Authors: Sophia Johnson
Her worried gaze studied Lydia. “You keep blinking. Are you going to be sick again? You spewed on the giant, and he grumbled something fierce. Do wait until I get Mother.” She raced to the door, barely opening it wide enough to slide her slim body through.
Lydia gingerly pushed herself up and edged back against the hard wood of the headboard. The dizziness had gone, and the pain
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in her head had diminished to dull pounding. On seeing her arms and hands, she frowned, stretched her fingers wide and held her arms close to her eyes. Why did they seem different? Puzzled, she rubbed her eyes, then gripped the edge of the covers and peered beneath them. Never had she seen such a nightgown, other than in drawings of medieval women’s clothing.
Was she dreaming? Or had she stumbled on a medieval festival in full swing? Glad to have thought of a reason for the strangeness of her surroundings and memories, she began to relax.
A wooden screen painted with colorful Celtic designs closed off one corner of the room. She slid off the bed, and when her bare feet touched the cold stones, her toes curled. Shivering with each step, she made her way to the screen and peeked behind it.
Atop a stand was a pitcher of water and a large bowl with several white cloths beside it. Tucked beneath was something that looked like a chamberpot.
She shuddered and decided to wait for Elise to direct her to the bathroom. A hint of sound caught her attention. She glanced over her shoulder to see a young man ease the door shut, and then stride toward her.
“Get out! This room is occupied.” She stabbed her finger toward the door, anger giving her voice the tone of authority she needed.
Even so, it sounded different. It lacked its usual depth.
“Do not be afeared, Brianna. ’Tis I, Galan.” In several long strides, he reached her and grasped her shoulders.
Before she knew his intent, his warm lips caressed her cheek. She gasped and flattened her hands on his chest and shoved, but she may as well have tried to move an ancient oak. He did not budge.
The door burst open, striking the wall with an earsplitting crash. She cried out as her gaze flew to the doorway to see who had stormed into the room.
Chapter 3
A very large man filled the doorway, blocking out the soft glow of rushlights on the landing. Although the room was too dim to see his face, Lydia read anger in his taut body and widespread legs. It had to be the obnoxious man from the clearing who stood there.
He was still in costume.
Everything here was much more authentic than at any Medieval Festival she’d ever attended. She’d better abandon that idea in favor of her dream theory. Surely she’d absorbed more of her mother’s books on medieval life than she’d realized. The actors’
clothing and the room’s furnishings were much as she had seen portrayed in the tomes. Even more puzzling was the ease with which everyone spoke Old English and Norman French.
“If ye dinna wish to mourn their loss, remove yer hands from her,” the man ordered Galan. His words were thick with menace as he placed his powerful legs firmly in a battle stance.
Lydia felt the full force of his possessive gaze sweeping over her.
“Ye shame yerself, Brianna! Get ye back in bed.”
Lydia’s skin flushed that the men had seen her in such a
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thin garment. She dashed over to yank the sheet off the bed and hold it up under her chin. Humiliation escalated to anger.
“My name is not Brianna. You have no right to barge into my room, and certainly no right to tell me what to do. This person may be in your command, but I am not.” She thrust out her chin and narrowed her eyes. She used the same tone that had never failed to quell her ex-husband, Gordon, when he sought to usurp her control over the Genetics Research Laboratory. But today she sounded different. She must be more frazzled than she thought.
A feral growl rumbled from the man’s chest. Exuding pure menace, he stalked toward her. He was playing the part of the arrogant medieval lord of the castle far too seriously. She had the feeling he never ignored a challenge.
Especially from a woman.
Prickles of unease scampered up her back, much like mice scurrying to their hiding places on hearing a hungry cat’s meow.
Elise hurtled into the room. “Brianna, I found—eeps!” She squeaked and skidded to a stop, then made a wide detour around him.
An elegant woman followed Elise, carrying a candle and shielding its flame. Whatever he was about to say he kept to himself.
“Come!” Grasping Galan’s shoulder, the man left the room with him.
“I brought Mother.” Elise pointed over her shoulder at the woman. “’Tis your Aunt Maud, in case you forgot her name, too.”
“Dear, do not shout so. I am sure the fall did no damage to Brianna’s ears.” Lady Maud’s eyes twinkled with amusement. She handed the candle to Elise and brushed back the hair from Lydia’s forehead. Gentle fingers examined the cut and swollen area there. “You will have a colorful brow for several days, but ’tis easily hid if your hair is done in the proper way, Brianna.”
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“My name isn’t Brianna. It’s Lydia.” She began to wonder if these people didn’t understand her, for they stubbornly continued to call her Brianna. And they acted familiarly. As if they really believed they were related to her.
“Does your head hurt less this day?” Lady Maud motioned Elise to move the candle closer while she studied Lydia’s eyes.
Fireworks flashed through Lydia’s head again. She couldn’t remember ever having a headache in a dream. Another urgent problem made itself known, and she squirmed. “I have to use a bathroom. Would you please tell me where it is?”
“Bathroom?” Lady Maud’s brow lifted, but when Lydia shifted from one foot to the other, her eyes lit with understanding. “Of course, dear.” After patting Lydia on the shoulder, she motioned toward the screen and quietly left the room.
“A chamber pot? I can’t believe it.” Lydia shook her head, mindful not to cause the pounding to increase. This room was too fine to be in a cheap hotel. “Surely you have a modern bathroom somewhere close by?” When Elise still looked puzzled, Lydia added, “Garderobe?” Seeing her blank expression, she added, “A place to pass water?”
“Oh, that? ’Tis but a tiny alcove with an open seat over-hanging the wall. Blessed heaven! You should be glad not to use it this day.”
Elise’s words rose as Lydia ducked behind the screen. “’Tis wet and windy. You always say you hate the cold air swirling up on your behind.”
“Why don’t you open the door and announce it to the world?
Some of the hotel guests might not have heard you.” Great, now she was grumpy. Why couldn’t she have modern conveniences in her dream? “Humpf, I don’t understand. I bet I’ll wake up to find this dream’s a nightmare and I’ve wet the damned bed.”
“Oh, nay! Do not tell me you wet the bed,” Elise wailed.
Lydia peeked around the screen and saw her scramble and
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search over the bed for wet spots. When she found none, she plunked down at the foot and waited.
Hearing someone scratch at the door, Lydia ducked back behind the screen. She wasn’t about to parade around in front of anyone else.
Two men carried in a wooden tub, followed by servants with buckets of water. After filling the tub, they placed the rest of the water beside a brazier of hot coals. When they left, she went over to stare at the tub.
Well, hell and damn. They really don’t have a bathroom.
“What is the matter? Come. Soak away that foul salve so I can wash your hair. Mother had broth made for you. She says hot broths make a person sleep. You need lots of sleep so you will remember you are Brianna.” Eyeing Lydia, she frowned. “Lots and lots of sleep,” she repeated and nodded for emphasis.
“I’m not going back to bed. What is that sweet smell?” She stilled, realizing she had never dreamed a smell before.
“Truly, Brianna, your memory worsens. ’Tis your favorite rose-scented soap, of course.”
When Lydia got into the tub, the soothing hot water came up to cover her breasts. She reached for the cloth and pot of soap and carefully washed her face. Elise insisted on sham-pooing her hair.
“I have washed away the blood and dirt. Tilt your head back so I may rinse it.”
When the soap was gone, Lydia pushed the hair from her face, feeling her tresses’ unfamiliar length. Her eyes widened.
“Please. Open the shutters.” Seeing Elise’s blank look, Lydia pointed to the window opening. Elise scampered over and unlatched the shutter, letting in the soft afternoon light.
Flowing over Lydia’s shoulders was a mass of dark chestnut hair with deep hints of auburn. Her hands shot up, splashing water over the sides of the tub. Elise jumped at the soaking she received.
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“Oh . . . my . . . God.” For the first time, Lydia realized how changed she herself was. Disbelief filled her as she stared at her arms and studied her hands. She lifted her legs abruptly, again sloshing water over the sides of the tub. She gasped.
Her legs were shorter, more slender. Why, they even looked delicate, as if she had never run a marathon or rollerbladed.
“Merciful saints! Why are you flopping around?” Elise cupped her hands beside her mouth and stage whispered, “Are you having a brain fit? I must get Mother. Please, do not drown while I am gone.”
“Don’t you dare leave. Sit still while I figure this out.” Her heart pounding, Lydia forced herself to breathe slowly and calmly. She stared at her legs and shook her head. It can’t be. Grabbing the sides of the tub, she stood and looked down.
Her breasts were small but perfect with tips the color of pink roses. A flat, firm stomach followed. She looked lower still to see her woman’s mound tufted with soft brown hair.
When she spied firm thighs without a hint of cellulite, her knees folded and she dropped down into the tub.
“Oh, Brianna, you will surely drown if you do not stop.”
Elise darted around the tub like a frightened squirrel.
“Let me think.” Lydia’s mind was in turmoil. She felt her face. Although the slender nose felt familiar, the rest seemed more delicate. Never had she dreamed that she had a different body. Yet it had to be a dream.
Still, it felt real—her painful headache, being hungry, feeling everything she touched and even smelling the rose soap.
Most important was the relief she felt when she used the chamber pot. That, too, had never happened in her dreams.
Stepping from the bath, she wrapped herself in a drying cloth and went to sit beside the large brazier to dry her heavy length of hair. Trying to arrange it with the wide-toothed comb Elise handed her, she soon discovered her long, curly
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tresses came with a problem. Patiently, she untangled the snarls as Elise rummaged through the carved trunk.
“The scullery maid said that giant Scotsman went to Saint Anne’s after matins this morn and returned in a rage.” Elise briskly shook several garments in the air. “He challenged every one of your Saxon guards to meet him in the training field.” Eyes wide with fright, she lowered the garments and whispered, “Do you think he has skewered them with his sword?”
Lydia knew she was talking about the macho man who thought it was his God-given right to command her.
“Not damned likely. Uh, where are my things? I must get dressed. Does the hotel serve the evening meal at sunset?”
Elise flapped the handful of clothes close to Lydia’s eyes.
“Blessed saints. You cannot go below.” Elise waved her arms around adding an extra denial. “You do not see your clothes and you forget your name. I do not understand half of what you say, for your speech is most strange. Mayhap ’tis that rock’s fault?”
She sounded hopeful.
After Elise slipped a delicate silk smock over Lydia’s head and followed it with a light green tunic, Lydia sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on the old-fashioned hose. Hmmm.
How did she secure them around her thighs?
Noting her hesitation, Elise shook her head and clucked her tongue. She came over to tie green ribbons above Lydia’s knees. Not trusting her to do it right, Elise slipped soft leather shoes on Lydia’s feet and cross-gartered them about her ankles. Satisfied that she didn’t need further help, Elise hurried over to lift the door latch.
“I will have Cook prepare a tray with broth and mayhap some bread and cheese.” She tugged at the heavy door.
“Hold on there. What about my underwear? You don’t expect me to go naked under here, do you?”
“You are not naked.” Elise giggled and let go of the door to come back and lift the hem of Lydia’s tunic. She pointed beneath
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it. “Look. Did you forget having your smock? Why do you dress?
We may not go below. That Scotsman ordered that you not leave the room until he says you may.” Another thought struck her, and she moved her hands to guard her bottom. “Oh, nay, you are not going to get us a beating, are you?”
Lydia snorted and headed for the door.
The young woman scurried to stand against it, her arms and legs spread wide to make a barrier. “You cannot,” she whispered. Her face blanched. “We must be careful. Father Jacob will read the banns this coming Sunday.”
“Bans on what? No. Don’t tell me. I’ll bet he means to banish women from the dining hall.” Huffing in disgust, Lydia tugged Elise away from the door.
Elise’s frightened gaze searched the room as if looking for support there. She grabbed hold of Lydia’s clothing and dug in her heels.
It didn’t work.
Lydia found the landing was as strange as the bedchamber had been. It was like many castle interiors she had seen, though she had never visited this one in her travels. Everything was in perfect condition. They had placed rushlights at close intervals so a person could see well enough not to stumble. Their smoke gave off an unfamiliar smell. A bubble of excitement welled up.
How would her imagination fill in the details? She hoped she didn’t awake before she could explore a little. Elise still clung to her clothing like a stubborn limpet.