by Amy Tolnitch
Cain took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and turned his face into her palm.
The gesture tore into her heart like a fine sword, cutting through walls painstakingly erected as if they were no more than air. Then, almost imperceptibly, she felt him begin to withdraw, his body stiffening slightly beneath hers, moving her away so that they were no longer pressed against each other.
He opened his eyes. “Are you all right?”
Her impersonal Cain had returned, quite a feat since she still straddled his lap. Amice climbed off and stood on wobbly legs. “Aye, thanks to you.”
Cain stood and half-lifted his hands. For a moment, Amice thought he would take hers, but he hesitated and returned them to his sides. “What happened?”
Amice turned to look at the broken merlon. She could not overcome fear to go any closer. “The stone gave.”
“That makes no sense,” Cain muttered, walking over to inspect the stone merlon. “I am careful to keep the battlements in good repair.” He peered down, then ran his fingers along the broken edge. When he turned back to her, his eyes burned with fury. “The merlon was broken deliberately.”
Ice spread through Amice’s veins and she gripped her mantle in her fists, her eyes wide. “Then…”
Cain’s lips drew into a tight, flat line. “Someone wanted either you or me to fall. The guards would not linger to lean against the stone. And no one else ever comes up here.”
“’Twas her,” Amice whispered. “Muriel.”
He looked doubtful. “Can a ghost break stone?”
“I do not know.”
“She has never attempted to seriously harm me before.” He walked back toward her with a frown.
“Nay, not you. Me.”
He gazed at her thoughtfully. “Why?”
Amice took a deep, shuddering breath. “She wants me to go. I believe she knows if I stay, at some point Laila and I shall figure out a way to get her to go, and she very much does not want that.”
In the stillness of the night, they heard soft laughter.
Instinctively, Amice moved into Cain’s arms, looking around her with a terror she could not subdue, wishing she were enclosed in the safety of her chamber.
A few feet away, Muriel slowly took shape, a pale glimmer of color that danced atop the stones. “How touching,” she sneered.
Amice felt Cain brace himself behind her. He tightened his hold around her waist. “It was you.”
A swirl of green and gold lifted in what still managed to look like an indolent shrug. Muriel glided closer and fixed her glowing eyes on Amice. “You are right. You must go.” She burst into mocking laughter. “But not quite for the reason you think.”
Amice swallowed a few times before she could speak. “Why, then? And why do you remain here?”
“So many questions. My reason for staying shall be my own.”
Pulling her courage back together, Amice asked, “Is it because of Gerard Veuxfort? Is he still here?”
The ghost appeared stunned, and began to fade.
“Wait!” Amice called. “There is something I must tell you!”
But Muriel continued to fade, her whisper shattering the night like a thunderclap. “The reason is quite simple. I shall never allow the Earl of Hawksdown to be happy.”
In the wake of her words, Amice stood motionless, unable to look at Cain. Inch by inch, he dropped his arms from around her. Amice gulped and fought for control, desperately attempting to wrap herself in reserve.
“Amice.”
His breath brushed her ear. Amice took a step away, then turned. She just stared at him, wondering what she could possibly say to the ghost’s absurd implication. Please, do not tell me Muriel is mistaken, she prayed. I know ‘tis true, that I have naught to do with your happiness. Please do not make me hear it from your mouth.
“Amice. We need to talk.”
“About Muriel, yes, I know. I do not believe she knows of the grave.” Amice nodded. “Aye, that could be the key. Perhaps if she realizes—”
“Not about Muriel.” His voice was soft but his jaw was set with determination. “About us. About what happened. Before.”
Amice stepped back. “Nay, ‘tis not necessary.”
“I think it is. Particularly with my mad ghost’s insinuations.”
He said mad. Amice backed up another step. “Nay. ’Tis no point to it. What difference does it make now after so many years?”
Cain stared at her mouth, then lifted his gaze to hers. “Have you forgotten everything, then?”
“I have forgotten nothing, Cain.” Her voice turned harsh, bitter anger rolling over her. “Nothing. You used me and threw me away to follow your mother’s bidding. That is all. There is nothing to talk about.”
“Amice, nay, ‘tis not that simple.”
Amice lifted her chin. “Aye, it is that simple! And I do not want to hear your lies. Go find your ‘cousin.’ I am sure she can accommodate you.”
“Amice, nay, wait.”
She whipped around and ran.
Cain stood watching her, feeling as if his bones were melting in an inferno of pain and guilt. The truth of it was that Amice was partially right. He had thrown her away, yielding to his mother’s manipulation. In the process, he had gained the coin to pay the King’s amercement and to save Falcon’s Craig. He had obtained Styrling Castle for his mother.
And he had convinced himself Amice could never be a good wife for him. Amice drew men like Piers drew women, and she liked it. And she was forever dabbling in some kind of pagan rite.
But still. They had shared of themselves in the way of a husband and wife. His body tensed at the memory. They had made promises. Amice rightfully assumed they would marry.
Then, he had walked away, turning his attention to the care of Falcon’s Craig and telling himself his mother was right to insist he marry Luce, that duty to family was more important than anything.
God, what an idiot he was.
Amice was right to hate him. Even if he could bring himself to trust her, he knew Amice well enough to be certain she could never forgive him. Why should she?
Chapter 5
After watching Amice flee him as if he were some kind of demon, Cain stopped in the hall to inform Nyle about the broken merlon. Needing solitude, he climbed to his chamber, stripped off his tunic and undershirt and built up the fire. The scent of lavender stirred in the air, and Cain breathed deeply.
When he thought of how close he had come to losing Amice, his gut turned over. Damned ghost. If she had substance, he would delight in permanently separating her head from her body himself.
He picked up his discarded tunic and held it to his nose. Amice’s scent still clung faintly to the cloth. Cain closed his eyes and let his heart bask for a moment in remembrance.
Then jumped as soft hands crept around his neck and smoothed over his chest. For a heartbeat, his heart leapt with possibility, but knew before he turned that Amice would never do such a thing. Cain looked over his shoulder. “Morganna.”
“Mmm,” she purred as she stroked her fingers down to his stomach. She rubbed her body against his back like a cat looking to scratch an itch. A naked cat.
“Morganna, cease.”
Instead, her small hands slipped beneath his braies so quickly that Cain had no time to act before she closed one hand around his still throbbing rod. He tore her hands away and jumped up. “What in the hell do you think you are doing?”
She stared back at him and put her hands beneath her breasts, as if she were offering him a sweet. “Come now, Cain. You can have these. And,” she paused, gliding her hands down to the pale triangle cresting her legs. “Anything else you desire.”
“I do not—”
Morganna laughed and gave him a sly look. “Oh, yes, you do.” She gazed pointedly at his groin and licked her lips. “Aye, you do indeed.”
Damn the wench. Cain knew he was hard, but what man would not be, faced with a beautiful, naked, albeit cunning, woman who dared to hold
him in her hand? He crossed his arms. “I am a man. Not a eunuch.”
She stepped closer. “Aye, you are. With a man’s needs.”
Cain gulped. She was right about his needs, but he was rather particular about the woman who could satisfy them. “Where are your clothes?”
Morganna sighed and closed the distance between them. She put her hands on his shoulders. “Cain, stop this foolishness. We shall be good together.” She smiled and pressed against his crossed arms. “Very, very good.”
Cain frowned. “How do you know, Morganna?”
She shrugged. “A woman can just tell when a man is right.”
“Oh? An innocent woman? A virgin?”
A knowing smile slid across her lips. “No woman is truly innocent of men.”
Cain stepped back. “Somehow, I have the feeling you are a little less innocent than most. Go away, Morganna. Get clothed and leave me.”
Her mouth turned down. “Surely, you do not mean that, Cain.” She turned in a slow circle, arching her back, her golden hair swirling around her. “Look well upon what I offer you.”
Gritting his teeth, Cain looked around his chamber until he spotted her bliaut. He snatched it up and thrust it into her hands. “Go.”
Morganna sniffed and dropped the garments to the floor. “What are you afraid of, Cain? Afraid you might come to care for me? Afraid once you have me, you shall never want anyone else again?”
“Hardly.” Cain bent and picked up her clothes once more. This time, he put a hand on her shoulder and steered her toward the door. If she refused to dress within his chamber, she could do so without. It was obvious Morganna did not suffer from reluctance to display her body.
She shook off his hand as they reached the door and turned to gaze at him. “She will never have you, you know.”
“Who?”
Morganna smiled. “I know what happened. I know what you did to her. Ismena told me. She shall never forgive you.”
Cain froze and narrowed his gaze. “What did my mother tell you?”
“How you fancied yourself in love with Amice. How she let you claim her body without a betrothal. How you came to your senses and abandoned her.” Morganna laughed lightly. “Such a sad story. And then you ended up with a wife who loved another.”
“Enough.”
“Poor Cain. And yet you refuse me, when I could make your pain go away.”
“You can do nothing for me. Get out.”
Morganna flounced out and Cain slammed the door, this time throwing the iron bar across it.
He turned back to hear soft, jeering laughter that oozed from all four corners of the room. A cold slice of air skittered across his shoulders and a voice whispered, “She is right, you know. Amice is too wise, too proud to ever give you another chance.”
Cain whirled around but saw nothing. “Coward,” he hissed.
The laughter slowly faded, mocking him even in its silence.
The next morning, Cain found himself alone on the dais to break his fast. He looked up as Gifford sailed into the hall.
“Here, my boy.” Gifford handed Cain a cup of some kind of liquid. “’Tis a special brew I created just for you.”
Cain did not take the cup. “What is in it?”
“Wine and a bit of my elixir.” He plopped down and reached for a jug of ale. “Try it.”
“Is it safe?”
His uncle gave him an irritated look. “Why would I wish to harm you? Of course ‘tis safe.”
Cain watched as Gifford drained the jug in one very long swallow and gestured to the butler for more. “What kind of ‘elixir’ did you concoct?”
Gifford sighed. “Good for you.” He took another swig of ale. “Need to start living, Cain.”
“I am alive.”
Shaking his head, Gifford popped a chunk of cheese into his mouth. “Not really. You are so damned determined to be serious, you have turned yourself into a martyr.”
Cain peered into the cup. It did not look harmful, but with Gifford, who knew what the ingredients might be? “I am no martyr.”
“Oh? Then why are you sitting here alone? Where is Lady Amice?” Gifford stared at him with perceptive eyes.
“Probably hiding from me.” Cain took a small sip of the drink.
“Hmpf. Girl has sense.”
“Leave it, Uncle. She hates me, and justifiably so.”
“Hmm. Don’t look that way to me.” Gifford grabbed up another piece of cheese and slid his elixir closer to Cain. “Drink.”
The second sip felt a bit gritty on his tongue but Cain swallowed anyway. What the hell? he thought. He felt oddly off-center, as if nothing in his life made the same sense it had before Amice came back into it.
“What happened between the two of you? ‘Tis obvious you are still in love with her.”
Cain stilled and stared at nothing. Was Gifford right? He shook his head and forced down another gulp of Gifford’s drink. It was definitely gritty. “What did you put in this stuff?”
“Not enough apparently. Well?”
“Well what?”
“Good God, you are thick-witted. Why are you sitting here instead of pursuing Amice?”
“Good question, Uncle,” Piers pitched in as he took a seat on Cain’s other side.
He was trapped. “Amice wants nothing to do with me. We shared something once but ‘tis gone.”
Gifford grunted. “Liar.”
Cain’s patience shredded. How could they not see the truth? “I appreciate that both of you care for my well-being, but you are wrong. I am perfectly happy with things as they are. I do not want another wife. I am the last man in the world Amice de Monceaux wishes to marry. And she is every bit as unfit for that role today as she was five years ago. For God’s sake, she’s a pagan.”
Gifford just stared at him in horror.
The import of his expression slowly sank in, and Cain wanted to groan. “She is right behind me?”
Gifford nodded.
“Hell.”
After a moment, Piers whispered, “She is gone.”
“Dammit, Cain. You are a stubborn simpkin, boy.” Gifford drank deep and shook his head. “Damn near hopeless.”
Piers coughed and pulled over a ewer of wine.
Cain felt as if he could bury his face in an entire barrel.
Gifford slammed down the jug and glared at Cain. “Stop being a fool!”
“Gifford—”
“Nay, you will listen. I am tired of watching you act like some kind of drudge. When is the last time you laughed? Really laughed? Got drunk? Did something just because it felt good? You have shut down, boy, and I cannot watch it anymore.”
“I have responsibilities.”
“We all do, but that does not mean we stop living,” Piers murmured.
Cain rolled his eyes, stamping down the wave of yearning winding through him. The Earl of Hawksdown was not a man enslaved by weak emotion, he reminded himself. Again. “Enough! I know Amice is the first noblewoman we have seen in years but that does not make her an ideal candidate to be the Countess of Hawksdown. Stop trying to put Amice and me together, both of you. It is not going to happen. She is a faithless woman. And she despises me!”
“If she likes men so much, why is she not married, hmm?” Piers asked.
“’Tis obvious. She does not want to confine herself to one man.”
Gifford jumped up and put his hands on the table. “You damned idiot!” he roared. “Can you not see the pain in that woman’s eyes when she looks at you? No, you cannot. And do you know why? Because you are too blinded by the pain in your own!”
Cain’s mouth fell open. With a final angry look, Gifford swept up a jug and stalked away.
“Not sure I have ever heard him use that tone of voice,” Piers commented. “Except that one time with Mother.”
Draining his cup of wine, Cain turned to gaze at Piers. “It is this cursed ghost. She is turning Falcon’s Craig into a place of madness.”
“Do you truly think our
ghost is the problem?”
Cain stood and picked up a ewer. He did not need a cup. “I shall be in my solar. Working.” He left the table, feeling the censure of Piers’s gaze every step of the way.
That evening, Amice made a fist and banged on the door to Cain’s chamber. It had taken her the entire day, but she had managed to replace agonizing hurt with wonderful rage.
And she was not going to allow the coward to hide from her in his chamber.
“Who is there?”
“Amice.” She smashed her fist against the door again. “I want to talk to you.”
There was silence, then the door slowly swung open.
Amice blinked. Cain stood in the shadows, the fire lighting his hair to gold. He gazed at her with an oddly soft expression.
“Come in.”
Steeling her resolve, Amice gathered her pride around her like a protective mantle and followed him into the room.
Cain picked up a cup and drank, then refilled it. “I apologize for my careless statement this morn. I had no idea you were there.” He gestured to a blanket spread before the fire.
Amice remained standing. “I demand that as long as I must remain at Falcon’s Craig, you not discuss me with your brother or your uncle.”
Cain sat on the floor and stretched out his long legs. He drained his cup before gazing up at her. “Would you like some wine?”
“Aye.”
Filling another cup, Cain held it out to her. Amice took it and settled herself onto a stone windowseat. She drew in a deep breath. “I must insist on this.”
“Very well. But they bring up the matter continuously.”
“Why do they care about a mistake that happened long ago?”
“Mistake?” His gaze turned indigo in the firelight.
Amice shrugged and gulped some wine. “Or, whatever you wish to name it.”
“Why have you not married?”
Amice’s breath froze in her throat. She could never tell him the truth. “I… I suppose I just never found the right, uh, situation. ’Tis an odd question coming from someone who deems me ‘unfit’ for matrimony.”
“Your brother, he could not make a match for you?”