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  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 pla
ces 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