Wicked and Wonderful by Valerie King Page A

games, he knew quite well how to play. The scent of the hunt filled his nostrils, but this quarry he knew instinctively would not easily be run to earth. He turned around and crept quietly away from the camp. He would soon visit her tent, but not tonight. Instead, there were plans to be made.
    *** *** ***
    On the following morning, Judith lifted her head from her labors, stretching her back a little. Movement off to the side caught her eye and an unwelcome sight came into view.
    “Oh, no,” she moaned. Her hands were sunk to the wrist in bread dough, kneading, flipping, and turning.
    Lord Kelthorne entered the camp. He was astride his horse and sported hunting gear. A wagon, driven by one of his servants, followed behind him.
    She knew she was not readily visible, situated as she was behind a rack of copper pots. Today, she was helping Mrs. Marnhull make several loaves of bread, but presently her fingers had stopped kneading since the sight of Kelthorne had stunned her completely.
    “Wat is it, Miss Judy?” Mrs. Marnhull rose up from cleaning her largest pot.
    “‘Tis Kelthorne.”
    “So it is and such a handsome man. Look how he carries his hunting rifle as though it were but a feather in his hand. La, do but look in the wagon. He’s brought down a young stag.”
    Kelthorne caught sight of Mrs. Marnhull and guided his horse in her direction, signaling for the driver and wagon to follow. He did not look at Judith.
    “You must be Mrs. Marnhull,” he called out. “My bailiff has had many excellent words to say about you and by the looks of the camp even I can see that you run an orderly ship.”
    “I do an that,” she said. “Thank ye fer saying as much.”
    He smiled at Mrs. Marnhull and Judith’s breath caught. In the strong light of day, in hunting gear and his heavy rifle now resting on his forearm, he had all the appearance of a soldier returning from war. Sweat beaded his face, dust marred his clothing and blood stained his neckcloth. She felt very strange of a sudden, not precisely ill, but weak as though she might swoon.
    “I have venison which I should like to offer to you and to the troupe. Would a haunch be of use to you?”
    Mrs. Marnhull’s eyes brightened. “T'would, indeed, m’lord.”
    He threw an arm in the direction of the wagon. “Choose the parts you’d like, then send your man,” he gestured to Horace who turned red at being acknowledged, “to the butcher’s this afternoon.”
    “I will,” she responded. “And thank ye ever so much.”
    He tipped his hat to her then to Judith. “Miss Lovington.” He met and held her gaze quite firmly, even deliberately. Then he smiled anew and in his look was the hunter still.
    She suddenly felt as vulnerable as a rabbit in a crate.
    With that, he called sharply to his horse, wheeled about and loped away.
    “What did he want?” John called from behind Judith.
    She turned and saw that he had just emerged from his tent, soap still on his cleanly shaven face and wiping his hands on a strip of linen. “He had been hunting and was kind enough to share a little venison with the troupe.”
    “A little,” Mrs. Marnhull said. “We’ll have at least an entire haunch.” She turned to Horace, a lad of fourteen whose duties ranged from feeding the cattle to hauling water to tending fires in camp. “Build a spit for us, a good sturdy one.”
    “Aye, Mrs. Marnhull,” he returned with a smile. He was adept at constructing things and one of the most useful members of camp even though he was so young. He immediately went to the second wagon in which the camp tools and equipment were kept.
    As for Mrs. Marnhull, she clapped her hands together and headed on her brisk step toward the wagon. “Roast venison. Tend to the dough, Miss Judy,” she called sharply, “‘Tis rising already and that won’t do.”
    “Yes, Mrs. Marnhull.” Judy resumed her task and immediately plunged her hands back into the dough kneading strongly as Mrs. Marnhull had taught