "Indeed, milady. But that bright hue takes its name  from the wool which is often dyed that color." Bridget  narrowed her eyes and peered at Judy curiously. "May I  ask where you make your home, Lady Judith? You seem  unfamiliar with our ways. And your accent is, if you'll  forgive my saying so, peculiar."
     "I don't mind, Bridget. And I agree, my accent is quite  different from yours. You have words I don't, and I have  words you don't. But I'm from a place very far away. You'll  never have heard of it. We do things differently there."  "Hmmm. Well? Should we get you dressed? I'm  certain even in your homeland, ladies dress for supper."  That got a smile from Judy, who nodded her head in  agreement. "Yes. Eating hot food in the buff could be  risky."
     Bridget did not seem to get the joke. She busied  herself sliding Andrew's robe off Judy's shoulders and  then bustled about, oblivious to Judy's nakedness. "On  with this you go," she announced, holding a ring of  gathered fabric above Judy's head. When Judy raised  her arms, Bridget made sure her head and hands went  through the proper holes. The soft, woolen cloth fluttered  down to Judy's bare feet.
     "I knew Lady Camilla was the taller so her gown  might better cover you," Bridget declared.  Glancing down at the hem, which dragged on the  floor, Judy would have guessed that Camilla was an  Amazon. "I'll trip," she predicted.
     "Nay, you shan't, milady. Not once we fasten the  girdle about your waist. But first, we must do your  sleeves."
     The tunic had no sleeves, but Bridget slid two  separate ones up Judy's arms and laced them through  the eyelets in the fabric on her shoulders. The sleeves  were embroidered with white and gold thread, which  matched the belt she subsequently tied at the small of  Judy's back.
     "Let's hope either Camilla or Beatrix has the same  size feet you do." Bridget produced two pairs of slippers  and gestured for Judy to sit. Judy felt like Cinderella's  sister when she tried on the first pair--they were too  small. But then, like Cinderella slipping on the glass  shoe, the second pair slid on easily.
     Judy stood and walked around. She felt naked  without panties, not even a thong. And her breasts  seemed to swing! But she thought, When in Rome...  Holding her arms out, Judy studied her sleeves. Bell- shaped, the back cuffs hung nearly as long as her skirt  hem. She almost complained, but the style made her  feel ridiculously feminine.
     "Don't fret," Bridget urged. "You'll not have to do  anything but eat and look pretty. If you had to do any  serious work, we'd knot those sleeves to keep them out  of your way."
     "I know," Judy lied, hoping to sound as though she  weren't completely ignorant of the customs of the day.  "Now, let me put your hair up, what there is of it,  before you don the matching hennin."
     "Hennin. Right."
     Judy sat down on a stool. Bridget set to work, combing  her hair and pinning it up off the back of her neck.  Then she set some sort of hat on Judy's head.  Judy used her hands to explore it. A dunce cap! Tall  and pointed, an attached veil floated down to her  shoulders.
     "I have to see this," she told Bridget. It was all too  weird, but she felt excited in spite of herself. "I don't  suppose there's a mirror around?"
     "Oh, aye. I'll fetch you one."
     Bridget dashed off and returned almost immediately.  She carried an oval of polished metal the size of a dinner  plate.
     Judy gazed into the so-called mirror. She'd seen her  reflection more clearly in top grade cookware.  "I have a better one," she announced. "I was hoping  for something larger. I didn't think..."  Digging through her tote as she tried to explain,  Judy found her mirror. About seven inches square, it  had a fake tortoise shell frame made of plastic and an
     easy-grip handle.
     "Sweet Mother Mary!" she heard Bridget gasp, and  when she spun around to look at the girl, she found the  servant crossing herself.
     "It's just a mirror, but a very good one. Come, see,"  Judy urged.
     Her curiosity overriding her reluctance, Bridget drew  close. When Judy held the mirror before her face, Bridget  gasped. And blinked. Then she touched her cheeks and  nose as she studied her own reflection.  "How--how did you come by such a thing?"  "From home. These are our mirrors. You can find  them in any size, from tiny little ones no bigger than  coins to others that cover whole walls or ceilings. It's a  lot clearer than yours, isn't it?"
     Grasping the mirror's handle, Bridget flipped it over  to examine the back. She shrieked and let it fall from  her hand, though Judy managed to catch it before the  glass hit the floor. All she needed was seven years bad  luck on top of her current circumstances!  "It's a magnifying mirror," Judy explained, holding  that side toward the servant. "It's nothing scary. It just  makes things appear bigger than they are. Look at your  eyes," she suggested.
     Bridget did, blinking and squinting and making  them wide. Then she peered over the edge at Judy and  grinned hugely. "You're sure 'tisn't magic?" she asked.  "No, not magic. Just a good quality mirror. Someday,  you'll have mirrors just like this right here in England."  "Not while I live," Bridget accurately predicted.  "Hold it for me, now," Judy urged. "I'll stand back. I'd  like to see the dress. And the hat."
     By directing Bridget to move the mirror higher and  lower, to the right and the left, Judy managed to see a  disjointed reflection of herself, a series of puzzle pictures  she assembled with her mind's eye. "Oh, my God!" she  said.
     "What is it, milady? What's the trouble?"  Her face was the trouble. Sans makeup, she looked  horrid, as plain as an old Amish woman.  "When is supper served?" Judy asked.
     "Shortly. I'm not certain. Should I ask Cook?"
     "No. Just leave me for a bit, Bridget. Thank you for  everything. But I have something to do on my own now."  "Very well, milady. I'll come for you when the victuals  are ready."
     As soon as the servant had gone, Judy sat on the  bed and ripped open her brocade makeup bag. She knew  she had to go easy. Imitating a Cosmo cover girl would  have the locals tying her to a stake and burning her as  the witch she'd claimed to be. But Judy Lambini didn't  intend to go anywhere, not even to dinner with Andrew,  without at least a little powder, a little blush, some subtly  smudged liner around her eyes and, most important, a  couple of coats of black mascara.
     Six
     The plank tables had been set up in the hall. The  knights and men-at-arms of Laycock Keep were seated,  drinking their cups of beer and ale while waiting to be  served. At the high table, on the dais, Andrew and Philip  sat alone, Andrew in his sire's chair.  Philip chided him. "Why do you sit in Lord Thomas'  chair when e'er he and your brothers are gone, Andrew?  As though you governed here as landed-lord and baron?  You cannot desire Laycock anymore than I desire North  Cross. Methinks you'd be in a quandary, and more than  a little dismayed, should the keep, the demesne, and  the town of Wixcomb fall to you to rule."  "Mayhap you do not know me as well as you think,"  Andrew shot back, glancing at the stairs and wondering  what kept Judith.
     "Nay, I think I know you better than you know  yourself."
     "Then what is it you think I desire, if it's not to reign  as Lord of Laycock or master of another fief, be it large  or small?" Andrew turned to peer at his friend.  "I couldn't say," Philip admitted. "But I know what I  desire."
     His gaze had wandered from Andrew to the corner of  the hall. Andrew looked in the same direction and saw  Judith Lamb standing at the bottom of stairs.  The damsel nearly took Andrew's breath away. She  wore a gown and hennin the color of a twilight sky that  suited her complexion as no other hue possibly could.  Her hair lay hidden beneath the hat, exposing the  striking contours of her neck and face. Such a face!  Andrew narrowed his gaze to better contemplate her  features. He'd never beheld the like on any woman, not  even Judith herself earlier in the day. The arches of  her eyebrows were defined, as were her eyes  themselves--her lashes appeared even thicker and  darker than they had been. Clearly, they were the  longest, most ebony he had ever seen. And her lips, pouty
     and pink as rose petals, glistened moistly, as though  she'd licked them in anticipation of a kiss. Her cheeks  sustained a blush as well, as if she were flushed from  lovemaking.
     "And you said to me you believed her no lady?" Philip  whispered out of the side of his mouth. "A peasant wench  couldn't aspire to such beauty. This damsel is noble, if  not royal, by blood."
     Before Andrew could respond--before he could even  get to his feet--Philip stood and strode between the  tables and benches set up on the main floor. Knowing  his friend would reach Judith before he possibly could,  Andrew decided to remain on the dais. He stood, waiting  for them to approach. Let Judith come to him.  Philip did not hurry. Reaching Judith, he spoke to  her for some moments, annoying Andrew because he  couldn't hope to overhear, not with all the knights'  chatter as the servants brought out trays of food and set  them on the tables. Finally, though, Philip took her hand  and led her forward, escorting her to the dais.  "Here we are," Philip announced cheerily, pulling  out the chair he had recently vacated so that Judith  could sit. To her, he said, "I expect Andrew planned for  you to sit at his other side. But then I would be forced to  lean across him to converse with you. Better, methinks,  that you sit between us."
     Wordlessly, she glanced directly at Andrew. If she  sought his permission, he could not give it. He felt he'd  been struck dumb. Up close this eve, her countenance  seemed as flawless as a statue's.
     He managed a nod. When Judith sat, he sat.  "More wine, milord?" the steward inquired as he  paused before the high table with his jug.  "Aye," Andrew managed gruffly, holding out his goblet.  By the time the man had finished replenishing  Andrew's cup, Philip was holding out Judith's empty one.  Andrew realized he had been unmannerly and a  contemptibly thoughtless host not to see the lady served  before himself. But it was too late. Besides, he reminded  himself stubbornly, he remained unconvinced she was  truly a lady. More likely she belonged in the scullery  eating with the servants, not at a baron's high table.
     "Lady Judith, you are so quiet," Philip observed,  smiling at her kindly. "Are you ill at ease to find yourself  the only woman dining among so many men?"  She glanced at the whole of the room, at the many  knights and men-at-arms eating gustily. Then she  turned back to Philip and said, "No. More than once I've  had the dubious distinction of being the only female in  an old boys'... I mean to say, it doesn't bother me. The  problem is--"
     "What?" Her hand rested on the edge of the table,  and Philip covered Judith's with his own.  Andrew wanted to fling it off.
     But Judith seemed not to mind. She allowed Philip's  fingers to encompass hers as though she enjoyed his  touch. "We speak the same language," she said, "but  differently. I have trouble understanding all the words  you--everyone--speaks to me. And I think you have  trouble understanding when I reply."
     "I comprehend you perfectly," Philip insisted. "We'll  speak slowly, though, shall we? I would wager there'll  be no problem communicating if we don't go too fast."  Andrew watched Judith nod. She appeared so  damnably grateful to Philip. As if he were responsible  for her enjoying this fine repast. The hospitality of  Laycock Keep. That beautiful gown she wore.  By all the saints! Where had she got it? Not her  satchel. There had been no clothes in that bag of hers.  And he'd told Bridget to get Judith one of her spare tunics.  Andrew knew full well the serving maid could own no  fine garments such as this one. It belonged to his  mother, surely. Or one of his sisters. How dare Bridget  defy his orders? The wench would know the feel of his  fist before the eve was done. It mattered not that he'd  never hit any woman, with open hand or closed. There  could always be a first time, and Bridget had certainly  provoked him to it.
     "Andrew?" Philip addressed him, leaning forward to  peer in his direction.
     Andrew blinked but otherwise failed to acknowledge  his friend. He watched, though, as Philip rolled his eyes  at him before speaking to Judith.
     "My lady, allow me to help you select the fare you
     wish to sample. Laycock's cook is indeed a good one.  You would never know it, for she's skinny as a reed.  Most cooks are fat, are they not?"
     Philip chuckled, as though he'd told a fine joke.  Andrew snorted in contempt and began filling his own  trencher.
     "Here we have partridge," Philip explained, as if  Judith would never have seen a partridge before and  could not recognize it. "And carrots--they are in a sweet  glaze, very tasty. Would you like some of the fish? The  white sauce is excellent. I've had it many times here.  You must also try this honey bread."
     Andrew sneaked a surreptitious look at Judith. Philip  was now selecting food for his own trencher, but she  had not begun to eat. Did she expect the handsome,  virile lord of North Cross to feed her as well, as though  she were a babe?
     "What's amiss?" he asked her curtly.
     "I--" Startled, she raised her eyes to his. Judith  appeared truly helpless, so much so that Andrew felt a  keen need to fix whatever she found wrong.  "Aye?"
     She glanced at his hand, the one clutching his eating  knife. "I have nothing to, ah, spear my food."  "'Tis no crime to use your fingers."
     "Nonsense!" Philip, from her other side, declared.  "You've no eating knife of your own, milady? Then use  mine. I shall eat with my fingers."
     He should have done that himself, Andrew realized,  scowling at the knife in his hand.
     "Why haven't you one of your own?" he inquired,  deciding it was Judith's own fault that she did not. "In  that sack of yours, you carry more possessions than an  entire village of people might have. Yet there's no eating  knife?"
     "Actually, there isn't. Where I come from, utensils--  spoon, knife and something we call a fork--are set out  on the table for each meal."
     "Inconvenient, that," Philip observed after swallowing  a mouthful of food. "What if you must eat elsewhere,  perhaps while traveling on the road? Or what if you  simply wish to peel and eat an apple from an orchard?"
     "I probably wouldn't peel it. I'd just take bites right  through the skin until I reached the core."  "I like that!" Philip smiled at Judith. "Simplicity is  always best. Still, I insist you keep that eating knife.  Here is the sheath." He handed it to her. "Tie it to your  belt, and you'll always have it handy."  "I couldn't."
     "Of course you could," he insisted. "I can easily  replace the blade."
     "Well...thank you." Judith nodded and turned her  attention to her trencher.
     Andrew kept picking at his meal, but he had no  appetite, not even after the hard riding he and Philip  had done that afternoon. Usually, the smell of Cook's  fine fare made his mouth water. But not this eve.  Suddenly, he knew why. He couldn't smell the food! Not  the fish, the fowl, the fruit. What he could smell was  Judith, and she smelled sweetly intoxicating. Like  flowers--specifically, roses.
     Closing his eyes, Andrew found himself able to filter  out even a hint of other scents. Hers alone enveloped  him. He imagined himself turning toward her, lowering  his face to that swan-like neck of hers. With his lips on  her flesh, he suspected he would grow absolutely drunk  on her fragrance.
     Opening his eyes, he decided to get absolutely drunk  on wine instead. Finishing the dregs in his cup, he  called for his steward and demanded the jug be left on  the table.
     "What's wrong, Andrew? Not hungry, this eve?" Philip  questioned.
     "Nay, I am not."
     "You are thirsty, though."
     "Aye, that I am."
     Philip dismissed Andrew with a casual glance and  ducked his head toward Judith's. "Andrew tells me he  found you wandering this morn, that you were lost."  "Yes, I was. Very lost."
     "He also tells me you're from York."
     Judith snapped her head around and stared at  Andrew with wide eyes. Sea green eyes.  "Did he?" she asked as she turned back to Philip.
     "Did Lord Andrew also tell you I was dressed like a boy,  in leggings and a sweat--a tunic, and that I was dirty  and damp?"
     "Why, nay, he did not. Dear lady! Did you have a  terrible mishap? Did you lose your escort?"  "I had no escort. I set out on my journey alone. I did  not intend to. It--just happened. Suddenly I found myself  here--that is, on the road outside the village."  "Wixcomb," Philip supplied.
     "Yes, Wixcomb."
     "'Tis good, then, Andrew found you and brought you  to the keep."
     "He did not exactly find me." She glanced narrowly  at Andrew. "What he did was nearly run me down with  that huge horse of his."
     "Andrew, you cur," Philip chastised him, shaking  his head.
     "I did not nearly ride her down," he protested in his  own defense. "She should have got out of my way. As it  was, Zeus and I cleanly avoided her. She's not damaged,  is she?"
     "I'm not a thing, an object, that could be damaged,"  Judith snapped, turning to face Andrew directly. "I am  a person, a woman, a lady who could easily have been  injured, even killed. But not damaged."  Andrew did not appreciate her censure. He should  have sent her from the table, even locked her in her  chamber. Instead, he muttered, "'Tis probably the  difference in our dialects. As you said, Judith, we have  different words, not merely different pronunciations.  And you have no French at all."
     "I do not live in France. I never saw the need to  learn."
     "Very good, Lady Judith." Philip had the audacity to  applaud her conviction. "England is not Normandy, Anjou  or Maine. I agree with you--we should speak the  language of our ancestors, just as our servants and  tenants do. Saxon served our people well before William  conquered. Do you know what I think?"
     As Andrew observed him, his best friend leaned so  close to Judith, his nose nearly brushed her cheek.  "I believe that one day the language of the common
     man will again be the language of the country. Not even  Latin will prevail for the courts."
     "I believe that, too," she returned emphatically,  making no move to put the slightest distance between  herself and her golden-haired champion.  "Surely your father and mother speak French,"  Andrew felt compelled to say.
     Finally, Judith looked at him, giving the back of her  head to Philip. "My...father?"
     "Aye. Peter Lamb."
     Her lashes--her long, thick, ebony lashes--fluttered.  "Sir Peter Lamb," Andrew elaborated. "The  alchemist. Philip, here, deduced that he may be your  sire. Is he?"
     Judith moved her head. Andrew couldn't tell if she  were nodding or shaking it, confirming or denying.  "If not your sire, mayhap your grandsire?" Philip  asked.
     "I--I--" She turned back to him. "What makes you  think this...knight...is my father--my sire?"  "You share the same name, and you both hail from  York."
     "Oh."
     "Is he your kin?"
     Judith failed to reply to Philip's question. Instead  she urged, "Tell me what you know of him."  "As Andrew said, he is an alchemist. A friend of my  own father's sire, he visited North Cross when I was a  lad. Though Sir Peter is now aged, I recalled he was  wed to a much younger woman. Andrew and I surmised  she may be your mother and he your sire."  "I see." Judith nodded, though a tiny, vertical line  creased her brow directly above her small, straight nose.  "You call him an alchemist. Does that mean he tries to  transform other metals into gold?" Judith asked.  "Aye." Philip nodded. "And he fashions new  implements to make men's tasks go easier. He is an  inventor as well, you see. I recall as much because I  found his work fascinating. Flight most especially  intrigued him. Sir Peter eternally searched for a means  by which man might fly, exactly as the birds do."  Andrew felt taken aback. Obviously, Philip had failed
     to relay to him all that he knew about Peter Lamb. If  the ancient lord were an inventor who created new and  clever tools, mayhap even talking devices, Judith might  well be his daughter. 'Twas the only reasonable  explanation for the possessions she carried in her sack.  "Is he your father?" Andrew asked again when Judith  looked his way. His tone was sharp, though he hadn't  meant it to be.
     "I don't know," she replied.
     "We should send word to him," Philip declared. "I  understand your mind is not completely clear, milady,  mayhap because you were recently ill with fever. But if  we wrote to him, made inquiry, we could surely confirm  that you are Sir Peter's missing daughter."  "Does he have a daughter who's missing?" Judith  asked Philip.
     "We will not know that 'til we receive a reply, and  that could take a little while. If you wish it, instead we  might ride to York straight away," Philip volunteered,  his eyes alight with excitement.
     "I don't think--" Judith began.
     "Nay, absolutely not!" Andrew interrupted. How dare  Philip concern himself with Judith's welfare, offering  to escort her home? She had stumbled into Laycock,  not North Cross. "Philip, you know full well I cannot leave  the stronghold, not with the rest of the family gone."  "I could escort the lady myself. I would bring my  squire. There's no need for you to come with us."  So this had been Philip's intent all along. "She  cannot go," Andrew insisted, glaring at his friend and  now, apparently, his rival. "The damsel was, as you  know, recently ill. And she surely traveled a far distance,  arriving here not on horseback but on foot. She is not  well enough for another journey. Not so soon. You do  agree, do you not, Judith?"
     His gaze met hers as he willed her to concur. Andrew  felt enormously relieved when she muttered, "Yes. I'm  afraid I do."
     "Then perhaps we'll compose a letter for Sir Peter  later this eve, or first thing in the morn, shall we?" Philip  suggested. "Now, having eaten so fine a meal, I am in  the mood to take a stroll." He stood and held out his
     hand to Judith. "My lady, will you accompany me?"  Andrew put his hand on Judith's thigh to restrain  her. None could see; the table hid his action.  Judy stiffened, as though her hollow body had been  filled with quick-hardening cement, when she felt him  place his hand on her leg. The audacity! The gall!  Turning slowly, she gave Andrew the most withering  glare she could muster.
     And yet...the discreet caress seemed more sensitive  than rude, more possessive than imperious. It implied  something between them, something potent and private.  But there was nothing between Andrew of Laycock and  her. They'd shared no intimacies. Intruding on her bath  and attacking her in bed hardly amounted to a personal  relationship.
     She escaped outside with Philip, glad he did not  invite Andrew to join them, happy to be free of all those  raucous, unmannerly men in the hall. Knights, they  were, to a one. And knights of old, not like Paul  McCartney or Andrew Lloyd Webber, but the sort who  wore armor and carried broadswords. God Almighty, the  world had gone mad--or she had. Judy preferred to  believe the world was the culprit.
     The shock when Judy first came down the stairs,  had nearly sent her scurrying. The great number of  people and the noise--from their chatter in an  unfamiliar language to the clatter of dinnerware--and  the scents, from the aroma of cooked food to the stench  of smoking torches, had hit her hard. It felt much like  opening the door on a wood stove only to be blasted in  the face by the fire's searing heat. The only reason she  hadn't bolted was that she'd known similar experiences  in her own time: power lunches, departmental  meetings, contract negotiations with men, all older, all  with more experience, who attempted to use their  maturity and their finesse to intimidate and outwit her.  But Judy had dived headlong into those situations. Flying  by the seat of her pants, she had learned, she had  adapted, she'd acquired her own maturity and finesse.  So she resolved to plunge into her medieval dinner  in a medieval keep with medieval warriors, and she  felt sure she would have held her own even if the
     handsome, blonde, blue-eyed gallant had not waded  through the tables of boisterous knights to collect her.  But thank heavens Sir Philip of North Cross did. His  help, his attention, his companionable conversation had  given Judy the confidence she may otherwise have  lacked, enabling her to ignore that ass, Andrew. At least  until the end, when he'd purposely touched her thigh.  "My lady?" Philip turned to her and spoke softly. They  had been walking together silently, side by side, in the  enclosed yard Bridget called a bailey. "Do you wish to  continue? We could sit, if you'd prefer."  "Walking's fine." Judy smiled at her handsome  escort. He stood shorter than Andrew--if she'd worn  heels, he'd have stood shorter than she. But, geez, he  was easy on the eyes and helpful, too.  "Are you chilled? Take my mantle," Philip offered,  whisking off his cape and placing the wrap on Judy's  shoulders. "I should have called for a servant to bring  you your own before we came outside. Evenings are  always chilly, no matter the season. You must forgive  me for being so thoughtless."
     "It would not have mattered if you had sent someone  after my--my mantle." She spoke slowly, avoiding  contractions and enunciating clearly. "I do not have  one."
     "That's correct! You explained that you arrived in  boy's clothes, a simple tunic and leggings. I presume,  then, your gown is borrowed. But Andrew found no cloak  for you among all his mother's and sisters' possessions?  He is the thoughtless one, I must say."  "Oh, he has plenty of thoughts." Judy sighed. "But  none of them have to do with my comfort."  "If you were staying in my home at North Cross,  your comfort would be my primary concern."  Philip halted; Judy did, too. He smiled at her as  though he adored her.
     Judy quickly resumed walking. She'd never had a  man look at her with such open admiration. She didn't  know quite how to handle that behavior from a veritable  stranger.
     A little nervous and eager for distraction, Judy  glanced around. Starlight and torchlight illuminated the
     yard well enough for her to see. "What are all these  buildings?" she asked, gesturing with her arm. Though  curious, her question was prompted by an urgent need  to fill the silence with words. "Do...do people live in  them?"
     "Only in the barracks, which houses the guards who  protect Laycock. The other structures all serve one  purpose or another--there's the armory, the stables, the  wash house, the mews. Of course, the buttery's in the  keep, beneath the great hall."
     "The buttery?"
     "Where the stores are kept."
     "Stores?"
     "The foodstuffs, and the wine and ale." Philip paused  again and this time, turning to Judy, he frowned. "Surely  you have such things where you come from, in York?"  "Oh, sure. Yes. At least, I think so. I don't truly  remember." Judy shrugged. "And as I explained to you  at dinner, your accent--the way you speak--is  sometimes difficult for me to understand. Our words are  not quite the same. But of course, we have butteries,"  she lied. "Do Laycock's servants all live in Wixcomb?"  "The laborers do. But the servants live at the keep."  Philip grabbed her elbow. The action startled Judy,  and for a second, she thought he intended to make a  move on her, same as Andrew. But then she saw that  he had kept her from tripping over a dog nursing a litter  of puppies. Philip bent down and picked one up. The  puppy was a tiny, liver and white spaniel. Again, she  was reminded of the viscount's dogs. But these were  more closely related to Thomas Laycock's hounds than  those who would one day belong to the software designer.  "Would you like to hold it?" Philip asked.  "No, that's okay. I have always been more of a cat  person."
     "There are plenty of cats around here, too," he  assured her, returning the puppy to its mother's side.  They watched as it promptly squirmed in among its  siblings and set to suckling the bitch's teat. "Without  them, we'd be overrun with rats and mice."  "Yuck!"
     "I beg you pardon?"
     "I'm terrified of rats and mice."
     "You need not be terrified." Philip smiled. "But I agree,  they aren't likeable creatures. They fight us for our food."  "That isn't why they scare me. They're so dirty. They  carry disease."
     "Carry disease?"
     "You know," Judy insisted before suddenly realizing  Philip didn't know. Should she tell him? Should she  explain about germs and fleas and blood contamination?  "If they bite you," she elaborated, "you can get sick and  die."
     "If any animal bites, the victim may fall sick and  die."
     "I suppose that's true," she conceded. "What's this?"  she asked, approaching a stone circle rising up from  the middle of the yard. "A well?"
     "Aye. The bailey walls always enclose the well, so  that if enemies lay siege, the people within shan't die  of thirst.
     "Lady Judith," Philip continued, pausing as he leaned  one elbow on the edge of the well, "you seem unfamiliar  with the most commonplace things. Have you lost nearly  all your memory?"
     I wish I had. "A lot, certainly."
     "Then you do not recall an old man, an alchemist?"  Heck, I was glad I knew what an alchemist was! I guess  I absorbed more in school than I thought. "No."  "At least you remember your name, your home. Even  should Sir Peter prove not to be your sire, I feel confident  we shall discover where you belong."
     But can you get me back to where I belong?  "Andrew is right, it's not reasonable for him to leave  Laycock when all else are gone away. But if you would  like me to escort you--if you feel well enough, that is--  I should be delighted to make the trip," Philip  volunteered again.
     "Maybe--maybe later."
     Judy wondered why she declined. Of course, she  knew that a trip to York, a visit with the alchemist,  would prove fruitless. But she also knew the excursion  would remove her from Andrew's proximity. That would  be a blessing in itself. So why did she hesitate?
     Philip pushed himself away from the well and stood  straight. The toes of his shoes and Judy's touched.  "Are you not curious to know if you are wed?" he  asked. "You may have a husband and children who are  missing you. Would you not like to know?"  Though Philip phrased his comments as though he  felt concern for any immediate family Judy might have,  she recognized a man on the make. This fair and  handsome knight only wanted to know whether or not  she was available.
     Judy felt flattered. What would it be like to date this  guy? An honest-to-goodness knight, handsome, virile,  young--well, too young, really. A few years her junior,  same as Andrew. But she sensed a maturity in him  that Andrew seemed to lack.
     Philip seemed unlike Andrew in other ways. True,  she hadn't known him long enough to make final  judgments, but she hadn't known Andrew any longer.  Judy sensed the differences between them lay not only  in the obvious, the one being fair and the other dark.  Philip was also mannerly while Andrew was boorish,  and he seemed genuinely concerned for her, not intent  on using her body for his own pleasure.  "I think I would know if I were married," Judy  allowed. "Surely, I'd know if I had children. I'm quite  certain I do not."
     Philip didn't move his feet, but he angled his head  slightly and leaned forward so that he seemed to stand  even closer to Judy. "I agree that you would do well to  trust your instincts. You appear a maiden to me, also.  You manner is not that of a married lady. But still, 'tis  important you learn the truth. If you've no husband,  you surely have parents who miss you and may fear  you are dead."
     An image of Judy's folks, Tony and Nancy Lambini,  at their house in Queens, filled her with sudden despair.  By now, they knew of her disappearance. By now, they  feared her dead.
     "Do not cry," Philip urged softly, flicking a tear from  the corner of Judy's eye with the pad of his thumb. "In  due time, we will locate your kin. You shall all be  reunited. And though they are surely concerned at this
     moment, when you return, they will be overjoyed."  Maybe yes, maybe no. Philip, despite his confidence,  had no means of locating the Lambinis and reassuring  them that their daughter lived. And she certainly didn't.  With no idea how she had arrived here, Judy had no  idea how to get back to where she belonged.  "I think--I think I should go inside."  "Very well." Philip turned, placed his hand lightly in  the small of Judy's back, and escorted her into the keep.  "What's happened?" she asked, puzzled by what she  saw when they stepped through the archway into the  great hall. The tables had all been removed, replaced by  people lying on the floor as though they intended to sleep  there. "Is something wrong?"
     "Those would be my questions," a familiar voice,  behind her, said. "What's amiss? Did something  happen...that should na' have happened?"  Judy whirled around to face Andrew. His face looked  flushed, and he reeked of booze.
     Philip, who turned more slowly to confront his friend,  countered, "What would cause you to ask that? There  has been no trouble."
     "You two ha' been gone quite a..." Andrew hiccuped...  "while. The servants ha' sought out their pallets in the  hall."
     "Judith and I merely took a stroll around the keep."  Andrew said something to Philip in French, and Judy  saw Philip flush with anger.
     "What did you say?" she demanded of Andrew. "Speak  English so that I can understand."
     He stepped closer and explained, "I merely asked if  you two had sought out pallets. Or if you'd lain in the  hay." He reached out and pulled Philip's mantle off her  shoulders. "Nay," he mumbled, his face so near Judy's  that his pungent breath made her recoil. "No bits o' straw  that I can see."
     "Andrew, you're drunk." Philip grabbed his cloak  away. "Otherwise, you'd never dare suggest such a vile  thing about us." He continued speaking, but as Andrew  had done, Philip lapsed into staccato French.  "Oh, aye?" Andrew returned with words Judy  comprehended. "Ask the lady," he sneered, his dark eyes
     flicking to hers, "whom she had in her bed this  afternoon. She, without a stitch o' clothes on!"  What Philip might have said didn't interest Judy in  the least. It was her host's retort that concerned her,  incensed her. What he had attempted earlier in the  day had been reprehensible. And she had had clothes  on, at least her sweater! To refer to his own lecherous  assault as though she'd encouraged his advances,  participated in them, enjoyed them...!  Judy's indignant fury caused her to do something  she had never before done in her life. Drawing back  her hand, she slapped Andrew smartly across the face.  He sobered instantly. Judy saw it in his eyes. But  he made no move to retaliate, physically or verbally. He  merely stared at her for a long moment and then turned  on his heel, leaving her to Philip's care.
     Seven
     For a week, Andrew kept himself scarce, though  Philip visited Laycock frequently. Philip came to see  Judy, not Andrew. She was glad of it, for he eased her  loneliness and enabled her to forget, for a little while  anyway, the horror of her predicament. And the more  time she spent with Philip, the more she admired him.  Judy sincerely doubted the same would have proved true  if she'd been forced to endure Andrew's company for any  length.
     Today, walking with Philip beyond the bailey walls,  Judy found herself returning again to the place she'd  awakened that first morning to discover she had been  hurled back through history. If Philip wondered why she  frequently led him to this precise spot, he did not ask.  His questions all had to do with York and the old knight  called Peter Lamb as he attempted, not too subtly, to  help Judy recall her past. Yet she never let on that she  remembered her entire life in vivid detail anymore than  she ever revealed the accoutrements in her tote bag.  "My lady?" Philip spread his cloak on the ground in  a Galahad gesture. Joining Judy as she sat, he stretched  out his legs and crossed his booted feet at the ankles.  "Have you had any word from your father?" she asked  him, fairly certain that Andrew had no word from his  own.
     "Aye. One of my brothers returned home briefly, and  he caught me up." Philip plucked a blade of tall grass  and chewed on it. "King John balks at the conditions  the English barons propose, but in the end, he knows  he must accept them."
     "Why?"
     When Judy asked questions, Philip answered  eagerly, even patiently. Through him, she had already  learned a great deal about everyday matters in this year  of 1215--also of greater, more political ones.  "John lost all his French fiefs when King Philip  declared him a feudal felon many years ago. He has
     known little but defeat in his attempt to reclaim or  expand his holdings. Five years past, he had some  success in Ireland. But last summer, he found himself  retreating from the French at Bouvines. Here in  England, most noblemen are dismayed and disgusted  by his unsavory character, his endless greed. So the  barons have decided he must not be allowed to put  himself above the law any longer. If John does not agree  and sign our written conditions, he'll find himself  murdered before he can rule another day."  He smiled at Judy and considered her thoughtfully.  "'Tis unusual that a woman, especially one so young as  you, is intrigued with politics. Most damsels I know are  more concerned with home and heart."
     Judy quelled her impulse to protest. She could have  lectured Philip for an hour, but that not only would have  been presumptuous, it would be pointless. The edicts  and expectations of her lifetime did not apply to his. So  she bit her tongue and smiled back at him instead. "I've  always been different."
     "Is that so?" Both Philip's eyebrows shot up. "Are you  remembering this, Judith?"
     "What? No. It's...just something I sense. My  instincts, I suppose you'd say."
     "Ahhh." He glanced around and reluctantly changed  the subject. "What say you we visit the village?"  "No." Judy avoided going into town. It wasn't the  Wixcomb she wanted it to be. Worse, she didn't care to  return there and relive her initial experiences of that  first morning, when she'd foolishly presumed the hamlet  to be little more than a theatrical set. "I like it here."  "Why?"
     Because it connects me to my past. It's where I fell that  last night in my own time, and where I woke again in yours.  "I don't know. It's peaceful and pretty."  "Aye." Philip nodded as he gazed at the forest that  consumed the land to the north 'til it reached Laycock's  postern walls. "All England's pretty, I suppose, if you like  trees."
     "Don't forget the meadows," Judy added, turning  around and gesturing toward the grass-covered hills that  separated Laycock Keep from Wixcomb, to the south.
     "They're pretty, too."
     Judy supposed they really were, to people who liked  that sort of scenery. The prettiest thing she could  imagine seeing would be the corpulent, bristly-chinned  hot dog vendor, Maurice, who worked the corner near  her office. Judy could envision his aluminum cart with  its frayed, cockeyed umbrella, and she could almost  smell the kraut and onions, too.
     "Are you sure I cannot persuade you to walk to the  village?" Philip persisted. "There are artisans living  there as well as farmers. I'd buy you a trinket."  "Philip, you don't have to buy me presents."  His eyes met Judy's. "But I would like to. I should  also like you to visit North Cross someday soon. Will  you?"
     "Perhaps."
     Judy didn't want to go anywhere too far away. Here  was where she'd landed after her initial time travel.  Here was where she certainly had to depart if she ever  managed a return trip.
     Yet she felt guilty refusing Philip. As Wixcomb was  only a stone's throw away from "her spot," she pushed  herself to her feet and agreed belatedly, "I suppose a  walk into town would be nice after all."  Just as Philip rose to join her, a startling static  charge of energy shot through Judy, making her sway  as though she were standing on the deck of a ship that  sailed through rough waters. The electricity didn't  emanate from the air, as though a thunder storm  threatened, but pulsed instead from the earth. For the  briefest moment, the hair on her arms rose. Abruptly,  and as suddenly as it came, the sensation vanished.  "Judith? Are you well?" Philip grabbed her shoulders  and searched her face.
     "I--I'm fine. I probably stood up too fast. Got a little  light-headed for a second, is all. Let's go." She turned,  extricating herself from Philip's grasp. But with her very  first step in the direction of Wixcomb, Judy tripped on  the hem of her skirt.
     He tried to catch her, but his fingers only clutched  air as Judy stumbled onto her knees. "Judith!" Philip  followed her down to the ground so fast, it seemed he
     also fell. Suddenly, they both lay sprawled across his  cloak.
     "Methinks you are not destined to walk to the village  today." He chuckled and shook his head, grinning at  Judy ruefully. Then his smile vanished. "Mayhap you  are destined to be here...in my arms."  Reaching out, Philip grasped Judy's waist and tugged  her closer to him. Their noses nearly touched, and she  could see flecks of black in his cerulean blue eyes.  Philip kissed her expertly, and Judy offered no  resistance. This was the stuff of which young girls'  fantasies and chick flicks were made--handsome  knights wooing beautiful damsels in the grass under a  cloudless, blue sky. All right--knights wooing damsels,  period, Judy amended. Considering how tense and  unpredictable her life had become, she deserved  whatever respite came her way. A little romance...who  would complain?
     Philip began exploring Judy's parted lips with his  tongue. She responded in kind--it had been a long, long  time since she'd been thoroughly kissed, and Philip was  one great kisser. He seemed to interpret her  enthusiasm as permission to press his knee between  her thighs. Gaining purchase above her, he maneuvered  Judy onto her back.
     Boy, this guy was slick. He knew just how much  pressure to apply with his mouth and how far to go with  his hands so that she wouldn't feel threatened. Philip  could give lessons, Judy found herself thinking.  He began to fondle her breasts through the fabric  covering them. Judy sighed as her nipples hardened.  She knew her body was primed to respond to Philip's  expert touching, and briefly, she envisioned full carnal  congress with this golden-haired knight. But the image  disappeared when Judy realized she could think about  her situation as though it were happening to somebody  else. Obviously, she hadn't given herself up to the  moment or been swept away in a tide of passion, so she  reversed her original inclination to let things escalate.  If she didn't feel crazy with desire, she didn't want to  make love. She'd been there, done that. The morning  after was the pits.
     "Philip, no. Stop. Cut it out!"
     Immediately, Philip ceased. Pulling away, he looked  to Judy for some explanation or, perhaps, for further  direction.
     Geez. Handsome, one hell of a lover, a gentleman to  boot, and I'm telling him no. Judy really hated to cut him  off, but she had to.
     "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I just don't--"  "I understand," he interrupted. "You do not know who  you are or if you belong to someone. Thus, 'tis I who  should ask forgiveness. I had no right to take advantage  of you, Judith. I vow, it shan't happen again."  "Well, leave a girl a little something to hope for,"  she said, hoping to sound glib while trying to ignore the  heated flush crawling up her cheeks. "My feelings, my  status, could change by next week--or even tomorrow."  Philip gave her a heart-stopping smile, but Judy's  heart didn't skip a beat. "Then I will hope also."  The two of them fell into companionable silence as  they rearranged themselves on Philip's cloak. Finally,  side by side and sitting upright, their hands clasped over  their knees while they gazed idly at the landscape, he  spoke as though there had been no pause in their  conversation. "Judith," Philip said, "when we know, in  fact, who you are and that you remain an eligible  maiden, may I--may I court you?"
     She had thought that's what he'd been doing. "Do  you mean you want to ask somebody's permission to  see me? Someone like my father, my--my sire?"  "Aye, exactly." He nodded.
     "Well, sure. That is, you may," she agreed, refusing  to dwell on the fact that in his lifetime, Philip would  never be able to meet Tony Lambini and ask for his  daughter's hand.
     "I look forward to it." As he spoke, Philip leaned  toward Judy. By the time he had uttered the last word,  his lips again melded to hers.
     "Excuse me!" another manly voice boomed.  Philip leapt to his feet, and Judy almost fell onto her  back. They both glared at Andrew, who stepped out of  the trees, leading his horse behind him. He looked so  dark and dangerous that Judy's pulse quickened.
     Immediately, she reached up to Philip and took his  hand. When she'd gained her feet, she kept her fingers  twined through his.
     "I did not mean to intrude," Andrew insisted, though  he'd clearly intended to do just that.  "You didn't." Judy hoped she sounded cool. She really  wanted to smack the obnoxious lord of Laycock.  "If I did not, then my old friend here has lost his  touch." He smiled--no, he sneered, his gaze on their  clasped hands.
     "Andrew, 'tis good to see you," Philip told him. Judy  suspected he sounded polite rather than sincere. "You  always seem to be away of late, when e'er I come to  Laycock."
     "I may be the youngest son, but when I am the only  son remaining home, I have responsibilities." Andrew  halted before the couple.
     "Speaking of your duties, Andrew," Philip continued,  "what of the messenger you agreed to send to York? I  would think that by now we might have had some word."  "You offered to write the missive. Did you?"  "Well, nay, I did not. I presumed--"
     "If you wrote no letter, there was naught to send."  Philip exhaled an exasperated sigh. "Then we'd best  attend to the matter immediately. All this time I've been  waiting--" He inhaled a quick, noisy breath. "Judith  needs to reassure her kin that she is well. She should  be reunited with them."
     "I agree. But do we know her kin?" Andrew cocked  an eyebrow as though issuing a challenge.  Philip looked as annoyed as Judy felt. "Sir Peter  Lamb," he ground out. "You know good and well 'tis he  that I speak of. My grandsire's old friend seems the  likeliest prospect."
     "A prospect is not a verity. Besides, I thought we  agreed Judith is not yet well enough to travel."  "Sending a message on her behalf would not exert  the lady at all."
     "Then I shall send out a rider if you write the damned  message." Andrew moved his head slightly and  addressed Judith directly. "If it is your desire, my lady."  Such a simple, reasonable question, yet it infuriated
     her. Did he dare to hint that she might prefer staying  with him rather than returning to her family? Judy felt  like the Prisoner of Zenda confined in the keep with  Andrew Laycock!
     "Please," she snapped. "Go ahead. Whatever you  think best."
     With a wave of her hand, she turned and stomped  away. But both men caught up with her, flanked her,  and kept pace.
     "When we return to the keep, I'll write the letter,"  Philip announced. "When you determine who will ride  to York with it, Andrew, do send him on his mission  straight away. There remains several hours of daylight  yet."
     "Very well. Straight away. Rest assured," Andrew  muttered peevishly.
     Judy knew why Philip felt annoyed. She knew why  she did, too. But she had no idea what had ticked Andrew  off. Oh, he had been sulky and sullen since she'd slapped  him--though he had absolutely no right to feel that way.  If any man had ever deserved a woman's full fury, it  had been Andrew. But Judy presumed the incident would  have lit a fire beneath him. By all rights, Andrew should  have been moving heaven and earth to try to locate her  family. The sooner he did, the sooner she'd be gone and  out of his hair. At least, in theory. Because Andrew didn't  know any effort he made would prove fruitless. Only Judy  did, and she wasn't telling.
     "You know where the bailiff's chamber is," Andrew  said to Philip as the three of them entered the keep  and clamored into the great hall. "He'll have parchment  and brush so you may compose your missive." He turned  to a servant. "Jock, find me, ah...Louis. Aye, he's a fair  rider. Find Louis, and have him come to me promptly."  "Milord." The manservant, Jock, gave his master a  quick nod and then dashed from the hall.  "It shan't take me long," Philip advised Judy. He  squeezed her hand reassuringly and then took to the  stairs, leaving her alone with Andrew.  "Forgive me," Andrew mumbled as he poured himself  a goblet of wine from a jug left on the high table.  Judy was very nearly floored by the unexpected
     apology. "For what, exactly?" she asked suspiciously.  "For interrupting you and my friend. 'Twould seem I  kept you from getting a good swiving from the most  popular lover in this shire."
     If she had been a bomb, she would have exploded.  "You--you cockshead," Judy screeched. She'd heard the  word bandied about and thought it seemed the perfect  epithet for Andrew Laycock.
     He whirled. "How dare you, you--"
     "Watch what you call me, mister!" she warned,  waggling a finger at him. "I've had about all the insults,  neglect and unconscionable behavior from you that I'm  going to take."
     "Uncon--?"
     "Forget that you've left me to my own devices the  entire past week. Forget that I have nothing to do, no  one to speak with, except for Philip, if and when he visits  here. But do try to recall that you attempted to rape me  not once, but twice."
     "I never attempted to rape you," Andrew insisted,  stomping toward Judy. "Why would I--I--have to force  myself on a wench? Women come to me begging, do you  hear? Begging!"
     "Geez, Louise, you're arrogant," she returned.  Andrew sounded like every boy she'd known in high  school--all boasts, no conquests. "Begging? I don't think  so."
     "What would you know?"
     "I know that I rejected you. And you know I might  want Philip. That ticks you off, doesn't it?"  "You--you rejected--me?" Andrew sputtered,  shaking his fists. "Nay, 'twas I who scorned you. Had I  wished to bed you, I would have had you wet and wriggling  beneath me. But I did not, do you hear, I did not. 'Tis  why it bruised me not at all when I vowed to leave you  chaste. Despite my early intentions to take my ease  with you, once I had a closer look, I saw you had no  appeal."
     Judy's mouth fell open. She couldn't even think how  to respond to such an aspersion. In that moment of  quandary, she took a step toward Andrew so that they  stood very close. So close they were nearly eye to eye.
     "I have no appeal, huh?" she finally returned,  knowing that comment had not been worth her furious  thinking. "Then why does it annoy you that Philip and I  were kissing? Because, really, if you don't desire me,  why would you care that he does?"
     Andrew exhaled a long breath, let his hands drop to  his sides, and uncurled his fingers. Evenly, he replied,  "I care only about Philip. We have been friends, closer  than brothers, since we were young lads. I'd rather he  did not sully himself with the likes of you before he  recovers his senses."
     Judy saw red. "Liar! You're jealous! The only women  who'll lie down for you are whores or peasants who fear  you because you're sometimes lord-and-master of  Laycock Keep. When I rejected you, you were stymied.  You'd never put the moves on a woman with any  standards before. Now you're mad as hell that I refused  you."
     "Stymied? What is that?" Andrew inquired scornfully.  "A really good word you're too ignorant to know."  "Me? Ignorant?" He inhaled deeply, which expanded  his chest. "You, wench, are the ignorant one. You cannot  speak French; you hardly speak English. You do not know  your kin or where they are from. Damnation, you were  on your way to London when you found yourself at  Wixcomb--they're not at all alike, Judith. No one else  would confuse the one for the other."
     "You--" She raised her hand. She didn't know how  Andrew managed to provoke her so easily when none of  the men in her previous twenty-seven years had ever  brought her to the brink of violence even once, let alone  twice.
     But she could not follow through with another  stinging slap. Andrew caught her wrist and held it in  an iron grip.
     "Would you like the truth, wench? You've no appeal  because you've the body of a boy, not just the hair and  clothing. Naked, 'tis obvious you have no hips, no  buttocks, hardly enough bosom to notice. By the saints,  you stand as tall as most of the men in England. No real  man could be aroused by a lofty, lanky figure the likes  of yours. If Philip seems intrigued, 'tis only because he
     finds you uncommon. But his interest will soon wane."  Judy sucked in her breath. Never had anyone  insulted her so thoroughly, so painfully, as Andrew of  Laycock just had. He hadn't condemned a singular  attribute, but the whole of her person. His cruel criticism  should not have affected her--Judy knew enough to  consider the source. But for some reason, the source of  the insult made it sting all the more.  Her mind raced. Andrew didn't find her attractive?  Hot damn, but she would make him find her attractive,  make him pine for her, drool over her, and want to kill  himself for not being able to have her. No butt, no boobs,  no way! She worked out at a gym, she had tight buns  and a flat stomach. In the right ensemble, with her hair  just so and her feet balancing in precariously high,  stiletto heels, Andrew would willingly crawl through a  nest of vipers to reach her--and surely die from snake  bites before he ever did. But where would Judy get the  right clothes, the right style? She couldn't go to a salon  for a complete make-over. She couldn't have her hair,  face and nails done. She couldn't pour herself into some  tight little designer number that showed her legs and  her cleavage.
     And why would I want to? Judy nearly screamed  aloud. She didn't have enough to contend with, living  in an antiquated time in a foreign country, all by some  force of magic she could neither control nor understand?  Dear God, she had to be going mad to think, even for  half a minute, of ways to get this idiot boy to lust after  her. She didn't even like him--she sure as hell did not  want to sleep with him. She liked Philip, and he already  had the hots for her. Maybe she would sleep with him.  But, if there truly was a God--and Judy believed in her  little Catholic heart there certainly was--He would see  she got home to her own time, her own country, before  very much longer. What any medieval knight thought  of Judy Lambini would prove completely irrelevant.  Judy glared into Andrew's dark eyes. His anger made  them glint, so that they shone like hard, dark chips of  obsidian. "I hate you," she spat.
     "Do you?"
     Still grasping her wrist, Andrew skimmed her cheek
     with the knuckles of his other hand. He barely touched  her--his skin grazed hers as lightly as a gentle breeze.  Yet it melted Judy's bones, as though she'd been  skewered with a blazing bolt of lightning.  Despite her resolve, she shuddered and went soft,  but so did Andrew's eyes. As she watched them  unblinkingly, Judy saw those orbs liquify and lighten  from a shade of black to the color of chocolate.  "Judith!"
     Philip called to her from the stairs. Unwittingly, he  saved her from herself.
     "Y-yes?" she returned, whirling around to face him.  At that instant, Philip appeared on the lower steps.  Hurrying forward across the great hall, he waved a small  sheet of stiff paper in his hand. "Judith, I have the letter  for Peter Lamb. Andrew, where is your rider?"  "Give that to me." He snatched the parchment from  Philip's fingers. "Jock hasn't returned with him yet. I'll  go and find Louis myself."
     ***
     Andrew took a deep breath the moment he stepped  outdoors in an attempt to control himself, to gather and  harness his feelings. Any appearance of calm he had  exhibited in the hall had been an illusion. Inside, his  stomach roiled. He felt primed to explode, like fermented  spirits that erupted from their containers.  "Milord, you wished to speak with me?"  Andrew snapped his head around at the sound of  Louis' voice. The guard, in mail, looked flushed and  sweaty. He had been training on the practice field.  Glancing down at the bit of parchment in his hand,  Andrew shook his head. "Nay, Louis," he said as he  crumpled the paper into a ball. "'Twas a mistake. Go  back to what you were doing."
     Eight
     "Milady!" Round-faced, button-eyed, pug-nosed Sally  opened Judy's door and poked her head inside. "Milady,  there's someone to see you below, in the great hall."  "Thank you," Judy said, and the servant retreated,  closing the door again.
     It had to be Philip. He hadn't been to Laycock for a  visit in two whole days, and Judy sorely missed his  company. Actually, she missed his protection. When  Philip was near, Andrew was not. But during Philip's  recent absence, Andrew had kept close to the keep. He  didn't seek out Judy's company. In fact, he barely  seemed to tolerate her presence when they shared  meals at the dais table in the hall. Nor did he speak to  her unless absolutely forced to. Worse, Judy sometimes  felt him staring at her, studying her, whenever they  were in any sort of proximity. His scrutiny made her  nervous. What was he thinking? What were his  intentions? After that fight they'd had...  But Philip had finally returned. With him to amuse  her, to help make the time pass more pleasantly, Judy  wouldn't have to think about Andrew Laycock.  She bounded down the stairs and jerked to a halt.  The man she saw wasn't Philip at all, but a stranger.  This unfamiliar knight, she realized with a pang, could  only be a messenger, one who carried word from the old  man, Sir Peter-the-alchemist-and-inventor. Damn! The  news he brought wouldn't serve her interests at all.  Once Andrew learned she wasn't related to this fellow,  he'd boot her out on her ear. He wouldn't start looking  for some other family connection in some other place.  And even if Philip made good his invitation, if she visited  North Cross, how far would she be from that place outside  the bailey walls, her launch and landing pad to and from  the future?
     Judy glanced furtively about, relieved Andrew was  nowhere in sight. Maybe she could lie to the messenger,  assuring the man she'd pass the news along to Andrew
     so that he needn't bother. Or, maybe not. Because in  all likelihood, he had already reported to Laycock's  current lord-and-master. Still, she might have a few  minutes left to her. She could make a run for it. She  could hide in the woods...
     Oh, that was a plan, Judy thought with disgust before  nodding at the knight, resigned to hearing his news.  He spoke French. Judy interrupted, insisting on  English, and he began again. "My lady," he said, "Lord  Philip wishes to advise you that he has been sent away  on business for his mother, Lady Edwinna of North  Cross. He shall be gone as briefly as possible, and if  you'll allow him to, upon his return he shall call upon  you immediately."
     Closing her eyes, Judy exhaled an audible sigh.  When she blinked her eyes open again, she nodded and  smiled. "I see. Well, thank you. And--and of course, he  may call upon me. I will be looking forward to it."  The messenger turned to leave, and Judy hesitated.  Now what? Sure, she'd been granted a reprieve to remain  living in this tense sort of limbo awhile longer, but so  what? She felt as though she'd been condemned to  solitary confinement while the keys to her cell hung  on a ring just beyond her reach. The tedium and the  frustration were driving her insane!
     Andrew's nowhere around, a voice in her mind  repeated. It was true. Judy decided to escape, at least  from the confines of this fortress and her bedroom, and  perhaps all the way to the future. If her luck continued  to hold, she wouldn't encounter Andrew along the way.  She ran upstairs again and retrieved her tote. When  she returned to the great hall, she found it as empty as  when she'd left it. She also noticed, on the high table,  an array of assorted utensils. Using a little sleight-of- hand, Judy made a U-turn on her way to the door and  strode past the table, sliding an object into her bag.  Ten minutes later, she stood on that infamous plot  of land outside the bailey walls. Nothing happened. She  felt nothing at all, not even a breeze, certainly not a  static charge of electricity. So after a time, she gave up  in defeat and returned to the bailey.
     Near the wash house, where cauldrons used to boil
     woolens stood empty and dusty, Judy flipped over a  wooden pail and sat down with a heavy sigh. Ignoring  her, laborers and servants bustled around doing  whatever it was they did. Judy envied them. No matter  how menial or endless the peasants' chores, at least  they had something to do. She, on the other hand, found  herself treated like a princess, or someone with severe  mental deficiencies, by all the household staff. Bridget  or Sally helped to dress her every morning and undress  her every night. Cook prepared meals twice a day, which  were served to her either at the high table or in her  room. In between, she had nothing to do, no purpose at  all, which sometimes felt more strenuous than grueling,  forced labor. On occasion, she'd felt so fatigued by  boredom, she'd considered asking Bridget if she had any  chores she could help with. But Judy had bitten her  tongue before making the offer, sure that if Andrew  found her toiling around the keep like a common laborer,  he would conclude she was no better. She didn't intend  to let Andrew Laycock believe that Judy Lambini, literary  agent with the Edwin Grant Agency, was nothing more  than a lowly peasant!
     Oh, how she missed her life as a career woman. Not  just the big stuff, the cool stuff, like parties, receptions,  or the thrill of negotiating a really big sale. She missed  the everyday things--long phone conversations, harried  taxi cab rides, breakfast and lunch conferences, quick  trips to the deli, the dry cleaners, or the newspaper stand.  But they were lost to her now.
     Temporarily. Judy refused to accept she might never  return home. Maybe, the next time she went to "her"  spot behind the bailey walls, all those weird sensations  would quicken again, just as strong as they'd been the  night she had flown through time. And she would fly  right back--or forward--into the future. Of course, there  remained the strong possibility that she might have to  wait until next Halloween to do a time travel encore.  But at least she wouldn't have to wait another whole  year for that holiday to roll around. Springtime blossomed  all around Judy, which meant it could only be six months  or less 'til All Hallow's Eve and--what had Ian  MacCoombs called it? Samhain, yes, that was it.
     Samhain.
     When Judy did go back to her own time, she  anticipated making headlines, and not only in the  tabloids. To ensure the experts took her seriously and  no one called her a crackpot, she had to have proof of  her adventure. To that end, she had recently begun  collecting artifacts. Just before she'd left the keep, she  had confiscated a malleable pewter goblet. Already, in a  box under her bed, she had stashed a bit of decorative  sewing and a scrap of parchment she'd found lying in  the yard, discarded in a crumpled ball. These items could  later be identified as authentic.
     But filching odds and ends from the castle didn't  require the time and perseverance of a scavenger hunt.  Judy needed something to occupy herself so that she  wouldn't think about the knight who'd gone away or the  one who hadn't.
     Despite her best intentions, Judy glanced at the  keep. Her mind promptly played the pink elephant trick:  Andrew's image popped up in her head and refused to  disappear, no matter how she fought it. Though she  attempted to recall every nasty, arrogant, insulting  thing he had said to her, especially during their last  argument, what she remembered, instead, was the way  he'd touched her. The look in his eyes, too. Recalling  either would have made her sigh with longing. Recalling  both made her feel warm all over, especially between  her legs.
     "Damn!" Judy swung her head back and again  surveyed the yard. This time, she willed herself to pay  attention to the laborers' occupations. The workers  appeared quite efficient despite the limitations of their  world, and more amazingly, they seemed totally oblivious  to the animals underfoot. If Judy found the situation  fascinating, it occurred to her others would as well--  others of her own time.
     Pulling a notebook and pen from her bag, Judy began  scribbling down her observations. Though she loved  books and had a passing familiarity with the process of  writing nonfiction, Judy couldn't be sure she had any  real writing talent. But now seemed the perfect  opportunity to take a stab at it. God knew, she had the
     time.
     ***
     Andrew remained in the shadows of the stable,  watching Judith. He had been observing her since he  sent Sally to her room to announce she had a visitor.  He knew Judith expected Philip, for he'd seen the  anticipation in her expression when she entered the  hall. He had also seen the disappointment written on  her face when she spied the messenger awaiting her  instead. Damn Philip of North Cross! What was it about  that fair-haired knight that made damsels swoon? Philip  himself seemed unaware. So much so, he had been  searching for a bride, as though it required a bit of effort.  At least, for a change, Philip's mother, the lady  Edwinna, had inadvertently helped Andrew's cause  instead of her son's. Whatever business she'd sent  Philip on would keep him away from Laycock and Judith.  Since Andrew's family remained away as well, he would  use this time to get what he wanted. What he wanted  was Judith Lamb. Andrew hadn't forgotten his promises  to her, those she'd tricked him into making. But she'd  offered no certain proof of the gentleness of her birth,  and until such time as he found himself presented with  fact, Judith remained fair game. Andrew wouldn't force  her, nay. But he would, by God, seduce her.  He approached her now, making no effort at stealth.  But when he stopped beside Judith and said her name,  she jumped, nearly dropping the book she'd been  hunched over. Standing, she rounded on Andrew and  glared at him. Her frown bespoke both fear and fury, but  even before she opened her mouth, Andrew knew which  emotion she would unleash.
     "What do you want?" she snapped suspiciously.  "To join you, if I may." He kept his tone level, polite.  "You own the place, more or less. I can't stop you."  With a flounce, Judith sat down again while Andrew  took another pail to use as a stool for himself.  "I understand a messenger recently came to  Laycock," he said casually.
     "Philip sent him," Judith volunteered far too quickly.  "He wasn't from that alchemist who lives in York, the  one you--we--think could be my father. So there hasn't
     been any news about my family connections."  Andrew canted his head to one side and considered  the wench thoughtfully. If he didn't know better, he would  suspect she didn't wish to have news from Sir Peter.  Why not? Had she lied about everything, especially her  loss of memory? Had she run away from her father or  her husband? Or was she, as he suspected, a peasant  who had fooled the younger lords of Laycock?  "I am very aware of the news the messenger from  North Cross brought," Andrew assured Judith. "'Tis my  business, as lord and master, to know. Yet you must  realize that any word from York would come by my own  man, the selfsame one I sent with Philip's missive." If I  had, indeed, sent Louis to York with Philip's missive.  "Oh. Right."
     She nodded and crossed her legs. The top one bobbed  violently beneath her skirt. Judith seemed rather  distraught, and Andrew could think of only one reason  for her distress. "Are you upset because Philip's gone  away?"
     "Upset?" Judith made a face as she turned to him.  "Don't be--" She broke off, and suddenly her eyebrows  went up. Rather sweetly, she exclaimed, "I mean, yes,  of course! Oh, I'm very upset. When a day goes by that I  don't see Philip--"
     "Enough!" Andrew snapped, unable to listen to more,  be it truth or lie. "He'll return. You shall see him again."  "I'm counting on it." Judith graced him with a catlike  grin before raising her chin a notch, turning aside, and  gazing across the yard.
     Andrew had an impulse to grab her and kiss her so  hard, she wouldn't worry if she saw his friend soon or  not at all. He didn't, though, because he feared he  wouldn't see the result he desired. Why didn't he have  his friend's power over women? And what were those  powers exactly?
     "You think highly of Philip," Andrew observed evenly.  "You're not alone. Females he has barely glanced at and  never spoken to faint in his wake. What is it about him  that so appeals to damsels like yourself?"  "That's easy." Judith continued looking away. "He's  the opposite of you."
     "What!" She might just as well have slapped his  cheek with a leather gauntlet. "I fear you are quite  wrong. Philip and I are both barons' sons, and the  youngest sons at that. We were even born the same  year, so we are both now a score and two. We are also  both knights who have earned our spurs. Philip and I  are very much alike."
     "Ha!" Judith barked a short laugh and deigned to  appraise him, starting at the top of Andrew's head and  working her way down to his shoes. He thought her bold  gaze lingered overlong somewhere below his belt, and  to his chagrin, he felt self-conscious. "Not a chance,  Andrew. Philip is blonde and blue-eyed, extremely  handsome. You're dark and--you're not." Judith turned  away again.
     Andrew suppressed another violent urge to grab her.  But this time he felt no desire to kiss Judith. Instead,  he wished to shake her hard. God's wounds! He never  used force against females--why did this mysterious  woman spark his fury and oblige him to throttle her?  "I see," he managed to grind out between clenched  teeth.
     For a long moment, silence reigned. Then Judith  announced breezily, "I heard you had a grand passion  for someone called Chandra. Then she dumped you."  Andrew didn't know that phrase, but he understood  the gist. Though his urge to throttle someone didn't  wane, suddenly Philip became the object of his fury. He'd  have joyously strangled the blackguard, had his  erstwhile friend been present to do so. Why, by all the  saints, had Philip told this curious nomad, who claimed  no identity beyond her name, all the sorry details of his  life? Chandra had made a fool of him, marrying that  landed lord from across the Channel without even  advising him of it beforehand. The incident wasn't  something Andrew cared to recall, let alone have spread  hither and yon, and sung as a sad ballad. Why would  Philip dredge up and confide the particulars of old,  painful events?
     Andrew's pride suggested an answer. "How did you  hear of Chandra?" he asked. "Did you inquire about me  and my women?"
     Judith flushed darkly, the blush creeping up to her  cheeks from her throat. But she did not reply.  Andrew smiled. "I was much younger then," he  explained casually as he locked his hands over one  knee. "Chandra is gone now, and good riddance. But  what of you? Have you known a great love of your own?"  "I couldn't say." Her words were clipped. "I don't  remember anything about my life before."  "But now...?"
     "Now, nothing."
     Judith's foot still bobbed. She seemed more annoyed  than anxious. Perhaps, Andrew considered, she was not  so keen on Philip as he had presumed or she had  implied.
     Sitting straighter, Andrew put his shoulders back  and inhaled deeply to expand the breadth of his chest.  He didn't think now was the time to try to woo Judith  with honeyed words. But perhaps a conversation in a  neutral vein would make her warm to him. He asked,  "Have you sisters or brothers?" On the heels of his query,  he realized his mistake. She had no memory.  Yet she responded almost immediately. "Sure. I have  a brother, Gary--"
     Abruptly, Judith broke off, turning to Andrew with  her mouth agape.
     Andrew pounced. "You remember him? You recall  your family?"
     "No!" Judith shook her head vehemently, and she  stood. "I--I don't know where that came from. Sometimes  things just pop out of my mouth, but I don't know what  they mean. Really, I don't."
     He eyed her speculatively because, despite her  pleas, she did not quite sound sincere. Andrew knew if  she were lying, he should be angry with her. Yet if she  lied, the chances were she was no lady. If not a lady,  she could only be a peasant. Being female in the bargain,  that meant Judith had no connections, no value. If so,  Philip wouldn't want her, but he, Andrew of Laycock,  could have her for as long as she intrigued him.  He smiled, and Judith demanded, "Why are you  grinning? What's so funny?"
     "Forgive me, my lady."
     "Why do you call me that?" She backed away,  insisting, "You don't believe I'm a lady at all, though  I've told you I was raised as one."
     "Nor do you consider me your lord and master, though  you are living on my charity."
     "Hey, I'll work for my keep if you want me to. Or I  could--I could leave."
     She blinked. It seemed Judith's suggestion  surprised her as much as it did him. Then her lashes  fluttered, and her eyebrows came together in a  worrisome frown. Obviously, she did not really wish to  leave Laycock.
     Andrew stood and grabbed her wrist gently. "There  is no need for you to leave, Judith."
     "Well, when word comes from--from my sire, from  Peter Lamb, I'll have to--"
     "That will be awhile, surely. York is not over the  next hill."
     Judith looked relieved. Her shoulders relaxed, and  she nodded. Andrew seized the moment by changing  the topic. "Please," he asked, "will you show me what  you have in your book?"
     Judith looked at the tome she clutched in her arms.  Then she raised her eyes--her smoky, green eyes--to  his. "Okay. If you want."
     Though reluctant, she had agreed--and all because  Andrew had spoken gently and met her glance with an  imploring gaze. Thank the saints he had not reminded  her of his earlier demand that she show him all her  possessions in due time. Jesu! He had stumbled upon  Philip's secret. That knight impressed women, be they  little girls or old crones or any age in between, with  kind words and longing looks. Now, so too would he!  Drawing Judith down to her makeshift stool, Andrew  sat beside her again. She opened her book, but she  pushed the pages bearing script to one side of the  spiraled wire that bound the parchments together.  "By the saints, that is fantastic!" he said, too  impressed not to admit it.
     "What is?"
     "The parchment. 'Tis unlike any I've seen before."  "It isn't parchment, just plain old paper." With a
     casualness that shocked him, Judith ripped off a clean  sheet and handed it to him for inspection.  "God's tears!" He could not help cursing her  carelessness with something so dear. "What did you do?  You've damaged it!"
     "I have not. Oh, it is kind of shredded along the edge,  but that always happens when you rip out a page. It's no  big deal."
     "No 'big deal'?"
     "Right. It's...not of any major consequence. There's  plenty more." Judith used her thumb to fan through the  remaining pages.
     Andrew scrutinized the fine, rectangular sheet  marked with pale, evenly-spaced lines. The paper looked  almost as sheer as a veil, so that the sunlight made  shadows of his fingers splayed behind the page.  "Jesu! 'Tis so thin and so very smooth. This is surely  not made of skin?"
     "No, it's made from wood pulp. Maybe rags, too."  "I have heard of that process," he told her,  remembering something his tutor had disclosed. "The  Spaniards invented it, or they brought the knowledge  back to Iberia from elsewhere. But you have so many  sheets bound together, they must be worth a king's  ransom. The paper I've seen has been painstakingly  produced, each page formed in a frame."  "I don't have a clue how this paper was made," Judith  admitted. "I think, probably, it's made in huge rolls and  cut to size, but I couldn't say for sure."  "Your father did not explain?"
     "My father?"
     "Peter Lamb."
     "Oh! I don't know. I--I don't remember. Remember?"  She flashed him a flickering smile.
     Andrew reached over Judith's lap and flipped back  the pages she had written on so that the top one lay  face up. "What language is this?"
     "English."
     "'Tis not."
     "It is," she insisted. "I know it looks different from  anything you've probably read, but it's just another  version of the language we're both speaking. You and I
     have different accents, different ways of saying the same  word. Well, we make our letters differently, too. We don't  use the same spellings, either."
     Andrew considered Judith curiously. "We?" he  repeated. "Who is this 'we' you refer to?"  She hesitated. "I'm not sure, Andrew. I told you,  things pop out of my mouth, but in my head, I just don't  know. I guess I'm referring to people who speak like I  do, who read and write like I do."
     "And these people, you've no idea where they live?"  Andrew pressed.
     "No."
     "Judith." He uttered her name sternly, like a parent  warning a child.
     "I don't. I really don't."
     "You may not," he conceded. "But though it has been  a long while since I last visited the city of York,  methinks they speak not very much different than I."  "I never claimed I came from York. You did. Philip  did."
     "You were the first to mention York. I recall it well."  "No, I--" Judith looked frustrated and very near  tears. "If I did, I don't remember it now."  She grabbed the handle on her satchel. "I think  maybe I should go inside now."
     "Nay," he commanded as he grabbed her arm. Then,  releasing her, he asked more gently, "Why do you wish  to leave now? The sun is shining..."
     "The sun is hot. I would really love to take off this  heavy old dress, put on shorts--"
     Again, she looked aggrieved at having spoken.  Again, Andrew's instincts hummed. "You would prefer  to don what?"
     The color in Judith's face heightened. "They're an  item of apparel I do recall wearing," she explained,  almost daring him to question her dubious memory.  "They're much cooler, much more comfortable to wear  in warm weather than a long dress with long sleeves."  "Mayhap my sisters have such a garment in their  clothes trunks," Andrew suggested, knowing full well  they did not. But he had to say something to distract  himself from the vision that had come into his head, a
     vision of Judith stripping off the cotehardie she presently  wore to reveal her voluptuous naked body.  "Your sisters don't have any shorts in their wardrobe.  Trust me." Judith sounded fatigued. She sighed but  released her grip on her satchel.
     "Write something for me," Andrew urged quickly.  "No, I'm tired of writing." Then, surprisingly  gracious, she offered instead, "Maybe you'd like to write  something? You could use my pen."
     Andrew accepted the object Judith handed him as  though she'd given him the cutting edge of a sharp  knife.
     "It's not going to bite you," she assured him with a  laugh. Her unexpected giggle sounded high and girlish.  Andrew imagined hearing her laugh in just such a  manner while cavorting with him in bed.  "See the little silver lever at the top? Click it down  with your thumb, like this." Judith demonstrated. "Did  you see? The point comes out the bottom. Press the  point to the paper and write."
     Helpfully, Judith put the whole sheaf of bound paper  under Andrew's blank sheet so that he had a solid  surface to work on. Gingerly, he began to form  meticulous figures, using the lines to guide his script.  After writing only one sentence from a verse of the  Holy Scriptures, Andrew held up the paper and sucked  in a breath. "Sweet Mother of God! Where does the color  come from? How does it work?"
     "Here." She took the implement, broke it apart, and  dumped the innards onto the book in Andrew's lap.  Picking up one piece and then another, she told him  about "ink" and "points" and "spring loads." Andrew did  not really comprehend her explanation, and when she  reassembled the object to return it to him, her intimate  touch sent a jolt through his fingers and hand.  "Ink," he repeated, trying to focus.
     "Yes, the stuff that makes the lines on the paper."  "Soot and water?"
     "Not exactly, but I suppose that could be a kind of  ink."
     "And you write words with this--"
     "Pen," she supplied helpfully.
     "Pen," he echoed. "But it has no brush, no fibers."  "Right again. I showed you. The ink's in the tube,  and it rolls out on that little ball at the end of the  cartridge."
     Andrew dropped the writing implement, the pen. As  it fell into his lap, both he and Judith reached for it.  The pen got away from Andrew, and the only thing Judith  managed was to graze his crotch with her fingers.  Andrew very nearly covered her hand with his and  kept her fingers pressed against his manhood. He would  have regretted that brazen move had he succumbed to  instinct. Judith had to be wooed the way Philip wooed  women. Fortunately, Andrew found himself prevented  from doing anything crude because Judith yanked her  hand away and sprang to her feet.
     He glanced up at her to see that blood had rushed to  Judith's face once more. He had never seen her blush  so furiously when in Philip's company. Did this prove a  good sign or ill?
     Andrew bent over to retrieve the clever writing tool  and discovered blood had rushed to a different part of  his own anatomy. He jumped to his feet as well, so that  his tunic hung loose over his groin and disguised the  desire Judith inspired.
     "You can keep the pen," she offered briskly when he  attempted to return it. "I have more."  He swallowed hard and found his voice. "You do? I  presumed there would be only one in all the world."  "Nope. There are at least three, because I have two  more."
     "Thank you."
     "Take a few more sheets of paper to write on, too,"  Judith suggested. Her words came out in a rush as she  tore several pages from her book and thrust them into  Andrew's hands. "I really should go inside now."  Andrew let her go, gladly. He had never dreamt a  conversation with a woman could be so difficult, so  tiring, so delightful! He felt as though he had run up  and tumbled down a dozen high hills. His pulse raced  and his brow was damp with sweat. He felt elated and  exhausted.
     Yet as he watched her walk away, Andrew sighed.
     Whether or not she knew it, Judith Lamb was surely  Sir Peter Lamb's daughter. Only a clever inventor could  have created the fine writing paper and writing  implements Judith claimed. Her possessions alone  proved close kinship between herself and Sir Peter,  while her ability to read and write proved she'd been  highly educated. Only royals and nobles were educated,  and only an aged eccentric would educate a daughter to  the extent Judith had been tutored.
     Andrew looked down and kicked the dirt. He didn't  want her to be a lady! He wanted Judith to be  unassuming, the daughter of a crofter, a freeman, or a  servant, but not the daughter of a knight and his lady.  Andrew couldn't have his way with a lady, not unless  she were already widowed, intended to take holy vows,  or had accepted his offer of marriage. As yet, he had no  reason to believe Judith had either been widowed or on  her way to join a nunnery. And he certainly had no  intention of proposing marriage. Besides, he had made  those damnable vows not to try to bed Judith. Such a  pledge meant little if made to a peasant. But it meant  much, if made to a lady.
     God's bloody tears! I may as well find Louis and send  him to York straightaway. There is no longer any reason  for me to keep the wench near.
     That is what he thought. But that is not what he  did.
     Nine
     Judy came awake before opening her eyes. As she  did every morning, she steeled herself for what she  would see when she looked around. Always, she longed  to find herself in her bed, in her room, in her rent- controlled New York City apartment. At least, she hoped  to find herself back at the Wixcomb inn. But when she  peeked, she inevitably discovered herself, as she did  this morning, lying on a straw-stuffed mattress in a bed  topped with a canopy and surrounded by closed curtains.  Not in the States, but England. Not in Laycock Inn, but  Laycock Castle. Not in the twentieth century, but the  thirteenth.
     Hardly surprised and not as keenly disappointed as  she used to be, Judy swung her legs off the bed, pushed  aside the curtains, and stretched her arms overhead.  Her back ached and her head hurt a little. Stepping out  into the room, she found--again, no surprise--that the  stone floor felt cold beneath her toes. Shivering, she  hopped around and grabbed the silk robe Andrew had  never reclaimed, covering her nakedness. And just in  time, for Bridget, at that very moment, opened the door.  "Good day, milady!" she chirped, far too perky for any  human being at this early hour, but most especially for  a servant in medieval times. "I expected you'd want a  bath again this morn. Elmo and Jock are bringing the  tub. Mayhap I ought to leave it in your chamber?"  "Yes, maybe you should," Judy agreed. It had to be a  pain to lug the thing from wherever they stored it.  Bridget set out Judy's bath towels. "As you won't be  wanting me to assist you, I've other things that need  doing, milady. Sally's bringing up your morning meal--  the victuals should be here shortly."
     "Thanks."
     Judy swallowed a couple of aspirins and washed them  down with water. She poured more cold water into a  bowl and, after splashing her face, she quickly brushed  her teeth. The men had just arrived with the tub when  she felt an urgent need to relieve herself, so she grabbed
     her tote and hurried down the hall to the toilet.  On the facial tissue she used for another purpose,  Judy spied a pink stain. Her period! That explained her  aches and pains. At least she had a supply of tampons.  Judy unwrapped one from the box she found in her tote,  wondering if she'd have enough to last. 'Til when? When  would she be going back to her own time, her own world,  her own home? She kept returning to the spot outside  the bailey walls where she'd awakened that morning  weeks ago. But except for a feeling she could neither  interpret nor explain, it offered no clues and no real  hope for finding a way into the future. The present--  the countryside, the keep, even the people who  populated it--seemed so authentic, so substantial... It  was beginning to feel to Judy as though her real life  had all been a dream. Sometimes she thought the  easiest thing would be for her to accept that, and, from  this day forward, proceed as though she were a woman  born of the Middle Ages. Then, at least, all she'd have to  worry about was Philip.
     He had been absent longer than she had expected  him to be, and so many dangers existed out there. He  could have been attacked by outlaws, or gored and left  for dead by the kind of wild pig she'd heard endless stories  about when the knights in the hall told tales after  supper. Philip could have fallen from his horse and  broken his neck or been wounded in a sword fight--who  knew? She didn't. So she worried...
     ...When she wasn't thinking about Andrew. It  embarrassed her. It irritated her. She found spending  time with him extremely uncomfortable, as they  vacillated between being adversaries and friends. Yet  when he wasn't around, it seemed almost worse. Then,  Judy kept looking for him, not to dodge his presence  but because she actually hoped to see him. Which only  led her back to the sort of encounter that kept her off  kilter and made her totally unsure of herself.  She didn't like being unsure of herself. She didn't  like dealing with Andrew, she didn't like thinking about  him. But, upon her return from the jakes, she stopped  cold outside her bedroom door, which hung ajar. Within,  she spied Andrew standing beside her tub holding a
     bucket. When he saw her, he scowled at her angrily.  She could ignore him, snap at him, or play it casual.  Judy decided upon the latter tack. "What's up?" she  inquired.
     In reply, Andrew slammed the bucket down, sloshing  water across the floor and into the rushes.  "What was that for?" Judy stepped into the doorway  and leaned against the jamb.
     "I might better ask, what is this for?" Andrew  countered.
     Since he gestured to the tub, Judy responded, "My  bath."
     "Another bath."
     "What do you mean, 'another bath?' I only have one  a day." She walked into the room and set down her tote.  "One a day," Andrew shouted. "Are you mad?"  "No." Judy clutched the edges of her robe tightly  across her bosom and squared her shoulders. She didn't  want to fight, but if he did... "You are obviously mad,  though. And I don't have the vaguest notion why."  "Me? Mad?" Andrew fumed, taking a step toward the  door and kicking it shut with one thrust of his long,  muscular leg. "If there's anyone gone mad around here,  'tis you, not I!"
     Belatedly, Judy understood the confusion. "I didn't  mean you were crazy, just angry." She couldn't resist  adding, "But you are acting crazy."
     "Crazy?"
     "Mad!" Exasperated, she also shouted.
     "Don't berate me, wench," Andrew warned, grabbing  her sleeve. "You've neither cause nor the right to do  so."
     "I don't?" His anger was contagious. She pulled her  sleeve free of his grasp with one quick yank and backed  away from him. "You lurk in my room, waiting around  to chide me for having a damned bath, and I don't have  a right to yell? I sure as hell do!"
     "None, even I, would begrudge you an occasional  bath. But one, every day for two sennights?"  "Two what?"
     "Two sennights. A fortnight."
     "A fortnight?"
     "Two weeks," he explained, grinding out the words.  Andrew's voice rose again quickly as he continued, "Even  if you are in truth a lady, do you think the people of  Laycock Keep are all your personal servants? Do you  think that they've no work to do other than attend to  your frivolous needs?"
     "Of course not. I only wanted--"
     "God's teeth, I care not what you want, Judith!"  Andrew took a step toward her so that they nearly  touched. But he kept a few inches between them, placed  his hands on his hips, and glared at her. "I do not want  the keep's servants occupied toting water from the well,  heating it, and carrying it up the stairs--for you! They  have work to do. A lot of other work to do. Work my sire  and my mother, chatelaine of this keep, expect to be  done. Work I must ensure is done. Work that is not being  done if the servants are spending all their time seeing  to your damnable baths!" Andrew dropped his arms and  tilted his head back. With narrowed eyes, he looked Judy  up and down. "Good God, woman! No one can get so  begrimed so fast, especially not a female who has no  chores to do. You don't dig in the garden, you don't dye  cloth or brew beer. By the saints, Judith--what do you  do all day?"
     Judy had never in her life been accused of laziness.  The injustice of his criticism, the indignity of it, floored  her--until she remembered she did do very little except  try and while away the time.
     "I--I'm a guest. It's my understanding guests are  not set to work."
     "A guest, are you? Did someone invite you to Laycock  Keep?"
     "No! You carried me here when I was out cold. I had  no choice in the matter."
     Andrew crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you  think yourself a prisoner, madam? If so, let me assure  you, you are not. Go--take yourself off to London, if that  is where you were truly headed when you stumbled into  Wixcomb."
     "Fine!" Judy screeched the word but then failed to  move, making no attempt to gather her belongings,  dress and get out. She had feared this moment, and yet
     she'd brought it on herself.
     Andrew continued to glare at her. "Well?" he said  finally. "Are you leaving or nay?"
     "I'm leaving. But not 'til I've had my bath. It's foolish  to waste it, especially when I won't be having another  one for a long time to come."
     "Get in the tub, then."
     "Not 'til you leave."
     "Then you shan't be bathing, because I am not  leaving. This is my family's home, and while the others  are away, I'm the--"
     "--Lord and master here," Judy finished for him,  singsonging the familiar phrase.
     "God's teeth! I am the lord and master here--don't  you forget it."
     Andrew strode toward Judy and she retreated, still  facing him, until she felt the bed brush the backs of  her thighs. Because he seemed to keep coming forward,  she sat down with a plop before he knocked her down.  He did halt, straddling Judy's knees and bending  slightly at the waist so that they were nearly nose to  nose. "I told you before, you should seek to please me,  not anger me."
     "What did I do to anger you?" She really didn't know.  She wasn't sure she cared to know.
     But she wasn't about to find out, either, because  Andrew did not say. He simply glowered at her  menacingly, his face flushed and his breathing noisy.  Judy could actually feel his breath brush her cheeks. It  smelled minty, and despite the certain fact he failed to  bathe as frequently as she, he smelled...good. If a fashion  icon bottled the fragrance to sell at Bloomingdale's and  Macy's, the cologne would be called "Andrew"--a musky,  masculine perfume concocted not from flowers and oils  but mined from men's pores.
     Dear God, what is wrong with me?
     Even as part of her mind objectively evaluated--and  condemned--her own wayward notions, Judy felt and  fought an impulse to reach up, twine her arms around  Andrew's neck, and pull him down against her so that  they both sprawled on the mattress, their arms and legs  tangled together.
     "You needn't leave," he told her suddenly, his voice  dropping an octave. "I care not if you stay 'til your dearling  Philip returns, or we have word from Peter Lamb. I do,  however, care that you cease bathing every damnable  day of the week. If you need to wet yourself all over,  there is a stream some little distance from the keep.  Go there. Jump in. Drown," he bellowed.  Flinching in the face of his verbal assault, Judy  instinctively closed her eyes. In that brief second she  couldn't see, she felt Andrew's lips touch hers. Shock  pried her eyes open, and when she looked, she found  herself gazing into his dark, molten eyes. A frisson of  pleasure, of delicious desire, coursed through her limbs  and into the pit of her belly. The feeling was incited not  only by his kiss but by his own heavy-lidded eyes  studying hers. He did not only scrutinize her face--he  seemed to be searching her soul.
     That's it! Falling back so that the rumpled bedclothes  pillowed her head, Judy drew up her knees and rolled  away. She promptly jumped to her feet, backed away  from the bed, and commanded, "Get out! Now. My bath  water's getting cold."
     Andrew straightened, turned and stared at her, the  thoughtful expression on his face tightening into a  grimace. "I will not," he countered, his words clipped. "I  have the right to be anywhere in this dwelling while  you, who have yet to prove you hold any rank at all,  have no right to order me about."
     "Very well. Stay. But I'm not passing on my bath."  Judy wasn't sure she had made the right move.  Ideally, Andrew would storm out of the room. But Andrew  was anything but ideal. The possibility loomed large he'd  remain, forcing his presence upon her during what  should have been, by all inalienable rights, a time of  deserved privacy.
     Judy retrieved her shampoo and body wash. Setting  them on the floor within reach, she kept her back to  Andrew as she opened her robe and stepped into the  tub. Carefully, with a precision that would have  impressed Gypsy Rose Lee, she shed the robe precisely  as she lowered herself into the water, allowing nothing  to be seen that shouldn't be seen by the leering lord.
     Andrew remained, as he had insisted he would. Judy  attempted to ignore him, concentrating on using her  lavender puff to suds her arms, legs and chest. After  the fact, it occurred to her she should have shampooed  her hair first. But she hadn't thought of that because  she'd been thinking about Andrew lounging against one  of the bed posts, arms crossed over his chest, one ankle  crossed over the other, his sultry, sable eyes trained on  her overexposed body. Now she'd have to wash her hair  using the pitcher and bowl, which wouldn't be easy.  Damn him!
     Covering her breasts with her arm, she attempted  to grab the corner of one of the drying cloths Bridget  had set out. Unfortunately, she hadn't thought to put  them on the floor near her other supplies, so they  remained on the table. Unluckily, too, Sally had brought  in her trencher of food while Judy had been in the jakes,  and she'd pushed the towels even farther away from  the tub. The only way Judy could reach them now would  be to stand up and give Andrew a big show.  "What are you attempting there, wench?" he asked  curiously. All trace of rancor had disappeared from his  tone.
     She took a deep breath. "To grab a towel."  "What of your hair? Do you not wash it every morn  as you do the rest of your body?"
     "Normally, yes. Not today."
     "Why not?"
     "Because I don't like an audience," she snapped,  turning to glare at him. "Also, because it's damned near  impossible in this tiny little tub."
     "Tiny? I bathe in that tub."
     "One toe at a time?" she sneered.
     "Nay. But then, I do have assistance. I do not insist  on trying to bathe alone."
     "Where I come from, we bathe alone. But we also  have tubs big enough to stretch out in."  "Do you?"
     "I don't know!" Geez, she had to watch what she said.  "I think so."
     "But we do not, so why don't you allow me to help  you? I could wash your hair," Andrew volunteered,
     already approaching.
     Judy froze, clutching herself. Why did he do this?  Nasty one moment, helpful the next. A minute ago,  hollering, but now picking up a stool and setting it down  behind her, insisting on washing her hair. What next?  Would he clip her toenails?
     "I thought servants did that kind of thing," she said.  "Not the lords and masters of fine keeps."  "Lords and masters do what we will. And I will wash  your hair if it amuses me to." He grabbed a plastic bottle  off the floor. "Is this your special soap?"  "Yes. Shampoo."
     "Aye. Shampoo."
     "What are you doing?" she asked in concern.  "Andrew, this isn't going to work! My hair has to be wet  before you put the shampoo in, and then it has to be  rinsed. You can't--"
     Judy shut up when Andrew tugged on her hair,  forcing her to drop her head back over the edge of the  tub. Next thing she knew, he poured a cascade of warm  water into her hair from the bucket he'd set aside  earlier. She expected water to splash onto the floor,  running everywhere, but she heard it trickling into an  empty bucket.
     "How much of this concoction do you use?" Andrew  asked, sitting down on the stool.
     "Just a dab."
     "A dab?" He leaned over her, looking into her face  with a questioning expression on his own.  Judy smiled thinly, nervously. "Yeah," she said, "a  dab. A very little bit. Squeeze out a dollop about the size  of the end of your thumb."
     Raising her own hands to demonstrate, she  encircled one thumb at the knuckle with the finger and  thumb of her other hand. Immediately, she realized  she'd completely bared her breasts and that Andrew had  a clear view of them. With a squeal, she quickly covered  herself again.
     He chuckled but said nothing. Judy could hardly  believe it--Andrew Laycock was smiling, actually  laughing! She hadn't ever seen him smile quite that  way or laugh aloud before. And no one would guess that
     they'd been screaming their heads off at each other a  little while earlier...most especially if they saw Andrew  massaging her scalp as he lathered her hair.  Oh, what a delight! This was a favorite pleasure of  Judy's. She always looked forward to having her hair  washed before Vittorio trimmed it. Now, she closed her  eyes and succumbed to ecstacy.
     "Your hair is two colors," Andrew commented.  Snapping open her eyes, she almost pulled away and  sat upright. Instead, she held herself still and asked  tensely, "What do you mean?"
     "Two colors," he repeated. "More than one hue."  "I got that part," she assured him tartly. And though  she already knew the answer, she asked, "Where are  there two colors?"
     "Most of your hair is fair. But near your scalp, 'tis  considerably darker. Why is that?"
     Because my roots need to be done! "It just is, that's  all."
     Closing her eyes again, Judy found she had lost the  delighted feeling, and she couldn't relax. All she wanted  to do was get out of the water, now growing tepid, and  take a good, long look at her roots. She had been so  overwhelmed by her circumstances, she had completely  forgotten how long it had been since she'd had her hair  touched up. Though black roots should have been the  least of her worries, vanity suddenly pushed them  nearer the top of her list of troubles.  "Could you rinse it, please?" she begged. "I'm getting  cold."
     Andrew stood and poured more water through her  hair. He used the hem of his tunic to dab a stray rivulet  that trickled down her face. Grabbing a towel, he wrapped  it around her head before offering another cloth to Judy.  As she accepted it, she asked, "Could you turn  around?"
     He gave her a look, the kind that would have  compelled her to give out her personal phone number  had it been on the face of a man she'd encountered at a  party, in the elevator in her office building, or even in  the produce section of the grocery store. Then Andrew  turned away.
     Judy didn't take the time to dry herself very well  before stepping out of the tub and shrugging on his robe.  He made her crazy! First she wanted to wring his neck,  then she wanted to kiss him. Hell, she had kissed him,  or at least she'd kissed him back.
     Why were they kissing, anyway? If she kissed  anyone, she ought to be kissing Philip. He was the better  man. He never tried to jump her bones, he stopped when  she said no, and he wanted to court her. Didn't that  mean he wanted to marry her? Besides, Andrew, here,  had promised not to try to "bed her" ever again.  But if he did, Judy knew she'd be tempted to let him.  Only she couldn't, because she had the curse. And, she  noted with chagrin, he hadn't tried. Oh, he had kissed  her, sure enough. But she suspected he'd been as  surprised about that as she had been. Now, he reverted  to being gentlemanly--at least as gentlemanly as  Andrew Laycock could ever be.
     Damn him.
     "On the morrow, the stream," he reminded Judy as  he opened the door to leave. Then he was gone, just  like that.
     ***
     Andrew fairly ran down the stairs to the great hall.  Shouting at the first servant he encountered, he waited  impatiently 'til the man brought him a cup and a jug of  wine. Pouring his own badly needed spirits, he splashed  wine on the high table and did not even move his feet  when he felt the liquid dripping over the edge and onto  his shoes.
     He could have had her! Andrew had not expected  such an opportunity, not when he had gone to Judith,  furious at having learned she bathed each and every  day. But it seemed his temper served to fuel his lust,  and Judith-- appeared to react the same. Jesu! When  he'd kissed her, it had been all Andrew could do not to  force the damsel onto the bed and climb above her. But  she was a damsel, he had reminded himself, a lady. He  could not defile her. He could not break his vow.  So instead he had done what--washed her hair?  Whatever had possessed him to volunteer for a servant's  duty? But he hadn't felt like a servant. He had felt like
     a lover, and he yearned for all the privileges being a  lover would bring him. But again, he had restrained  himself. By all the saints, he must be mad.  He refilled his cup and emptied it once more, wiping  the trickle from his chin with the sleeve of his tunic.  Attempting to expel Lady Judith Lamb from his thoughts,  he glanced idly about the hall until his eyes rested, not  on something there but on something gone--the dice  that should have sat atop the backgammon board.  Striding over to the small game table, where last he  had played with Philip several sennights ago, Andrew  examined the board. And the stools. And the floor  beneath the table. He even stooped down and ran his  fingers through the rushes, searching for fallen dice.  But his eyes had not deceived him, the bones truly had  gone missing!
     He whirled again, and immediately his glance  settled on the chair his sister, Beatrix, normally used  when she was in residence. She had embroidered a tiny  pillow that she tucked behind the small of her back  when sitting there. Always, it remained at the ready in  that very chair. But not now, not today. It had vanished.  Andrew closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with  two fingers and his thumb. Could Bea have taken it  with her? Nay. He had seen it often since she went  with their mother to Alnwick. In fact, he had seen the  pillow as recently as yesterday.
     Of course, a servant might have removed it to his  sisters' bedchamber, but Andrew more than doubted that  possibility. Someone had made off with the pillow, just  as someone had made off with the dice.  Laycock's servants did not steal. Those who served  here today were the descendants of those who had served  here a hundred years past. Well-provided for by the  ruling baron, their loyalty only grew from generation to  generation. Nor had anyone visited the keep recently,  not even Philip, who certainly was no thief. That left  only one reasonable suspect, one stranger, one guest  whose identity had yet to be verified, whose behavior  seemed strange, and who had access to the furnishings  in this stronghold.
     Judith Lamb.
     Ten
     "Andrew! Andrew!"
     Hearing his name, he interrupted his conversation  with Laycock's bailiff and turned to see who called him.  He saw Philip approaching on horseback, bearing down  on Andrew and his man as they stood in the middle of  Wixcomb's main road.
     Before he quite halted, Philip leapt from his saddle.  "Arnulf, in the tower, told me you'd gone to the village.  Why so?"
     "I could delay holding court no longer," Andrew  explained. "God Himself only knows when my family will  be returning, yet our people had disputes that needed  settling. Jesu, but I hate being called upon to play the  magistrate and mete out justice. Surely I made some  error in judgment."
     "I'd wager your father fears the same of you. But the  peasants are none the wiser--are they, Jonathan?"  Philip quipped, glancing at the bailiff.  "I suppose not," Jonathan agreed. "But Lord Andrew  doesn't give himself enough credit. He performed  admirably."
     Philip wrapped a friendly arm around Andrew's  shoulder. "You're finished, then?"
     "Aye. Court has been adjourned. God willing, Father  will be back at Laycock before it need convene again."  "Lord Thomas is still away, then? And your brothers  as well?" Philip asked as he and Andrew walked toward  the eastern edge of the village, Philip leading his steed  behind them.
     "Aye. And yours?"
     "I presume so. They are all determined to be at hand  during the negotiations--I doubt my sire will return  much before yours. Unless, of course, the talks don't go  well. Then he'll be back, readying all our forces to attack  King John's holdings."
     "You haven't been home to North Cross, I take it?"  Andrew asked.
     Philip shook his head and brushed a long hank of  blonde hair off his forehead. "Nay, I came here  straightaway."
     Andrew tensed. "You've come to see Judith?"  "Of course. She is always in my thoughts. Now, most  especially."
     "Why now?"
     "Andrew, there is much I must tell you. But, first--  has your messenger returned, the one you sent to York?"  "Nay." Having reached the spot where he had left  Zeus in the care of his squire, Andrew took the horse's  reins. Purposely, he turned his back to Philip. "'Tis soon,  yet. We should hear something any day."  "What do you mean, 'tis soon? Your man is long  overdue. I've ridden nearly the same distance and  returned, yet I departed well after he did."  "What does it matter?" Andrew climbed into his  saddle and waited for Philip to do the same.  "I'll tell you, old friend--it matters a good deal,  because that business my mother sent me on had to do  with finding a wife."
     "For you? How is that?" Andrew asked, kneeing his  horse and walking the animal slowly out of the village.  Secretly, this turn of events buoyed his spirits, which  had plummeted at the very sight of Philip.  "There is a damsel, eligible and dowered, whose  mother is eager to see her wed. My mother bid me to go  and see the maid and ask for her hand. She hoped the  girl would prove convenient, if not all I might desire in  a wife."
     "Is she--convenient?"
     Philip screwed up his handsome face. "Aye. A bit  young, mayhap. Just ten and six years. But comely. And,  fortunately, she has a small estate that would suit me  well."
     "What's the problem, then?"
     "God's wounds, Andrew," Philip complained. "You  know what the problem is. I'm bewitched by Judith."  He clenched his jaw. "Are you?"
     "You must know that I am."
     The men turned their horses off the main road while  Andrew's squire followed behind, and they took to the
     hills leading to Laycock Keep.
     "I had thought so. But were you truly smitten, I  wouldn't think you'd ride off to pay court to another lady."  "I had no choice. Mother insisted. She doesn't want  me serving other lords as a mercenary or serving God  as a priest."
     Andrew knew there was no chance of that. Why  didn't Philip? "Has this lady a name?" he asked, turning  to his friend.
     "Penelope. Penelope Winfield, daughter of the late  Lord Graham and his widow, Lady Vivian."  "How did it go when you met her? Was she taken  with you or nay?"
     Philip exhaled, fluttering his lip. Grudgingly, he  admitted, "She seemed to like me well enough."  "Ha! I'll wager she did."
     "Be quiet, Andrew. I'm attempting to explain. I wasn't  alone, you see. Several other young men also came to  pay court. Her mother had a banquet, there was  dancing..."
     "And?" Andrew arched an eyebrow curiously.  "I attempted to be circumspect. I thought, if she took  no particular notice of me, I could tell my own mother  truthfully that naught had come of the venture."  "But Penelope fell for you madly, despite your best  efforts."
     "That's the God's truth," Philip wailed, as though he  were both surprised and disappointed. "She told Lady  Vivian 'tis me she wishes to wed. Now I find myself in  the most damnable position."
     "Why? Did you ask for Penelope's hand? Are you two  betrothed?"
     "Nay, of course not." They had reached Laycock's  gate and ridden through it into the bailey. "But I've no  good reason to turn down a damsel--and a dower--the  likes of which Penelope presents. Not unless I've another  prospect equally as attractive."
     Andrew knew that no matter how fair of face the  Winfield girl might be, she could be no match for Judith.  But he also knew Philip didn't refer only to physical  attractiveness. "I am sorry we've had no word from Sir  Peter," he lied as he dismounted. "If we hear nothing
     soon, I'll send another messenger."
     "Nay." Philip scowled as he climbed down from his  steed. "If you've no word by nightfall, I'll escort Judith to  York myself. We need learn the truth about her as soon  as possible."
     "What if the truth is not what you hope? What if  she's no kin to Sir Peter? Or, if she is, what if she has  no wealth of her own?"
     Shaking his head as he tilted his face to the sky,  Philip said, "I pray it isn't so. But..."  "What?"
     "I don't know. I truly don't. Yet there's no purpose in  fretting over circumstances that have yet to occur."  The squire led both their horses away. Philip and  Andrew walked to the keep's steps and paused. "Is Judith  inside?" Philip asked.
     "I believe so. Why don't you go in and see her? I've  things to attend to. With everyone away, my duties never  end. I shall join you two later."
     "Very well." Philip nodded and climbed the steps.  As soon as he disappeared through the doorway,  Andrew spun on his heel and sprinted toward the gate.  "Arnulf," he called up to the guard standing watch in  the tower. "Is Lady Judith at the stream?"  "Aye, my lord. She left only a brief while ago. Nigel  followed her."
     "Arnulf, if Sir Philip asks after the lady, tell him  you've no notion where she is."
     The guard grinned. "Aye, Lord Andrew. I've no notion  where she is--or where you've gone, either."  It irked Andrew a little that Arnulf understood his  motives so well. But they were all men, all knights--  they thought of women with a single mind.  ***
     The stream cut a swatch through the forest. In the  summer, it appeared little more than a bubbling brook.  But now, in springtime, swollen with melted snow,  Andrew saw that it had grown wide and deep. Judith  bathed in the stream because he had forbade her the  luxury of those excessive morning ablutions in her  bedchamber. But since he issued that edict, she had  come here infrequently. He chuckled--no longer did the
     lady seem eager or adamant about taking excessive  baths. But then, a trek through the woods and a plunge  into a freezing stream was bound to stifle anyone's  penchant for daily dousing.
     Though he had arranged for a man to follow and  guard her so that no harm might come to Judith, Andrew  had yet to observe her himself. Still, he knew where to  find her because a footpath led directly to the banks  near a particularly deep place in the stream, one that  proved excellent for both wading and fishing.  He walked that path now. Just as he presumed he  would, he saw Nigel standing in the foliage a short  distance off the pathway. The man had pressed his back  to a tree trunk so that he would not be noticed easily.  But Andrew noticed him, and as well he noticed the big,  stupid grin on Nigel's face.
     Andrew hurried forward, diverting from the path only  a few feet before he would have broken from the cover  of the trees. Immediately, he spied Judith and  understood why that fool knight behind him looked like  a happy dimwit. Any man would feel giddy and mindless  seeing the vision his own eyes beheld.  Judith stood waist-deep in water, soaping her hair.  She glistened, smooth and shiny as alabaster. By the  saints, the wench did not even have fuzz under her  arms! Yet she owned breasts far more glorious than most  damsels claimed. They rose high and taut so that  droplets of moisture trickled down their slopes, clinging  to nipples that had peaked in the chill. Andrew licked  his lips, savoring the urge to taste the plump flesh that  looked as firm as ripe apples. And he felt his cock grow  hard.
     Abruptly he whirled, pounded through the trees, and  caught Nigel by surprise. As he gripped the guard's neck  with his arm, he hissed in Nigel's ear, "How dare you  look at Lady Judith that way."
     "In--what way--my lord?"
     "You are leering at her."
     "N-n-nay, I am not, Lord--Andrew! I--was told--to  guard her. To--keep her--from harm."
     It was true, as true as Nigel's ogling had been  obvious. Releasing the knight, Andrew said gruffly, "Go
     now. Henceforth, I will accompany the lady if she need  come to the stream to bathe."
     Nigel nodded with jerky motions and hurried away  while Andrew decided that Judith could resume bathing  in the privacy of her chamber. Outdoors, many people  other than an assigned guard could have the opportunity  to view her naked charms, be they travelers or town's  folk. He should have thought of all this earlier. Now, he  would not permit it to continue.
     ***
     Judy pushed herself off the bed of the stream after  crouching to rinse her hair. She sprang into the air,  spraying water everywhere. Shaking her head to clear  her ears, she thought she heard rustling in the trees.  She stilled, covering her naked breasts, partially  because she had no wish to be spied on and partially  because she felt so damned cold.
     She scoured the bank with her gaze but detected no  movement. Perhaps she'd never heard anything in the  first place. If she had, it might have been a deer. It was  probably a deer. They roamed everywhere in the woods,  and her presence encroached on their territory, not the  other way around.
     Because of that damned Andrew, Judy fumed as she  caught her nearly empty, plastic shampoo bottle floating  on the water's surface. That he forced her to wade in a  creek instead of letting her take a bath in a tub of warm  water, well... To be fair, Judy realized he had a point.  Plumbing didn't exist, so she couldn't turn on a tap and  draw a bath without assistance. She did need all those  people to haul water from the well, heat it in a fire, and  then drag it upstairs to her room, one bucketful at a  time. That wasn't very considerate. She wouldn't be too  happy doing it for someone else. But, once in a while, at  least. On occasion, the "lord and master" of Laycock  should let her have a hot bath in the privacy of her room.  Shivering, Judy hurried to the side of the stream  and climbed up the sandy bank. She grabbed her towel  and dried herself briskly, hoping the friction would warm  her. Actually, the day seemed mild enough. But the  trees blocked much of the sunlight, and she figured  another degree or two colder and the water would be
     ice.
     She stepped into her thong and smoothed the hip  band over her belly before drying herself some more.  Boy, it was chilly! Hurrying to get dressed, eager to get  her borrowed gown on, Judy retrieved her bra from her  tote. The freedom of going without had lost its appeal.  She liked the support of an underwire, and besides,  nobody would notice her unusual lingerie beneath a  loosely belted tunic.
     The mint-green satin brassiere, which matched her  minuscule panties, clasped in front. Leaning forward,  Judy swung her breasts into the cups and then clipped  the plastic hook. As she straightened, adjusting the  shoulder straps, she again heard crashing in the trees.  The sound came from very nearby. Whatever thundered  through the woods seemed to be heading for the stream,  coming straight toward her. Gasping in fright, Judy  clutched her towel to her bosom and stared at the tree  line.
     ***
     Andrew had been enthralled by the sight of Judith  standing on the stream's sandy bank. She appeared like  some mythical sea creature who had transformed itself  into the epitome of womanhood after leaving the water  to emerge on the shore.
     Then he noticed the strip of iridescent green fabric  that circled her hips and formed a tiny triangle at the  apex of her thighs. He knew Judith was formed as well  as any other female at that particular juncture. He had  seen her tuft of maidenhair when she'd struggled with  him in bed and her tunic rode high. That she covered  her woman's flesh with just enough material to suffice  intrigued him. That garment cupped her sex as he  would, if he caressed it in his palm.
     Andrew wanted to groan but kept silent. As he  watched, Judith dried herself with a cloth. She touched  her flesh as he wished to touch her flesh; it made him  light-headed with desire. Then she turned to open her  satchel, which sat on a large bolder, and presented him  with her backside. The sight of those twin globes,  blushing pink after her frigid bath, would have inflamed  his lust all on its own. But when he saw that scrap of
     undergarment nestled in the cleft of her buttocks as it  stretched upward to join the band at her hips, Andrew  actually felt his manhood move. His cock jerked upright,  demanding attention.
     To ease his agony, he clutched himself and closed  his eyes. He hoped he did not breathe so loudly Judith  would hear him panting in the trees. Resolved to  controlling his burgeoning passion, Andrew opened his  eyes again. Judith was now donning some other apparel.  As he watched, she leaned forward and dropped her  breasts into cups fashioned of fabric the same hue as  the strings girding her loins. When she stood, she had  covered her breasts in much the same fashion as her  sex--completely but minimally.
     The effect proved evocative, tantalizing. Though she  stood before him nearly nude and very nubile, his stolen,  secret scrutiny no longer satisfied him. Andrew keenly  aspired to strip her of those cloth scraps so that he might  view all her essential femininity.
     No longer did he think or reason. Propelled by  instinct and primitive desire, Andrew walked forward  without weighing the possible consequences. Fast and  direct, he headed toward Judith.
     "Andrew," she shrieked when she saw him. Though  initially surprised, she seemed to recover quickly. "God,  you scared me. I didn't know who you were, what you  were."
     He halted directly before Judith and took the drying  cloth from her hand, dropping it on the ground. "By all  the saints, madam. You are the most exquisite creature  I have ever seen."
     She did not respond, and he did not have the voice  to say more. Instead he touched her, reaching out with  sure but gentle hands. With purpose, he gripped the  straps on her shoulders and ran his fingers up and down  their length before sliding them down her arms.  The cups on her upper garment sagged a bit. Just  as purposefully, Andrew slipped a finger inside the top  of each, stroking the swell of her breasts. Judith did not  pull away. In fact, she seemed to lean forward a bit, giving  him better access.
     He tugged on the cups. The curious garment slipped
     down her ribs, just a little, and her nipples popped out,  exposed. He palmed them, swirling his hands over the  hard, pink nubs.
     "Ummm." The sound Judith made brought his eyes  up to hers. Her eyes were closed. Still watching her face,  he pulled the unique, useless garment down to her  waist, freeing her arms as the straps slipped off her  wrists. He bent his knees and lowered his face to her  bosom. Finally, he began to suckle those nipples that  had so enticed him earlier.
     Andrew tongued them, nipped them, drew on them.  Judith made another noise, deep in her throat. The  mere sound, indicative of her mounting passions, made  his cock throb. Yet he still moved as slowly as a cat  stalking a bird. Lowering himself to his knees in the  damp sand, he skimmed Judith's ribs with his fingertips  as his lips heated a trail toward her navel.  Judith cast aside the garment from which Andrew  had nearly freed her. As his kisses drew lower, she  leaned forward even more and clutched at his hair. He  raised his head again; her breasts bobbed temptingly  directly above his face. What could he do but stretch  upward and grab first one, then the other, in his mouth?  "Andrew," Judith breathed, and beneath his hands  on her hips, he felt her begin to undulate. He could not  resist slipping his palms around her backside and  clutching the smooth, round halves of her bottom. He  squeezed them, kneaded them, and Judith increased  the tempo of her swaying.
     If he did not get his cock out of his braies and into  Judith soon, he felt sure his cod would explode. He'd  heard tell of men dying of bursting cods. He did not intend  to meet his own demise because of unsatisfied carnal  need.
     Drawing his fingers up along the cleft of Judith's  derriere, he brought them forward, along the band  encircling her hips. Then he slipped his fingers between  the fabric and her skin and tugged, intending to lower  and remove the flimsy barrier that presently kept him  at bay.
     "No!" As though startled and completely unprepared  for his actions, Judith suddenly pushed at Andrew's
     shoulders and stumbled backward. "Andrew, don't. I--  can't."
     He did not respond straight away. To be rebuffed at  this late stage came as a shock. Though his mind  grasped the obvious, that the course of events had been  abruptly altered from what he had envisioned, his body  had not yet acknowledged the same facts.  Breathing deeply, he purposely reined in his  passions, praying his ballocks would remain intact.  Then, gritting his teeth, he looked up at Judith, who,  faster than he could have imagined, had put on her  scanty breast binder and proceeded to draw her tunic  on over her head.
     "Why not?" he asked, his voice nearly
     unrecognizable. "Are you married? Did the memory of a  husband only now come back to you?"
     "No! No, that's not it." Shaking her head as she sat  on the boulder and tugged on her shoes, Judith assured  him, "I'm not married, Andrew."
     "Then you are angry that I broke my vow to you."  "Your vow?" She looked confused at first, then she  arched her eyebrows and said, "Why, yes, Andrew. You  did promise not to try to--you know. But you did anyway."  With a scowl, she added, "I thought knights of old took  their pledges seriously."
     "Knights of old?"
     "Forget it."
     "I don't understand you," he admitted, feeling  frustrated. "Are you afraid of men, of me? I would ne'er  hurt you."
     "I know you wouldn't. I think. And I'm definitely not  afraid of men. It's only--"
     "What?" Andrew demanded as he came to his feet.  "Philip--"
     He felt a flash of anger. "You know he's here, don't you?"  "Philip's here? At Laycock?" Judith feigned surprise.  "Aye, he's at Laycock. Surely you saw him riding  in." Andrew narrowed his gaze as he considered Judith  suspiciously. "I suppose you did all this--" He gestured  with a sweep of his arm to the stream. "--To entice  him. And I happened by instead."
     "I did this--" She mimicked his gesture. "--To entice
     Philip? Damn you, Andrew Laycock, you're an idiot! As  if I feel like some hot babe when I'm freezing my buns  off washing in an icy stream in the middle of a forest.  And listening to animals rustling through the woods,  wondering if they intend to attack. Or worrying that  maybe they aren't animals at all, but some dirty old men  spying on me. Right! That's it. I came out here to impress  Philip. Who, for all I knew, was somewhere hundreds of  miles away doing something for his mother."  Grabbing her black bag, Judith began stomping up  the footpath toward the keep.
     Andrew watched her go. He felt furious, not only  because he'd been denied the full pleasure of Judith's  body, but because she dared to be angry with him. She  had no right, no reason. She had got her way again--  she'd kept him from making love to her. What had he  got? A tremendous ache in his loins with no possibility  of sweet release. He should be angry. Only he had the  right to be angry.
     He hurried after Judith. Catching up with her, he  grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to spin around and  face him.
     "You are not to bathe in the stream again unless I  accompany you," he informed her.
     "The hell I won't! It suited me just fine until you  showed up today."
     "Do you think you were alone before? You were not,  Judith. Before, like today, one of my men stood guard."  "Stood guard?" Her green eyes grew round. "You had  someone watching me?"
     Andrew nodded. "For your protection."
     "For his enjoyment, you mean. And yours."  Again she spun around and headed off. Again, he  grabbed her.
     "Damn you, Judith Lamb. You will do as I say!"  "Damn you, Andrew Laycock! I will never do as you  say!"
     He narrowed his gaze. "But you'll do whatever Philip  asks of you, I suppose?"
     "Maybe. Because he asks nice."
     Eleven
     Judy muttered beneath her breath as she stormed  up the hill toward the bailey. Her behavior with Andrew  had been completely idiotic. No wonder he thought all  bets were off. After the way she had acted, any man  would. It sure hadn't been fair, her trying to blame him  for what happened at the stream. She knew full well  she'd been as just as responsible as he'd been. That  she had yielded to his moves that way...  But they were smooth moves--no longer the abrupt,  abrasive kind of groping Andrew had attempted when  she'd first arrived. Any normal, healthy girl would have  succumbed. It wasn't as though he were ugly or anything.  Yet he had promised not to touch her anymore, and if  he hadn't touched her, nothing would have happened.  Heck, he didn't know of the fantasies spinning out in  her head or the yearnings that churned somewhat lower.  He had no excuse for breaking his pledge.  There was more that was worse. Not only had Andrew  failed to live up to his word, he had manipulated her.  The rudimentary psychology he'd used on her had been  child's play--act aloof so that she'd want his attention.  The galling thing was, she had fallen into his trap like  some naive, high school girl. She had never been played  so easily by a '90s guy. That Andrew, a veritable youth  with little sophistication or finesse had "gotten her  number," as Judy's mom liked to say--made her furious.  With herself.
     What man wouldn't play it any way he could to get  what he wanted? That she'd fallen for his antics was  the pathetic part of today's episode. But, what an  episode!
     Judy shivered remembering it. His lips on her skin,  the way he had touched her. It might have been  hopelessly romantic if he had wanted her, Judy Lambini,  for herself. But, no. He wanted Judith Lamb for a quickie.  Maybe a couple of quickies. And she needed more than  that. At the very least, she needed the potential for more  than that. It didn't matter that she was a visitor from
     another country, another century, whose time here  would (please, God!) be short. Andrew didn't know her  true circumstances. He didn't suspect she might  disappear as quickly and mysteriously as she'd arrived.  Yet he still desired her for only a moment of lovemaking.  No, a minute or two of sex. Hot sex. Torrid sex. But  meaningless sex, just the same.
     He wasn't going to get it from her. Philip, on the  other hand-
     Philip! Andrew had said he'd returned. Why hadn't  he come to find her at the stream? Judy felt sure her  response would have been the same if it had been Philip  removing her bra and kissing her breasts a little while  ago. He was no Frankenstein, either. And he had other,  admirable qualities--his admitted intention to date  her--no, court her--properly. The promise of  permanence, of marriage.
     Judy stopped cold. Did she want to marry Philip? God,  she had never thought about marrying except as an  abstract, way-in-the-future sort of thing. But that  thinking had been done in the modern, late, twentieth  century. Maybe she needed to rethink the topic right  now, in the ancient, medieval thirteenth.  Plunking herself down in the grass, Judy pondered.  She approached the subject methodically,  dispassionately, considering the facts and conjecturing  possible and probable consequences. All in all, things  did not look good for her if she failed to marry anyone.  In this world, women needed to be attached to a man in  some fashion, be it a father, a guardian, or a husband.  Without one, she had no means to earn a living, no  place at all in society. Especially if she hoped to remain  a member of the upper class, such as it was. Judy didn't  like to think of herself as conceited. But honestly, if  she found herself doomed to stay in this time, she  certainly intended to stay among the nobles. Life as a  serf held no allure.
     "I will get home," she told herself. But what if I don't?  What if I only had a one-way ticket, not a round-trip one?  She wouldn't know for sure, not for a while. In the  meantime, it could only be in her best interests to  cultivate a prospective husband. The choicest man she
     knew was Philip of North Cross. If she gave in to Andrew's  attempts at seduction, she would blow her one, slim  chance for security. Well, Judy thought with conviction,  Andrew Laycock would not be tempting her anymore.  She'd grown wise to his ways. Henceforth, she'd be on  the lookout and avoid his wily lures.
     Judy resumed her trek to the keep. When she  entered the bailey, it puzzled her to find the activity  more chaotic than usual. Laborers and servants  scurried about while strange, saddled horses stood in  the yard. Judy didn't think even Philip's recent arrival  could have precipitated that much activity.  "Judith!"
     She heard him call and turned to see Philip hurrying  toward her. Geez, he looked perfect. Not only his face,  but his clothes--A handsome, saffron-colored tunic  edged in black at the cuffs and hem, black leggings,  and black boots. He'd have made a great cover model for  this year's Gentlemen's Quarterly, she found herself  thinking.
     Catching Judy up in an embrace, Philip said, "I've  been searching everywhere for you. Andrew told me you  were in the keep."
     He did, he? "I went to the stream. When did you  arrive?"
     "Not very long ago. I came here directly after  returning from my errand because I was gone so much  longer than expected. Now, I'm doubly glad I did."  "Why?"
     "Haven't you heard?
     "Haven't we heard what?" Andrew demanded,  intruding upon Judy's reunion with Philip. "What is  happening here?"
     She turned to look at him. Judy had seen Andrew  only minutes earlier, but she hadn't been thinking  much about his appearance. Now, she took it in. Unlike  his friend, Andrew was disheveled. His longish, dark  hair looked tangled and uncombed, and his whiskers  needed scraping. And--she sniffed discreetly--he  actually smelled. His scent should have offended Judy's  sensibilities, but it didn't. Somehow, she found the odors  of manly sweat, leather and horse rather intriguing,
     almost appealing.
     With a determined blink, Judy focused on Andrew's  attire. He wore something they called a gambeson, a  heavy, quilted shirt that served as armor. It hung  shorter than Philip's tunic, revealing more of Andrew's  muscled legs. He had great legs and broad shoulders.  The sword on his hip, anchored not only by a belt around  his waist but a leather strap that crossed over his chest  and back, gave him a swashbuckling air. They didn't  grow twenty-two-year-olds like this back home. Andrew  could never have been a college senior. He looked,  instead, as though he could lead Hannibal across the  Alps.
     Judy shook her head to clear it of such frivolous  thoughts and concentrated on the men's conversation.  "Your brothers have returned to Laycock," Philip was  telling Andrew. "They say my father's back at North  Cross. Negotiations with the king have not been going  well."
     "Then war is inevitable?" Andrew asked.  He shrugged. "Everyone fears for their lives and  property. We cannot let Lackland's men destroy us as  he has so many barons who opposed him in the past.  Jesu! He murdered his own nephew, Arthur of Brittany,  because the lad stood in his way. A man who could do  that could do anything."
     "Who--" Judy began.
     But Andrew spoke, interrupting her as though she  were not present. "Has my sire also returned?"  "Nay. He remains in London, advising those who sit  at the bargaining table. Lord William Marshal and the  Archbishop of Canterbury also remain. Those two have  become the key negotiators representing the English  barons."
     "I suppose you'll be heading immediately back to your  home?" Andrew asked.
     Philip replied with a quick nod and an equally quick  glance at Judy. Then he said, "I would speak with Judith  briefly before I go."
     "She's not my chattel," Andrew pointed out with a  casual shrug. "Fare you well, my friend. Let us hope we  see each other again before we find ourselves on the
     same battlefield."
     "Wait! Andrew, about the matter we spoke of earlier.  I pray you send another messenger if you don't hear  from the first before day's end. 'Tis important to me."  "If my man is lost or waylaid, I shall definitely send  another," he promised before clapping Philip on the  shoulder and jogging up to the keep's entrance.  Judy had a dozen questions she wished to ask. But  the effort it took to remind herself this business really  was happening, that the flurry of activity portended  bloody battles waged with swords, staffs and maces,  prevented her from formulating her questions into  words. She merely stood there, staring up at Philip, her  mouth agape.
     "Come," he urged, tugging on her sleeve and leading  her out of the way. When they reached the shadow of  the keep's walls, he placed both his hands on her  shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. "Are you well,  Judith? Does Andrew treat you kindly?"  "Yes."
     "Have you remembered anything? Your family, your  home...?" His blue eyes studied hers. His queries were  not casual.
     "No, Philip." Judy had told the lie so often, her  concocted amnesia story had begun to feel like the truth.  "I still don't recall any particulars, so I don't know if  that man who lives in York, Sir Peter Lamb, is related  to me. I'm sorry."
     "Sweet Jesu, so am I." He shook his head and  furrowed his brow. "Judith, would that I knew you were  a free damsel, neither unwed nor betrothed."  "I'm sorry," she mumbled again softly. It never  occurred to her to confide in Philip, to tell him the truth.  If she did, if she admitted to knowing in fact that she  remained single--no live-in "significant other" or  anything--then she would have to confess the rest. And  Judy could not confide those details to Philip. Somehow,  intuitively, she knew he could never accept them.  When--if--they married, he had to believe her a woman  of his own time.
     "Andrew was correct, Judith. I must hasten away  immediately. No one has managed to make a priest of
     me yet," he said, smiling, "so I shall have to fight in  this barons' war against the king."
     "When, Philip? When will the actual fighting begin?  Will it be--here?"
     "Nay, sweetling. Do not fear. There's little chance  battles will rage here at Laycock or North Cross. We  will attack, not defend, and we will attack John's fiefs.  But there is still time to hope the tide shall turn, and  that self-serving cockshead we call our king will put  his hand and his seal to our terms. In the meanwhile,  though, we must prepare."
     "And you must go."
     "Aye. But I shall return, I promise."
     Drawing her to him, Philip kissed Judy full upon  the lips. Though she attempted to kiss him back, she  never raised her arms from her sides, so her effort  lacked a certain enthusiasm. Judy felt wiped out, as  though Andrew had earlier drained her of all passion.  ***
     Andrew sat with his brothers at the high table. While  they ate and talked with their mouths full, he nursed a  goblet of wine and watched the door. Where, by all the  saints, was Judith? What were she and Philip doing  together so long?
     Suddenly, Andrew spied Judith at the entrance to  the hall, looking around and clutching her satchel to  her chest. When she saw the company at the dais table,  she began making her way to the stairs, avoiding not  only the servants but the cavorting hounds and their  puppies as she clung to the shadowy walls, attempting  to be inconspicuous. Clever girl.
     "God's wounds, 'tis the wench! Why...?" Elfred pointed  at Judith but turned to Andrew questioningly.  Judith froze and Andrew responded. "You knew she  remained when you left."
     "Aye, but that was some time ago. Surely you've tired  of her charms, if she had any."
     Andrew held his temper in check, saying only, "I  have attempted to contact her kin."
     "You know who they be?" Robin asked, leaning  forward to rest his arms on the table as he looked  curiously at Andrew.
     "Philip does. He says she's the daughter of a knight  called Peter Lamb."
     "You've sent word to him, to this Sir Peter?"  "Philip wrote a missive, aye," Andrew hedged.  "Why is she wearing our sister's clothes?" Elfred  demanded.
     "Because she had nothing suitable of her own. Don't  take such offence, brother. They belong to Camilla, not  to you."
     Andrew saw Judith take another, small step in the  direction of the stairs. So did Robin, apparently, for he  ordered, "Come here, wench."
     Again she halted, but after spinning on her heels,  she strode purposefully toward the dais and stopped  directly before Robin. "I am not a wench," she informed  him. "I am a grown woman, and I have a name, as you  well know."
     Andrew held a short breath and glanced at his eldest  brother sidelong. But Robin merely raised his eyebrows  and drawled, "Forgive me, Lady Judith."  "Lady!" Elfred said. "Because Philip of North Cross  thinks she's kin to some knight I've never heard of does  not make it so. How can you even address her as such  in jest? Look at her, Robin. Our sister's gown fails to  transform her. She still resembles a peasant, a rain- soaked one at that."
     "I do not," Judith countered, and Andrew slid down  in his chair, half covering his brow with one hand.  "Andrew--Lord Andrew--denied me permission to bathe  in my room." She leaned forward, toward Elfred, and  sniffed, as though she could smell his body's scent and  found it offensive. "Since I am prone to personal  cleanliness, I chose to bathe in the stream. My hair is  wet only because I just now returned from there."  "He forbade you, a fine lady, to bathe in the keep?"  Elfred repeated, considering Andrew thoughtfully. "You  no more believe she's gently born than I do, eh, brother?"  "I do not disbelieve she is gently born."  Elfred chortled. "Sweet Mother Mary--is the wench  that good between the sheets?"
     Andrew sat straighter and clenched his fist. But the  taste of Judith's skin, her shoulder, her breast, burst
     on his tongue. For the briefest moment, he found  himself distracted. He did not hit Elfred, he did not say  a word.
     "Whether or not I'm gently born may be in question,"  Judith conceded. "But it's obvious none of you are  gentlemen."
     "Woman, watch your tongue," Robin warned.  She bit her lip but turned her head to glare at Andrew  as she complained in a low voice, "It's bad enough your  brother insults me. But you let him."
     He had, indeed. Judith owned a right to feel angry.  But even if a lady born and bred, she had no right to  speak to him and his brothers in that manner.  "Look at her!" Elfred said, giving Andrew a start. "Look  at her eyes! Methinks she's casting a spell on you,  Andrew."
     Judith's green eyes blazed. But Andrew understood  she cursed him only with silent expletives, not with  incantations. Still, he knew no good would come from  anything she might now say. So he stood, intending to  lead Judith out of the great hall before Robin sided openly  with Elfred.
     He had yet to round the table and reach her side  when Judith thrust a finger at Elfred and countered in  a threatening tone, "Nay! I am casting a spell on you."  Andrew's brother nearly toppled off his chair and the  dais.
     "Elfred, must you always behave the fool when in  this woman's presence?" Robin chided. "Whether the  girl is the get of a baron or a crofter, she is naught but  female. Surely she can do you no harm."  "God's bloody wounds!" Elfred scowled darkly at Robin.  "Am I the only one among us three with all his wits?  She is, if naught else, a stranger who has managed to  get herself inside our home during these troubled times.  Andrew thinks only with his cock, letting her have free  rein at Laycock, well beyond the bed he shares with  her. And you, Robin, credit her not at all. You believe  her no more harmful than a fly, though with her magic  satchel, she stands before us conjuring."  "Conjuring, am I?" Opening her bag, Judith retrieved  some implement and gripped it tightly in her fist.
     Andrew saw Judith flick her thumb, and suddenly--  magically?-- a flame appeared. It looked as though her  hand were ablaze.
     Andrew found himself gasping nearly as loudly as  his brothers. But he felt amazed, not frightened, and he  did not cringe as he saw Elfred doing, staring in  undisguised horror at Judith's flaming fist.  She leapt onto the dais before Andrew realized her  intent. As she did, the flame went out. But Judith  grinned at Elfred, looking purposely evil. And she asked,  "Would you like to see it again?"
     With another flick of her thumb, the flame  reappeared. She used it to light a pair of candles on the  table.
     "I am a witch," she informed Elfred gleefully. "So you  had better stop insulting me and suggesting I am one  nasty thing or another, or I'll-- turn you into a toad."  The bearded knight crossed himself and looked to  his elder brother. "Robin, do something!"  "Andrew?" Robin said, turning to him.
     "She is not a witch," he insisted, wishing to God his  brothers had not returned here, even briefly. Joining  Judith, he whispered in her ear, "And you're a damnable  fool for saying you are." Then he grabbed the device she  had kept concealed and held it up--a curious black tube  about as long and as thick as his finger. "Look," he told  them. "'Tis a tool of some kind. Surely Judith's sire,  who is known to be an alchemist and an inventor,  fashioned it."
     "He made a stick that bursts into flame upon  command? That cannot be." Elfred shook his head.  "You saw it with your own eyes, did you not?" Andrew  asked him. "How can you question what you've seen  with your own eyes? This thing exists. It makes fire.  Show them, Judith."
     She glowered sullenly.
     "Do you want to be drowned before your father can  claim you, before you are reunited with your family?"  He spoke softly but looked at her sharply.  Judith sighed and took the smooth, shiny tube from  him. Andrew observed her flick a thumb against a tiny  wheel and the modest flame leaped up still again.
     "Your sire crafted that fire-maker?" Robin asked  Judith.
     "I guess."
     His dark eyes met Andrew's, so like his own. "This  Peter Lamb must be clever in the extreme. He must  also lay claim to great wealth, for a fire-starting  implement such as that would be sought by any and all.  I know I would pay a great sum to own one."  Andrew nodded. "Judith's sire must have great stores  of riches. And a rich man would surely reward any who  cared for his lost and homeless daughter, don't you  agree?"
     He nodded thoughtfully, but Elfred resumed his  protest. "Mayhap her sire is a wizard, a sorcerer.  Methinks he is, and that the fire-starter was created  by unearthly methods."
     "If so," Andrew asked, "what matter?"
     "It matters because all magic is evil. You know the  Church repudiates all wizards and witches, along with  their enchantments." He turned to Robin and pleaded,  "Send her away."
     "Nay." The baron's eldest son shook his head  emphatically. "'Tis in our best interest to wait for word  from the alchemist. He may, as Andrew suggested, wish  to reward us for taking care of the wench during her  time of misfortune."
     "But it is Beltane! If she be a witch, not a simple  knight's daughter--"
     "Lock her up," Robin told Andrew, interrupting  Elfred's lament.
     "Lock her up? She is a guest," Andrew returned.  "Mayhap she is a guest. Mayhap she is a peasant  who's deceived you so that she may live in comfort for a  while. Or mayhap, as Elfred fears, she is a sorceress.  Until we know which she might be, she should be  confined in her chamber."
     "I won't do it."
     "Andrew, dare not defy me," Robin warned. "'Tis only  for the night, for Beltane."
     "What!" Elfred said in dismay. "Only this eve? What  if she means us harm?"
     "If she meant us harm, she would already have
     wrought her evil spells and brought us low, don't you  think?"
     "But--she threatened to turn me into a toad."  "A simple enough task, certainly."
     Andrew bit back a grin at Robin's quip. But Elfred  continued to remonstrate. "What if her sire--should that  alchemist Andrew mentioned indeed be her sire--fails  to claim her before we depart again? What if then..."  Andrew heard no more of his brothers' conversation,  for he was escorting Judith quickly to the stairs. Already  they had climbed enough steps to be well beyond hearing  the discourse at the high table.
     "Slow down," Judy demanded. "I'm coming. You don't  have to drag me!"
     "Be still," Andrew snapped, nudging open her  bedroom door before pushing her into the room. "You  are such a fool!"
     "Me? A fool? What did I do?"
     "You know very well what you did. You baited Elfred,  declared yourself a witch, and then--" He held up the  tote by its handle. "--Then you showed him another of  your fantastic devices. Do you wish to be cast out? Or  worse, drowned?"
     "I always thought witches were burned at the stake."  "Don't be frivolous!" Andrew said, slamming the door  closed.
     "I'm not frivolous, I'm angry. Your idiot brother  insulted me, and you didn't say so much as a word in  my defense. You forced me to defend my own honor, so  while I was at it, I decided to scare the pants off old  Freddie."
     "'Old Freddie?'" Andrew made a face and shook his  head. Then he said sternly, "I am deadly serious. Have  you no concern for the consequences of your behavior?  Or do you seriously believe Philip will come to your  rescue in some fashion?"
     "He will. He won't let anything happen to me. He--  cares for me," Judy informed him, unsure herself  whether or not Philip actually loved her. "He wants to  marry me, not just jump my bones."
     Andrew's dark eyes seemed to bore holes into Judy's  until she had to look away. But she heard him say softly,
     "Woman, you deceive yourself."
     "Are you saying he doesn't?" she demanded, meeting  his gaze again.
     "Nay. But what Philip wishes to do and what he will  do may not prove to be the same thing."  Judy's confidence ebbed. She felt herself skidding  down the high she'd enjoyed while frightening Elfred so  easily. Yet she stubbornly accused Andrew of jealousy.  "You're just saying that because you want to get laid.  You want to have your way with me, even though you  promised not to try it again. And you did try again, in  case you weren't aware," she added petulantly.  "You did not seem unreceptive to my advances."  She blushed. "What would you know? Besides, I didn't  let you get what you were after. I wouldn't do that--to--  Philip."
     It seemed Andrew's turn to flush darkly. "You take  great risks, Judith," he said finally. "I hope you know  what you're about. I hope, despite your insistence  otherwise, that you do recall your home and family and  know, in fact, that you are an eligible maiden with  wealth and land of your own. Because if you are not,  Philip of North Cross will never have you as his bride."  That's okay. I'm not planning on sticking around long  enough to really have to marry anyone. It's just plan B, and  you're...you're...
     Judith couldn't think anymore. Andrew had  maneuvered himself directly in front of her. He stood  there, looking down into her face as though he could  read her mind, which, thank heavens, had gone  thoroughly blank. And now-- he reached up his hand.  Did he intend to touch her cheek? Judy braced herself  for the whisper of his fingertips against her skin. She  didn't want him to touch her. Like a shell filled with  the sounds of the sea, she found herself saturated with  the echoes of his earlier touches, his fingers, lips and  tongue against her skin. No, she didn't want him  touching her. She couldn't take it if he did.  Andrew flipped his hand over, palm up, exposing the  disposable lighter he had been clutching all this time.  As he moved past Judy and sat on the edge of her bed,  he asked, "How do you keep it burning?"
     With jerky steps, she sat beside him and  concentrated on her explanation. Talking with Andrew  about a disposable lighter would keep her from thinking  about kissing, stroking and doing the deed--she hoped.  "That tab beneath the wheel," she said. "Hold it down,  and the flame will stay 'til you let go again."  Andrew followed her directions and kept the flame  alight. He smiled, pleased with himself, with the toy.  "Your strange implements fascinate me, Judith. The  paper is so plentiful and fine. The--what did you call it?  The pen makes writing so easy. And this fire-starter is  a marvel. Spontaneous fire, even a flame as small as  this, could change the lives of everyone in the world.  "But the mere fact these exquisite articles exist and  you own them would surely frighten more people than  Elfred. They would want you locked away for more than  just Beltane." He paused and met Judy's gaze. "What  does Philip think of these enchanted objects you  possess?"
     "Beltane." Judy leapt on that second reference,  ignoring Andrew's question. "What is it?" she asked.  "Why do your brothers want me under lock and key  tonight?"
     "Elfred fears you are a witch. But a witch who does  not know Beltane?" Andrew chuckled, smiled, and flicked  the lighter again. A new flame wavered in the air as he  explained, "Beltane is the first day of May, the beginning  of spring. The Scots, the Irish, and many Saxon  peasants believe Beltane is a mystical time. They think  ordinary souls can work magic, and that people can even  slip through time. 'Tis foolishness, but some respect  the old ways, just as I admire the new." He upended the  lighter to examine the bottom.
     Beltane. To Judy, it sounded much like Samhain,  at least the way Ian MacCoombs had explained that  historic holy day. According to legend, then, souls could  slip through time on both those dates. According to  personal experience, Judy knew people could slip  through time on All Hallow's Eve--maybe she could slip  through time again on May Day.
     Oh, God! She needed to be outside tonight, not locked  away in this cold chamber high up in the keep. She
     needed to go directly to that spot outside the bailey wall  and hope for the energy charge as she willed herself to  travel forward through the centuries to her own world.  Then she wouldn't have to worry about how  inappropriately Andrew made her feel, or whether or  not Philip's intentions toward her were sincere. She  sure wouldn't have to worry that Elfred of Laycock would  convince his elder brother to cast her out because he  believed her to be some kind of sorceress. Home again,  in her own time, her own country, Judy could once more  be herself, a modern woman not beholden to any man  at all.
     "Are there celebrations?" she asked curiously.  "Rituals?"
     "What?" Andrew stopped playing with the lighter and  peered at her. "Oh, aye. Some of the peasants light bone- fires to keep the spoorns away."
     "Bone-fires? Spoorns?"
     "Aye. They burn animal bones to frighten the  spoorns, the evil spirits. And they will pass their children  through the flames because it is said 'twill better the  youngsters' futures and fortunes. But mostly, what the  people do on Beltane is make merry and make love. On  the following morn, they can blame the fairies and too  much drink for their wanton behavior." Andrew snorted.  "There are always quite a few babes born just before  the new year, all conceived on Beltane."  Judy barely listened. She turned to look out the  window and saw the top of the bailey wall. Beyond it lay  her freedom, even the road home. Certainly she could  manage to slip out of the keep later, after darkness fell.  No matter that she would be locked in, she'd get out--  she had to.
     "It sounds exciting," she said, trying to tone down  the excitement, the anticipation, she felt. "I'd really like  to see it."
     "Would you?" Andrew toyed with the lighter, rolling  the plastic tube between his fingers.
     "Um-hm." Judy leaned toward him, attempting some  manipulation of her own, and rubbed her cheek on his  shoulder. Her heart did a little flutter, so she willed  herself to feel nothing. She had a purpose in coming on
     to Andrew, and that purpose was not to get laid. "I'd like  to see the bone-fires. I'd like to dance and...drink."  "And make love?" Andrew turned his face toward  hers. The dark bristle on his chin scratched her smooth  skin, yet she found the sensation pleasant despite her  resolve to feel nothing.
     "Yes," she answered, vaguely promising him  something she never expected to give.
     "We need not wait 'til evening to roll about in the  damp grass." Andrew turned more fully toward Judy,  embraced her, and pushed her down on her back. When  he lay down beside her, he mumbled in her hair, "We  could make love here in this nice, soft bed."  Oh, yeah. "But...it wouldn't be the Beltane  celebration."
     "We need no peasants to celebrate." Andrew kissed  Judy's ear, her throat, her chin. He moved one hand  down her chest, cupping her breast.
     Her insides were turning to pudding. She had to stop  him before she couldn't stop herself. "This isn't right,"  she announced, forcing her limbs to go stiff. "I--I can't."  "Oh, aye, of course you cannot." As though in full  agreement and understanding, Andrew calmly slid off  the bed and found his feet. "You must save yourself for  Philip, eh? Mayhap he'll come 'round and take you off  so that you may both enjoy the dancing, the drinking,  and other...pastimes...by the Beltane fires. Because I  surely will not."
     "Andrew!" Judy rolled to her knees and called to him  as he opened the bedchamber door.
     "What?" he snapped, pausing to glance over his  shoulder.
     Judy refused to beg. She had never begged anyone  for anything, and she certainly did not intend to start  with Andrew Laycock, junior lord-and-master of this  medieval keep. Besides, she didn't need him. She would  do what she had to do on her own.
     "My lighter," she said primly, holding out her hand.  "My fire-starter. Give it back."
     "Why?"
     "Because it's mine, not yours."
     Andrew hesitated, glancing at the object in his palm.
     Then he looked up at Judy and said, "I never take what  is not offered freely," and tossed the lighter back to her.  She caught it as he exited the room. Immediately,  she scrambled off the bed and tried the latch on the  door.
     He'd locked her in.
     Twelve
     Nobody fed Judy that evening. It seemed they  intended to let her go hungry rather than risk opening  the door. What did they think, that she would overpower  anyone who dared bring her supper into her room?  In fact, Judy had been planning ways to do just that.  But--having glanced at the digital timepiece secured  to the leatherette cover of her daily planner--she knew  it was hours past mealtime. Damn! The Laycock  brothers treated her as though she were a female  Hannibal Lechter. If only she had the powers that Elfred  feared and Robin suspected. If only she'd come from even  farther in the future, she could vaporize her huge,  heavy door with a laser gun. She'd hurry downstairs,  then, and outside, and straight to that place of power  where the winds of time would carry her away.  Place of power. Wow! That's what Ian MacCoombs  had called those spots he'd come to explore, which he  insisted were numerous in the Wixcomb area. That's  what lay beyond the bailey wall, where she occasionally  had that weird, undefinable sensation and where, that  first night, she had felt as though she'd exploded into a  million sparkling particles.
     The mystery of Judy's time travel suddenly began to  come together in her mind. Ian had spoken of yin and  yang, had said that some places of power were masculine  and others feminine. Some, he had explained, filled a  person up while others dissolved or dispersed energy.  Judy felt certain she had dispersed in some fashion,  probably the way the crew of the Enterprise did whenever  Scotty beamed them up. She had traveled centuries,  nearly a thousand years, unencumbered by her body,  only to reassemble as the woman she was in an age  where she wasn't meant to be.
     "I have got to get out," Judy muttered with renewed  determination. Again, she attempted to open her door  as she had fifty times already. Failing once more, she  frowned pensively as she walked to her window.
     Rain had begun to fall softly, the gentle mist  glistening as the moisture drifted to earth. But Judy  spied no human activity, heard no singing, saw no bone- fires. In spite of the lateness of the hour, full darkness  had yet to fall--they had incredibly long daylight hours,  here in the England. So perhaps it wasn't time yet.  Perhaps they had to wait for night to descend. Or,  perhaps, the rain forced them to cancel their revelry.  Judy began to sink into despair. Then she roused  herself, demanding aloud, "What am I thinking?" She  didn't need company. She had no plans to bring human  exhibits home with her to 1998. Her travel plans could  only be solitary; tonight, she would make her journey  alone.
     ***
     Judy had broken four of ten fingernails. For hours,  she had pulled, tugged, even rammed her door with her  shoulder. She had attacked the hinges and called to  anyone she thought she heard passing in the corridor.  She had even lain on her stomach and peered through  the slim crack between the door and floor--for what  purpose, even she hadn't been sure. Now her hands  looked rough and raw, and her arms hurt. Yet still that  damned door refused to budge.
     Faint music drifted to her ear, not from below but  from beyond. Rushing to the window, she spied in the  blackness a huge, smoking fire on a distant hill. The  revelers had proved heartier than she'd presumed.  Despite the rain, they had ventured outdoors and  climbed the hills to celebrate.
     Judy panicked and felt the urge to pace. Resisting  that compulsion, she took a deep breath instead and  sat on a stool. Clearing her head, she forced herself to  calmly consider the door again and analyze its  configuration. There had to be a way to open it based  on...physics? Some laws of nature. Some principles that  people of this time did not know but she, a college  graduate, had to have tucked away in her brain. Once  the knowledge came back to her, Judy would breach  the barrier and escape.
     But it wasn't coming to her, the way her little bit of  French had surfaced when she needed it, and all that
     darned history she hadn't realized she knew just popped  out of her mouth.
     ***
     Judy wiped the perspiration from her brow. Why was  she sweating? It wasn't that warm, and she surely hadn't  overexerted herself physically, not for some time. Had  to be nerves.
     Okay. If she couldn't unlock her door or break  through it, she would trick someone else into opening  it from the other side. Deciding on this new tactic, she  grabbed coals from her fire and dropped them into the  earthen bowl she used for washing. Though she used a  towel to pluck the glowing chunks of wood from the pit  and toss them into the basin, she still burned the pads  of her fingers, which immediately began to redden and  blister.
     Her flesh stung, but she didn't care. Music and voices  continued to drift to her window from the peasants'  celebration, and it spurred her to action. She had to get  out now. Carrying the bowl to the door, she set it on the  floor and then scurried back to the table, where she  wet her towel and wrung it out. Then, like an Indian  sending signals, she lay the damp cloth over the coals  till they smoldered and smoked. Fanning the gray, acrid  fumes toward the door, she hoped they would seep below  and between the banded boards.
     "Fire!" she cried dramatically. "Help me, please.  Fire!"
     Footsteps pounded up the stairs. "Eeeyesss!" Judy  made a fist and pulled it toward her body in a triumphant  gesture. Her ruse had worked! When they opened the  door, she would fall against whoever stood there,  startling that unwary person and knocking him aside.  Then she'd run like mad down the stairs and on outdoors.  God willing, she wouldn't trip and no one would catch  her. She had to make it through the gate in the bailey  walls to that place of power.
     The gate. Would the portcullis be raised or lowered?  Up, she had a chance. Down, she was doomed. But stuck  in this room high up in the keep, she knew she couldn't  even make a grab at freedom. So she decided not to  worry about the portcullis. Her immediate and only
     concern remained the chamber door.
     She kept fanning her towel and blowing, encouraging  the smoke to billow and swirl around her. This didn't  seem like such a hot idea after all, she reconsidered,  coughing and rubbing her itchy eyes. Where had the  people gone whom she'd heard coming up the stairs?  Why didn't they open the door and let her out?  "Hey! You! Whoever's in the hallway, let me out! I--  I'm suffocating!"
     "Witch!" Judy recognized Elfred's voice. "You used  your magic fire-starter to set your room ablaze. Now use  other magic to put out the flames."
     "I didn't. I--I can't!"
     "You can," Elfred insisted.
     "But the keep. It'll burn down."
     "Nay, it shall not. 'Tis made of stone. Only the  furnishings in your room will be destroyed, if you fail to  put out the fire."
     "But I'll die," Judy wailed.
     "That may be true," he conceded. Elfred sounded not  at all displeased at the notion. "Witches die when set to  flame. You should have thought of that before--"  "Where's Andrew?" she interrupted, putting the wet  cloth over her mouth as she dragged in a gulp of air.  Andrew would let her out. He wouldn't let her die, even  if she were near to dying, which she wasn't.  Elfred laughed. "Nowhere about," he informed Judy.  He said nothing more after that, not even when she  spoke to him. Though she hadn't heard retreating  footsteps, she knew he'd gone away.
     Damn him! Squinting in order to see through the  smoke and the tears welling in her eyes, Judy grabbed  the pitcher of water off her table and dumped the entire  contents into the bowl of glowing coals. She knew the  fire would go out, but she did not anticipate the volume  of smoke and steam that hissed upward, directly into  her face. The hot fumes sent Judy staggering back to  the window again.
     Fighting for air, she hung out the window, gasping.  By the time her breathing came without huge effort,  she realized the night had gone still. The festivities,  whatever they might have been, appeared to have ended.
     Perhaps the damp weather had forced a premature  conclusion to the burning of bones, the wanton sex, the  ceremonies designed to frighten goblins and ensure good  luck. Or perhaps twelve o'clock had come and gone. She  didn't know if the witching hour of midnight had any  significance in pagan rituals, but she suspected it might.  Dates turned over from one to the next at that moment.  For all she knew, the first of May, Beltane, could now be  yesterday.
     Frantically, she dove toward her bed and the tote on  top of it. She scrabbled with her fingers, searching the  contents by feel until she found her daily planner with  its little digital clock. When she saw the numerals  blinking up at her from the notebook's cover, her heart  sank. Midnight had indeed come and gone, at least as  people measured time in her world. As they also counted  days, the date, revealed in a tiny square in the upper  corner of the clock, read 12:12:98.
     "God, no."
     As though she'd been struck a painful blow to the  side of her head, Judy held her cheek in her hand.  Cringing, she slid to the floor 'til she sat with the bed  bracing her back. With one hand, she dashed away tears  before wiping her runny nose. And finally, she absorbed  the full impact of what that date meant to her, to her  family, to her friends.
     By December 12, 1998, Carla Whittaker had  certainly given up searching for her or even waiting on  her return. She had flown back to New York, probably  saddened by Judy's disappearance but resigned to getting  on with her writing, her work, her wedding.  Her parents had to know that she was missing, had  surely been living with that knowledge for weeks. Had  they traveled to England, spoken to Lord Laycock, Mrs.  Haversham, and even Ian MacCoombs in their efforts  to discover what had happened, where she had gone? Of  course they had. They had walked where she had  walked, seen what she had seen.
     She wept, cradling her head in her arms now as  she leaned against her bent knees. Pitiful, heart- wrenching scenarios played out in her mind, as the  Ghost of Christmas Future tortured her with images of
     her own parents' holiday, the one they would attempt to  celebrate while believing their only daughter dead.  The Edwin Grant Agency. She brought her head up  as she thought about her work place. Had they already  replaced her? Did somebody new handle Carla and all  her other writers? Did her coworkers and clients miss  her, or had no one skipped a beat, settling right in with  the agent who now occupied her office?  Misery washed over her like a cold, ocean wave. It  knocked her flat, nearly suffocating her, and left her  chilled and shivering. Despairing over her losses,  succumbing to her defeat, she dropped her head into  her arms again and wept until her tears ran dry.  ***
     Judy hiccuped as she looked out her window. Did  she detect the faintest hint of light beginning to overlay  the evening clouds? No. It couldn't be. She saw not the  slightest suggestion of dawn. She had time, yet. Time.  She placed one foot on the end of the wire she'd  ripped from her spiral notebook. With both hands, she  rubbed out the remaining kinks, pulling hard, drawing  it as straight as she could while she worked it from one  end to the other. Examining the funky-looking wire, she  knew it would never be any straighter than it already  was. But it still might work--it had to. She could spare  no more time for refinements.
     Sometime during the night, she realized she hadn't  been confined with a padlock. The mechanism that held  her imprisoned was no more than a latch, simple and  primitive. She only had to lift the latch to obtain her  freedom, easy as that.
     And complicated as that. The door had been  fashioned of heavy boards, as thick as young tree trunks.  It fit the framing stones securely--only an inch of space  kept the wood from dragging on the floor when it opened  and closed. The remaining three sides, including the  top, fit snug as a puzzle piece. On the latch side, the  space in the seam would allow nothing wider to pass  than a sheet of paper or a piece of straw. And neither of  those items would prove sturdy enough to flip the iron  latch on the outside of the door.
     But a wire would. Judy had scoured the contents of
     her tote, considering and discarding pens, pencils, and  a rat-tailed comb before landing on the idea of the wire.  All she'd had to do was rip off the paper and straighten  the curly-cued metal.
     The task hadn't proven quite as easy as she'd  anticipated, but she had done it. Now she knelt on the  floor and put her eye to the space between the wood  door and the stone wall. Then she slipped the wire  through that space directly below the latch.  One single thrust upward, that's all it took. Yet the  rush of wild happiness she felt was tinged with  annoyance and anger. She should have thought of this  much sooner. If she had, she might be home by now.  But she hadn't the leisure for self-recrimination.  Hearing the latch flip, she eagerly leapt to her feet and  levered the inside door latch. When she pulled, the door  finally swung open.
     Freedom!
     Giddy with relief, delight and anticipation, she  whirled around, grabbed her tote, and ran into the  hallway--only to stop, catch her breath, and press  herself against the wall.
     She couldn't be brash. It was late, very late, a perfect  time to escape because the servants wouldn't be moving  about yet. And their masters, the lords of Laycock, must  be in their beds as well. In this era when people went to  sleep as soon as the sun set, even those nobles with  candles to burn could not still be awake, debauching  women and drinking wine. Yet she couldn't be brash.  She tiptoed carefully down the stairs, holding her  breath and inhaling only sporadically. As she picked her  way through the snoring, snorting bodies and left the  keep through a rear exit, she could not contain a smile.  Though she hadn't succeeded yet, she just knew she  was going to make it. Very soon, she would be home.  ***
     A hound using Andrew's foot as a pillow made a  sound barely loud enough for him to hear. Yet he did  hear it, and he woke. Opening his eyes to mere slits,  he peered through the gloom to try to see what had  snagged the spaniel's attention. He felt no concern.  Laycock was well-protected, and even the dog sensed
     no danger. But still, it proved unusual for anyone to be  moving about at this hour of the night.  It was Judith! By all the saints, she had gotten out  of her room. Now, as he watched, the damsel stepped  over servants and guards who lay sprawled haphazardly  across the great hall's floor. Where in damnation was  she going?
     He didn't ask. He didn't call out to her or even sit up  straighter in the chair where he'd drifted to sleep after  a long night in Robin's company. But after she had  slipped from the hall, he rose silently, nimbly  circumventing the prone bodies in his path as he  followed her outside.
     Stepping into the bailey felt like stepping into a tomb.  The blackness seemed palpable, and the air was damp  and chill. He was glad he had failed to remove his mantle  upon returning to the keep earlier. Now, he hugged the  woolen cape close about his arms as he watched Judith  dart straight toward the bailey wall. She melted into  the shadows, a black figure fading into a black abyss.  Yet, as she made her way toward the front gate, he  glimpsed her periodically when a faint halo of light cast  by a flickering torch illuminated her fair tresses.  She slipped beneath the iron teeth of the raised  portcullis, clinging to one of the stone towers that  flanked each side. As he followed several paces behind,  he noticed that she continued to hug the outside of the  wall just as she had the inside. This surprised him.  He'd half presumed she would dash down the hills toward  the village. He never expected her to purposely hide  from the guards pacing the crenelated parapet above.  Gaining speed as she made her way around the  stronghold's perimeter, Judith broke into a run when  she neared the postern side. He quickened his stride  to keep pace with her, no longer concerned that he  remain unnoticed. She proved herself oblivious to him  as she abandoned caution for recklessness.  Who is she meeting? he wondered, caught between  curiosity and suspicion, concern and dismay. Had Judith  planned to rendezvous with Philip? Had their scheme  been thwarted by Robin locking her in her room?  Andrew knew relief that she had been restrained
     and almost felt grateful to his brothers, who had insisted  upon her confinement. They, after all, would leave soon  to rejoin their father, and Judith would again be free to  roam at will. But because of Elfred's fears and Robin's  discretion, she would still remain with him at Laycock.  She could not run off with Philip. Even if his friend  continued to wait for her, Andrew would never allow him  to take her.
     Abruptly, Judith left the cover of the high wall and  dashed off, surprising him. To him, it seemed as though  she had spied her lover's welcoming arms and rushed  to embrace him. But there was no lover, not even Philip,  and no ready arms to catch her. Judith fell to her knees  on a little patch of sparse grass a short distance away.  Andrew stopped, remaining undetected standing near  the wall, and watched her in puzzled confusion. She  huddled alone, clutching her satchel in her lap and  rocking back and forth.
     The wench broke his heart. Judith Lamb had never  looked more pathetic nor more vulnerable than she did  at this moment. He yearned to go to her, to take her  hand and lead her back inside the keep where he could  hold her safe. But she startled him with a wild, demented  cry, and he froze where he stood.
     Judith threw back her head and wailed plaintively,  pleading unintelligibly with the starless heavens. Even  as she shouted into the night sky, she clawed at the  ground with one hand, grabbing clumps of grass and  fistfuls of damp soil. To Andrew, she seemed to be  desperately clinging to the earth as someone who lost  his footing on a wall might clasp the ledge.  "Please, please, please," she shouted. "Home, home,  home! Take me home! Take me home!"
     The sound of her muted cry, muffled by the heavy,  damp air, gave him the sensation of spiders crawling  down his spine. If Elfred saw her now, a virtual  madwoman invoking the forces of Nature, he would  insist Judith was a witch and Andrew could not gainsay  him. She appeared to be a witch, a sorceress, or a  magician, though not a very capable one. For whatever  forces she implored, they answered her only with an  onslaught of hard, pounding rain. Though Andrew
     ducked his head and visored his eyes when the  downpour descended, he saw that she continued to leave  her head thrown back, exposing her face to the needling  raindrops.
     "Jesu," he muttered, finally running to her and  gathering her into his arms. "Judith!"  "No, no. Let me go! Let me go!"
     She fought wildly against his embrace, but he  refused to release her. "You are not going anywhere,  Judith, except into the keep. Why, in the name of all  things holy, are you out in this storm shouting at the  sky?"
     "I--I--I--" She ceased flailing and blinked at him,  as though only now recognizing him. Then she shook  her head, offering no explanation for her escape from a  locked chamber or her baffling rampage at the night.  He didn't care. Judith was neither a witch nor a  wraith but merely a woman. His woman, by default if  not declaration, for everyone else seemed to reject her.  Even Philip, whom she trusted, perhaps adored.  "You're shivering," he observed as he scooped her  up and held her close, carrying her back toward the fore  of the bailey and the huge iron gate. "You foolish,  obstinate wench. You've probably caught your death out  here in the rain."
     "Good," Judith muttered. "Good."
     Thirteen
     "What in damnation do you mean, there was a fire  in her chamber and you did naught to release her? You  endangered her life and the lives of all those who live  in the keep!"
     Standing in Elfred's bedchamber shouting at his  brother, Andrew clenched and unclenched his fingers.  He wanted nothing so much as to beat Elfred senseless.  But that would only serve to rouse Robin's ire, and  besides, he wanted to hear an explanation, outrageous  and unacceptable as it might be.
     Elfred threw back his covers and climbed out of bed.  Reaching for his robe, he insisted, "How dare you burst  in upon me before dawn has even broke? I endangered  no one's life. The keep cannot burn, and neither can  witches, if they be not tied to a stake!"  "You bastard! Judith Lamb is no witch!" Glad Elfred  had donned his bed robe, Andrew grabbed him by the  fabric covering his chest.
     "She is something unholy," he insisted.  "Why do you believe that? The fire-starter's a clever  tool, is all. And we know her sire is an inventor. 'Tis he  who created the damnable thing. 'Tis hardly magic."  "So you say. As you say her sire is that alchemist,  Peter Lamb. But you've no proof, Andrew. You've no proof  at all."
     "That gives you the right to let her die--to...to kill  her?" He pushed Elfred away with a hard thrust, so that  his brother stumbled into a table at his back.  "What is going on here?" Robin demanded, appearing  unexpectedly in the open doorway.
     Andrew turned around to face him. "When we were  gone from the keep last eve," he explained, "Elfred kept  Judith locked in her room despite a fire that could have  killed her."
     Robin frowned at Elfred. "Is this true?"  "Nay!" Again, he repeated his contention that Judith  could not die because of her sorcery. "Besides, 'twas she
     who set the blaze as a ruse to get out of the chamber so  that she could work her magic on Beltane Eve," he added.  Calmly, Robin glanced at Andrew with both his  eyebrows raised. "She is not dead, after all. Mayhap Elfred  is correct."
     "He is not correct. Jesu, but if Judith possessed  unearthly powers, would she need a ruse to get free of  her chamber?" He sneered at Elfred. Then, facing Robin,  he insisted, "The girl was merely fortunate. Bridget told  me what went on here last eve while we were making  merry. Judith screamed and begged for release as smoke  billowed from beneath her door, filling the hallway. Yet  Elfred prevented Bridget from unlocking the door."  "I would see the chamber myself," Robin declared,  turning to go. But Andrew grabbed his sleeve.  "Nay. Do not disturb her. The damsel's tired."  "But not dead," Elfred added.
     "Keep quiet, I warn you!" Andrew whirled and glared  at him threateningly.
     Sighing, Robin said, "No serious harm has been  done, then, eh? Let it go, Andrew. Elfred will be leaving  here with me this very day, as we must visit other  demesnes to ensure the barons' efforts against King  John are organized. Then we shall rejoin Father near  London. There shall be no more incidents involving the  wench."
     "The lady," Andrew corrected.
     "Aye, then. The lady. Surely, by the time we all  return, either to go to battle or because the king has at  last agreed to our demands, Judith--Lady Judith--shall  long since be reunited with her kin."
     Andrew nodded.
     "Speaking of ladies, I've had word from Mother,"  Robin continued. "She and our sisters have gone on to  visit other relatives. They shan't be returning to  Laycock for some weeks yet. 'Tis a good thing, I believe,  that they not be in residence while we ready ourselves  for war." He cocked an eyebrow at his youngest brother.  "You will prepare to command our men, aye? Sir Roland  is an excellent captain of the guard, but should Father  send word that our knights are needed to attack the  king's fiefs, a lord of Laycock should lead them to the
     site of battle."
     "It should be me," Elfred grumbled. "I am Andrew's  elder."
     "You were the one who wished to join Father and  me, and now he has other tasks for you. Cease your  complaining and get dressed," Robin ordered before  quitting the room and taking Andrew with him.  In the corridor, he said quietly, "The girl should go.  I do not believe her a fey creature, but even you must  admit she is most unusual, in both appearance and  demeanor. If this knight, Peter Lamb, is indeed her  sire, he has done his daughter a great disservice." Robin  shook his head, his expression troubled. "Mayhap, in a  small society of students of nature, Judith is deemed  an asset. But she can be naught but an outcast among  gentility, as the daughter of a Jewish moneylender would  be among good Christian people."
     Andrew clenched his jaw, yet he nodded silently.  "Mind my warning," Robin urged. "Get her gone from  Laycock Keep before Mother returns."
     ***
     "Where is Lady Judith?" Andrew asked Bridget as  he sat down at the high table to partake of the evening  meal. He had not clapped eyes on her since Beltane,  not since before his brothers rode off. "Have her join  me."
     Bridget frowned. "Milord, she remains abed."  "Still?" The wench had been abed for two whole days  and the evening between. He had surmised that she  was avoiding him purposely, but perhaps she had fallen  ill with something more than mere exhaustion. "Why?"  he asked the servant brusquely to cover his rising  concern. "What ails her?"
     "I fear I know not."
     "She's not dead?" he demanded, jumping to his feet.  "Oh, nay, milord. I saw her returning from the  garderobe once yesterday and again today. But she's  eaten nothing that I've noticed, and she sleeps the days  away. Methinks she has a fever, milord."  "Why did you say naught?" He stomped off the dais  and headed toward the stairs.
     "You've been occupied, Lord Andrew." Bridget
     hurried after him. "I did not think you'd wish to be  bothered."
     "As you did not think I'd wish to be bothered when  my cockshead of a brother left her to burn to death in  her chamber?" He glanced over his shoulder and  glowered at the young woman who had once been his  playmate.
     "I--I did not know where you and Lord Robin had  gone," she explained. "Besides, Lord Elfred was quite  unyielding. He forbade me and anyone else to unlock  Lady Judith's door."
     The two of them reached Judith's room. Andrew  pushed the unlatched door open and walked directly to  the bed.
     He felt a start. Sweet Mother Mary, but she looked  sickly, so pale and drawn. Her closed eyes seemed  bruised and sunken.
     "God's blood, Bridget!" he said in a harsh whisper.  "We must do something."
     "I know not what, milord. Mayhap if she wakes and  tells us what is wrong--"
     "Judith!" he interrupted, speaking directly to her.  "Judith, do you hear me? Please, sweetling. Open your  eyes. Speak to me." He shook Judith's shoulder gently  and touched her face. She didn't move, and her skin  felt hot and moist with perspiration.
     "The lady is burning up. Bridget, bathe her with cool  water. Now! Try to bring her fever down."  As he stood by watching the servant tend Judith, he  wondered if he had been prophetic when he told her  she might have caught her death in that cold rainstorm.  But he had merely meant to chide the wench. He hadn't  truly believed what he said. The damsel was too  substantial and too robust, too youthful and too vigorous,  to succumb to what--a damnable spring rain? Judith  couldn't die from getting wet!
     But she could will herself to die. With an abrupt  feeling of dread, he suspected she actually wanted to  die. This illness might serve as the method--the  excuse--to be released from a life she no longer wished  to live. The other evening, on the hillside beyond the  bailey, she had been imploring God to take her. Now,
     God would take her--if Andrew let Him.  But he didn't intend to let Him. God could have her  one day. He would have them all one day. But not today,  nor tomorrow, nor any day soon. Now, Judith was here.  And if she belonged to anyone, she belonged to Andrew  of Laycock.
     Bridget wrung out her rag and set it aside. She looked  at Andrew helplessly. "Mayhap, if we got a bit of water  into her? The lady's lips are parched."  Agreeing, he gave Bridget a nod and replaced her at  Judith's bedside. Taking the cup she handed to him, he  raised Judith's head and touched the rim to her lips.  "Judith." He tried to tip some liquid into her mouth.  "Judith, drink."
     It seemed more dribbled down her chin than down  her throat, but he hoped she took a little into her  stomach. "Leave us," he told the servant as he laid  Judith's head back against the pillow. "I'll call you when  I must leave her room. Then, I shall want you beside  the damsel at all times. If she soils herself, clean her.  If she can drink more water, give her broth for  nourishment. Do you understand?"
     "Aye, milord," Bridget assured him, though he did  not even turn to look at her before she left the chamber.  He looked only at Judith's face, his innards twisting in  fear as he watched the illness begin to ravage her  beauty.
     Suddenly she thrashed, startling him as she began  to break out of her lethargy with a violent energy.  Attempting to keep her still and comfort her, he grabbed  Judith's shoulders and held her close until she finally  fell quiet. When he released her, he found she'd turned  her face away.
     He touched her chin, drawing her face back toward  him. "Sweetling, listen to me. You've been asleep for  days now. You must awaken. Do you hear? Awaken!"  Nothing. The wench again lay still as stone.  Regretting it before he did it, he slapped her cheek  lightly with three fingers of one hand. Judith mewled  like an annoyed feline and rolled away, burying her face  in the covers.
     He grabbed the bowl and cloth, and drenched the rag
     in water again. He knew Bridget had already bathed  her, but he felt a need to do something. Touching Judith's  chin so that she lay looking upward, he clumsily placed  the sodden cloth full over her face.
     "No!"
     "Aye," he countered stubbornly, relieved to hear her  protest. He rubbed the cloth roughly over Judith's face,  as though she were a dirty child who needed scrubbing.  He hoped she would protest some more.
     "N-n-n-n-n..." she muttered, grabbing blindly for the  rag.
     Andrew let her catch it and toss it off. It heartened  him to see her blink her eyes again. "Who am I, Judith?"  "I don'..." She breathed heavily. "Drew. An...drew."  His heart leapt at this small accomplishment, this  mumbled response.
     "Aye! I be Andrew. And you be Judith. Judith?"  "Don' yell... My head...hurts. Hurts!" She closed her  eyes again, grimaced and touched her hand to her brow.  "As...pirin. Gimme...aspirin. Please."  "Ass-brin?" he repeated. "What is ass-brin?"  She didn't reply. Her eyes remained closed, and her  hand dropped to her side. He feared she might be slipping  away again.
     "Nay, Judith Lamb, do not drift off! Stay with me, do  you hear? And tell me!" He leaned over and shook her  shoulders one more time. "What is ass-brin?"  "You...know."
     "I do not know! Tell me!"
     "Please...don' shout. My head..."
     "Where do I find this thing you want? In your  satchel? Is it in your satchel?"
     Her eyes opened only to slits, and she nodded almost  imperceptibly.
     A moment later, he had her tote perched on the edge  of the mattress. Unzipping it, he pulled the sides apart  and stared into the abyss.
     "What does it look like, Judith? For what do I search?"  "Pills. In a...a bottle."
     He had no idea what "pills" or a "bottle" might be.  Taking the tote to the unoccupied side of Judith's bed,  Andrew spilled most of its contents across the wrinkled
     bedclothes.
     God's toes, what a clutter of indescribable objects!  Which among them might be ass-brin?
     "Judith? Here. Look. Tell me what item you desire."  She resisted him. After a time, either because she  wanted ass-brin more than she did sleep, or because  she simply wanted to be free of his pestering, Judith  managed to roll onto her side and run her hand over  the collection of debris beside her. He watched as she  felt with her fingertips first one object and then another,  discarding each without looking at any.  Finally, she clasped a small container in her hand  and held it toward him. He marveled at the remarkable  vessel. He could actually see into it and its contents,  which appeared to be a great number of flat, white  pebbles.
     "Open," she mumbled.
     He tried. He failed.
     "Line up the arrows...the triangles. One on cap. Other  on neck."
     He peered at the bottle and finally made out the  emblems. Rotating the cap until the minute figures  matched, he managed, on this attempt, to pop the lid  off.
     "Two. No--three," Judith told him.
     He tapped three of the pebbles into his hand and  gave them to her.
     "Water. I need...water."
     He brought her the water cup, and she tossed the  pebbles into her mouth. She swallowed much more  liquid to ease them down her throat than she had sipped  earlier. Then, as though the effort drained the last of  her feeble strength, she fell back against her pillow and  closed her eyes.
     She appeared to be asleep again already. But as he  straightened the coverlet, tucking it beneath Judith's  chin, she mumbled, "Three. Every...hours."  Judith said something between "every" and "hours,"  but he couldn't make it out. He decided to give her three  of the pebbles every Church hour. Terce had just passed.  He would give her more at Sext, when the sun rode high  in the sky.
     ***
     Andrew had carried a high-backed chair into Judith's  chamber. He sat in it now, near the foot of her bed.  Tired, he fought to stay awake. All day he had busied  himself with preparations for war. The burden of  leadership had not wearied him, but his gnawing  concern for Judith stretched his raw nerves taut. Never  completely out of his thoughts, whenever he heard the  priest ring the bells at Sext, None and Vespers, Andrew  interrupted what he was doing to go to Judith's room  and force the pebbles into her mouth. He could have  instructed Bridget to feed her the mysterious disks. But  Judith trusted him to do it, so he did.  It seemed that her head no longer hurt so violently  as it had. She slept peacefully, without thrashing. If the  ass-brin could make a headache vanish, he hoped the  ass-brin could cure whatever else ailed Judith.  A short while ago, at Compline, he had given Judith  three more of the...what? Not pebbles, he decided as he  sat examining two of the small, white circles in his palm.  Earlier, he had broken one apart with his thumbnail. It  appeared to be powder, not rock. As it crumbled into his  hand, he thought it might be flour, a bit of dried bread, a  piece of holy wafer, mayhap. Then he gingerly put his  tongue to the white dust and found it tasted bitter. No  wonder Judith preferred to swallow them whole. What  had she called these things? Pills. He would have to  remember her word, because he had no word of his own  for them.
     His eyes flicked to the form lying so motionless in  the bed. Did Judith's stillness portend good or bad? Her  quiet state could mean her health improved and that,  no matter what her desire, she was growing stronger.  But perhaps her stillness indicated only that she slipped  nearer to death.
     Impulsively, he pushed himself to his feet and went  to her bedside. Noticing a cup of broth still sitting on  the table, he retrieved it and tried to force a bit between  her lips. Much of the liquid dripped onto her sheets, but  he saw her swallow. And then, suddenly, she began to  choke. With a mutinous cry, she knocked the cup from  his hand, sending it spewing broth as it tumbled to the
     floor with a clatter.
     He chuckled, laid her down again, and wiped both  her chin and her neck with a rag. Judith could not be  so near death after all, if she could force her will on  him with such vehemence!
     Bending down to retrieve the cup, he noticed a  casket hidden under the bed. He pulled it out and opened  it. Inside lay his things, his family's things! Beatrix's  embroidered pillow, a goblet, and his own bone dice. He  had known Judith had taken them--but why? Could she  be a common thief, a poor peasant who had tricked them  into letting her live here like a noblewoman? Were  these the spoils of her clever victory over her betters,  who thought themselves educated and wise but whom  she considered easy foils?
     Nay. Judith was many things, but common wasn't  one of them. Certainly, she could be no petty thief. He  would, in fact, have given her these paltry household  items if she had asked. But she hadn't asked.  He shook his head firmly before returning the  casket to its hiding place. Despite the evidence, he could  not believe she was a thief anymore than he could  believe she was a witch.
     He sat down in his chair. Beside it, near his feet,  lay Judith's satchel. Because he had been thinking of  all her fantastic possessions, he pulled the bag into his  lap, opened the zipper, and began to examine the items  carefully, one at a time.
     Judith did indeed own more than one writing pen.  He discovered two. Again he came upon the fire-starter,  which erupted so handily with a spontaneous flame. He  also fondled the brocade pouch with the fasteners she  had called Velcro. There were other containers like her  pill bottle, too, some large, some small. A few contained  salves, and others held more pills of different shapes  and colors. However, he found Judith's sheaf of bound  pages had gone missing, though the paper she had  written on remained, folded in half and clasped together  with a curious device of looped metal.  He toyed with a hefty tube that seemed to be capped  with a big, shiny eye. When he moved the lever on the  side of the tube, the eye burst into light. He exclaimed,
     swearing furiously, and flung it away. Then, feeling  foolish and glad no one had seen his cowardice, he  retrieved the device. When he thumbed the lever up  and down, a cool, steady beacon, too white to be fire,  appeared and disappeared, though he could find neither  a wick nor a flame inside. What a marvel! Had Peter  Lamb created this device and all the others? If so, the  inventor should be ruling the world, or at least be the  wealthiest man in all Christendom. What other men,  even kings, would pay for these things!  He discovered a small box. Flipping it over, this way  and that, he couldn't even guess what it contained, what  its function might be. He did see tiny written words: P- L-A-Y. R-E-W-I-N-D. He knew the words "play" and "wind"  but could not fathom why they, and others, had been  sketched onto the box. The biggest word he saw, S-A-N- Y-O, meant nothing to him at all. It was another of  Judith's words, one from her odd-sounding English.  "Shite," Andrew swore. The next item he pulled from  the bag he had not seen before--it must have been  caught beneath something heavier when he'd dumped  the satchel onto Judith's bed. Now, for an instant, he  felt terrified all over again. He would have flung the  object, as he had the illuminating eye, except his fingers  felt as though they had melted around the handle.  Cautiously, he looked at the thing in his hand.  Breathing deeply, he willed himself to stay calm as he  peered at himself and saw his own face looking back at  him. God's blood, he beheld a mirror! No polished piece  of metal this, but something else altogether. The surface  felt smooth and cool beneath his fingertips, almost like  ice. But the veneer wasn't ice that dripped as the frozen  water warmed and melted. The object remained solid.  And his reflection remained perfect. He couldn't help  staring. God's teeth, but he was not a bad looking man!  And he looked much more like Robin than he'd ever  thought he did. But then, he had never seen himself  before, not in such clear, precise detail. It seemed as  though another Andrew of Laycock had materialized,  an Andrew of Laycock with neither bulk nor depth who  proved to be his identical twin.
     When he flipped the mirror over, he had another
     surprise, but he quickly came to terms with that uneasy  feeling. He understood that this surface had been  designed to distort his reflection, more so than the  ripples in a pond or the uneven plane of a piece of  polished metal. Jesu! He had never been so intrigued  by anything as he was the pores and the whiskers on  his face.
     After a time, he gave up his personal examination  because he had saved the most intriguing item for last.  From the satchel, he finally pulled a mysterious, flat  box and set it on his knees. Examining the edges, he  soon puzzled out how to open it. And, with a quick intake  of breath, he did.
     He did not know what he expected to find inside.  Something blindingly brilliant, perhaps. Something truly  magical, at least. Or, perhaps, a vast amount of gold  and jewels. Something valuable, precious, even holy.  But there seemed to be nothing inside. The  underside of the lid appeared flat and smooth as the  mirror, though its surface looked dim. The bottom half,  in his lap, had been carved with an array of raised  rectangles, each marked with a symbol. They were--  aye--letters! Pleased he recognized them for what they  were, since all had been queerly fashioned and some  were missing, he understood these symbols formed the  written word. But it perplexed him, since he found  nothing to write with in this box--no paper, no brushes,  not even one of Judith's pens.
     He closed the box and latched it. As he sat back in  the chair, watching Judith sleep, he felt confident that  one day she would explain its purpose because she would  recover. He would see to it. He would not let her die.  But what then? She would leave--she would leave  him! He could not delay contacting Peter Lamb  indefinitely. When they discovered he had sent no  messenger to York, Philip, if not Arthur, would send a  man to question the alchemist. And Andrew knew what  the old knight's response would be: Judith was his  missing daughter. Not only would she be welcomed  home, Philip would then court her in earnest. Nay, he  would promptly ask for her hand and quickly wed her!  At least Philip would wed her if Judith fulfilled his
     requirements for a bride. If she failed in that matter,  Philip would instead marry Penelope. Such a union  would please Andrew as much as it would please Lady  Edwinna. But what if Philip chose the other damsel over  Judith not because she proved to be poor, but because  she proved to be already wed? The idea that Judith might  have a husband made Andrew's stomach queasy. He  had never expected Judith Lamb to come into his life,  but now that she had, he couldn't imagine living without  her. By the saints, he could barely remember living life  without her!
     He decided not to speculate. As he gazed at her  slumbering form, he knew Judith was going nowhere  for a long time to come.
     Fourteen
     Judy had been drowning in a murky, turbulent sea.  Deep currents buffeted her, tugging, pushing, pulling,  while tentacled monsters imprisoned her with their  limbs, squeezing the breath--and life--from her.  Sometimes, it seemed to Judy she broke free and swam  away. She even reached out to grasp a hand, a hand  attempting to draw her to safety. But then light, sounds  and other intrusions dismayed and disturbed her. So  she allowed herself to sink down deep again, so deep,  the dense, numbing darkness cocooned her. If dangers  remained present, she hadn't sensed them.  Today, though, that strange sea coughed her up,  and she could not resist opening her eyes. Like any  shipwrecked sailor, she felt too weak and exhausted to  do more than contemplate her surroundings from the  same spot in which she'd awakened. To her chagrin,  she found no white, sandy beach beneath her, only dingy  linen. No brilliant blue Caribbean sky above, only the  heavy fabric that canopied her bed. No swaying palm  trees, only the cold stones of her room at Laycock Keep.  And no chattering monkeys and birds, only the servant  called Bridget dozing in a chair.
     She remained in this time, that time, nearly eight  centuries before her own. When would it end? When  would she be back where she belonged in New York City,  U.S.A.? Would she never put another disk in a computer,  never pull another contract draft off a fax machine?  Would she never hail another taxi, go to a restaurant,  or drink a cappuccino? And what of her family? Was she  destined never to see her parents again, or her brothers,  or her friends? Had that last heart-to-heart with her old  college roommate, Sarah, proved to be the final  midnight gabfest she'd ever have on a telephone?  Sucking in a noisy, woeful breath to try to keep from  bursting into tears, she inadvertently woke Bridget. The  servant's head snapped up, and her eyes snapped open.  Finding her awake, Bridget leapt from the chair and
     hurried over.
     "Milady, are you truly awake?"
     "Mmm-hmmm." Judy sniffed and dabbed at her eyes  with the backs of her hands, glad she'd kept any tears  from falling.
     "Oh, Lady Judith, Lord Andrew will be so pleased!"  Bridget clapped her hands together.
     "Why?" Her voice sounded more like a frog croaking  than a person speaking.
     "Why?" Bridget repeated. "Because he's been fretting  himself near to death over you, milady. He's sat in that  chair watching over you most every night."  "I don't--"
     "Let me get you something to drink," the servant  interrupted, turning aside to ladle water into a cup.  Grateful for the cool liquid that would soothe her  parched throat, Judy gulped it down until her greediness  resulted in a coughing fit. As Bridget slapped her back,  the maid warned her, "You must be careful, milady.  You've gone so long without decent nourishment, you  won't be able to hold much down."
     "I--I'm okay. Fine. Thank you," Judy rasped as she  sat back, propped by the pillows Bridget had plumped  behind her.
     "What was it you were saying, milady?"  "I wouldn't think Andrew--Lord Andrew--would care  much that I'd been...ill. I seem to recall he...locked me  in this room. And when it filled with smoke, he didn't  come...to...release me."
     "I'd know nothing about that, milady," Bridget  insisted. Yet Judy understood from her manner that she  knew all about it. "What I know, as I said, is that Lord  Andrew took a keen interest in your well-being. He's  had me at your side since the moment he learned you'd  taken ill."
     "Where...is he now?"
     "No doubt he's with the bailiff or the captain of the  guard, doing what the lord and master of a keep must  do."
     Judy snorted. Lord and master. Some things never  changed. "I thought--I thought his older brothers had  returned."
     "Aye, they did, Lady Judith. But they left again. That  worrisome business with King John, and all. We be  praying it goes well, that there's no war."  Bridget did a little bob. "I must find him and tell him  you're awake and talking. I'll ask Cook to make you  something that will sit easy on your stomach. You need  to eat. You're thin as a reed after all these days."  "How many days?" Judy asked as the servant  retreated.
     "Nearly five, milady. Five days."
     Five days! Beltane had come and gone nearly a week  ago. Of course, it had been over by the time she'd gotten  herself out of this room, out of this keep. She should  have known even then it was too late to try to get home  as dawn of the following day encroached.  But she had been so hopeful. She'd felt that--that  feeling--when she'd reached the place of power. She had  been so sure the winds of time, or whatever the heck  they were, would carry her back, forward, whichever  direction it was, to 1998. But she had traveled nowhere,  absolutely nowhere.
     When could she hope to try again? Samhain?  Halloween! Dear God, that was still nearly six months  away. Judy knew she would never last that long, not  here, not at Laycock Keep near her special place of  power. Elfred would stone her or burn her at the stake  for having magic powers, magic possessions.  She should have died. She didn't know what she'd  come down with, or even how she had caught it--probably  some bug that people of her own time never encountered  and had no immunity against. But considering the  people of this age had no knowledge of anatomy or  medicine, she should have succumbed to the illness.  Why am I still living, here or any other place?  No sooner had she asked herself the question than  she noticed her bottle of aspirin on the table. Had she  been taking aspirin? She could not have gotten out of  bed and found the bottle in her bag, not of her own  volition. But who? Who would know she even had the  medicine, let alone what it was used for and that it might  possibly help?
     She shook her head and scratched her stomach.
     She didn't have the answers, not to any of her questions.  "Lord Andrew. Lord Andrew!"
     He halted mid-sentence in his conversation with  Roland and turned to look at Bridget. When he spied the  servant running across the bailey, he felt his heart  seize. Judith. She's dead.
     "What is it, Bridget? What's happened?"  "She's awake, milord. Lady Judith's awakened."  "Are you certain?"
     "Aye, milord, I'm certain. We spoke for a bit. I told  her I was coming for you, and that I'd have Cook make  her something to eat."
     "Do that. Now. I'll go to her directly."  Andrew dismissed the captain of the guard and took  off toward the keep. He had to restrain himself to keep  from running. It wouldn't look good for the baron's son  to be seen sprinting to the room of a stranger, a ragtag  wanderer who had happened to stumble into Wixcomb.  Certainly, it hadn't looked fitting that he'd spent so much  time in the sickroom of a woman Elfred had proclaimed,  loudly and vehemently, to be a witch.
     But Andrew couldn't resist. He finally took off  running, up the tall stairs to the keep's front portal and  then up the narrow, spiral staircase to Judith's room.  "Judith," he exclaimed as he opened her door.  Andrew thought he had never seen so welcome a sight--  Judith Lamb sitting up in bed, her green eyes focused  and clear.
     She blinked at him, startled, and clutched the sheet  higher over her bosom. Then her eyes narrowed, and  she said accusingly, "Where were you?"  "Where? I was here." Closing the door quietly, he  approached the bed.
     "Bridget told me you were here, while I was sick  and sleeping. I--I meant that night. Beltane. There was  a fire in this room, and Elfred wouldn't let me out."  "I know. I heard. I'm sorry."
     Judith's lips curled down in a tremulous pout as she  gazed up at him with huge, teary eyes. "You should have  let me out. I needed you, Andrew, but you didn't help
     me."
     Her mournful accusation broke his heart. Why, by  all the saints, had he gone to the bone-fire with Robin?  Because Judith had angered him, that's why. She'd tried  seducing him for reasons other than desire, and instead  of taking advantage of the opportunity she'd finally given  him, he had stalked off in a huff, his pride bruised, his  feelings hurt. Then he had accompanied his brother,  seeking to satisfy himself with other wenches when  only one could satisfy him. And she, he had left in harm's  way, nearly losing her forever.
     "I believed you were safe, Judith." He glanced around  the room, though he had previously inspected it and  found none of the bedclothes, nor any of the furnishings,  burned. "How did the fire start?"
     She scowled and looked down at her hands, folded in  her lap. "I don't know. It--it doesn't matter. I put it out."  He smiled. "You're very resourceful. I have always  known that about you." He sat. "How do you feel?"  "Pretty lousy. But a lot better than I have been,  obviously."
     "Once I realized you'd fallen ill, I watched over you  the best I could. I had Bridget sit with you when I could  not, and I made certain to give you three of those ass- brin pills every hour."
     "Every hour?" She looked up at him, surprised.  "Aye. When e'er the bells rang--Sext, None,  Vespers."
     Judith's brow furrowed. "How many Church hours  are there?"
     "Eight."
     "Thank God." Her forehead smoothed, and she looked  relieved. "Otherwise, you might have poisoned me. But,  Andrew, how did you know to give me medicine? How  did you know what aspirin is?"
     He explained, and she nodded thoughtfully,  scratching her head. Suddenly, though, her scowl  returned. "I don't know whether or not to be grateful to  you. I'd probably be better off dead, if I have to stay locked  in this room."
     "Jesu!" After all they'd been through--after all he  had been through, fretting over her--the wench came
     awake for scant few moments and already she pricked  his temper. Jumping up, he pointed out, "'Twas only  one damnable eve. But you could not accept Robin's  single command. You had to do things your way."  "Robin's command? You were the one who locked  my door!"
     "And you escaped, only to make yourself ill by going  outside in the rain. What in damnation were you  attempting, Judith? You looked like a mad woman,  ranting at the sky. If Elfred had seen you, God only knows  what he'd have done."
     "How I--how I looked is irrelevant," she insisted.  "You had no right to imprison me. I haven't done  anything but get lost and wind up on your doorstep. I'm  no criminal."
     "Nay? You're not a thief?"
     Judith's mouth dropped open. "Me? A thief? How dare  you even suggest such a thing."
     "How dare I?" he repeated, perversely glad for an  excuse to fight with her now that he knew she'd recover.  Hunkering down beneath the bed, Andrew retrieved the  casket he'd inadvertently discovered. Opening the lid,  he held up, one at a time, the various items Judith had  removed from his household, ending with his sister's  pillow, which he placed right in the middle of her lap.  Judith blushed guiltily but insisted, "I didn't steal  those things. Not really. I just never thought you'd miss  them."
     "Whether my family missed them or not doesn't  make your taking them any less thievery. Why, Judith?  Why did you steal from those who took you in and  provided for you?"
     Her eyes met his. For a moment, she stared at  Andrew. Then she blinked, looked away, and admitted,  "To prove I'd been here."
     The explanation so surprised him, Andrew didn't  know how to respond. He felt a horrible, sinking feeling  in his stomach. She was not a sorceress, but could she  possibly be engaged in intrigue?
     "Judith, are you in someone's employ? Were you  sent here to gather information against us?"  "You mean for King John or his people? No, of course
     not."
     "Then why would you need to prove you'd lived among  us?"
     Squeezing her eyes shut, Judith shook her head  and hugged herself. Within moments she was  scratching, raking her uneven nails up and down the  length of her arms. "I swear to you," she vowed, opening  her eyes again, "I'm not employed by anyone--at least  not in the way you suspect. I'm not here to spy on your  family, to find out how many soldiers your father has or  if and when he plans to attack the king's...what-do-you- call-them? Fiefs. Geez, Andrew." She shook her head  impatiently. "Even if your enemies wanted to know your  secrets, do you really think they'd send a lowly woman  to do the job? Not!"
     What she said sounded reasonable. Yet he suggested,  "There is one way a woman could learn many more  secrets than a man ever might."
     "How's that?"
     "Through seduction."
     Judith's mouth dropped open. "Me? Seduce you? I'm  the one who threw you out of my bed, remember?  Besides, you're the low man on the totem pole. If I was  here to seduce some man in your family, it would be  your father, if he were around. Or at the very least,  Robin. Next in line--" she made a face-- "would be  Elfred."
     Judith reached behind her neck and scratched some  more. She looked sad, but she chuckled. "You know, if I  had come here to find out what you people were up to,  I'd have had the good sense to show up looking like a  princess, dressed to the nines and smelling wonderful.  I would not have arrived wearing damp, dirty clothes  and then stood around in the road, just hoping you or  someone else from Laycock might try to run me down  with a big, fat horse."
     Judith's argument seemed as logical as any man's.  She had convinced him, but before he could tell her,  she asked distractedly, "Do I have the measles, by any  chance?"
     "What?"
     "The measles. Oh, hell, I can't have. I had German
     measles when I was a kid, and I was vaccinated against  the regular kind. I must be allergic to something--I'm  itching like crazy!"
     "Allergic?" he repeated.
     Judith ignored him. Instead, she asked for her bag,  which he gave to her. Digging inside, she pulled out  the exceptional mirror. "Maybe I do have something like  measles," she muttered tiredly. Then, when she spied  her reflection, she gasped in horror.
     "Oh, my God! How could you suggest I might be a  seductress? Were you being purposely cruel? I have  never, ever looked this awful before in my entire life!  How can you stand to look at me?" She glanced up at  Andrew as she shoved the offending mirror back into  her bag. "I look like death warmed over. And this god. awful itching...!"
     Judith grimaced as she squirmed and reached  beneath the covers to scratch somewhere hidden. "I  don't remember itching before. What's causing this?"  Andrew had a passing familiarity with a woman's  vanity--he had sisters, after all. He knew Judith did  not look her best. But who would, after the days of dire  illness she had just endured? Still, he leaned toward  her and peered at her face, looking for blotches,  something that might indicate the reason for her  discomfort. Seeing nothing visible, he suddenly knew  the cause of Judith's distress had to be nearly invisible.  "Be still a moment," he urged, parting the lank  strands of Judith's multi-hued hair to examine her  scalp. As he had suspected he might, Andrew  immediately spied a little creature scurrying across her  head. "'Tis naught to fret over, Judith. You itch because  you have lice."
     "Lice!" She shrieked so shrilly, Andrew took a step  backward. As he moved away, she stumbled out of the  bed, dragging the top sheet with her and wrapping it  around her torso. She weaved dizzily as she cried, "There  are bugs on me?"
     "Only very small ones." Andrew grabbed her arms so  that she wouldn't lose her balance and fall.  Judith's face puckered, and she wailed. "Only very  small ones! Oh, God! Oh, God!"
     Her wobbly legs gave out, and she sank directly to  the floor. With a vengeance, she began clawing at her  scalp.
     "Cease. Cease, now," Andrew told her, scooping her  up and sitting her down on the bed. "It sometimes  happens. 'Tis naught to be upset about. I'll have your  bedding changed, and you can bathe."
     "Indoors? In a tub?"
     "Aye. Indoors, in a tub. In my room, so the servants  may clean this chamber."
     "But the lice. Are they going to drown in the water?  I thought you had to have a special shampoo, something  medicinal..."
     "I'll give you strong soap, Judith, so strong, you'd best  take care or it shall remove a layer or two of your skin."  "Now," she commanded, apparently never too weak  to give orders. She grabbed his arm with one hand and  held the sheet modestly in place with the other. "Now,  please. I can't wait. I can feel them crawling all over  me!"
     "Very well. Straight away," he assured her in what  he hoped was a calm, soothing tone. By all the saints,  he'd never seen anyone grow so frantic over a few silly  lice. "Come with me to my bedchamber."  Nodding, Judith insisted on walking but leaned on  Andrew as he helped her to the door. Suddenly she  stopped and reached out. "My tote!" she said, pointing.  As Andrew grabbed the satchel, Judith gathered  some clothing. Then they quit the room together.  "Sally!" he barked as they entered the hallway.  "Sally's elsewhere, milord." Andrew recognized Elmo's  voice as footsteps clamored up the stairs. "How may I  serve you?" the manservant inquired when he reached  him and Judith.
     "Elmo, I need a bath in my bedchamber. A hot one,  very hot, and extra water, left in buckets. I also want  strong soap, the strongest we have. See to it  immediately."
     "Aye, milord." Elmo turned and sprinted back down  the stairs.
     Though Judith managed stubbornly to keep on her  feet, Andrew caught her up in his arms again and carried
     her most of the way. When they entered his room, he  settled her into a chair.
     "I shouldn't," she muttered. "The little buggers are  going to jump off me and all over your things." She looked  at him. "You already probably have them on your  clothes!"
     "Don't fret. I'll bathe when you're done. Now, drink  this." Andrew poured Judith a glass of strong, red wine--  when she swallowed it down, she made a face.  Immediately, he regretted serving her spirits when  she'd gone without food for so long. Belatedly, he worried  that she might puke.
     "Milord?" Bridget pushed open the door and presented  a tray. "Elmo said you'd be here. I've brought Lady  Judith's victuals, and the men'll be here shortly with  the tub and the water."
     "Good. Set the food down, and then you may go. If we  need you to assist, I'll call."
     "Andrew?" Judith said when the servant had gone.  "Aye."
     "When the others come, would you please hide me?  I'd rather no one else saw me looking like this."  He couldn't help pitying her as he watched Judith  scratch and squirm, hating that she felt so miserable.  But she was alive! She hadn't succumbed to that awful  fever.
     "Judith," he said gently, "I know you're distraught  over your appearance. But, truly, you look--"  Wonderful. God's blood, he had almost said  "wonderful!" He had no business saying any such thing,  and he knew she would only scoff at the compliment. So  Andrew amended, "You look as well as anyone could  expect, after so many days abed with a raging fever.  Besides, Elmo, Bridget and the others are merely  servants of no consequence. What they see, what they  think, matters not."
     "It matters to me."
     Andrew saw that it did, though it puzzled him why a  lady would concern herself with the opinions of lowly  servants. Yet when the men brought the tub to his room  and others toted in the buckets of hot water, he did as  Judith requested by standing in front of her chair to
     shield the damsel from their prying eyes.  He tested the temperature when the tub was filled.  "It's hot, but not too hot," he assured her, drying his  fingers on his tunic. "Have you finished eating? You'll  want to get in, now, before the water cools."  Judith set her trencher aside, though she had  consumed next to nothing. "Yes, I've eaten plenty. But I  prefer to be alone when I bathe."
     Andrew did not want to leave her alone. She'd been  very sick and remained quite weak. And she hadn't  eaten enough to fortify a louse. She could faint, fall,  hurt herself. But he didn't wish to antagonize her,  either, so he reluctantly agreed. "Very well. But I shan't  be far. If you need me, call."
     "I will. Thanks."
     ***
     Judy waited until Andrew left the room and shut  the door behind him. In her whole life, she had never  felt so vile. And she looked as bad as she felt! To think  that once upon a time she'd actually called in sick to  work because she'd had a bad hair day... She had been  clueless then, absolutely clueless.
     Dropping the grimy sheet and glad to be free of it--  the linen probably teemed with lice, too--she opened  her tote and retrieved the mirror. She felt a sick  temptation to gaze at her reflection again, the sort of  urge people had to look at car wrecks as they drove by.  Instead, she dug through her belongings, looking for her  comb and scissors.
     It took awhile--she panicked, thinking she'd left the  scissors behind, either at the London hotel or Laycock  Inn--but she found it tucked safely away in a zippered  pocket sewn into the tote's lining, the same pocket  where she kept her wallet secure.
     Next, she steeled herself to examine her hair.  Avoiding any glimpse of her face by angling her head  just so, she peered into the mirror she propped on  Andrew's table. Carefully, she parted her hair and  combed her greasy, lice-infested locks. Dear God, but  her roots had to be two inches deep! And her ends seemed  split to infinity. How long had it been since she'd visited  the hairdresser's? Too long, obviously.
     That hardly mattered now. What did matter was  cutting off this smelly seaweed clinging to her scalp. So  Judy did, attempting, as best she could, to emulate what  she had seen Vittorio do fifty times.
     When she finished, it was apparent she hadn't her  hairdresser's training or skill. In fact, she suspected  she looked worse than when she started. Her only  consolation was the knowledge she had most certainly  left a lot of those awful buggers on the floor along with  her badly shorn locks. If she needed to, she'd wear one  of Beatrix's pointy hats or Camilla's scarves every  waking hour of the day to hide her shaggy coiffure. After  all, it wasn't as though she had a meeting scheduled  with an editor anytime soon, now, did she?  Armed with her dwindling supplies, she soaked and  scrubbed with the soap Andrew provided, starting at the  top of her head and working her way down to her toes.  When every inch of her flesh glowed rosily, she doused  her hair with conditioner and wrapped her head in a  towel. While the emollients soaked into her follicles,  she shaved her legs and underarms. Then, using the  clean water Andrew had ordered left in extra buckets,  she rinsed not only her hair, but her entire body.  After toweling herself dry, she donned her own under  things and pulled on her powder blue leggings. Purposely,  she'd grabbed her own clothes from her room instead of  a borrowed gown, because she felt sure her sweater and  pants had less chance of being bug-infested. Yet it felt  too warm for a thick, ribbed sweater today, so she decided  to borrow something from Andrew. Rifling through his  trunk, she found what she needed--an old linen tunic,  one obviously well-worn and a bit frayed at the hem.  Using her scissors, she cut it short and put it on as a  shirt, which she belted.
     "Judith! Judith, are you faring well?" Andrew called  through the closed door.
     "I'm fine," she assured him. "I'll be done in just a  little while."
     She returned to her mirror, surprised that she had  the strength to continue. But determination energized  her. With the speed and expertise she had acquired  since discovering the wonderful world of makeup in her
     early teens, she smoothed foundation over her face,  dusted her cheeks with powder and blush, and lined  her eyes with kohl. Lastly, she dabbed thick coats of  black mascara on her lashes.
     "Judith? May I enter?"
     "In a minute!" Do they have minutes--on sundials,  maybe? Does Andrew know what a minute is? "In a  moment. Please, give me just a little more time."  Her hair remained damp, especially with the mousse  she had worked into it. She couldn't tell what it would  look like when dry, but she crossed her fingers, hoping  she'd appear more like an actress playing Peter Pan  than a biker girl or a punk rocker. She also hoped the  strands that remained visibly bleached would look more  like frosting than an old, growing-out, dye job. Not that  anyone here knew what "frosting" was, or Peter Pan.  But she did. It was what she thought that mattered.  "Judith, I must see--"
     Andrew flung open the door and Judy realized, as  she turned to him, she'd been lying to herself. What  Andrew thought mattered, too.
     As he burst inside the room, he left off his  explanation. The look on his face when he stared at  her transformation made her uneasy. His expression  reminded her all too much of his brother Elfred's, just  before that idiot declared her a witch.  Maybe she had gone too far, even for him. Maybe  Andrew wouldn't think she looked nice at all. Just  bizarre. Like a...witch.
     Fifteen
     Andrew did not know what to make of Judith. She  wore her own clothing, the leggings and shoes in which  he'd first seen her. The tunic, however, seemed rather  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 worked 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 know 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  steal her from me while I am away!"
     Andrew snorted contemptuously. "You think I haven't  seduced her already?"
     Judy saw Philip flush ruddily as he turned and  stomped in her direction, Andrew following close behind.  "What is it?" she asked him as both men halted beside  her.
     "My lady, tell me true," he begged in English. "Have  you and Andrew...been intimate?"
     What the hell has he been telling Philip? "No!" she  responded firmly, answering his question but glaring  at Andrew.
     "Has he courted you in my absence?"
     Judy met Philip's gaze. "No. As a matter of fact, he  and his brothers locked me in my room. There was a  fire, and he didn't even come to let me out!"  "You cur," Philip shouted at Andrew. Then he took  Judy's arm and said, "You'll come home with me to North  Cross, where you'll be welcome. On the morrow, we shall  ride out together to York and visit Sir Peter Lamb. I'm  sure you'll be glad to be reunited with your father and  all your other kin."
     Oh, hell. She didn't need this. Living at Philip's place  wouldn't be bad...he was the one who wanted to marry  her, after all. She had to have some protection until  she found a way back home, or, failing that, made some  sort of life here in medieval times. But riding on  horseback to York, wherever that was, didn't sound like  a hot idea. Besides, once they got there, the old man  would tell Philip she was no relation of his. What would  he think then? What would he do?
     "Philip," she ventured softly, "I would like very much  to accept your hospitality. I'd like to...meet your family.  But as for going to York." She paused before bluntly  plunging ahead. "What if this knight, this old alchemist  and inventor, isn't my father after all? What if he doesn't  know me? Do we really have to go traipsing all over the  country to try to find where I come from? Does it really  matter that much?"
     "It matters, Judith." He set his mouth in a tight,  solemn line
     She wished Philip had said it didn't matter at all.  Even more, she wished Andrew hadn't thrown their  tentative friendship in her face by telling a bunch of  lies about their relationship. Bad enough he picked lice  from her hair in front of an audience, but to tell his  best friend that he had slept with her? What a jerk!  "Does it matter to you, too?" she asked him.  Andrew shrugged. "'Twould seem that it matters to
     everyone, Judith. At least in this world."  He hadn't meant anything in particular with that  last remark, and Judy knew it. But suddenly it all  became so clear to her, the great dichotomy between  her world, late 20th century America, and theirs,  medieval England. In her own time, her daily problems  usually came down to catching a cab in the rain, while  her pie-in-the-sky dream was to become a successful,  maybe famous, literary agent. Here, the commonplace  problems proved far more basic--getting rid of lice.  Finding a man who could provide for her would prove  her only major, long-term goal.
     Her head swam. Either she was still sick, or she'd  made herself ill by relinquishing the very essence of  herself to curry favor with a man who might, hopefully,  solve all her problems. How low she had sunk in such a  brief time, to need a man to survive, a man who wouldn't  even have her unless her parentage proved worthy. What  an irony, what a joke! Back home, guys were terrified  of women who wanted them to meet their families. Here,  a female had no worth except as an extension of her  parents.
     She swooned. Andrew caught her, as always, just in  the nick of time. While he cradled her in his muscular  arms, she heard him say, through the ringing in her  ears, "The lady is not traveling anywhere, most  assuredly not with you. Did you think I spoke false when  I said she has been gravely ill? Did you think I  exaggerated when I said she nearly died? If so, that  intuition you claim to have has failed you, Philip, for I  spoke true. Judith is far from fully recovered, and 'til  she has regained her health, she is going nowhere but  back to her bed."
     Andrew strode off, clutching her to him. As the  distance between them and Philip grew, she heard the  North Cross lord call after them, "I shall return for her,  Andrew. When she is well, Judith and I will ride to York  and confront Sir Peter!"
     Sixteen
     Judy sat in the solar. Because it was the highest  room in the keep and no enemy had a hope of scaling  the walls to this height, the solar laid claim to the  stronghold's biggest window. She came here now  because, after so many days lying in bed recovering,  she yearned for a semblance of the bright outdoors.  Basking in the warmth of the sun-washed room, she  reflected upon the darkness of people's lives before the  advent of electricity. Not only did the poor souls--herself  now among them--find themselves basically blinded  from nightfall to sunrise, their homes, whether cottages  or castles, remained gloomy places even in daytime, lit  mostly by smoky fires and dim, greasy candles.  Though the solar provided a cheery atmosphere this  afternoon, she sighed heavily. Before her, on the floor  where she sat cross-legged, lay her dwindling toiletries.  She didn't know what she would do when she used  everything up. And everything would be used up very,  very soon.
     Already, she had nearly depleted all her travel-sized  accoutrements. Her shampoo was gone, along with her  toothpaste, and only a dab or two of hand lotion remained  in the tube, while her alpha-hydroxy face cream had  been reduced to a smear inside the frosted glass jar.  She still had pain relievers, antacids and half a roll of  breath mints. But her tampons were gone. Thank  heavens, she had carelessly tossed a sample package  of thin pads into her tote before she left home, so she  would be set the next time she got her period. But what  of the time after that? What did medieval women do for  hygiene when they menstruated? She had no idea and  no one she could ask. Even Bridget or Sally would think  she was crazy to remain so ignorant at her advanced  age.
     She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled noisily. She  had time before desperation forced her to make inquiries  on that particular topic. In the meanwhile...
     Eager for diversion, she looked at herself in her hand  mirror and discovered the perfect distraction: a zit! A  big, red bump bulging on her cheek. That's what she  needed--pimples!
     Like a surgeon called upon to perform an emergency  operation, she opened her makeup bag. Dumping the  contents on the floor with the rest of her personal care  items, she rummaged through her limited selection of  old cosmetics, the stash she always took on trips, until  she found a well-worn cover stick. Speedily, she painted  over the blemish and then opened her compact to add a  pat of powder. It, as well as her blush, had a large, empty  space where the metal container clearly shone through.  The same held true for her palette of mini eye shadows.  Judy's two lipsticks, a neutral shade and a colorless  gloss, were as stubby as her liner pencils. Most  frightening, however, was the state of her mascara.  When she plunged the wand up and down inside the  tube, she could feel it hardening and knew, in another  couple of weeks, she'd have nothing to thicken and  blacken her lashes. Judy's only ample item appeared to  be a nearly full bottle of "Tea Rose" perfume. She spritzed  some on, letting the cloud of fragrance drift into her  hair and onto her shoulders, hoping the scent would  somehow console her.
     It didn't. Sniffing wearily, she asked herself: What  am I going to do? I can pluck my eyebrows forever, but my  disposable razor can't be replaced. When it goes, I'll get  hairy like Sarah did, our sophomore year at college. Geez,  when they finally took her cast off, the leg she broke didn't  just look withered, it looked like it belonged to a  chimpanzee! I'm going to look like a chimpanzee! All too  vividly, Judy imagined long, dark hairs twining around  her limbs, and her underarms full of fuzz.  She sat there feeling sorry for herself until a shout  from beyond caught her attention. She climbed onto the  window seat and looked outside. "Someone approaches!"  she heard a guard on the wall announce again, and then  a flurry of activity erupted in the yard below.  She watched, fascinated by the precautions  everyone took these days as they half-anticipated an  attack or a siege. The dashing and scurrying, the women
     and children flying inside the keep, reminded her of  her parents' stories about people ducking into fallout  shelters back in the '50s whenever air raid sirens blared.  The Laycock laborers also fled for no reason. Soon  another guard confirmed that the man rode alone, and  then the approaching visitor was identified as Philip of  North Cross.
     Philip! Whirling away from the window, Judy's hand  went to her heart. He had come for her, as he said he  would! He intended to take her to York. But she didn't  want to go to York. Besides it being a waste of time and  the prelude to her being booted on her rear, she simply  didn't want to spend all that time with Philip. She wanted  to stay here with-
     Andrew. The solar door swung inward and he stood  there, filling up the portal. He breathed heavily, winded  from running up the stairs. But though he failed to speak  for a moment, his gaze held hers.
     "Why were you not resting in your bedchamber?" he  demanded finally, sounding thoroughly annoyed.  "I was bored. I wanted sunshine. I knew you wouldn't  let me go outside, so I came up here instead."  He walked toward her. "You should have asked me."  "Why? You're not my lord and master, no matter how  often you tell me you are."
     "I might have let you go outside."
     "Right."
     "Wrong. I would not have. Judith, you need to rest  'til you're fully recovered. You are not fully recovered."  "I am," she insisted. "I don't know what I had, but I  don't have it anymore. My appetite's back; I've been  eating like a pig."
     He reached out and grabbed her upper arm. "You're  thin as a needle."
     "I am not!" She pulled her arm free.
     Cocking his head to one side, Andrew peered at her  suspiciously. "Are you only saying you are well so that I  will let you leave with Philip?"
     Boy. I've blown it. "No. No, of course not."  "Then you do not wish to go with him to York?"  Again they locked gazes, only now the floor of the  large solar no longer separated them. She could almost
     see her reflection mirrored in Andrew's dark eyes. She  had an urge to step closer to him in order to see more  detail. But if she stepped closer, she'd feel him, his bulk,  his strength. And she'd end up telling him the truth.  She couldn't do that. Andrew had been a real jerk, letting  Philip think something had been going on between  them. Because there hadn't been. Not a thing. Nothing  at all.
     "I didn't say that," she snipped. "Why wouldn't I want  to go to York? You're sure my family lives there. If they  do and I see them, the truth will come out. Then you'll  all know for a fact I'm a lady, and you'll regret how badly  you've treated me."
     "How badly--I've treated--you?" Andrew ground out  the words as his eyes widened, in surprise or outrage,  she couldn't be sure which.
     She took a step backward, reminding him, "You  locked me in my room!"
     "On Robin's orders."
     "You didn't let me out when the place caught fire."  "I wasn't even home! I knew naught about the fire  'til much later. Besides, you set it. Elfred was right. You  set it yourself in a ploy to get free."  "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't." She crossed her arms  over her chest and tapped her foot. "The point is, I am  free now. Free to go to York with Philip."  "Then you do wish to accompany him."
     "Why wouldn't I? He hopes to reunite me with my  family because he wants to marry me. I need a husband,  Andrew. I'm sure I don't have one, so I guess I'd better  get on the stick and find one. You know as well as I do,  a woman alone is a woman under suspicion. Besides,  Philip would make a great husband. And once he meets  this Peter Lamb person, whom you and everyone else  believes is my father, then we can get married."  Judy listened to herself, hardly believing what she  heard. She had to be losing touch with reality; she  sounded too convincing, as though she actually believed  what she said. But she knew none of it was true. Her  father was Tony Lambini, and he lived not in York but  in New York. Nor was she a lady with a capital L, like  Fergie, Duchess of York. And Philip of North Cross would
     never marry her, not only because she lacked the right  lineage but because she, Judy Lambini, wouldn't marry  him even if he asked.
     Until that very second, she hadn't realized she had  no intention of marrying Philip for convenience or any  other reason. But Andrew didn't know what she knew,  and he could just rot, damn him!
     "Very well. He's here," Andrew informed her. "By now,  he's seated below in the great hall, awaiting you. Go!  Ride off with Philip. Wed him, share his bed, and bear  his children."
     "Fine," she snapped, "I will. Just for you."  "What do you mean, for me?" His heavy eyebrows  met above his nose in a scowl.
     "It's not as though you want me here. You know you  don't." She pushed past Andrew, so distressed she didn't  even think about collecting her tote, let alone picking  up the debris she'd left scattered on the floor. Tears filled  her eyes--hot, hurting tears that nearly prevented her  from seeing the door.
     Yet before she had taken more than a few, quick  steps, she felt a hand clutch her own. Then she flew  backward, whirling into Andrew's arms. She gasped as  he clutched her close, and she moaned when he kissed  her hard.
     She kissed him back. Wrapping her arms around  Andrew's neck, she kissed him as though they had never  kissed before and might never kiss again.  "Damnation, Judith," he muttered when he released  her lips to rain kisses on her forehead, her eyes, her  cheeks, her jaw. "I have always wanted you. 'Tis why I  brought you to the keep."
     "But...you only wanted to sleep with me."  "Oh, aye. I wanted to lie with you. But I wanted more  of you, Judith. You make my heart glad."  You make my heart glad. Her heart soared as though  it had wings when Andrew's lips reclaimed her mouth  and his tongue sought hers. While his hands roamed  her back and her backside, she felt a strong yearning  to wrap her legs around his waist. She wanted him to  take her there and then.
     But they couldn't make love at that moment. Both
     of them knew it, and both of them reluctantly pulled  away. "What about...Philip?" she asked softly.  "You may be blunt with him, or you may be kind.  Which do you prefer?"
     "Well, kindness, certainly. I may not want to marry  Philip, but I don't want to hurt him."  "Then, come. Back to bed with you. Until he leaves,  you'll be ailing."
     "Wait!" She pulled her hand free from Andrew's and  began to pick up her toiletries, stuffing them into her  tote. He assisted her until she had all her belongings  secure. Then they hurried down the stairs.  ***
     "Lord Andrew." A servant accosted him just as Judy  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,  clapped a hand on Philip's shoulder, and began escorting  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 door 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  said, "a gently born lady," but caught himself. "--Unwed,  then I shall ask Sir Peter for your hand."  Judith's eyes narrowed. "You're saying you want to  marry me?"
     It took him a moment to try to form his reply. He did  want to marry her, he already knew that. But he'd asked  a woman to marry him before, and though Chandra had  agreed, she'd run off and wed another man. It was not  so easy for Andrew to propose marriage again.  "You take a lot for granted, pal," Judith sneered, and  he knew he'd fueled her ire by hesitating overlong. "Fact  is, I don't want to marry you," she added before throwing  herself back against her pillows and drawing the covers  up to her chin.
     She had closed the conversation and dismissed him.  But he didn't leave. He stood, insisting, "Judith, you  must come with me."
     "No. I'm a little slow, but I finally figured it out. When
     you thought I was nobody, you wanted to jump my bones.  But then you got to thinking maybe I was somebody,  and it wouldn't be right to have an affair with a  noblewoman, especially one who could have a husband  somewhere. Now you want to find out, one way or the  other, because you've decided to marry me so your best  friend can't. This isn't about me. It's about your rivalry  with Philip. But you can forget it, mister. Marry you--  ha! Whether I'm related to one of those farmers in town  or I'm King John's niece, you're never ever getting into  bed with me." She gave him a narrow, steely glare. "Get  out, Andrew. I'm not going anywhere, most assuredly  not with you!"
     He had tried to do the honorable thing, and now the  wench turned on him. "You're going," he ground out,  grabbing Judith's wrist.
     "No."
     "Aye!"
     "Why?" She wailed her short query plaintively. "We  could have had a wonderful time together, no  complications, no strings. Why did you have to go and  ruin it, Andrew?"
     "Because we must both know your kin and your  circumstances, Judith. Without a history, there can be  no future. And I want a future--with you."  He finally brought her to silence. Judith stared at  him with wide, green eyes shimmering with tears. When  she blinked, one drop trickled from each eye, wetting  her cheeks.
     He wanted to brush the dampness off her skin, but  instead he strode to the door. "We shall leave on the  morn," he advised, his words clipped. "Pack what  belongings you will, but be prepared to depart after  sunrise."
     ***
     As soon as he'd gone, Judy brought her hands to her  face, pressing them against her eyes to thwart the  deluge of tears. She had never been so humiliated in  her life! Never before had she openly invited a man into  her bed. Finally she'd risked making the overture,  confident that Andrew desired her, and he had refused.  Why? Because he wanted to marry her! Dear God,
     everything was so crazy in this world. Here, if a guy  didn't give a damn about a girl, he was hot to get her  between the sheets. But if he cared for her, loved her,  then he wouldn't touch her...until she proved she was  worthy of wife- and motherhood.
     Well, she wasn't worthy, not by Philip and Andrew's  standards, so they could both just drop dead. She didn't  need either of them. Judy Lambini wasn't going to York,  not now, not tomorrow. She was going home--home!--to  New York. And when she left, she wouldn't be taking  any irrational, impossible, medieval knight with her.  No sireee.
     ***
     Judy didn't know what to pack, but she had to pack.  Andrew had left her no choice. Besides, she consoled  herself, it would kill some time until the next Samhain.  After wrapping one of Andrew's sister's gowns around  her nylon tote, Judy tied her bundle with a length of  cord. Then, making sure she was put together, from  her sweater to her leggings to her boots, she stomped  down the stairs carrying her belongings over her  shoulder like Santa did his sack of toys.  Andrew awaited her in the bailey. "Did you eat?" he  asked solicitously, taking her bundle and securing it  behind the saddle of a small horse that stood near his  stallion, Zeus.
     "Yeah," she replied, lying through her teeth. She'd  had no appetite this morning. She didn't think she'd  ever feel like eating again.
     "Good. You need to keep up your strength." Andrew  gestured toward the smaller horse. "Are you going to  mount your palfrey?"
     "My what?"
     "Your palfrey, milady. The little mare."  "Oh. Sure." Taking her time and playing for more,  Judy walked all the way around the spotted gray beast.  Once. And once again. With her limited equestrian  experience confined to pony rides as a youngster, she  searched her brain for any knowledge that would help  her now. Suddenly, she recalled a useful bit of  information: A rider mounted from the left. She stopped  beside the animal's left flank and gazed at the beast. It
     didn't matter that the mare looked a great deal smaller  than Andrew's stallion, the horse still seemed damned  tall.
     "Is there a problem?" Andrew asked.
     Judy snapped her head toward him. "No," she said,  lying again. "I was just going to the proper side to climb  up."
     "There is no proper side, Judith. Left or right will  do."
     "Oh." That was news, she thought as she considered  the stirrup. The darned thing came only to the middle  of her chest. How would she get her foot into it? She  wasn't a contortionist, after all.
     "Oh!" she yelped as Andrew solved her dilemma  without discussion. Grabbing her from behind, he tossed  her into the saddle. Judy thought he squeezed her rump  a little harder than he needed to as well, but she didn't  comment. In truth, she felt relieved to have gotten onto  the animal without incident.
     "You do know how to ride, do you not?" Andrew  inquired, climbing up onto his own horse.  "Do ladies know how to ride?" she shot back.  "I've ne'er known one who doesn't."
     "Then I know how to ride." Lie number three.  "If you're ready, let us be off." Without waiting for  her response, Andrew spurred his stallion so that the  huge beast lunged toward the gate at a brisk canter.  Judy was not ready. For a brief moment, she  wondered how to steer her horse to make the animal go  where she needed her to go. But the mare took off on  her own, mimicking the bigger animal's gait by lunging  into a high-stepping canter. Judy squealed, wrapped the  reins around one fist and grabbed the palfrey's mane  with the other.
     Andrew understood immediately that Judith did not  know how to ride--her inexperience was obvious. But  despite the tension between them born of bruised  feelings and incipient anger, he could do naught but  admire her. Amazingly, the wench managed, by  perverse determination alone, to stay astride her  palfrey--though she did bounce riotously, her delicious  derriere jiggling tantalizingly in the saddle. Why, he
     wondered, had she chosen to wear chausses and not a  lady's gown? God's teeth! He didn't think he could endure  the whole journey with Judith displaying herself in such  an alluring fashion. His cock had been turgid since  they'd ridden out of the bailey--he might injure himself  if the swelling did not go down.
     To help quell his lust, he pushed well ahead of  Judith. The road that meandered through the forest  covering most all of England fairly disappeared beyond  this point, and he needed to watch where he led her.  Even more, he needed to keep Judith out of his direct  line of sight.
     ***
     Andrew didn't hear her. During many hours of  pushing forward, riding hard miles, he had been  absorbed in thought, worrying that he'd left Laycock Keep  without a lord in residence. As well, he had fretted over  what would happen when they reached their  destination. Only belatedly did he realize that Judith's  palfrey's footfalls no longer echoed his own steed's.  Turning quickly in his saddle, his heart stopped cold  when he discovered Judith nowhere behind him.  "Judith!" he shouted as he reined Zeus around and  headed back along the narrow, trampled track that lay  dark beneath the leafy canopy. "Judith!" he shouted  again, kicking the stallion into a run.  The trail wended among the trees. Ducking and  dodging branches as he raced along, Andrew's heart and  the stallion's hooves pounded in syncopation. Beyond  every bend, he expected to see her; when he did not, he  spurred Zeus harder. Finally, coming around still  another turn, he spied her. Pulling hard on his reins,  he halted his warhorse before the animal careened into  the palfrey and sent Judith flying out of her saddle. As  it was, she appeared almost boneless, slumped in her  seat with her chin on her chest while the mare  munched grass sprouting among the ferns.  "Judith? Judith, you're not falling ill again, are you?"  he asked, fearing the worst. She looked quite pale.  Andrew knew he should not have pushed her so hard.  "No," she replied curtly as her head came up. Her  eyes met his, and she pursed her lips. "I just needed to
     rest. I asked you to stop, but you didn't even slow down."  "Forgive me. I didn't hear you."
     "I'll bet."
     She remained angry with him, yet Andrew felt so  relieved at finding her whole and well after fearing he'd  lost her, he refused to return her disdain. Leaping down  from his saddle, he reached a hand up to her and urged,  "Come down, then. 'Tis almost midday. We can have a  bite to eat."
     "It's not even noon?" Judith wailed plaintively. "My  God, I thought we'd been riding for ten or twelve hours  already."
     "'Tis difficult to see the sun, but it remains directly  overhead."
     "I believe you." She reached for him, but instead of  merely using his hand to assist in her dismount, she  collapsed, sagging toward him. Andrew caught her and  hugged her to him.
     She slid down his length until her feet reached the  ground. Gazing at her upturned face, he realized how  very much her short hair suited her. Even the dual hues  of those shaggy tendrils framing her features seemed  natural and most becoming. And those eyes peeking up  at him through that thick fan of lashes, sea green and  sparkling, like sunlight glinting off the waves...  He fought a tremendous impulse to lean forward and  kiss Judith's suddenly yielding lips. He feared losing all  restraint if he touched his mouth to hers. He did not  wish to compromise her, not until he knew for certain  he could call her his forever.
     Yet--oh, Jesu, what was this? She leaned closer to  him, pressing her thighs against his legs, her breasts  against his chest. They were so near in height, it  seemed all their parts meshed perfectly. And no longer  did she offer her lips to him. Instead, she had fastened  them to the hollow of his neck as she rested her head  on his shoulder. He felt their heat as Judith moved  slightly, leaving a fiery trail across his throat, up the  underside of his chin, and then farther, along the line  of his jaw.
     "What...are you doing?" he managed gruffly, holding  his limbs stiff and unresponsive though he knew his
     cock had gone stiff in a very spirited response to Judith's  ardent attentions.
     "What?" she mumbled, her reply muffled because  she didn't pull away. She'd become preoccupied thinking  about how good it felt to be in Andrew's arms again. His  embrace was strong but gentle, not hard and painful, as  everything about that crummy horse seemed to be.  Besides, despite her justified anger, she had missed  his arms around her. Now that they encircled her again,  she felt as though she was where she belonged.  "I thought we had agreed to restrain ourselves until  we've met with your father," Andrew recalled.  "Oh. Oh!" With a gasp, she belatedly realized where  she was, what she'd been doing. Embarrassed and irate,  she stumbled backward into the mare standing behind  her. She knew her cheeks flushed hotly, so she covered  her face with one hand before turning aside. "I--I felt  faint," she said, deciding she wasn't lying outright. "I'm  not myself today. I'm hungry and tired, and a little light- headed."
     She attempted to stride off, but her knees buckled.  As she wondered if she'd ever walk straight again, she  felt Andrew catch her and lift her into his arms. Then  he carried her to a nearby tree. After putting her down  beside it so that she could use the wide, sturdy trunk to  rest her back, he said, "I'll get us some food."  Judy felt just as relieved when Andrew busied  himself elsewhere for a minute or two. She'd been so  furious with him, so hurt! If he'd been a man of her own  time, in her old life, she would never have returned his  phone calls. Conversely, she'd have gladly returned any  tokens of apology, whether candy, flowers or jewelry. But  Andrew hadn't apologized. He had dragged her off on this  trip despite her protests and for the last several hours,  he'd put her through the tortures of the damned. But  did she have any pride? No way. The second he had her  in his arms, she kissed him!
     There had to be some reason Judy Lambini, modern  day woman, couldn't stay mad at Andrew Laycock. Once  she was back in her Manhattan apartment, Judy  intended to figure out why. Until then, she would just  keep her distance.
     By the time Andrew returned to Judith with a small  bundle of victuals, he had regained his composure. He  doled out the food and then offered her a sip from his  wine skin.
     "No." She refused adamantly.
     "Nay? But you must drink as well as eat, especially  when you're traveling. Already, the morning's ride has  wearied you."
     "No," she insisted, turning her head aside and  chewing her bread as though it were leather.  Andrew sat back on his haunches and studied her.  "Why not?"
     "Because I'm afraid I'll--" Judy broke off her  explanation. After a moment's hesitation, she decided  honesty couldn't wound her pride any more than her  heart had already been mangled. She admitted, "I'm  afraid I'll fall asleep in the saddle. In case you didn't  notice, I really don't ride all that well. I have enough  trouble staying seated when I'm conscious. If I dozed  off, I'd probably do a nose dive."
     Another of her silly, incomprehensible phrases,  Andrew realized. "A nose dive?" he repeated.  "I'd fall off the palfrey head first."  "Ah."
     Judith eyed him warily. "Go ahead," she urged with  a gesture. "Make a joke or something. A lady who can't  ride, imagine that. I really don't care what you think  anymore."
     She did care, that was obvious. So Andrew decided  to be gallant rather than truthful and said graciously, "I  confess I didn't notice that your riding skills were  lacking."
     "Really?" Judith sounded dubious as she watched  him through narrowed eyes.
     "Aye. But if you wish, as we continue, I can instruct  you. It may give you more confidence."  "Thanks, but there's no point. I doubt I'll be doing  much riding in the future."
     "Truly? Why not?"
     "Because...peasants don't own horses." She  challenged him with her gaze.
     Andrew refused to pick up the gauntlet. He would
     not fight with her now. But he noticed that after she  swallowed her bread, it seemed to stick in her throat.  "Would you like some water?" he asked.  "Yes, I would."
     He straightened and turned, intending to retrieve  the water skin.
     "That's okay. I'm not helpless, I can get it myself,"  Judith insisted, sounding rather like a cocky page.  "Where is it? In your pack on Zeus?"
     "Aye, but--" Andrew looked over his shoulder and  discovered, to his dismay, that Judith clung to the tree  trunk as she dragged herself to her feet. Wincing, she  brushed off her backside before taking a few wobbly  steps.
     He grabbed her elbow, but she shook her head as  she pulled free. "It's all right," she assured him. "I may  not be an expert rider, but I have been walking since I  was only one or two. I know how to do that fairly well."  Judy knew she wasn't proving her point with her  slow, crooked gait. Lord Almighty, but her legs felt like  she'd just done twelve solid hours on a Stairmaster! Still,  she had some dignity left, bruised ego and all. Under  her own power, she made her way to the horses and the  water.
     Andrew let her go unassisted, smiling to himself as  he watched Judith hobble over to Zeus. Damnation, but  the wench was willful, stubborn and proud. Most men  considered those admirable traits only in other men.  But they suited a woman such as Judith just as she  suited him.
     Judith knew they were a pair, Andrew knew she  did. When all this business was done, she'd admit it  and fall into his arms once again. That's what mattered  to him, not who her sire was, or if she had wealth. Only  that he could hold her, and love her, and cherish her  'til his time on Earth ran out.
     Eighteen
     Judy made a contented sound and snuggled into her  blanket where she lay beneath the ashen sky.  "Snuggled" wasn't the most appropriate word, she  corrected herself as the term came to mind. Snuggling  implied cozy comfort, an altogether pleasant experience.  If one of her writers had used "snuggle" to describe the  way she felt in this situation, Judy would have  suggested he find other, more accurate modifiers:  atrophied, cramped, frozen, miserable, suffering,  aching...
     She and Andrew had ridden for what seemed another  eternity after their lunch and bathroom break.  Bathroom, ha! Judy thought she might be getting a rash  on her bottom from using leaves for toilet paper, or  maybe blisters from slamming against the saddle hour  after agonizing hour.
     Her thighs and her butt weren't the only parts of  her anatomy that felt raw, inflamed, or so sore as to be  nearly paralyzed. Her legs, feet, back and arms throbbed  as well. All afternoon, as her anguish increased, she  had longed for Andrew to announce they were stopping  for the night. He didn't, though, and she didn't ask what  his plans were. She would have died before begging him  to pack it in for the day, and there were times she  thought she was going to.
     Of course, Andrew did stop, finally--still in the  never-ending forest with no tavern, inn or even a  crofter's hut in sight. She managed to climb off her horse  unassisted, and then Andrew started a small campfire,  obviously pleased as punch when he used the disposable  lighter to ignite his little pile of twigs. Afterward, he set  out with a bow and arrow, announcing his intention to  kill some game for supper.
     Judy supposed he had--the aroma of cooked meat  still hung in the air. But she hadn't eaten anything.  She hadn't even been awake when Andrew returned  from his expedition. The moment she lay down on her
     blanket to wait for him, she went out like a light. Thank  God.
     Exhaustion had inured her to her various  discomforts so that she managed to rest a while. Now,  though, as birds began chirping to welcome the  approaching dawn, she again found herself keenly aware  of her personal miseries. Not only did every muscle in  her body scream in torment, the earth she lay upon  poked and prodded every square inch of her body. Bravely,  she ventured to turn her head from one side to the other,  risking excruciating neck pain.
     She discovered Andrew lying beside her making little  snuffling sounds as he slept. She found his light snoring  kind of cute and rather endearing, but that was because  of his proximity. When Andrew drew near, she fixed her  sites only on him, while the big picture grew as fuzzy as  an out-of-focus snapshot. But boy, oh, boy, it felt chilly,  and Andrew was nothing if not a great source of heat.  She could only hope that as long as he remained  sleeping, she would be safe--from herself. Apparently  Andrew intended to keep her safe from all other dangers  by leaving one hand on the sword lying between them.  She marveled, with an inner sense of delight, to know  she had slept beside a knight prepared to protect her at  all costs by brandishing his heavy steel blade. Yowza!  Yet a big ache throbbed in her chest so that she  couldn't continue looking at him. She rolled her head  away as the combination of Andrew's macho manliness  and innocent repose tugged at her heart. Geez, Louise!  Why did she put herself through this? She wasn't  anymore right for him than a knight from the Middle  Ages was right for a 1990's career woman. So loving  Andrew-
     I don't love him! What am I thinking? Love Andrew, ha!  All she had actually wanted was a little romance, a fling,  with an extremely attractive and available guy. But he'd  quashed that plan. Now, she was only biding her time  'til next fall when she could make another attempt at  time travel. Loving Andrew, for a bit or forever, would be  just plain stupid. And Judy Lambini wasn't stupid.  Besides, she reminded herself, despite Andrew's sex  appeal, he could frequently be a great big jerk!
     The object of her musings snorted and moved slightly.  Her body tingled where his touched hers, so she inched  away, putting more space between them. Then she  propped herself on one elbow and, unable to resist, peered  down at him again.
     It was clear why he made her feel all gushy inside.  Though she had spurned his advances on principle, she  knew he'd caught her fancy the very first day she had  met him. She had let him grope her while he argued  with his brothers in the great hall. She had felt that  spark of sexual heat the first time he'd climbed into  bed with her, and when he'd grabbed her leg under the  dinner table, too.
     No man in her own time had ever excited her the  way Andrew did. But then, she had never met, in her  own time, someone like young Lord Laycock. He had a  body like a lifeguard and thick, shiny, dark brown hair  that sort of waved around his head, making Judy want  to run her fingers through it. Andrew's eyes were even  darker, nearly as black as his pupils, and they drooped  as though their long lashes weighted down his lids.  Bedroom eyes, if there ever were any.
     She moved the arm much of her weight lay upon  and yelped when a stone pressed into her flesh.  Andrew's eyes popped open, and his hand clenched  the hilt of his sword as he sat upright, scouring the  vicinity with a purposeful gaze. "What is it?" he  demanded, turning to her after he'd apparently  concluded they faced no danger.
     "Nothing. I was lying on a rock or something. It hurt."  "Oh." Andrew pulled her arm across his lap and  stroked it from wrist to shoulder.
     He seemed to be trying to soothe her pain. It worked.  "How badly do you hurt?" he asked.
     Judy chortled. "Badly. Very badly. How can you stand  it, riding so long and hard?"
     "I'm well-used to riding. I hunt, and I train with Zeus  so that we're prepared to go into battle together. I vow,  'tis far more grueling to ride wearing chain mail and  brandishing both shield and mace."
     "I suppose. But knowing things could be worse doesn't  make me feel any better."
     Andrew shrugged his blanket aside and stood. "Let  me tend the fire and bring you something to eat. Sweet  Mother Mary, but you must be starving! I dared not wake  you earlier because you needed your sleep. But now you  must put some food into your belly. Afterward, I can do  something to ease your aches and pains."  Judy nodded gratefully, but she doubted anything  short of a whirlpool, a masseuse, and a big dose of pain  pills could ease her misery.
     "What's this?" she asked dubiously when Andrew  returned to her pallet and handed her something  impaled on a stick.
     "A hare."
     Judy peered at her food more closely. Minus fur and  tail, and cooked to a golden, crunchy turn, it remained,  indeed, a rabbit, which she did not find particularly  appetizing.
     "Eeuuww!" With a grimace, Judy waved the stick at  Andrew.
     "What's wrong?"
     "I can't eat this. It still has its head!"  "You needn't eat the head," Andrew explained  patiently, sitting down on the edge of her blanket. "Nor  the bones nor the entrails. Just the flesh, which is very  tasty, even cold."
     "I can't. It reminds me of a Guinea pig I used to  keep as a pet."
     "A what?"
     "Another small animal, one I fed and played with  but never cooked and ate."
     Andrew narrowed his eyes. "Methinks you must be  more than a lady--mayhap a spoilt princess. Well, let  me play the servant and tear the meat from the bones  for you. You must eat, Judith. Your foregoing drink and  food is not an option."
     Reluctantly, she agreed. Andrew held the stick and  patiently peeled the meat away from the small carcass.  He fed each morsel directly to her, holding it between  his thumb and index finger until she took the food into  her mouth.
     "Hey, this isn't bad after all," she admitted. "It  reminds me of something I've eaten before."
     "When I travel any distance, I always carry a pouch  with a special mix of herbs my mother combines  together. The seasonings enhance the flavor of many  meats, from fowl to fish, and they're easy to carry. Plain  meat will always suffice to ease one's hunger. But why  not make the victuals savory so that they are truly  enjoyable?"
     "Smart thinking," Judy agreed, wondering where  she had eaten something so similar. It hadn't been too  long ago, and she thought it must have been in England.  At home, she tended to eat ethnic takeout or frozen  entrees.
     Her appetite aroused by the taste of food, Judy  gestured for Andrew to give her another tidbit. Grinning,  he complied, but she closed her mouth too quickly,  accidentally capturing the tip of Andrew's finger  between her lips. They both went completely still. He  left his finger imprisoned, and she neither chewed nor  swallowed. As their eyes met, she slid her lips farther  down, past Andrew's knuckle, and sucked. A tremor ran  through her as he inhaled a quick, startled breath.  Judy didn't breathe. Andrew's drowsy, molten gaze  heated her own insides until they melted. Finally, she  had to inhale or drown in the churning, liquid emotions  bubbling inside her. Yet when she drew breath and  Andrew reclaimed his finger, she choked on the meat  that had been resting on the back of her tongue.  Andrew moved with quick efficiency, circling her  until he crouched behind her. There, he slapped her  full on the back until the passage in her throat cleared.  "Are you well?" he asked, concerned, as he sat down  to face her again.
     She nodded, unable to speak.
     "Drink," he ordered, handing her the wine skin.  She obeyed, grateful for the cool, tangy liquid that  soothed her spasming throat.
     As she wiped tears from her eyes, she avoided  Andrew's gaze. That proved easy enough, because he  seemed to be looking anywhere but at her.  "I said I'd help ease your aches away," Andrew  reminded Judith, wondering why he did so. God help  him, but he didn't think he could touch her body without
     exploring all her curves and crevices. "Roll over."  "What?"
     "Onto your belly."
     She obeyed, tucking her face into her folded arms.  He couldn't believe Judith deigned to heed his command  now, of all times. She should have been insisting they  gather their things and head out. But nay, she lay before  him, patiently waiting for him to fondle her. Innocently,  she trusted him to do naught but ease away her aches  because he had insisted they wait to make love.  Fool! Andrew wondered which of them he called that  name, himself or Judith.
     Attempting to maintain a degree of indifference, he  straddled her legs and began massaging her neck and  shoulders.
     "Ahhhhh!" she cried, her voice muffled by the blanket  beneath her.
     "'Tis that bad? Sweetling, you need more physical  activity."
     "I get plenty of physical activity," she grumbled. "Just  not on horses."
     "On what, then?" He pressed his fingertips  purposefully against the knobs of her spine.  "Exercise equipment. I know you've never heard of  anything like that. They're machines...implements...to  work a person's muscles."
     Judith was obviously recalling things as her memory  fought to return, but he did not comment. He couldn't  be sure that she was as aware of this fact as he.  Casually, he inquired, "Where does one find such  implements?"
     "A lot of people own their own. Others, like me, go to  special places where...I don't know, I guess you'd call  them tradespeople, keep a great variety of exercise  equipment. We pay money to use their machines."  "I see," he muttered, though he did not. People kept  their bodies strong by working, riding, running, even  swimming, but mostly by toiling at the tasks that kept  them housed, fed and clothed. To have some sort of tools  for that purpose sounded both impossible and  impractical.
     Andrew suspected Judith's lower extremities would
     feel more sore than her arms. Scooting down the length  of her body, he began to knead the knots in the muscles  of her calves and her thighs.
     "If I go to heaven," she said on a sigh, "I want it to  feel like this."
     He smiled. He wanted it to feel like this, too, with  Judith's body beneath him. Although he would prefer  her face up or at least on her knees.
     Shaking his head to clear it of such wayward,  dissolute thoughts, he examined the fabric of her  chausses as he ran his fingers over her calf. "Of what  sort of material are your leggings made?" he asked. "I've  ne'er seen or felt anything like it."
     "I dunno. I think it's a combination of cotton and  Spandex or something."
     "What is that? How do you weave it so fine?"  "I don't weave it. I buy it."
     "You purchase all your fabric for your clothing from  merchants? You spin no cloth yourself?"  "Nope. My job...my work...is something altogether  different."
     He went still, though he peeked at Judith's profile.  Her eyes were closed, and she seemed more asleep than  awake. Cautiously, he asked, "What is your work?"  "I sell books," she responded without hesitation. "Not  published books, but the manuscripts that are made  into books and sold to the public."
     "Explain" he urged, resuming his massaging of  Judith's limbs.
     "It's complicated. I don't know if I can." She paused  so long, he wondered if she had drifted off to sleep.  Suddenly, she asked, "Andrew, are you familiar with  Beowulf?"
     That, he knew. "Aye. 'Tis an ancient story brought  to England by the Norse hundreds of years past."  "And someone wrote it down, hundreds of years past.  Beowulf is the oldest story ever written in English."  Judith rolled her shoulders. "Could I ask you to get my  neck? It's really sore."
     Andrew readily complied, and she continued, "The  people I work with write stories--long, long stories. I  take their stories to publishers, the folks who print
     them--"
     "Print them?"
     "Make many, many copies of them and bind the  pages together," Judith clarified. "The publishers pay  the writers for their stories, and I get part of that money  for finding the publishers on the writers' behalf.  Ummmm...Andrew, that feels so good." She sighed  contentedly. "I know it doesn't sound like hard work,  but it is. I swear, an agent works seven days a week."  "Thus, you have no time to weave your own cloth?"  "No. No time at all. I use the money I earn to buy  cloth--actually, garments already sewn of cloth--and  that's why I don't know how the material for my leggings  was manufactured. Um--made."
     Andrew considered what Judith told him. God's toes,  but he had been to York, and he'd never encountered  people whose customs seemed as strange as Judith's,  or whose language sounded as foreign. He never saw  exercise equipment, either. Did she reside within an  exclusive society of some sort, one to which her  alchemist sire belonged? Were they outcasts even  among the people of that city?
     Judy realized Andrew had stopped working his magic  with his fingers. She rolled onto her side, delighted that  she felt no pain when she did. "Andrew? Is something  wrong?"
     He looked up, meeting her eyes. "Nay. I was only  thinking."
     "About what?"
     He considered her for a long moment before  answering. "I notice that the day grows light. We should  be on our way, Judith, for I've no time to spare. I left  Laycock without waiting for my brothers or my sire to  return and protect it. If war breaks out before I get  back--"
     "It won't."
     "It won't?"
     "There won't be any war, at least not any serious  fighting, because King John's going to sign that charter  your father and the other barons are drawing up. I didn't  put it together at first, when Philip explained what was  going on. But the other day, I suddenly realized--"
     Judy broke off as though she'd been garotted. She  stared back at Andrew, who stared hard at her. What  have I been doing? she asked herself. Had she totally  lost it, rambling on about health clubs, her career, and  even worse, telling Andrew about the signing of the  Magna Carta as casually as a psychic made predictions  on one of those 900 hotlines?
     "Jesu." As Judy watched, he crossed himself and  muttered, "You have the sight."
     "No." She scrambled up, shaking her head  emphatically as she sought some way to distract Andrew  from her stupid confessions. "It's just a hunch, that's  all. Like I mentioned, Philip told me all about the  negotiations those, uh, barons, Marshal and Langton,  have been handling. There's no way King John won't  sign the charter. Really. But if you're nervous, we can  get a move on." She gathered up her blanket, trying to  be helpful and eager. Then she paused and suggested,  "Andrew, if you'd rather, we could go back to Laycock.  We don't have to go to York. You know I'm not that keen  on it. Besides, I wouldn't want you neglecting your duties  to chase after my phantom family."
     He stood, grabbed her shoulders, and looked deep  into her eyes. Judy's heart raced as she feared he could  read her mind, her heart, more easily than she could  read a newspaper.
     But then he shook his head and said softly, "Nay. I  think we must go to York."
     Nineteen
     "Keep your back straight, Judith. Do not slouch.  That's better. And remember your feet--heels down, toes  up."
     "Right. Got it."
     She attempted to return Andrew's encouraging  smile. In fact, his coaching had made her a better rider  over the past few days--not that she could have done  anything much but improve. But her mind wasn't on  riding; she kept thinking about what--whom--they rode  toward.
     Surely they would reach their destination today.  What other reason could Andrew have for insisting she  wear the lady's tunic she'd brought with her, along with  his sister's veil and chaplet? None that she could think  of. Obviously, he expected to meet the alchemist in York  quite soon. Obviously, he anticipated learning the truth  about her circumstances.
     She sighed, wondering why she kept going through  the motions. Sure, this was a diversion, a way to while  away the endless days. But was she only killing time,  or was she killing herself by signing her own death  warrant? When Andrew learned she wasn't the old  knight's daughter, he'd not only abandon any thoughts  of marrying her, he probably wouldn't even want to  "keep" her.
     Geez. Suddenly, she wanted to be a kept woman!  Yet being Andrew's live-in girlfriend wasn't just a silly,  romantic notion. Judy had no desire to endure the  elements and forage for food while waiting for next  Halloween to arrive. Laycock Keep might be cold and  gloomy, but it seemed like the Plaza compared to the  huts in Wixcomb. And those huts seemed like Holiday  Inns compared to wandering homeless.
     "Judith, look!"
     She jerked, glanced toward Andrew, and discovered  him pointing. She looked up ahead, expecting to see a  medieval city's low skyline on the horizon. But she only
     saw a solitary house sitting in the center of plowed  cropland. This couldn't be the alchemist's residence,  not if the man lived in York.
     "What is it?"
     "A surprise." Andrew met her gaze with a kind smile.  "This eve you need not sleep under the stars. This eve  you shall have a roof over your head."  Shelter of any kind sounded wonderful. Judy had  experienced one night outside in the rain, and one night  was enough. She only hoped Andrew made reference to  the house they approached, not a barn or a stable.  "Whose roof?" she asked.
     "Lord and Lady Ackworth's. 'Tis their house, straight  afore us."
     She smiled, enormously relieved. No York, today.  No Peter Lamb. No losing Andrew or her means of  surviving her medieval sojourn--yet. "Are they friends  of yours?" she asked.
     "Aye. Friends of my parents. They're like kin to my  brothers, my sisters, and me."
     "Then--then we haven't reached York yet?"  Andrew's brow creased, and he shook his head  slightly. "Nay. There's a way to go. I'm sorry."  Judy wasn't. If she had felt a bit more confident, she  would have kicked her mare into a trot, maybe even a  run.
     As it was, they made good time up to the house.  "Ho, there!" Andrew greeted a servant in the yard.  "Is your master at home?"
     "Aye, milord. I'll fetch him." He bobbed his head  respectfully and hurried indoors.
     Another man appeared in the doorway and called  out as Andrew helped Judith dismount. He spoke French,  but Andrew replied in English.
     "Aye, 'tis me, Uncle Geoffrey," he confirmed, opening  his arms and striding toward the middle-aged fellow  heading down the front steps.
     As they embraced, "Uncle Geoffrey" switched to the  same language Andrew spoke. "And who be this comely  lady?" he asked. "Don't tell me you've wed, Andrew."  Judy met Andrew's quick glance as he replied, "Nay,  Uncle. I am not wed. This is--"
     He broke off, glancing at Judy with a somewhat  pained expression. She realized then that Andrew had  no idea how to explain her. She considered identifying  herself until she recalled the lord's presumption that  she was a lady. After all, she looked like one. But she  had neither the speech nor the manners, and she did  not want to embarrass Andrew. So she kept silent and  waited for his next move.
     "This is Lady Judith Lamb," Andrew announced  finally. "She has been visiting Laycock Keep, and now  I'm escorting her home to York."
     "Are you? Delightful, my lad, delightful. You will be  staying with us for the night?"
     "If you'll have us."
     The stocky, gray-haired man took another two steps  that brought him directly before Judy. He lifted her hand,  bowed and kissed it. "A pleasure to have you here, my  lady. I am your humble servant, Geoffrey Ackworth."  She nodded politely but, over the lord's head, gave  Andrew a pointedly meaningful look. Judy had no idea  if he could interpret all she tried to convey--she had  quite a few things she wished to discuss with him in  private.
     Then, as though he read her mind, Andrew  continued, "You must not take offense if Judith doesn't  speak. She was ill for some time and lost her speech  because of it."
     "How dreadful!" Ackworth appeared sincerely  distraught.
     "She prefers we speak English. 'Tis easier for her to  understand."
     "I shall gladly comply. You look so robust and  beautiful, my lady, I can only assume you are fast  approaching a full recovery."
     He paused, distracted by Andrew's horse. Admiringly,  he ran his hand over the animal's neck, flank and  hindquarters. "'Tis a beautiful beast you have here,  Andrew."
     "Aye. He came from Tuscany, from the stable of one  of that country's best breeders. My father gave him to  me some years ago, advising me that, as a younger son,  my horse would not only prove my most faithful
     companion, but the means by which I might earn a  living."
     "Thomas is wise--and generous." Ackworth smiled  at Judy. "Come," he urged, offering her his arm. "My  wife, Lydia, is somewhere within. She'll be excited to  meet you and to see Andrew again."
     As the three of them entered the house at the  second story--a tall flight of cement stairs enabled them  to ignore an obvious stable at ground level--Ackworth  strode across the firelit room to a short, wooden  staircase. "Lydia?" he called out. "Lydia, we have  guests!"
     "Andrew!" the lady exclaimed from the top of the stairs  before hurrying down to hug the young knight just as  her husband had. "Where are the rest of your family?"  Andrew explained.
     "Then who watches over Laycock and the village?"  Lord Ackworth inquired.
     "Our captain is loyal and dependable, as is our  bailiff," Andrew assured him. "Also, I'm confident there  is no chance we shall come to war. King John should be  signing the barons' charter very soon."  Andrew's pronouncement came as a surprise, not  only to the Ackworths but to Judy. He believed what she  had told him without question. He trusted her, despite  the circumstances of her unexpected intrusion into his  life.
     It seemed a greater compliment than any Philip had  given her, couched in flowery phrases.  "You know more than I," Ackworth conceded. "Lydia,  this is Lady Judith Lamb, a friend of Thomas' family.  Andrew is escorting her home to York." He glanced at  Judy. "May I present my lady wife, Lydia."  Again, Judy nodded, smiled shyly, and remained  silent. Again, Andrew provided the reason why for Lydia's  benefit.
     "Having lost your voice doesn't prevent you from  eating, does it?" Lydia asked with a smile and a sparkle  in her eyes. "Supper is ready to be served. Let's sit, and  eat, and catch up on things, shall we?"  ***
     Judy soon felt so relaxed, she actually began to enjoy
     herself. Because no one expected her to speak, she found  herself spared the anxiety of worrying that she might  say something inappropriate. Also because she didn't  talk, Andrew anticipated her every need so that she  wouldn't be forced to mime. He made sure she had plenty  of food to eat and mead to drink. The mead didn't hurt,  either--she soon felt a warm, contented glow. But that  sensation, she knew, could also have been prompted by  the anticipation of sleeping a foot or two off the ground,  on a mattress, between clean, linen sheets. That, and  the decided relief that she hadn't gotten all dressed up  to confront Sir Peter Lamb.
     "It may be fortuitous that you happened this way,  Andrew," Ackworth suggested as a servant cleared away  the remains of their meal.
     "How so?"
     "Let me show you something before I explain." He  excused himself and went upstairs. When Ackworth  returned, he carried a parcel wrapped in soft wool.  "Look," he said, laying the object on the table in front of  Judy and Andrew.
     He peeled the cloth away and Judy gasped. It was  the dagger, the jeweled dagger, that she had seen  enclosed in glass at Laycock Inn! Before, she had barely  glanced at it. But now, the dazzling, stone-encrusted  hilt and ornately carved steel blade mesmerized her.  Beside her, Andrew exhaled a low breath. Asking  for and receiving permission, he lifted the weapon gently  with his fingertips. When he held it up and turned it  one way and another, the numerous flickering candle  flames ricocheted off every blue, red, and yellow  gemstone. The effect resembled an expensive evening  gown covered in sequins and beads that winked beneath  the light of a chandelier. But these stones, though also  minute, were semiprecious jewels that generated their  own fire. No one in the room could take their eyes off  them.
     "'Twas bequeathed to me by my mother's brother,"  Ackworth explained. "He lived a long life, nearly eighty  years, and died only recently."
     "You are a fortunate man, Uncle," Andrew told him.  "Not so fortunate." He smiled ruefully and glanced
     at his wife, who sat beside him, opposite Andrew and  Judy. "Like my own uncle, I am childless. But unlike  him, I have no one at all to whom I may bequeath this  weapon."
     Judy watched Andrew. Everything in him tensed,  every muscle, every sinew, every bone. "Aye?" he said  tightly, staring across the table at Ackworth as though  he were almost afraid to look down at the fabulous  weapon.
     "I've another problem. I am a landowner, but no great  baron like your sire who has many men-at-arms to  protect a demesne of that size. Lydia and I fear that  someone may hear that this exquisite, precious dagger  has come into my possession--"
     "--And that we'll be murdered in our beds by thieves  who wish to get their hands on it," Lydia added.  Andrew had been resting his hands casually on the  table. Now, he clenched them. Yet his voice remained  even as he asked, "What do you intend?"  "To sell it." Ackworth shook his head sadly. "An  ornamental weapon such as this should not be hidden  away as I must hide it. It should be a family's treasure,  passed down from one generation to the next."  "What...do you ask for it?"
     "I would like a destrier, Andrew, one from which I  could sire many more to be trained for battle and sold  for good coin."
     Judy watched Andrew rub his thumbs against his  fingers. He wanted that dagger more than anything, she  could tell. And he would have it, because one day the  innkeeper in Wixcomb would keep it on display, a family  heirloom.
     Abruptly, Andrew flattened his hands against the  wooden table. "I confess, I wish I had your price, Uncle.  But I do not."
     "You have Zeus," Judy blurted.
     "She speaks," Lydia exclaimed.
     Almost--but not quite--regretting her outburst, Judy  nodded and feigned a hoarse voice as she quickly added,  "Not very well, I fear."
     Andrew appeared to ignore the last exchange as he  turned his head to frown sternly at her. "I cannot part
     with Zeus," he informed her. "He and I are one. A knight  works years with a steed so he may depend on the beast  when they charge into battle together. More often than  you know, Judith, a knight's life depends not on the  sword in his hand but on the animal he rides."  "But--"
     "Geoffrey hoped to sell it to some young man he  respects," Lydia explained, speaking to Judy but looking  fondly at Andrew. "When we saw 'twas you who had come  to visit us, we were of a single mind." She glanced at  her husband and smiled regretfully before telling  Andrew, "We love you as we would our own."  Andrew looked pained as he repeated, "I cannot pay  your price," before leaning back and dropping his hands  into his lap. "Besides, I am a younger son. If any of  Thomas Laycock's children should acquire this knife,  it should be Robin."
     "But Robin is in London, and you are here," Ackworth  said, pointing out the obvious.
     "And you'll have children of your own," Judy promised  him impulsively. Though she whispered, she knew she  sounded far more certain than she was. That Carla's  Viscount Laycock had descended from a direct line  leading back to Robin seemed more likely than that he  was a distant grandson of Andrew's. Still, the dagger  belonged to the Laycocks well before, and well into, the  20th century. Surely it came to the family now, in the  13th.
     Andrew's eyebrows met above his nose. Judy  wondered if, finally, she had stepped over the line,  forcing him to believe what Elfred believed. But then he  shook his head, looked back at Ackworth, and smiled  apologetically.
     "I'm sorry. By all the saints, I wish that I could buy  it from you, but I have no means."
     Judy gasped. This is wrong! Andrew has to get that  knife. She nudged him and leaned forward to whisper  again in his ear. "Lord Ackworth wants a warhorse like  yours. I understand that you can't give up Zeus. But  what does Zeus do with his free time back at the Laycock  stables?"
     "What do you mean?"
     "I'm asking if there are any baby Zeuses running  around at home."
     "Aye. Two. One foal is but a few months old, the other  still less than a year. Neither is the animal Geoffrey  desires."
     "But both of them will be, right? It's just a matter of  time?"
     "Judith, I haven't time. Geoffrey wants to sell that  dagger soon."
     "I'd bet, if you offered him the other two stallions,  the young ones, he'd hold that knife for you 'til they  were old enough to go to him."
     Andrew considered what she had said before facing  their hosts and saying something to them in French.  Then, tucking his head close to Judy's again, he spoke  softly behind his hand. "I do not desire the dagger for  myself, Judith. I need no such prize. If I could buy it, I  would make a gift of it to my sire. 'Tis his 50th natal  day soon. Surely, he would treasure it."  Judy wanted to hug him, but she didn't. She wanted  to weep, but she blinked back the tears burning her  eyes. Boy, he was turning out to be something she hadn't  expected. Not even when she found she wanted him so  badly that she'd invited him into her bed. First, the open  trust he had displayed in her. Now, the selfless  generosity on behalf of his father.
     Andrew really, really had to have that knife. And  Judy had to have her tote.
     "Could you get my satchel for me, please?" she asked.  He looked baffled, but retrieved the nylon tote for  her. When she had it in her hands, she turned around  and gave both the table and the Ackworths her back.  Then she set the bag on the floor between her feet and  dug through her possessions. When she found what she  was after, she hid it in the folds of her skirt and faced  the others again.
     "Lord Geoffrey, Lady Lydia, I have a proposition for  you," she declared, speaking very, very slowly and  enunciating every syllable. They had to understand.  Judy needed to handle this negotiation herself without  Andrew interpreting for her, or the presentation would  not be as effective. Presentation was everything--it was
     the key to getting what you wanted.
     "Andrew wants the dagger, but he cannot trade you  Zeus for it. However, Zeus has sired a foal, a little boy  horse--"
     "A colt," Andrew interrupted.
     "Yes. Aye. A colt. And he will give you that colt in  exchange for the dagger."
     Ackworth considered Andrew thoughtfully. "Nay. I'm  sorry, but I need a mature stallion for breeding. The  one I owned a score of years has been dead half a year  already. I have good mares that go wanting even now."  "The colt will be ready to breed...when?" Judy looked  at Andrew.
     "The winter after next. Or possibly that autumn."  "Andrew, I fear I cannot wait that long," Ackworth  said. "Nor can I hold this beautiful, damnable weapon  that long, either. I dare not risk it."  "I wouldn't ask you to." He shook his head.  "Wait!" If they'd stop interrupting, Judy knew she  could move things along. "Actually, Andrew's destrier  has sired two foals. There is one even younger."  "I am sorry, my lady. I need a mature stallion now,  not foals who cannot mount mares for several seasons."  "Hear me out," Judy pleaded, glancing at the  sparkling hilt of the weapon under discussion. Andrew  wanted it so badly, and she wanted it so badly for him,  she felt as though she wanted it for herself. She felt  exactly this way when holding out for more money for  her clients.
     "Andrew will let you take the babies, the foals,  immediately." She glanced at him again. "They're  weaned, aren't they?"
     "One is."
     "Okay. Very well. He will let you take them as soon  as they're both weaned. We realize you cannot use either  of them for breeding straight away, but..." She plucked  the object she had been hiding in her lap, stood, and  held it out to Lydia. "You may also have this."  The lady shrieked, in fear or delight, Judy couldn't  at first determine. But she grabbed the fake tortoise  shell handle right out of Judy's hand and lifted the  mirror to her face. Lydia gaped and blinked. Then she
     grinned, exactly as the servant, Bridget, had upon  recognizing her own reflection. Soon she was chattering  in staccato French that even Mademoiselle O'Flynn  couldn't have caught two words of. She flew up from her  chair, flipping the mirror over to its magnification side,  shrieked again, and then held it under her husband's  nose--for a second, not long enough for him to take it  from her. Lady Lydia was too busy examining her eyes,  her hair, her teeth.
     They struck the deal. Andrew drew up a note so that  Geoffrey Ackworth could claim Zeus' offspring from the  Laycock stables even if Andrew wasn't present to  oversee the transaction. Lydia Ackworth had her mirror,  which now appeared to be permanently attached to her  hand. And Andrew had his engraved, jewel-studded,  ceremonial dagger to give his father, Lord Thomas,  ensuring that one day, centuries down the road,  Viscount Laycock of Wixcomb, England, would inherit  it.
     Twenty
     Judy no longer ached as she had the first couple of  days on the road. Perhaps the pain had been dulled this  particular night by the amount of alcohol she had  consumed. More likely, she'd become inured to her  discomfort because of her exhilaration. Wow, negotiating  the dagger deal had been a high, a real toot! Judy hadn't  felt this good since she'd wrangled Carla's last book  contract.
     But now, she confessed to her hostess, she felt tired,  so she followed Lady Lydia upstairs to the floor beneath  the vaulted roof. Judy anticipated an ancient, rustic  version of her grandmother's attic guest room--  something cozy and dry with a little bed tucked away in  a corner. What she got was a narrow, lumpy mattress  stuffed with straw lying on the rush-covered floor.  Gratitude quickly replaced her initial  disappointment. Though a far cry from cozy, everything  at least appeared dry. And, truthfully, she felt glad to  have anyplace at all to lie down flat. So she kicked off  her shoes, knelt down on the floor, and curled up on the  pallet. Within minutes, she fell asleep.  ***
     "Judith." Andrew whispered so softly, her name was  barely audible. With Geoffrey and Lydia sleeping only a  few paces away in their private bedchamber, he had to  be quiet. Yet he had to speak with her, had to thank  her, had to convey how very much her efforts meant to  him.
     "Wha...?" Judith blinked until her eyes focused. Then  a drowsy little smile quirked the corners of her mouth.  "Are you sleeping up here, too?"
     He wished he were. But as he drew a coverlet over  her legs and up to her shoulders, he said, "Nay. 'Twould  be unseemly to share your quarters. I have a pallet  belowstairs."
     She crinkled her nose. "I thought," she said, "I'd  have a real bed tonight."
     Damnation! Judith deserved a real bed after all she  had done for him this evening. If he had realized her  expectations, he would have gone into the woods and  cut the timber to fashion her one.
     "I am sorry," Andrew apologized. "Only the wealthiest  landowners, the likes of my own sire, can afford to have  unused beds in their homes. Most people would not  think to do so even if they could. Many fine ladies and  lords grow up sleeping on pallets with their sisters or  brothers."
     "I wasn't complaining. Just a little surprised."  "You surprised me, too."
     "I'm always surprising you." Judith rolled her eyes.  "Tonight I was afraid you'd finally decided I was some  kind of mystic fortune-teller. You know--when I said  you'd have children."
     He wanted children. With Judith. "Will we?"  "We should," she whispered, fondling a hank of  Andrew's hair that fell away from his face as he leaned  over her. "We'd have only dark, swarthy sons and dark,  sultry daughters. A handsome family."
     He covered her hand with his own, drew it across  his cheek, and then planted a kiss in the center of her  palm. "Judith." The anguish and hope he felt in his  breast nearly strangled him.
     "What is it? What's the matter?" She came more  awake as she sat up and studied his face in alarm.  "Naught." Brusquely, he put her hand down, tucking  it under the covers. He couldn't touch her at all, or soon  he would be stroking every inch of her body. "I came  only to tell you how grateful I am for your assistance  this eve. I'd ne'er have thought to bargain with Lord  Geoffrey. The price he asked for the dagger was more  than reasonable. Because I couldn't meet it, I'd have  let the matter drop."
     "But you wanted it for your father so very much."  "Aye. 'Twill please him greatly. I should like to please  him before I go."
     "Go?" Her eyes widened. "Where will you be going?"  God's blood! He hadn't meant to say that. But it was  almost too easy to bare his heart to Judith. He wanted  to share everything with her, his thoughts, his life.
     But he couldn't explain. It would be easy enough to  say that if she proved to be Sir Peter Lamb's unwed,  dowered daughter, he would leave Laycock Keep to live  with her on her own land. But Andrew had no wish to  bring up the possibility that if she had no dowry, after  they married he would have to leave her to earn their  way with his horse and his sword arm.
     So he said only, "Surely you understand my  situation, Judith. A younger son cannot remain at his  sire's keep for all his life. 'Tisn't done."  "Oh." She blinked slowly, and he felt her warm  breath flutter against his cheek. The lingering scent of  roses that always seemed to follow Judith teased his  nostrils, and when he lowered his gaze, he found her  lips so near his own, he could easily have touched them  with his tongue.
     "Judith." He leaned toward her, and she slid her arms  around his neck. His body and hers melded together as  he laid her down and followed after, crushing the blanket  and her gown. But at least, at last, he again felt the  curves of her limbs, her hips, and her breasts.  "Andrew." She rained kisses on his face as his hands  roamed over her, exploring those curves. "Andrew, I  want you."
     "And I want you. Jesu, I want you!" He spoke against  the column of her throat, so that his voice sounded  muffled.
     A voice from another chamber sounding clear and  sharp startled them both into stillness. "Judith!" Lydia  called out. "Lady Judith, is all in order?"  Rigid, Andrew continued to clutch Judith against  him. As he held his breath, she replied in a normal  voice he could never have managed, "Yes, Lady Lydia. I  am fine. I was only...talking to myself."  "We're glad your voice is returning," the lady said,  "but 'tis best you get some sleep now."  "I will. Good night."
     I've gone mad, Andrew thought. He had as yet no claim  to Judith--to have come to her bedchamber in another's  home, where they might be discovered together and her  reputation sullied...!
     "Forgive me," he mumbled, releasing Judith and
     backing away. "I vowed not to touch you before I've seen  you home to your kin. 'Twas wrong of me to lie beside  you on your pallet."
     "Andrew!" she said. "You hurt me terribly by rejecting  me whenever I offer myself to you. I'll tell you a secret.  Though I've sometimes been persuaded to go along, I've  never offered myself to any man but you."  His heart clenched. "I am not spurning you, dearling.  I would ne'er spurn you! But this is not the time or the  place."
     "It wasn't the right time or place at Laycock, either,"  she grumbled petulantly.
     "Sweetling," he whispered, hoping to reassure her,  "in only two days more, all shall be different. After we  speak with your sire--"
     "My sire," she gasped, staring wide-eyed at him.  "We'll be arriving in York the day after tomorrow? Is  that what you're saying?"
     "Aye. If we ride hard." He pushed to his feet, damning  himself for having come to her and damning himself  for leaving her now. "Forgive my intrusion," he said  stiffly. "Go to sleep. You need to rest."  "Andrew!"
     He ignored her soft cry and left as silently as he had  come. Yet Judy never fell back asleep.  ***
     When they resumed traveling the next morning,  Andrew set a quick pace, encouraging Judy to  alternately trot and run her mare so that they would  make better time. Her head hurt and her eyes itched,  and it seemed she was forever riding through curtains  of spider webs spun between the trees lining the road.  Besides plucking sticky filaments off her face and  belligerent spiders out of her hair, she also had the worst  case of morning mouth she had ever tasted. Of course,  she had neither mouthwash nor flavored toothpaste to  chase it away, so she was quickly sinking into a very  foul mood.
     Andrew's almost manic energy did nothing to lighten  her spirits. Why, she wondered, was he in such a  damned hurry all of a sudden? Didn't he have a clue  what might happen once they talked to that old man?
     Was he stupid, or what?
     As Andrew obviously had no intention of slowing  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 digging  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  frustration, unburdening all her secrets. "The year you  are living in--hell, the year I'm living in at the  moment--is 1215! I don't know what kind of calendar  you people use, but the kind my people use designates
     this year as 1215. Oh, God." Feeling herself on the brink  of insanity and complete despair, Judy paused, gasped,  and held her forehead in her hand. "I'm not born until  1971," she repeated quietly. "That means I don't exist  in 1215. So what the hell am I doing here?"  She raised her head and looked at Andrew, a fragile  damsel in distress, the sort of female he, a knight,  should have been able to protect. At least, he should  have had the answer to her question. But he had no  answer. He had barely begun to open himself to the mere  possibility that everything Judith described she had  truly lived, not merely dreamed. It couldn't be true, none  of it could. Yet the things she had shared with him  during the past weeks, and the things she showed him  now, the pictures, seemed far too fantastic to be of this  world, of this time.
     Andrew picked up something Judith had discarded  on the ground. The tube with the big, shiny eye that  emitted a beam of white light. "It's a flashlight," she  informed him before he could ask. "In England, they're  called torches."
     He ran his fingers over the casing. "What is it made  of?"
     "Plastic."
     "Plastic?" he echoed, and she nodded, sniffing. "A  material not of this world," he surmised.  "Oh, it's of this world, all right. It didn't come from  outer space." Afraid she would lose Andrew when it  seemed, again, that he might be willing to believe after  all, Judy gestured with her arm toward the sky. "It didn't  come from beyond the moon, is what I'm saying.  Somehow--I don't know how--plastic is made from oil.  But that's something nobody figures out how to do until  sometime in the 20th century."
     "In America."
     "Yeah, I think so."
     "Take me to America." He raised his head and his  eyes met hers. He'd made a concession, issued a  challenge.
     "I can't."
     "Why not?" Andrew's mind flipped through the  information Judith had given him. "Even if you traveled
     through time on Samhain, you were in England in your  own time before you arrived in the England of mine.  Thus, America exists now, during the rule of King John,  same as it exists in your year of--what is your year, the  year you met my descendant, Viscount Laycock?"  "1998," Judith supplied. She rubbed her forehead as  though it ached and shook her head again. "You're  correct, Andrew. America--the land--exists in 1215.  Only nobody from Europe has discovered it yet. It lies  way on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, and right  now the only people who live there are natives. The  first Europeans who travel there in ships don't arrive  until around 1492."
     Andrew narrowed his eyes, computing in his head.  He couldn't come up with the incredible numbers he  searched for.
     Judith supplied them. "Not for another 300 years,  more or less."
     His pulse began to race. Judith's tale sounded mad,  absurd. But she was quite correct--if he didn't believe  her, he didn't truly love her. And he did love her. Worse,  if what she was telling him proved a deranged fantasy,  she was mad. Or a witch. And that, he did not believe.  Besides, her possessions served as evidence.  "You said I would have children because of the man  you met in Wixcomb, the Wixcomb of your time," he  reiterated softly. "And you said there'd be no attacks  against King John's fiefs, that Lackland would sign the  barons' charter. But you did not see into the future to  make those predictions, did you? Instead, you recalled  the past."
     Judith nodded.
     "If all you say is true, I would understand that you  know something you experienced--your meeting with  the Laycock lord who lives in your time, for instance.  But how could you know what happened here, in  England, so long before you were born?"  "It's history," Judith said with a shrug. "We learn  about it in school because it's so important. Andrew,  those conditions your father and his friends force King  John to sign end up affecting not only English law, but  law everywhere, all around the world! Eventually it will
     become known as the Magna Carta. The king signs it in  a field called Runnymeade, somewhere near Windsor."  Judith smiled. "Geez, I didn't know I knew that. I have  to admit, lately I've been amazed by what I know!  Anyway, your descendant, the viscount, has some  parchments written during the negotiations that my  friend, Carla, came to England to see. I saw them, too,  preserved under glass."
     Judy held her breath and considered Andrew warily,  hopefully. She felt as though her whole life hinged on  his believing her, and perhaps it did. As she watched,  his expression changed. She hoped--suspected--he was  no longer dismissing her every word as madness. But  did he believe her, really believe her?  "What did Philip say when you told him?"  His question caught Judy by surprise. "I--I never  told Philip."
     Her answer surprised Andrew just as surely. "Why  not?"
     "It never occurred to me. If it had, I wouldn't have  dared."
     "Why not?" He took her hand lightly, clasping only  her fingers.
     "Because Philip would never have believed me. You  know he wouldn't."
     "But he and I are very much alike. I explained our  similarities to you once, did I not? So if you felt certain  he'd dismiss your story as lunacy, why did you risk  telling me?"
     "Because you're not at all alike."
     "And you felt sure I would believe."
     "I did," Judy conceded. "Actually, today, I kind of  counted on it."
     Andrew's heart swelled. He pulled Judith closer and  clasped her hard against him, rubbing his bristled  cheek over her smooth one. No sane man could accept  her story as true, but fortunately for him, he had  obviously gone mad.
     "I believe you, sweetling," he assured her. "I cannot  fathom it, but I believe."
     Judy's swollen heart burst open like the petals of a  blossoming flower. She clung to Andrew, giddy with relief.
     "I love you," she admitted, no longer feeling brave, just  glad to be able to confess everything, even her love. As  she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and savored his  strong, supportive embrace, she realized Andrew was a  better person than she. If their situations had been  reversed, she'd have called the cops and had him  transported to the nearest padded cell.  "Sweet Jesu, woman," he whispered in her ear, "I  love you also. No matter who you be, where you are from,  or how you came to be here, understand I shall not be  letting you go."
     "That's okay by me." She smiled into his neck, glad  Andrew couldn't see the blush she felt creeping into  her cheeks. But it was okay, everything was okay, for  she had no intention of leaving Andrew Laycock.  Because really, when a girl traveled nearly a thousand  years back in time to find her one true love, how could  she let him go?
     ***
     As the sun began to sink low in the western sky,  gilding the verdant green landscape, Andrew laid Judy  down in the grass. He kissed her tenderly, from her  brow to her eyes, from her wrists to her fingers. The  torture of his deliberate caresses proved agonizingly  sweet. But the two of them had waited so long to be  together, and there remained no reason to either delay  their desires or restrain their ardor. Neither the  constraints of her world nor his could force them to deny  their passions anymore.
     So Judy found herself responding with impetuous  abandon, and soon Andrew's impatience became evident  as well. It only took seconds for him to remove her  medieval girdle, gown and shoes. When those layers had  been tossed aside, leaving only her skimpy, futuristic  underwear in place, she began fumbling with his belt,  intending to discard his tunic, too. But Andrew forced  her to pause as he flipped her bra straps off her  shoulders, kissing the skin against which they'd lain.  "Damnation, woman," he whispered. "Since the first  time I saw you in these brief and curious garments, I  have longed to examine them."
     "Oh, just take them off," Judy begged in a throaty
     whisper. "Please!"
     Grinning, he obeyed, burying his face in the valley  between her breasts. Even as he kissed her, he worked  the clasp between the bra cups and unfastened it so  that her breasts sprang free.
     Judy chuckled. "And you didn't even go to high  school."
     He ignored her comment. Andrew did not understand  many things Judith said, but he intended to spend the  rest of his life deciphering her unusual words. Now,  however, he saw no need for talk. Instead he slid the  garment that covered her breasts off her back and arms,  and began to suckle her nipples. Each pink nub tasted  sweet as a berry, and the soft, pebbly flesh against his  tongue made his cock strain to be freed from his braies.  Judy peered down at Andrew, who gazed up at her  through his thick, black lashes while his moist tongue  teased her rosy aureola. A current shot to her groin so  that she couldn't resist moving, rolling her hips against  him.
     He groaned and pulled himself higher against her  length, until they lay face to face. Catching her lips with  his teeth, he plundered her mouth with his tongue.  Again, Judy rolled her hips and felt what she'd been  longing for--his hardness, that ridge of masculinity  which promised so much pleasure.
     "Andrew!" she gasped, breathing his name into his  mouth as she scrabbled at his leggings and  undergarment where they tied at his hips.  Andrew didn't thwart her. He wanted his sex free to  burrow into Judith's. Yet as she bunched his clothing  up his chest and down his hips, he continued to nibble  her lips, her chin, her throat. Finally, he finished what  Judith had begun, tearing his tunic off over his head,  and his chausses and braies off his legs. Naked at last,  he crouched beside her and tongued a trail from her  breasts to her navel. When his lips met the hip band of  her nether garment, he kissed the smooth, shimmering  fabric. Judith hissed, inhaling through her teeth, and  thrust her hips upward again in an obvious invitation  for him to take her.
     "Lie still, sweetling," he urged, determined to love
     this woman as no man but he ever could, so that she'd  not be tempted to leave him for another man, another  time, another world. Spreading her legs, he knelt  between them and slipped his hands beneath Judith's  bare bottom. Raising her slightly, he nibbled at the tiny  triangle of bright green cloth that hid her woman's flesh.  His breath blew into the fabric, fluttering against the  nest of curls they protected.
     "Andrew, please!" Judith cried out. "You're torturing  me!"
     "Nay, dearest. I am loving you."
     "Then love me, please. Completely. Now. I need you  inside me, Andrew."
     He considered delaying but knew there would be  time later for more lovemaking. They would have all  the time in the world, once he made this wench his  wife. So Andrew said, "Your wish is my command, my  lady," and drew aside the thin band of material that  separated her legs and the globes of her derriere,  exposing the moist pink petals of her sex. He ran a finger  between those folds, and Judith bucked, crying his  name.
     He had never heard his name uttered with such  intensity, such need, before. Judith's calling out to him  nearly made him spend. But he managed to nestle the  head of his manhood inside her cleft. Then he slid his  sex home, knowing he'd come home, to his woman, the  one he had been destined for, though she'd had to travel  near a thousand years to find him.
     Judy wrapped her arms tightly around Andrew's neck  and twined her legs around his waist, cleaving to him,  making them one for now, forever. She hadn't known  sex could be like this, her nerve endings like a knot of  severed electrical cables sparking and sizzling. No man  in her own time had made her feel this way, not even  close. Whatever she'd gone through, Judy decided, what  ever lay ahead, would be worth it to have Andrew's love.  "Andrew! Oh, hon!" she panted, sensing she would  soon erupt with a climax the likes of which she'd never  had before, not with anyone, not even alone.  Judy climaxed. The feeling resembled the sensation  she had experienced on Halloween, when it seemed she
     had burst into a shower of shimmering starlight. As she  spasmed with her release, she felt Andrew spasm, too,  spending himself, warm and liquid, inside her.  "Jesu," he whispered as he rolled off Judy and lay  beside her, holding her close. "I never dreamed..."  "Neither did I," she returned. "Neither did I."  ***
     They were not hungry, so though Andrew made a  fire, he and Judy merely sat beside it, talking. At first  she presumed they would discuss their future. But then  she realized there was no point. It had already been  decided. She would stay, and they would be together.  Besides, Andrew seemed curious about his descendant,  the future Viscount Laycock, and Judy began wondering  if she were related to Carla's English lord, herself as  much a distant ancestor as Andrew.
     "He seemed dark, like you," Judy told him. "A little  gray in his sideburns. I'd guess he was older than Robin  by a few years. Otherwise, I can't tell you much. He  wore a cap--a hat--and glasses. I didn't bring any  eyeglasses with me, not even shades, so don't ask me  to explain what they are right now. Suffice it to say,  they kind of covered his eyes, so I didn't see much of  his face."
     "You called him a 'goo-roo.' What is that?"  This, Judy explained as superficially as possible. And  then, to help Andrew better understand, she retrieved  her laptop from her tote. She hauled it out, set it on her  thighs, and opened the cover.
     "I did that earlier, when you were ill."  "You opened it? You didn't turn it on, did you?"  "Turn it on?"
     "You didn't. Good, then there should still be juice in  the battery. Here, let me show you."
     Attaching the power pack, Judy booted up and  demonstrated simple things, such as word processing.  Andrew seemed captivated, reaching over to tap the  alphabet keys and move the mouse by running his finger  over the touch pad.
     He attempted too much too fast, and the computer  beeped.
     "Holy mother of God!" he exclaimed, literally leaping
     off the ground.
     Judy laughed. "Liked that, did you? Then you'll love  this."
     She turned off the laptop and closed the lid. Again,  she began rummaging through her belongings. She  wished she had a boom box or a disk player. But her old  standby, her tape recorder, would have to suffice.  "Check this out." Judy yanked the headphones out  of the device, glad her tastes ran to jazz, standards, and  Broadway show tunes. If rap music or heavy metal  blasted out into the still twilight, Andrew might have  run off screaming. When she pressed the "play" button,  only an orchestral version of "Funny Valentine" flowed  thinly from the tiny speaker.
     Yet the music seemed profound, almost huge, in the  virtual vacuum of that medieval countryside. Though  the horses lurched skittishly before settling down again,  Andrew sat motionless, staring at the tape player in  undisguised awe.
     "Even coming from the future," he said finally, "this  be magic."
     "No, it's not. We simply have methods of capturing  the sounds of instruments and singers so that anyone  can hear them again and again, whenever they want  to."
     "Show me."
     Judy stopped the tape, rewound it, and began the  tune again. When Andrew looked up at her, she thought  she saw tears glistening in his eyes.
     "How can you give up such pleasures?" he asked.  "I don't have any choice."
     "You could, Judith. You could choose to part the  curtain of time again."
     "That's not why I don't have a choice." She smiled  and touched his hand. "I can't leave you. Ever."  Andrew grabbed Judy's waist and hauled her into  his lap, where he kissed her as though he had only just  found her after a lifetime of searching. He said, "At least  you have your magic box. You can still hear your music  here, in this time."
     "For a while," she conceded. "Until the battery runs  out."
     "The what?"
     Judy explained, and just as she finished, "Funny  Valentine" stopped playing. Andrew glanced at her,  alarmed.
     "Don't worry. It still has power. The next song will  start in a second." When the music began again, Judy  stood and held her hand out to Andrew. "Wanna dance?"  she asked, feeling like a brave girl at a middle school  social, who dared to cross the cafeteria and approach  one of the boys holding up the wall.
     "Aye," Andrew answered gamely, taking her hand  and coming to his feet. Judy wondered if he had any  idea what she had proposed, but instead of inquiring,  she placed his right hand behind her waist and  positioned her left on his shoulder. Then, grasping his  free hand, she swayed to the music and took a few, small  steps, which Andrew followed quite easily.  The sun had disappeared some time ago, but its  waning rays wrapped the world in a lavender cloak  sequinned with the first of many flickering evening  stars. In the English meadow, near a copse of trees,  Judy Lambini danced with her medieval knight under  a twilight sky. The song that graced their ears and  underscored that blissful interlude, which she would  remember and treasure forever, could have been no  other: "As Time Goes By."
     Twenty-two
     Judy was married. She couldn't believe it. She  wouldn't have believed it if everything had been typical,  if she'd met Andrew at Zabar's deli a couple months ago  and eloped with him. But that she had married a knight,  a medieval knight, in a small, stone church in the north  of England, and that the Mass following the brief nuptials  had been performed by a dubious priest with dirty  fingernails whom Andrew had paid to conduct the  service, well...she just couldn't believe it.  But that's what happened, because Andrew had  persuaded her they had no reason to delay. So, after a  night of seemingly endless lovemaking on a blanket of  grass as green and velvety as any chemically treated  lawn Judy had ever seen in the suburbs of Connecticut,  they had given up their trek to York and turned around.  In a village near the Ackworths' house, bing-bang-boom,  they'd gotten hitched.
     It seemed impossibly romantic, a real live  fantasy...at first. But now, with Laycock Keep again  visible on the horizon, Judy began to second guess her  actions. Marriage to a modern day Andrew would have  required a huge adjustment. Marriage to the medieval  Andrew required enormous sacrifices. Until just this  moment, when she caught sight of the imposing stone  structure that would be her home forevermore, she  hadn't considered how devastating her concessions  might prove to be. And without even thinking about  them, she had willingly chosen never to return home  to her time, her country, her family, her career. Why?  Why had she so cavalierly made Plan B into Plan A? Her  behavior might have been more reasonable if she'd  known for a fact she could not return to her true home.  But to consciously choose not to try to get back--what  had possessed her?
     "We're home," Andrew, riding beside her, announced.  She turned to him, felt the warmth of his smile wash  over her, and had the answer to her questions. He had
     possessed her. For the love of Andrew Laycock, Judy  Lambini had given up everything she had ever known.  Now, as he bridged the distance between them by  reaching out and catching her hand, she again felt  confident her losses could never rival her gains.  "Do you think your family has returned yet?" she  asked him.
     "I don't know. We'll see, soon enough."  ***
     "Lord Andrew!" Nigel greeted them from the guard  tower when the couple approached the gate some  minutes later. "Welcome home, my lord."  "Welcome Lady Judith home as well, Nigel," Andrew  returned. "She is my bride."
     Nigel grinned. "'Tis a pleasure indeed to welcome  you home, my lady."
     "Is any of the family here?"
     "Aye, my lord. Your mother and sisters returned a  few days past."
     Judy said nothing as she and Andrew rode into the  bailey, though she did feel relieved. She preferred to  face the female contingent first. If she got them on her  side, facing Andrew's brothers and his father, the baron,  might not prove so difficult.
     "Don't be afraid," Andrew urged as they dismounted,  and he took from his bundle the jeweled cross, still  wrapped in wool. "My mother shan't bite you."  "But how will she feel about you marrying? And  marrying someone with no estate of her own, no money?"  "Mothers tend to want all their children wed,  especially her daughters and lesser born sons. Besides,  our marriage shan't affect her. We will not stay long at  Laycock Keep."
     Judy wanted to know where Andrew intended to take  her, where they would make their home. She  understood now that younger sons were expected to go  off and make their way in the world without support  from their families, that only the eldest, like Robin, had  any right to remain. But she hadn't thought about being  displaced when she'd agreed to marry Andrew. Life was  hard enough in a castle. She couldn't imagine the trials  of living elsewhere in this harsh world.
     "Mother!" Andrew said when they stepped into the  keep's great hall. Leaving Judy near the arched  entrance, he opened his arms and strode forward to  embrace a woman seated in a high-backed chair.  Oh, geez. Judy had always been aware of the  universally negative perception of mothers-in-law. She'd  told a few jokes along those lines herself. But she'd  presumed the gripes were all good-humored  foolishness--neither of her own grandmothers was a  nag or a shrew.
     So Judy wasn't prepared for the vision of her own  mother-in-law--a middle-aged woman with horns!  Honestly. Really and truly. The lady of the keep wore a  headpiece with a sheer veil that framed her cheeks  and chin, while from the top sprouted two lethal-looking  horns!
     Please, tell me she sings opera!
     After a quick conversation in French, Andrew turned  toward Judith and held out his hand beckoningly. In  English, he said, "Mother, I should like you to meet Lady  Judith, my wife. Judith, my mother, Lady Ardith of  Laycock."
     Okay, Judy thought. I've survived the publishing  business and dinners with knights and men-at-arms. I can  get through this first meeting with my mother-in-law.  "Lady Ardith, it is a pleasure to meet you." Judy  debated curtsying and decided against it.  Ardith nodded. Then her glance flicked to Andrew  and she said, "You are married?"
     "Aye, Mother."
     "Since Chandra's marriage, I'd no idea you were  courting anyone, Andrew. Let alone Judith Lamb."  Judy nearly choked. Andrew frowned, asking, "Do  you know her?"
     "I know of her."
     Ardith gestured to unoccupied chairs, and both Judy  and Andrew sat. He put the cross on a small table beside  him and demanded, "How do you know of her? She is a  stranger here."
     "She's no stranger to Philip, are you, Judith?"  Oh, hell. This woman was protecting her son. Horns  like a bull and the maternal instincts of a lioness.
     "Philip of North Cross and I are friends, my lady,"  Judy said. "That's all."
     "Mother, when did you speak to Philip?"  "He's ridden here twice since your sisters and I  returned. He told me he hoped to marry you, Judith,"  she explained, glancing at Judy with a nod. "Philip also  voiced his suspicions that you two had ridden to York so  that the lady could be reunited with her family there."  Judy wondered if she heard a veiled reprimand  directed at Andrew for his having left the stronghold  leaderless. "We didn't," she assured the woman, sensing  the need for solidarity between her husband and herself.  "When I first arrived here, I was lost and confused. I  had no memories. Because of...because of my name,  Philip felt sure I was related--that I was kin--to a knight  who lives in York. But I am not related to him, so Andrew  and I never went there."
     "Why is everyone speaking English?" a female voice  queried from the vicinity of the stairs.  Judy glanced in that direction and saw first one  young woman, then another, descending the steps.  "Because my wife only speaks English," Andrew  explained as he stood. "Judith, these are my sisters,  Camilla and Beatrix. Sisters, this is my wife, Judith."  "Your wife! How extraordinary," the oldest of the two  girls exclaimed. Beatrix resembled Ardith, with sandy  hair and light blue eyes, while Camilla looked more like  Andrew, her hair and eyes both dark as sable. "Welcome,  my lady."
     "Aye, welcome," Camilla echoed. Then she frowned  and said, "That looks like my gown and circlet you're  wearing."
     "It is," Andrew confirmed. "When Judith first came  here, she had naught to wear but the clothes on her  back. I gave her some of your things. I knew you wouldn't  mind," he added, arching an eyebrow at her.  "Oh, nay. Of course not. I never much liked that  dress. It looks better on you," Camilla told Judy.  "Why didn't you have any clothes?" Beatrix asked  curiously as she and her sister sat down.  "As I was telling your mother," Judy explained, "I  found myself lost and quite alone. I had no memories of
     my past life, because--because I'd been ill with a bad  fever. But now I recall most everything."  Andrew gave Judy a questioning look, raising both  his eyebrows in tandem. She nodded slightly to reassure  him and then proceeded to tell another fiction she'd  lifted from one nameless manuscript or another. Judy  said, "I come from a land very, very far away. So far  away, you have never even heard of it. I was raised a  lady, but when I was shipwrecked--"
     Her husband blinked, startled, but Judy ignored him  and continued.
     "I found myself on England's shores with nothing  but the clothes on my back. I hadn't a dime--I mean, a  penny--in hand. I promptly fell ill, and when I recovered,  I had no memory for a while. So I began to roam, and  eventually my wanderings led me to Wixcomb. Andrew  found me, and he and his brothers were kind enough to  take me in."
     "How extraordinary!" Beatrix said again as she  clapped her hands together in delight.  Camilla added, "And you and Andrew fell in love and  married."
     "You married," a new voice shouted.
     Judy and the others turned toward the archway to  see Philip standing there. Oh, God! She sighed but felt  all her muscles going taut as she watched the fair- haired knight approach Andrew.
     "You took Judith off when that was my intention,"  Philip said accusingly. "You escorted her to York and  confirmed her eligibility. And when you knew she  claimed wealth of her own, enough to support you and  spare you the life of mercenary or monk, you wed her!"  Andrew had risen to his feet and stood in front of his  chair. Philip shouted into his face while his own face  flushed ruddily. Judy found it amazing that she inspired  so much emotion.
     "I did none of those things," Andrew countered. "How  dare you accuse me of marrying Judith for what she  could give me! I'm not the one who had another eligible  damsel, the lady Penelope Winfield, to embrace as  second choice if Judith failed to meet my expectations."  "Aye, you did not," Philip agreed heatedly. "'Tis why
     you wooed and wed her, because Judith was your only  hope. You stole her from me when I desired her more  than Penelope. You never cared for her as I did, yet you  betrayed me. How could you, old friend? When I think  how I have been fending off not only Penelope, but her  mother and mine."
     Furiously, Philip took a swing at Andrew. Because  they stood so close, he couldn't have missed. Andrew  reeled, knocking over the chair behind him, but he still  returned the punch.
     Soon chairs were scraping over the stones as all  the other women in the room backed away. Judy looked  at them, surprised to discover they seemed prepared to  watch the two knights pound each other senseless. She  couldn't believe it. She wouldn't have it.  She spied the cloth-wrapped bundle still lying on the  small table. It had skittered nearer to her when Andrew's  chair flew over. She grabbed it, unraveling the length  of cloth, while Philip and Andrew continued to brawl.  Her husband, she noticed, had gone down. On his back  for only a brief second, he began scrambling up again.  Philip seemed on the attack, for he bounced on the balls  of his feet, and his arm was drawn back, his fist balled.  Just as Andrew dragged himself up, but before he  could retaliate and before Philip could sock him again,  Judy threw herself between them, jeweled dagger drawn.  With her back to her husband, she aimed the blade at  Philip.
     "Hit him again, and this pig-stabber will be sticking  out of your shoulder," she warned.
     "Judith!" Philip blinked at her in surprise. "How can  you--"
     "Because he's my husband. You're not." She waggled  the knife point in Philip's general direction. "Are you  going to stop fighting? Because there's something I think  you should know."
     He stood still, set his jaw, and scowled over Judy's  shoulder at Andrew. "Very well," he agreed tightly.  "I don't know how long you stood in the archway, but  you didn't overhear as much as you should have. I was  telling Lady Ardith and her daughters that my memory  has returned. I know for certain, just as I always
     contended, that I was raised to be a lady. Yet my  homeland if far away, Philip. I'm not from York, and Peter  Lamb is not my father. In fact, I have no kin alive in  this world, and I sure don't have any money or own any  land.
     "Andrew married me in spite of my poverty, my lack  of noble family ties. You wouldn't have. You know you  wouldn't have. So stop acting like a jilted lover and go  propose to Penelope, whoever she is. I hope you're not  too late."
     Judy lowered her arm, clutching the jeweled hilt of  her weapon with the point aimed toward the floor. Philip  looked down at it, a frown creasing his brow.  "Forgive me," he said. Then, raising his gaze, his  glance flicked between Judy and Andrew. "Both of you. I  behaved selfishly, and none of my actions was based on  true love." His eyes locked on Judy's. "I should very much  like to know true love myself one day, but I fear I haven't  the time required to search for it. I suppose I'd best hie  myself off to Winfield and make do."
     Flashing a sheepish smile, Philip took Judy's hand.  "Forgive me, my lady. My only excuse is that I did care  for you greatly. In truth, I still do. But I see now that  Andrew loves you more than I ever would, because he's  made a sacrifice I never could." He released Judy's  fingers and looked up at Andrew. "You are indeed the  better man."
     They hugged, as men did in this time, not in Judy's.  Then Philip wheeled toward the women who had  returned to their chairs. "Forgive me, my ladies, for  behaving so badly and disrupting your hall. The next  time I visit, I vow I shall be better mannered, for  hopefully, I'll have a new bride on my arm."  "You're forgiven," Lady Ardith assured him with a  smile and a nod. "You are always forgiven."  Philip left quickly then.
     Beatrix observed, "We seem to have missed a great  deal while we were away. Who is Lady Penelope?"  "Never mind that now," Camilla said. "Wherever did  that dagger come from?"
     Camilla wouldn't let Judy rewrap the knife. She took  it, admired the hilt, and passed it on to her sister.
     "Judith helped me obtain that ceremonial blade,"  Andrew admitted. "She would make a fine merchant,  the way she barters down a price. 'Tis a gift for Father  on his natal day."
     "It is beautiful. He'll be well-pleased," Beatrix  predicted.
     "Have you had word from him?" Andrew asked his  mother.
     "Reports are that matters with the king are  proceeding smoothly. No doubt he should be returning  soon." Ardith turned to look at Judy. "I see you are handy  with a weapon, dear. How are you with a needle or a pot  and a spoon?"
     Judy blinked. She couldn't sew a button on that  stayed put through one machine washing. Her culinary  skills centered on microwaves and frozen entrees,  though she could stir fry just about any combination of  ingredients. But Judy suspected Chinese food rarely  appeared on the menu at Laycock Keep.
     "Mother, I have no land, no keep or manse," Andrew  reminded Ardith. "Judith has, therefore, no need to learn  the skills of a chatelaine."
     "But she said she was raised up a lady," Beatrix  recalled.
     "The customs in her country are different than  ours."
     "What country is that?" Camilla asked.  "It's called America," Andrew said truthfully.  "You're correct. I never have heard of it."  "It doesn't matter," he insisted, and Judy sensed he  felt as tense now as she had been earlier. "While at  Laycock, Judith should be treated as a guest. When we  leave--"
     "When you leave," Ardith put in, "Judith will have to  make you a home wherever you go. And she is in  England, now, so while you are here, let me help prepare  her for the duties of a wife wed to a Laycock lord."  "Mother, please."
     "It's all right, Andrew." Judy put her hand on his  arm. "I do have to learn your ways. I don't think we have  any intention of returning to my homeland, do we?"  He gave her a look as Ardith said, "You're a wise
     woman, Judith. Now, come with me."
     ***
     Judy stood over a cauldron in the bailey. She and  Sally were stirring the family's woolens as they soaked  in vats of water boiling over open fires.  She remembered envying the common folk who  toiled as laborers at Laycock Keep. She had thought even  their endless chores seemed preferable to the boredom  she'd known. Boy, had she been wrong.
     It never ended. From dawn to dusk and beyond, seven  days a week, when she completed one task another  demanded her attention. Or whatever she'd finished  needed doing all over again. That old saw about a  woman's work never being done must have had its  origins in medieval times. Women who complained in  her own era hadn't a clue what they were talking about.  And what was with this laundry? It had seemed to  Judy, during those first weeks she'd lived at Laycock  Keep, that the wash house sat neglected, these very  cauldrons upended and dusty from disuse. Since Lady  Ardith had arrived, the bottoms never had a chance to  dry before they were refilled with water and clothing.  The belief that the aristocracy lived lives of  pampered leisure was a crock, too. Judy noticed she  was standing out here in the sun, stirring stinky, wet  wool right alongside Sally. Except for their clothing,  nobody could have discerned who was the lady, who was  the servant!
     She grumbled a profanity beneath her breath,  wiping her damp brow with the back of her hand. She  didn't know if the moisture was sweat or steam, but  she knew she'd give anything to take a dip in that frigid  stream that flowed through the demesne.  "Milady!"
     She thought Sally intended to reprimand her for  swearing. But when she glanced at the girl, she found  her pointing toward the keep. "What is it?"  "The baron is home, along with Lords Elfred and  Robin."
     Judy shaded her eyes with her hand. Three men  had indeed ridden into the bailey. They were  dismounting and heading inside the keep even now.
     "Give me that." Sally took the wooden pole Judy had  been using to stir her kettle of wash. "You'd best go  indoors. I'm sure Lord Andrew will be wanting to  introduce you."
     "Oh, no! I look awful."
     "Nay, you do not, Lady Judith. Just put your scarf  back on." Sally handed her the discarded veil and the  pounded brass circlet that would hold it in place. "Lord  Thomas might find your shorn locks a trifle unusual."  "Great." Judy slapped the head gear on and arranged  the gauzy scarf so that it draped the sides of her face,  obscuring her short hair. Then, resigned but a little  curious, she headed up to the keep.
     Everyone had gathered in the great hall except for  Andrew. Noticing his absence, Judy hung back, clinging  to the shadows of the stone arch.
     "Judith, come here," Ardith beckoned with a wave.  Reluctantly, she crossed the room to the opposite end  where the Laycock clan had settled themselves in a  grouping of chairs near the fire pit. "Thomas, I've  someone you must meet."
     "You!" Elfred said, pointing at her. "You remain here?"  "Aye, of course she does," his mother told him.  "Judith is Andrew's wife."
     "Wife! He took the witch to wife?" He addressed his  question to someone behind Judy.
     "Damn you to hell, Elfred--Judith is not a witch,"  Andrew returned, shouting from the doorway. Then he  stomped angrily across the room toward his family,  halting only when he stood nose-to-nose with Elfred.  "Control yourselves, lads," Thomas of Laycock  ordered sternly. "What is this your mother tells me,  Andrew? You've taken a wife?"
     The baron shifted his gaze to peer at Judy  appraisingly, and she returned his perusal. Lord Thomas  remained a good-looking man, straight backed and  square shouldered, though he had more gray than brown  in his hair and his beard. Judy realized that in 30 years,  Andrew would look much the same.
     "Aye, Father," he confirmed. "Allow me to introduce  Lady Judith."
     "Though a surprise, 'tis a pleasure." He nodded at
     her, his dark eyes alight.
     "A pleasure to meet you, my lord," Judy returned.  "I did not expect this," Robin admitted, looking at  Andrew.
     "Nor I, last time we spoke."
     "Then she is Peter Lamb's daughter?" Elfred asked,  looking skeptical as he cocked one eyebrow.  "Do not speak of my wife as though she were absent,"  Andrew warned.
     "Sit, please," the baron ordered, gesturing to Judy  and Andrew.
     They took the last empty chairs, and though Judy  didn't know what the protocol was, she ventured to  answer Elfred's question. "No," she said, "I am not related  to Peter Lamb."
     "I knew it! She's a sorceress who's bewitched  Andrew."
     Lord Thomas said nothing. He merely turned his  head and gave his middle son a look that caused Elfred  to clamp his lips shut so tightly, they bled white.  "Tell me where you hail from, my lady, and how you  came to wed my youngest son."
     Judy had her story down pat now. She related it again  for the baron's benefit.
     "Fascinating," he said when she finished. Judy  wondered if he used that word as she used "interesting"  when commenting on a manuscript she didn't care for.  Then Lord Thomas settled his gaze on Andrew.  "Latter born sons usually wed women who have the  means to support them, through wealth or land. Your  bride admits having naught, Andrew. What do you  intend?"
     "My choices remain the same, Father, except I'd no  longer consider the priesthood." He smiled at his own  little joke. Then the smile vanished, and he said  soberly, "Judith and I shall leave Laycock. I will hire  myself out to some baron or landed lord who needs  another good sword arm to protect his fief. Mayhap,  though..." He hesitated. "Mayhap Judith could remain  with you at the keep while I am away."  Judy felt as though she'd been sucker-punched.  Andrew had married her, and now he intended to leave
     her to be one of those knights who dined in the hall and  slept on the floor in some other lord's keep? "Andrew!"  He ignored her soft cry and said to his father, "Before  we speak of this matter in earnest, I've something for  you. 'Tis why Judith and I remained at Laycock awaiting  your return."
     Judy glanced at Andrew's lap. The cloth-wrapped  dagger lay on his thighs.
     "I've something for you as well, Andrew. I have a few  drafts of the barons' demands, to which the king put his  hand. Since he finally signed the charter itself, I thought  you might be curious to read what we devised. Among  you three--" Thomas glanced at all his sons-- "you have  always been the most curious."
     Judy felt her heart skip a beat. If she were not so  distraught over her husband's plans to abandon her to  earn a living as a mercenary warrior, she'd have  indulged in amazement. To think, Lord Thomas had just  brought home the very parchments that would survive  to her own time, when Carla would visit Viscount  Laycock to study them for her book!
     Andrew must have realized the same. He glanced  at Judy sidelong, though he spoke to his father. "Thank  you. I am keen to read them. But now, in honor of your  natal day." He handed the knife to Thomas.  The baron unwrapped it and held the weapon up. A  shaft of sunlight piercing the stone wall through the  cross-shaped arrow slits hit the garnets and amethysts,  the topazes and aquamarines, so that white light speared  and flickered off the hilt. Those who hadn't seen the  dagger before, Andrew's father and brothers, made soft  sounds of awe and admiration.
     Thomas smiled warmly as he raised his dark eyes  to his youngest son's. "Thank you, lad, from my heart. I  will treasure this weapon and see it holds an honored  place in our family for generations to come. All should  know 'twas you who gifted me with it."  Andrew looked as pleased as his father. Judy should  have felt just as pleased--it was she who had helped  engineer this moment. But she couldn't think of  anything but Andrew leaving her. The worry crowded  out all other thoughts and emotions.
     Thomas himself returned to that topic. He said, "I  am a landed lord, a baron. I have need of trained men to  protect my keep, my demesne, and the people in the  village."
     "You are offering a position to Andrew?" Elfred  whined. "But he is your youngest. You've not offered  anything to me!"
     Thomas looked at Elfred. "I thought you preferred  roaming the country with your comrades, entering  tourneys and the like."
     "I do. But--but I forewent such things to assist you  and Robin during the negotiations with Lackland."  "Aye, you did. Well, Elfred, if you wish to be a  permanent knight in my employ, you've only to say so."  "I do!" Elfred grinned. His smile turned rather smug,  Judy thought, when he turned toward Andrew.  "For you, though, Andrew, I have another position  in mind. One I've thought Laycock Keep has needed for  some time. Would you consider becoming my  seneschal?"
     He didn't reply yea or nay. Impatient, curious, Judy  whispered, "What's a seneschal?"
     "A castle-keeper," Andrew explained. "Chief officer  in a baron's household. Among other duties, the  seneschal represents his lord in courts of law."  "Oh." It sounded impressive. Better, it meant Andrew  would remain at Laycock Keep, and so could she. "Well,  say aye, you'll be glad to," she urged.  Andrew's sisters giggled and Lady Ardith laughed.  "Say aye," she prodded also. "'Tis best you learn to listen  to your lady wife and heed what she says."  "Your mother is right," Lord Thomas confirmed.  Andrew glanced at them all, his parents and Judy.  Then he nodded and said, "Aye."
     Twenty-three
     "Judith!"
     She paused on the stairs, raised her sagging head,  and turned to look down. There, Beatrix stood on a lower  step just above the floor of the great hall. "Yes?"  "After the evening meal, Camilla and I will be sorting  flowers, roots and leaves to mix into tisanes. If you'd  like to join us, you're welcome."
     "I'll think about it," Judy replied before continuing  up the stairs to her room.
     She'd lied. She didn't intend to think about sorting  weeds for medicinal use, unless-- No. Whatever they  used in this era for a toothache could not cure the one  that had been nagging her since the evening the baron  had returned to Laycock Keep. The only procedure sure  to eliminate the pain was a root canal, which Judy's  dentist had suggested she attend to promptly, but which,  of course, she had put off. Now she had no dentist! She  was even running out of aspirin and ibuprofen, popping  the pills as though they were breath mints. What, she  wondered, did people born to this time do when their  teeth hurt like hers did? Did they pull them? Judy  wouldn't mind having her tooth pulled--by next week,  she'd pull it herself, if she had to. But it wasn't the sort  of tooth a person could yank by tying a string to a  doorknob, and she didn't dare conjecture about any  medieval methods for tooth extraction.  She shouldered open the door to hers and Andrew's  room and stumbled inside. Long, late afternoon shadows  streaked the walls, for which she felt grateful. God knew  she needed peace, quiet, solitude and darkness.  Flinging off her annoying veil and chaplet, which  she wouldn't have to wear if her hair was long enough  not to shock the family, Judy crawled onto the bed and  curled up in a fetal position. She wept, unsure whether  the pain in her mouth or the agony of her days made  her so miserable.
     It could as easily have been the one as the other.  Her cheek felt swollen, but so did her feet, for she'd been  on them all day following Lady Ardith around the keep  and the demesne. Good grief, the woman never sat still  for a second! If she wasn't supervising the servants,  she was seeing to the villagers, tending them in illness,  injury and childbirth. Or she was making beer. Judy  had never suspected Laycock Keep functioned as a  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 liked 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.
     Her fingers brushed the paper she had laid out.  Hesitating, she considered writing a note to Andrew.  Hell, not a note, a book--a book about what he meant to  her, about her dilemma, about the decision she'd been  forced to make and how it killed her to make it.  Judy never picked up the pen. Her feelings were too  huge to condense on paper. Besides, no matter what  she confided, Andrew would inevitably feel as hurt and  betrayed as she'd have if he left her.  Judy felt herself shutting down. People had to feel  like this, she thought, when they were dying, letting  go. She was letting go. And going numb. At the moment,  she didn't even feel her bad tooth throbbing.  Purposefully, she moved about the room snuffing all  the candles save one. Then she lay on the bed to wait  awhile longer before she made good her escape.  An hour passed, and the door opened. Holding herself  very still, through slitted eyes Judy watched Andrew's  silhouette, backlit by the torch in the hallway. He
     hesitated on the threshold, and she wondered what  she'd been thinking earlier. That he wouldn't come to  bed all night? Of course he would. And now that he had  come, could she still leave him?
     She must. She could endure a lot of things, even  the damned toothache, but not Andrew falling out of love  with her. Better she live a lonely, loveless life without  him than watch his love transform into indifference or  disappointment.
     "It's all right." Judy spoke up suddenly but kept her  voice low. "I'm not asleep, Andrew."
     "Are you feeling better?"
     "A little," she lied.
     He drew closer and stopped at the side of the bed. "Is  the pain keeping you awake?"
     "No. I've slept off and on."
     "Did you eat?"
     "I...can't remember."
     He sat on the edge of the mattress. Judy inhaled  through her mouth, which made her molar throb. The  pain gave her the courage to say, "Andrew, I hate to ask  this of you, but..."
     "What? Anything, and I shall do it."
     "Could I sleep alone tonight? If the mattress jiggles  even slightly, my tooth hurts terribly."  "Of course." He stood. "Forgive me, dearling. I did  not think."
     "It's not your fault. Honest to God. None of it's your  fault."
     She felt tears pooling in her eyes and hoped Andrew  wouldn't notice.
     "I will sleep in your old bedchamber. If you need me,  Judith, that is where I shall be."
     He hadn't noticed. "Thanks," she whispered, looking  up at him, trying to memorize his face. But the room  remained dim, even with the light from the hallway,  and her vision had become distorted with her tears.  Barely able to make out Andrew's features, Judy  wondered if that would be her fate, to recall her husband  only as she saw him this evening, merely a blurred  image fading into shadow.
     He took her hand, kissed it, and turned to walk
     away.
     "Andrew!" she called after him impulsively.  "Aye?"
     "Remember that night at the Ackworths', when I  bargained with Lord Geoffrey so you could have the  dagger?"
     "Of course. I shall never forget it."
     "Andrew, that's what I do. You're a knight and a  seneschal, so I understand what you do. I just--just  wanted you to know what I do."
     "Very well, Judith. Rest, now."
     ***
     Andrew couldn't get Judith's words from his head--  what a strange little speech she'd made. At first, he  credited it to her pain and weariness. But later, he  suspected something more lay behind it. His pulse  racing and his heart thudding, Andrew ran to their  chamber, throwing open the door.
     Judith was gone. He saw immediately that she didn't  lie abed, and a quick sweep of the room with his gaze  assured him that she remained nowhere within.  "Damnation!" he muttered. "The bone-fires, the  solstice!" He whirled around and bolted back out the door  and down the stairs.
     Earlier, the evening had been warm and still, the  sky sprinkled with stars. But now Andrew felt a breeze  toying with his hair as he crossed the bailey on his way  to the gate. The peasants' fire, high and bright and  crackling upon a nearby hill, belched sparks as it licked  the sky. Though he glanced at the blaze and saw many  people thronged around it, he didn't head in that  direction. He knew exactly where to go--to a spot behind  the postern wall.
     "Judith!" he shouted when he spied her sitting cross- legged in the dirt, wearing the tunic and chausses he'd  first seen her in, with her satchel clutched to her bosom.  "Judith why are you here?"
     "Andrew!" She gestured, warding him off. But he  grabbed her hand and clutched it, sitting on the ground  beside her.
     "You want to return to your own time," he accused  her, understanding the truth now. "You want to leave
     me. Judith, why?" In the moonlight, he saw her tears.  On his face, he felt his own tears.
     "I don't want to leave you," she insisted, shaking  her head. "But I have no choice. I thought I could stay,  but I can't. I can't!"
     "You can." He came to his feet, crouching, and pulled  her hand. But she refused to stand, refused to come  with him. Instead, she wrenched herself free and  clutched a fistful of grass, as though it would anchor  her to the earth.
     "I can't," she said again. "I don't belong here, Andrew.  I tried to make it work, for your sake and mine, but  everything's going wrong. I'm losing my sense of self,  and if I'm not the woman I was anymore, I won't be the  woman you love." She tilted her chin and blinked up at  him, raising her voice to be heard over the noise of the  nearby revelers. "I couldn't bear to watch you fall out of  love with me!"
     The wind gusted. It blew Judith's short hair away  from her face and then back into it. For a moment, the  world grew darker as a cloud scuttled across the moon.  "Ne'er would I not love you! For all my days, you're  in my heart!" he insisted. He fought a wave of panic  with a surge of fury.
     "I'm not going to argue with you, Andrew!" Judith  shouted, for despite their proximity, the wind had begun  to roar and tear at the trees. "If I can make it, I'm leaving  here. God willing, I'll return to a time and a place that I  belong."
     "No!"
     "Oh, Andrew, please!" she begged. "I have to leave, I  don't have any choice! Just--just remember me. The  way I was, and how happy we were together. And find  someone else to be that happy with again. Forever!"  He opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by a  sudden awareness that the earth beneath him quivered,  pulsing with an energy like the heat of the sun. Fearful,  he again tried to drag Judith away, nearer the shelter  of the wall. But she resisted, catching him by surprise  with a purposeful shove. He lost his balance, fell and  rolled.
     Debris blew into his eyes, so for a moment, he saw
     nothing. But he heard her voice above the din: "I love  you, Andrew Laycock!"
     "I love you," he returned, unsure he'd spoken aloud  as he scrabbled back onto his hands and knees, looking  for Judith.
     She had gone. He was alone.
     Twenty-four
     Judy came to under a marbled gray sky. Since birds  chirped in the trees, she sensed dawn was drawing  near. That was all she sensed. Afraid to look around to  see if her surroundings had changed, she didn't have a  clue as to the time or the place.
     Her chest felt like a chasm of despair. She had  sacrificed so much. If her attempt to fly through time  again had failed, Andrew would probably reject her for  trying to leave him, for wanting to go. If, however, she'd  succeeded, the next fifty or sixty years were going to  prove agonizingly long, without him to live with and to  love.
     Andrew wouldn't have left me out here all night, not if  were still there, in the 13th Century.  That thought jolted Judy upright. Before she lost her  nerve, she turned to glimpse the castle wall. The oily  shadows were dissipating with the rising sun, but she  saw no wall--only stones, low and jagged, a ragged ruin  of what had once been a tall, solid rampart.  Her breathing came in harsh little gasps, and she  could feel her heart pounding. By God, she'd done it!  She'd come home!
     But what if she hadn't? What if it were another  decade, or even another century, either long before or  after her own? She would have lost everything then.  Not only Andrew, but her life, her career, and her family.  The sky grew opalescent, lighter and more blue.  Anxiously, Judy looked all around, not only at the  remains of the keep behind her, but at the hills before  her. Below, nestled within those low, rolling hills, she  spied Wixcomb, all quaint and charming, just the sort  of place people would visit to stay at an ancient old inn.  Hope surged in Judy's breast, but she tempered it  with rational logic. It might be 1910 or 2150, she didn't  know. She couldn't count on anything. She would only  learn the truth if she got to her feet and hiked down the  hills to the manor house. But apprehension held her in
     place. Not knowing for certain seemed far better than  knowing for a fact she had aimed wrong and landed  elsewhere in time. How did she know if her fervent  thoughts last night, as the wind picked up and the  starlight disappeared, had directed her to All Saints Day  in 1998? God knew, she hadn't been able to concentrate  as she'd left Andrew behind.
     She hugged herself, though not because she felt  chilled. In fact, the temperature seemed rather warm  for autumn in England. Alert, she glanced around again.  Tall grass grew in the meadows where sheep grazed  lazily. The trees appeared heavy with bright green  leaves.
     She felt a sharp pain pierce her heart. She had  missed the mark. This wasn't her time after all. I've  lost it! My God, I've lost everything!  Dreading confirmation of her fears, she remained  where she sat, clinging to her tote. Her tooth hurt again,  though not as badly as in previous days. Maybe that black  alder concoction had helped, after all. Hopefully, no  matter what the year, she'd dropped herself down into  an era where at least there were dentists.  Movement caught Judy's eye. It wasn't the sheep.  No, it was a dog, a pair of dogs--liver and white spaniels,  bounding up the hills toward her from the direction of  town. And a man! A hiker, it seemed, wearing khaki  shorts, tan boots, white crew socks, and a baseball cap.  Judy couldn't make out the insignia on the cap, but as  he drew closer, she saw that his white T-shirt bore the  distinctive logo of a Hard Rock Cafe.
     "Thank you, God," she muttered, realizing she'd  returned to a time somehow close to her own. Heck, if  she'd landed early, she would make sure to snatch up  some Microsoft stock, Judy thought wildly, hoping to beat  back that keen sense of loss still gnawing at her. How  would getting rich ever compensate for losing Andrew?  Dabbing at her eyes because tears blurred her  vision, Judy peered at the man approaching. Did he...?  Yes. He wore a Cleveland Indians cap! He had to be  Viscount Laycock.
     She scrambled onto her knees, sitting back on her  calves. And he broke into a run, the dogs romping before
     him and reaching Judy first.
     "Duke? Duchess? Is that who you are?" she asked  the hounds, scratching their ears and deciding to  become a dog person after all.
     Then she looked up at the fellow who'd stopped  abruptly a couple feet away. "Lord Laycock, I've never  been so glad to see anyone in my life," she admitted. "I  was afraid I--I'd missed...that I'd get stuck...Then I  thought maybe I dreamed--Have I been gone very long?  'Cause I--I feel that I have been. I met someone, and  we...well, maybe I didn't. I just don't know anymore."  She knew she was babbling like a nut case. Dropping  her head, she covered her face with her hand, trying to  get a grip. It seemed doubtful she ever would. How could  she be so happy yet so miserable, so glad to be in her  own time yet so lonely without her husband?  "Here." Stiffly, Laycock thrust his upturned hand  beneath her face. In his palm lay two tiny, yellow pills.  "For your pain."
     "What?" Confused, she looked up at him again. The  guy hadn't changed a bit, or had he? His shades were  dark, not amber, his cap looked new. And was there a  bit more gray in his sideburns?
     "They're from my dentist. Wash them down with  this." He handed her a plastic water bottle.  Bemused, Judy took the pills and popped them into  her mouth. As she swallowed them down with a squirt  of water, she had the most curious sensation that the  viscount's hand seemed familiar to her touch. Oh, no.  Not more weirdness. I can't take anymore weirdness. And  I sure as heck am not acquainted with Viscount Laycock's  hands!
     "You always come this prepared?" she asked lightly  with a smile, attempting to sound normal under these  exceptional circumstances. "Because it just so happens,  I have a major toothache."
     "I was aware your tooth pained you sorely, Judith."  Her heart stopped. The world did, too, for an instant.  Even the birds stopped chirping, and the sheep stopped  bleating. "An...drew?"
     "Aye. Aye!" He fell to his knees as he threw off his  cap and yanked away his sunglasses. She saw the tears
     streaming down his cheeks just before he grabbed her,  held her, and began kissing her face a hundred times.  Yet all those kisses weren't enough. She wanted more.  "Andrew? Andrew, how can it be you?" she demanded,  afraid to believe what she saw, what she felt. He couldn't  be here, he couldn't, not like this, not in shorts and a  Hard Rock T-shirt! "While I flew through time, were you  reincarnated or something into Carla's Lord Laycock?"  "Nay, wench." He held Judy's face in his hands and  looked at her lovingly, adoringly, as he shook his head.  "I am Carla's Lord Laycock--and your husband, too."  She took a deep breath, peering back at him. "But  you're older, Andrew. You were older than me when I  first met you, and younger back then, back when we  were in your time."
     "Indeed. I'm thirty-six."
     "What!"
     "Do you want the whole story immediately, or would  you prefer to go to the inn?"
     "I want to rip off your clothes and make mad,  passionate love to you. But you'd better explain  everything right now. I'm pretty shaken up, actually,  and incredibly confused."
     Andrew drew Judy onto his lap and held her close.  "When you left on that summer solstice," he began, "I  was furious with you. I told myself I hated you more  than I ever did Chandra. For months, I sulked and  brooded, or picked fights with strangers and family alike.  But in time, I overcame my pain and anger. Gradually,  I came to understand that despite our love, you couldn't  live in my time because you had no purpose there. You'd  been afraid you would become someone I couldn't love  anymore."
     "Judith," he continued, "I realized that I needed you  beside me, or else I would be lost. Of course, I'd have  been pleased had you stayed with me in the year we  originally met, when I remained surrounded by all that  was familiar to me. I didn't care," he said with a smile,  "if you had blonde hair or dark, glossy lips or painted  toenails."
     "You don't think I left because of that!"  "No. I understand why you left. Though it hurt me
     terribly, I couldn't fault you for going.  "But I knew, too, I had to find a way to join you. Since  I'd found myself so intrigued by the many gadgets you  carried in your satchel, especially the laptop computer,  it occurred to me I might fare far better in your time  than you could in mine. Thus, on the next Samhain, I  followed you. 'Twas no hardship for me to give up sword  fighting." He grinned and rocked Judy in his arms.  "That night, I went to your spot and willed myself  forward through time. With the magic of that celebratory  eve, I very nearly succeeded."
     "What do you mean? What went wrong?"
     "Though I traveled ahead through the centuries, I  didn't find myself in the precise year from which you'd  come. I soon learned I'd arrived nearly a decade earlier."  "You've been waiting ten years for me?" Judy couldn't  fathom that. For her, it had been minutes. For him, it  had been a decade.
     "Ten years, and more. While I waited for you and  your friend, Carla, I set about learning everything I could  about this modern age, most especially how to speak  modern English." He winked. "I'd brought some things  with me, valuable artifacts and antiques, so that I could  sell them and support myself in your economy. As well,  I hired a solicitor to prove I was the last Laycock heir.  Tricky business, that, but I pulled it off."  "Did you bring your father's dagger?"
     "No. That piece wended its way through the  generations. I inherited it."
     "Wow."
     "Wow, indeed. I also inherited the manor house,  which I turned into an inn. Then I learned computer  programming and set myself up in business. As you  already know, I'm fairly successful."
     "Andrew, I can't believe this!"
     "Now you know how I felt when you told me your  story, that afternoon on the road to York. But it's true,  every word. And though it had been a long time since I  last laid eyes on you, Judith, at least I moved toward  you with every passing year. I confess, I hired an  investigator and kept track of you in New York. I knew  when you graduated high school and college, and when
     you took that job at the Edwin Grant Agency."  "That's kind of creepy," Judy admitted. "I never had  a clue."
     He gave her a great, soulful hug. "How's your tooth?"  "Better."
     "We'll make an appointment with my dentist straight  away."
     "Fine, but I want to hear the rest of your story," she  urged impatiently.
     "Eventually, I did hear from Carla. She e-mailed me.  I cannot tell you how ecstatic I was that day! Then I had  to wait for you both to arrive. Worse, I had to keep away  from you when you did."
     "Why? Why did you do that? Why didn't you tell me  everything?"
     "Judith, I knew you. Damn, I knew you as my wife!  But you didn't know me at all. You'd never met me  before, let alone married me. This time-traveling  business gets a bit confusing, but you understand, don't  you?"
     "Um-hm." She nodded. "I think so."
     "I so feared I'd give myself away, make a fool of  myself, or frighten you into thinking I was some sort of  lunatic, that I pushed you off rather rudely."  "Your documents from King John. Did you inherit  those, too?"
     "No, sweetling. I purposely brought them with me. I  bloody well wasn't going to leave that bit of business to  chance! It's why they're so bloody well-preserved,"  Andrew added, chuckling.
     "But what happened after I left on Halloween? Come  to think of it," Judy added, patting his tanned, bare knee,  "why are you wearing shorts? What day is this?"  "July 15."
     "What!"
     He nodded. "July 15th, 2002."
     "2002!" The shock jolted through her like a nearby  explosion. "You mean I lost almost four years?"  "Yes. It would appear time travel's not very precise,  and because you leave on a certain day doesn't mean  you'll arrive on that same date in another year. You left  here that first time on Samhain, in 1998. But you
     appeared in my world sometime in April, did you not?"  "Yeah." Judy tried to absorb the ramifications of this  information. Grabbing his arm, she exclaimed, "Andrew!  What about my parents and Carla? They think I'm dead,  don't they? I've been away so long."
     "Hush, sweetling." He tucked his cheek against  Judy's, the cheek that didn't hurt with a toothache. "It's  been hard for them, I admit. I felt almost as frantic as  Carla when you first turned up missing. I knew where  you'd gone--God's teeth, I knew I was with you in some  twist of time! Yet I was also without you, and I'd no idea  when you might return to your own time, if at all. I never  lost all hope, but I must admit, in the last couple of years,  I've grown more and more despondent. To see you here  this morning...!"
     He sighed and hugged her more tightly, as though  he were afraid she might slip away from him again.  "When you first left," he said, "I contacted your  parents, who flew here. The police were called in, of  course. Everyone surmised you'd been abducted. But as  time went on, and you never reappeared and your body  was never recovered, the authorities concluded you'd  gone off on your own accord, just turned your back on  your life and started over with a new identity."  "Mom would never believe that."
     "No, she didn't. She grieved for you, as did Tony and  your brothers."
     "Tony? You're on a first name basis with my parents?"  "I am, actually. We speak by telephone every few  months. I believe your father first suspected I was the  culprit behind your disappearance, but I think we've  moved beyond that."
     "I hope so," Judy concurred. "After all, you're his son- in-law."
     Andrew laughed and looked at Judy with those heavy- lidded, syrupy eyes she so adored. "Methinks we're the  longest wedded couple in history, don't you? Who could  top almost 800 years?"
     "I think we're going to have to start over, Andrew. A  big, formal wedding in my parents' parish back in New  York. You don't mind?"
     "I'll marry you anywhere, every day for the rest of
     my life, if it pleases you." He kissed her before  continuing, "I can't tell you how I felt when I spied you  sitting up here near the old bailey walls! You understand,  I couldn't be sure you'd return while I remained alive. I  had hoped you'd reappear the morning after Samhain  last year. When you didn't, I was as distraught as I'd  been when you left me in 1215. I've come here every  bloody morning since All Saints' Day of 1998."  "This is so strange," Judy admitted. "To me, we made  love in our bed only last night. Yet to you, that happened  years ago."
     "Henceforth, there'll be no such gaps in our  lovemaking." With a wink, Andrew stood, slapped his  cap back onto his head, and reached down to Judy. When  she gave him her hand, he pulled her to her feet. "We'll  return to the inn now and make a few phone calls.  There's my dentist, whom you'll wish to see promptly,  and the police who must be notified. As well, you'll want  to call your parents and Carla." He whipped a flip phone  out of the leather pack belted to his waist and handed it  to Judy with a grin. "If you don't wish to wait, you can  ring up your mother while we're walking."  Judy laughed. "Your cell phone's nicer than mine,  but electronics have advanced, no doubt, since I was  here last. Andrew, did you understand at all when I first  tried to explain how these things are used?"  "Nay. Nor did I imagine such things as airplanes  and televisions, DVDs or automobiles! By the way, I have  my own driver's license now," he confided as they  strolled toward town. "I even own my own car."  "The library," Judy gasped. "All those books at  Laycock Inn--they're really yours! You've read them."  "Indeed. I had almost a thousand years of history,  science and invention to catch up on."  He stopped suddenly. "Wait, Judith. Before we go on  and you place a call, I've been bringing something else  with me on my hike to the ruins each morn." He pulled  her old tape player from the leather pouch. "I played it  every time I didn't find you here. I should like to play it  now, since you've come back to me.
     "You must remember this." He smiled as he pressed  the "play" button, and the strains of "As Time Goes By"
     joined the other, more mundane sounds of the  countryside.
     Judy set down the phone, the water bottle, and her  tote. She slipped one hand into Andrew's as she stepped  very close to him and rested her other hand on his  shoulder. When she put her cheek against his, they  danced together in the warm, yellow dawn that had  broken in this new millennium, just as once they had  danced under the cool, twilight sky in another age.
     About the Author
     Candice Kohl has had a long history as a writer, first as a  copywriter in advertising, marketing and PR. Later, as the  owner/operator of a literary services agency, where she edited  papers, manuals and manuscripts for college students, business  concerns and aspiring writers. She has had numerous books  published ranging from nonfiction to erotica, historical romance  to time travel.
     Presently, she resides in Savannah, Georgia, with her  husband. There, she practices her "other job" as a carriage  tour guide in the Historic District.