Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  “You were crying,” Gifford said softly.

  “My sire was not an easy man.”

  “Nay. I recall that well.” He wrinkled his nose. “But even then, it was as if you wore an invisible shield around yourself. I had never met a child with so much reserve.”

  “A lesson I learned very young.”

  Gifford patted her hand. “Perhaps it is time to learn a new one, my dear.”

  Before Amice could respond, Piers rushed into the hall, clad from head to foot in shiny mail, a gleaming sword in one hand and a cup of wine in the other. “You have to come see this!”

  Gifford jumped up. “What is it?”

  “You have to see for yourself. ‘Tis the damnedest thing I have ever seen.”

  Amice, Gifford, and Laila followed Piers out of the hall and into the bailey.

  “We can watch from atop that wall,” Piers pointed. “Hurry.”

  Amice ran up the narrow steps to a partially concealed walkway and stared down at a scene of disorder. Lugh stood, legs spread apart, arms crossed over his chest, with a deep frown on his face.

  Though the garrison lined the walls, many holding crossbows, no one was doing anything but watching.

  Lugh lifted one hand and his men launched rocks from the trebuchet.

  The stones rose high in the air, then higher and higher still as if an unseen force carried them in the wind. Amice watched open-mouthed as the stones continued their flight all the way over the far wall of the castle, to fall down to the sea.

  Below them, Lugh threw down his sword in disgust and peered up toward the battlements. “Hawksdown?”

  “Aye.”

  Amice could hear the amusement in Cain’s voice.

  “I wish to speak with my betrothed.”

  “You shall leave your weapons with my captain.”

  Though she could not hear him, Amice could see the sigh of frustration on Lugh’s face.

  He unbuckled his sword belt. “All of them?”

  “All of them. And just you. Your men remain outside.”

  “I agree.”

  Amice scooted back against the stone merlon. What was she to do? Rand would not have betrothed her to Lugh. Would he? Laila laid a hand on her shoulder. “We should return to the hall.”

  “Aye.” Amice gave Laila a worried look. “Rand would not have done this.”

  Laila shrugged. “Either way, you must talk to The MacKeir.”

  Taking a deep breath, Amice nodded. “Aye.” She led the group back down to the bailey, stepping out onto the grass as the guards raised the portcullis and Lugh rode in. He stopped at the sight of her and gave her such a boyish grin she could not help but return it.

  He leapt from his horse just as Cain emerged from the gatehouse. The two men eyed each other, reminding Amice of two roosters marking out territory.

  Slowly, she approached them, noting the tremendous difference between the two. A sleek, golden lion and a brawny, black bear.

  “Lady Amice,” Lugh called out. “Come.”

  Amice stamped down irritation at his arrogant tone. “Chief MacKeir, why are you here? I thought you agreed to remain at Wareham.”

  He scowled. “I tired of waiting while you spent time in another man’s holding.”

  “I have a task to complete.”

  Lugh crossed himself. “Aye, I see. Particularly after today.”

  “And I am not your betrothed.” Amice could feel Cain’s gaze upon her, suspicious and watchful. Piers and Gifford hung back just far enough to be polite while still listening intently to the conversation. Laila stood next to Amice quietly.

  “Aye, m’eudail, you are.”

  In numbed shock, she watched as he took a piece of vellum from his plaid and passed it to Cain. All at once, her legs felt like butter and her vision blurred.

  Cain bent to read the document and his mouth drew into a grim line. When he looked up, his expression was condemning. “He speaks the truth.”

  Amice fainted.

  Cain caught Amice around the waist just as she crumpled. He swung her up in his arms, giving The MacKeir a stern look.

  “I shall carry her,” The MacKeir announced, as he reached for Amice.

  “You have done enough. I have her.” Cain ignored the titter from Piers and turned to go to the hall. Partway there Amice’s eyes began to flutter, and by the time they reached the hall, she was blinking.

  “What happened?” she whispered. “Was it Muriel?”

  The MacKeir moved up beside them. “Are you all right? I did not expect the news of your good fortune to affect you so greatly.”

  Amice stared at him blankly.

  Cain restrained the urge to run The MacKeir through with his sword and gently put Amice back on her feet. She gripped his arm, her eyes wide, and for a moment Cain feared she would faint again.

  “Get you something to drink, my dear,” Gifford muttered, and toddled off toward the buttery. As he left, Agatha walked into the hall.

  She let out a squeak of fright, halted, and put her hand to her mouth.

  Cain gaped at her. What had his sister done to her appearance?

  The MacKeir stared at Agatha as if he had discovered paradise. “A goddess,” he whispered. He glanced at Amice, then at Agatha, then back and forth again as if he could not decide what to do.

  Agatha lowered her hand but did not move.

  Cain looked over at Piers, who was barely constraining his laughter. “Chief MacKeir, may I present my sister, Lady Agatha.”

  The MacKeir drew in a breath, strode over to Agatha, took her hand and kissed it fervently. “Enchanting.”

  Agatha drew back her hand in horror. She shot Amice a pleading look, but Amice was apparently still in too much shock to respond. Cain guided her into a seat on the dais and looked pointedly at Piers, who just grinned back at him. “Do something,” Cain hissed.

  Piers wandered over to The MacKeir and Agatha. By now, Agatha had backed up against the wall, The MacKeir hovering over her. “Chief MacKeir, please take your ease. We shall have food and drink served.”

  The MacKeir took Agatha’s arm. “Thank you. I have a mighty thirst upon me.” He pulled Agatha toward the table. In response to her obvious agitation, Piers merely nodded approvingly.

  Cain sat down and resisted the impulse to bury his face in his hands.

  Along with Gifford, a cluster of servants bearing trays of drink and food arrived, followed by Morganna barely clad in a deep scarlet bliaut. Cain briefly closed his eyes, wondering how the situation could possibly become more complicated.

  Of course, it was at that moment that Muriel decided to appear.

  At the sight of her, The MacKeir jumped to his feet with a roar, reached for his missing sword and snatched up an eating knife from the table, brandishing it like it was a great war sword. “Bana-bhuidseach!”

  Agatha tried to run, but The MacKeir caught her and thrust her behind him, holding her close with his free hand.

  Muriel floated closer. “I am not a witch, you overgrown boor. I am a spirit.”

  The MacKeir looked wildly around the hall, clearly searching for additional weapons.

  “Might as well have a seat, MacKeir,” Gifford advised as he took another gulp of ale. He pushed a jug toward The MacKeir. “As my nephew reminded me, you cannot get rid of a ghost with a sword.”

  The MacKeir slowly released Agatha and lowered himself onto a stool. He reached for the jug and poured the contents down his throat.

  Amice stirred beside him, thankfully finally coming out of her stupor. “What do you want, Muriel?”

  “Pray accept my congratulations on your betrothal, Lady Amice.”

  Cain took a big gulp of wine.

  “Why, thank you, Muriel.”

  “I was betrothed once.”

  “To whom?”

  Muriel drifted closer. “To the Earl of Hawksdown, of course.”

  Cain narrowed his eyes. What was she talking about? Gerard Veuxfort’s wife was named Elena.

 
“What happened?”

  “He broke the betrothal.”

  “Why?”

  With a bitter laugh, Muriel said, “He found me in an awkward position with another man. Instead of trusting me, he believed I betrayed him.”

  “Was he wrong?”

  “Aye. It was all Elena’s doing, the jealous bitch. She was determined to have Gerard.”

  “Did she get him?”

  “Aye.” Muriel laughed again. “She made his life hell, of course.” She gazed into the distance. “I enjoyed those years very much.”

  “But why kill yourself? Surely, you could have found another to marry. Or entered a convent.”

  Muriel wrinkled her nose. “Convent life was not for me. And I did not want to marry anyone but Gerard.”

  “Death seems a harsh solution.”

  “The Earls of Hawksdown have never chosen their brides well, have they, Cain?”

  Cain stiffened and set down his cup. “Nay.”

  “Muriel, why do you linger here?” Amice asked.

  She stared at Amice for a long time. “Because I cannot leave.”

  “Why not,” Cain asked. “There is nothing for you here.”

  “You are quite wrong in that. For one, I have gained much enjoyment from watching you make a wretched marriage and punish yourself for it. Your unhappiness brings me great cheer.”

  “Demented wench,” Gifford growled.

  Muriel did not even look at him.

  Cain glared at the apparition.

  Muriel glared back, then said softly, “But you did seize a bit of happiness recently. Or rather, pleasure.”

  At a loss for words, Cain just looked at her. Damn her for knowing things.

  Slowly, Muriel turned toward The MacKeir and raised a brow. “Pleasure with the Lady Amice.”

  The MacKeir jumped to his feet, his face instantly scarlet and set in angry lines. “What do you say?” He gave Cain a sharp look. “What does she mean?”

  Cain glanced at Amice. Her face was white and she sat completely still. What in the hell was he supposed to say? That he did not know of the betrothal? He very much doubted The MacKeir would accept that explanation. That he was drunk? Hardly an excuse.

  The MacKeir did not wait for an answer. He drew himself up and fisted his hands. “I challenge you to combat, Hawksdown. You have abused my betrothed. For that you shall die.”

  Cain stood. “I did not abuse Amice.”

  The MacKeir laid a meaty hand on Amice’s shoulder. “I am sorry, beloved. I should have protected you from the attentions of this cur.”

  Amice opened her mouth but no words came out. She blinked and shook her head. “Lugh, please reconsider. Muriel lies.”

  “Does she?” The MacKeir looked at Muriel, who wore a sly smile on her lips.

  “The Earl of Hawksdown did not abuse me.”

  “He forced you.”

  “Nay. Muriel lies.”

  “I think you seek to protect him. Do not worry. After I kill him, I shall take you to Tunvegan as my bride.”

  “This is absurd,” Cain finally said.

  The MacKeir lifted his chin. “Honor is not absurd. Do you accept my challenge or are you a coward as well as an abuser of innocent women?”

  Well, hell. There was no way he could let that pass. Cain rubbed the back of his neck. “I accept. Tomorrow at prime.”

  “Weapons?”

  “Swords.”

  The MacKeir nodded. “Done.” He looked down at Amice. “Come. Walk with me in the bailey.”

  Cain could do nothing but watch as Amice left. She was betrothed. Pledged to this beefy Highlander with whom she was obviously well acquainted. He could scarcely credit it.

  How could she love him as if her very soul blended with his while betrothed to another?

  God, he was a witless fool.

  As soon as they were outside, Amice pulled her arm from Lugh’s grasp. “Show me the agreement.”

  Silently, Lugh held out the piece of vellum.

  It only took a moment to verify the truth. Rand had indeed given her to his boon companion, Lugh MacKeir. “How could he?” she whispered, then put her hand over her mouth.

  “Let us walk,” Lugh ordered, once more taking her arm, smoothly taking back the betrothal agreement.

  Amice let herself be led across the grass, her mind still unable to accept her brother’s betrayal. How could Rand do this? And why?

  “Lady Amice, your brother looks to your welfare. He and I discussed this matter at length. You need a husband. I want you.”

  “Why?”

  “What?”

  Amice stopped and peered up at Lugh. “Why do you want me?”

  He looked surprised at the question. “You are a beautiful woman. And you are strong enough to live at Tunvegen.”

  “Is that it?”

  “I understand.” Lugh smiled and took her hand. “You wish to hear love words.” He stepped close. “I shall show you with my body, m’eudail. I shall wipe any memory of that knave from your mind.”

  Good God. He was serious. “Lugh, you must release Cain from this challenge.”

  He scowled and shook his head. “I cannot. ‘Tis a serious offence.”

  Amice bit her lip. “Cain did not violate me, Lugh.”

  “I told you, you need not protect him. If you wish to journey to Italy, I shall take you in celebration of our wedding.”

  “It is not about the villa.” She squeezed his hand. “I am sorry, Lugh, but I am telling the truth.”

  His expression turned so fierce, Amice tried to pull her hand free, but he held it fast. “You were willing?”

  “Aye.” Willing, eager, desperate. She had been all those things, to her shame.

  “You did not know of the betrothal.”

  “Nay.”

  Lugh drew his lips together and his features relaxed. “I shall still take you.” He puffed up his chest. “Once you have a taste of my skills in the bedchamber, you will never want any other man.”

  Amice fought it but in the end she had to grin. Lugh was so sure of himself and free about expressing it. Based on the way he kissed, his boast might actually be based in fact. “Lugh, I do not wish to marry you. I am sure you are every bit as skilled as you claim and I truly like you, but…” She held out her hands.

  “You will come to love me, lass. When I fill your belly with our babes, you will realize how lucky you are.”

  Babes. Amice blanched. What was she to do? She could not reveal her past to Lugh. She could not bear to tell him. But he deserved to know she might be barren. Rand, how could you? “Do not fight tomorrow. Please.”

  “You fear for him.” Lugh narrowed his eyes and studied her, reminding Amice that despite his bulk and manner, he was also a very astute man.

  “He is good with a sword, but—”

  “I am better,” Lugh stated with his usual confidence.

  “Mayhap.” Nay, much better. And bigger. And stronger. And more ruthless.

  “You care for him.”

  Amice looked away. “I did. Once. I would not wish to be the cause of his death.”

  “Forget the Earl of Hawksdown. You are mine.”

  “I have forgotten him,” Amice lied. “But I have not agreed to wed you either.”

  Lugh just lifted one bushy brow. “’Tis done.”

  “Not without my consent.”

  Lugh’s brow furrowed and his eyes turned emerald green. “If I spare Hawksdown’s life, you shall consent to the marriage.”

  A bleak hollowness settled deep into her body. To save Cain, she must give up any chance to be with him. Lose him forever. She wanted to wail in anguish, curse the fates and leap on her horse to gallop away without stopping.

  Amice nodded. “I agree.”

  The next morn, Cain paced back and forth across the bailey, staring suspiciously at Gifford. There was no sign of The MacKeir. Most of the people of the castle stood in the bailey waiting. “Where the hell are they?”

  Gifford just shrugg
ed. “Perhaps Piers cannot find him.”

  Cain turned toward Amice, who gazed at him with an innocent expression. “What do you know of this?”

  She bit her lip, then said softly, “He will not fight you.”

  “What have you done?” He strode over to stand in front of her. Agatha and Laila flanked her, wearing identical expressions of dismay. “Where is he?”

  “I do not know, but he agreed not to fight.”

  Something was wrong here. “Why? He seemed most anxious to avenge your honor last eve.”

  Amice flushed and looked down. “I told him the truth.”

  Cain noticed Gifford creeping closer and gave him a warning look, which Gifford of course pretended not to see. “The truth?”

  “Aye.”

  As he stood staring at Amice, it sunk in what she had done. “Damn it, Amice, I am capable of fighting my own battles.”

  “Lugh is very good with a sword,” she said in a small voice.

  “So am I.”

  Finally, she lifted her gaze and stared at him. Her eyes were flat, as if something had been extinguished inside her. “He is better.”

  Cain knew his skill with a sword was impressive. He would have had at least a fighting chance. “I do not believe this. How did you persuade him to abandon the fight?”

  Amice looked away. “I agreed to marry him.”

  Gifford made a sound of distress.

  Cain closed his eyes against the jolt of agony that shot through him. “You agreed to marry The MacKeir to spare me from having to fight him?”

  “Aye.”

  “Damn you, Amice,” he growled. “You had no right.”

  “I do as I wish, Cain. I make my own decisions.”

  “And witless ones they are, if this is an example.” Cain looked around the bailey. “Thomas,” he called to his captain.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Find The MacKeir and bring him here. I do not care if you have to drag him.” When Thomas just stood staring at him wide-eyed, Cain yelled, “Now, dammit!” Thomas and a group of guards fled.

  Cain rubbed the back of his neck. “I cannot believe this.”

  “’Tis for the best, Cain.”

  “Amice.”

  Slowly, she turned and gazed into his eyes. The expression he saw there made him want to howl to the heavens. It was as if a veil had parted to show her true feelings, but then her eyes went blank. “Do you… do you want to marry him?”