Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  Muriel drifted closer.

  “Do you wish to know what the stone says?”

  Gold shimmered, then Muriel’s voice, stronger now. “Aye.”

  A warm breeze slid through the chamber across Amice’s face. She glanced at Laila, who gave a slight nod. Amice swallowed and told her, “‘To my beloved Muriel. This was not our time. One day. I shall be waiting. Always.’” By the time Amice finished, tears ran down her cheeks.

  And just like that, it was raining. Warm sheets of soft rain poured down and blew into the chamber. Amice turned her face and let the rain wash the tears from her cheeks.

  She looked back to see if Muriel remained. A swirl of gold and green lingered, but at the edge of Amice’s vision, she saw something else. “Laila,” she whispered.

  “Aye, I see it too.”

  “Is it—?”

  “The other spirit.”

  “Gerard Veuxfort.”

  “Aye.”

  Before their astonished eyes, it appeared as if Muriel turned toward the flash of blue and white, but it was gone. She gazed back at Amice. “Thank you.”

  Amice nodded and Muriel disappeared.

  Cain woke with Morganna’s mouth around his rod and a fierce need for release. He heard himself panting, felt himself grinding into her warm mouth before he shoved her from the bed. “Leave me alone!”

  Her mouth was wet with him and she smiled unashamedly. “You want me. You need me.”

  Dear God, he felt as if he were on fire. The urge to take her was overwhelming. He fisted his hands. “Get out.”

  Instead, she moved closer, so close that he could smell her own musky desire. She took her fingers and spread herself open, displaying the glistening folds of her sex. “Look at this,” she whispered. “Take me.”

  Cain could not seem to draw a breath. He pressed his fingernails into his palms and tried to swallow.

  Morganna caressed herself and let out a moan.

  “Nay,” Cain managed to rasp.

  She knelt on the bed and slid her tongue down the length of him. His staff jumped and swelled at the touch. Morganna laughed. “You need a woman, Cain.”

  Damn right he did. He had never felt lust like this in all his days. It was like a drug.

  A drug.

  He drew in a sharp breath and glared at Morganna. “What have you done?”

  She shrugged, then lay back, opened her thighs and arched her back off the bed.

  God help me, Cain thought as he stared at the proximity of her body, open and inviting. He leaned toward her, helplessly. Yes, he needed this. If he did not plunge his staff into her body he would explode. Lust ripped through his consciousness, decimated his reason and he moved over her.

  Morganna gave him a smug smile and reached for him.

  With the small bit of sanity he still possessed, Cain asked, “What did you put in my wine?”

  “Something for both of us,” she purred. “You shall be like a stallion, and finally appease your needs and mine.”

  Cain felt sweat break out on his forehead. “What was it?”

  “I do not know exactly.” She stroked him. “Come. Take me now. Fill me.”

  Gasping for air, Cain positioned himself at the entrance to her body. Her dampness touched him like hot oil, at the same time painful yet so intense to be irresistible.

  Morganna rubbed against him and moaned. “Take me.”

  You are drugged, his mind screamed. You are being trapped by this conniving creature. This is not the woman you want. But the creature was less than an inch away, begging to be taken. He could almost feel the heat of her body clench around his rod.

  Cain reared back and leapt off the bed.

  Morganna shrieked in outrage.

  He yanked her to her feet, threw her out the door, and barred it.

  She screamed and beat at the door but Cain made himself remain strong. He could relieve himself of his frustration, if need be. With short, jerky movements, he did just that and sat before the fireplace. Though the fire had burnt down, Cain felt as if it blazed heat.

  It was going to be a very long night.

  Finally, he heard shocked voices outside his chamber. Morganna mercifully shut up, or was silenced, he did not care which.

  Tomorrow, he would choose a husband for her. Cain rose and paced back and forth across the chamber, considering the possibilities.

  Then he thought of the perfect solution. Sir Edrik. A great bull of a man, reputed to have the largest rod in the garrison. He was not much to look at, but he would serve Morganna well and likely count himself fortunate to have a beautiful, young wife. That with a bit of coin should seal Morganna’s fate nicely.

  They could go live at Casswell Manor, and he would never have to deal with the scheming wench again.

  Cain went over to the wine jug and sniffed at the remnants. It smelled no different than any other brew. What had Morganna put in his wine? He knew little of herbs, and she claimed not to know either.

  Amice would know.

  But just as he gathered up the jug, he stopped himself. There was no way in hell he could go to Amice’s chamber in his condition and not bed her. It was hard enough to resist Morganna, and he had no interest in her under normal conditions. He would be on Amice like a beast in rut.

  He made himself put the jug down. On the morn was soon enough to consult her.

  All he had to do was get through tonight.

  Chapter 11

  “I have an idea, Laila,” Amice said as they descended the steps.

  “A potion from Gifford?”

  Amice laughed as they walked across the bailey. “Nothing that dangerous. I want to search the castle. There must be something here from Muriel’s time.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I just feel it. And I think we need something more to draw her out.”

  “What of the other?”

  “If it is Gerard Veuxfort, then he has a reason for remaining as well.”

  “Muriel?”

  “Mayhap.” Amice entered the great hall and halted in surprise. At the high table sat Cain, Lugh, Piers, Gifford, Agatha, and her own brother, Rand.

  “Amice!” Rand called out, then rushed over to envelop her in a tight hug. “How do you fare?” he whispered.

  Amice pulled away. “How could you betroth me to Lugh?” she hissed. “How could you, Rand?”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the table. “We shall talk on it later. But I do have your best interests at heart, Sister.”

  At her snort of disbelief, Rand stopped and looked at her intently. “I want you to be happy, Amice.”

  She just stared at him. Happy? With Lugh? Not unhappy surely, but happy? She could not envision it.

  “Come, break your fast.”

  Amice let him guide her to the dais and took her usual seat between Cain and Lugh. She reached for a cup of ale and trickled some down her dry throat.

  Lugh thumped her knee. “Are you recovered from your ordeal, Amice?”

  “Aye.” She sipped more ale. “Though I shall be happy to stay out of the water for a while.”

  Lugh’s face darkened and he snarled out a curse. “We shall see to that whoreson. Worry not, his crime shall not go unpunished.”

  “Thank you for your aid, Lugh.”

  Gifford leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “The MacKeir has been telling us the story.” He shot an approving glance toward Cain. “Quite a magnificent rescue.”

  “Yes.” Amice turned toward Cain. His warm, blue eyes held her fast and she slowly smiled. “Magnificent, indeed, my lord.”

  “My name is Cain.” His gaze slid into her like a crack of heat lightning.

  Amice’s smile faded. He was right, it was ridiculous to cling to her intention to not call him by name now. Too much had happened to keep the distance. “Thank you for my life. Cain.”

  He nodded. “My pleasure, Amice. I am only sorry I could not take down Woodford at the same time.”

  “As am I,�
�� Amice said, recalling the night spent with the man. “He is mad.”

  “Aye.”

  Rand passed her a piece of bread with a chunk of white cheese. “Have you accomplished your task here, Amice? Mother is… most anxious for your return.”

  Amice sighed and took the food. “Not yet, but soon I hope.”

  Piers jumped up and refilled her cup of ale. “What is your plan, my lady?”

  “Laila and I are going to search further. We need to find out more about Muriel.”

  “Would you like help?” Gifford asked with a twinkle in his eye.

  Amice grinned at him. “Nay, my lord, ‘tis not necessary. I am sure you have work to do.”

  He blinked and sprang up. “Aye, indeed. Excuse me, my lady.” Gifford waved a hand. “And the rest of you.” He trotted off toward his workroom.

  Cain stared after him. “I hope nothing explodes.”

  Amice giggled. “Perhaps today is the day he finds Merlin.”

  “Aye, right after the pigs take flight.” Cain shook his head and stood. “Search anywhere you like. If you need me, I shall be with Nyle.”

  Amice watched him walk away, sensing Lugh’s and Rand’s eyes on her. She forced a casual smile to her lips.

  “Rand?” Lugh asked.

  “Aye.”

  “I am in need of a bit of swordplay. There is no one here worth my talent. What say you?”

  “My pleasure.” Rand chuckled as Piers drew himself up in mock affront.

  The two big men rose and headed toward the training field. When they reached the door to the hall, Lugh looked back.

  He looked at Agatha, who stared after him with a bemused expression. In a few minutes, she left as well.

  In the direction of the training field.

  Amice turned toward Piers and raised a brow.

  He merely shrugged and wandered out, whistling.

  As Agatha exited the hall and followed in the wake of Lugh MacKeir, she recited all the reasons she should turn right around.

  He was a barbarous Highlander.

  He was dark, not fair-haired.

  He was too big and fearsomely skilled with weapons.

  He said and did outrageous things.

  He was arrogant.

  He attacked every meal as if it were his last and fought like a demon.

  He did not live life, he glutted himself on it.

  She stared at the wide set of his shoulders and hastened her pace.

  By late afternoon, Amice was ready to concede defeat. She and Laila had explored one chamber after another, particularly in the east tower, and found nothing. She plopped down on a trunk in the ground level chamber and sighed. “Mayhap I am mistaken.”

  Laila absently pushed at stones in the wall. “Do not give up yet.”

  Amice stood and stretched her back. She stared at the opposite wall, nearly covered by a wall hanging. It was of a mailed knight kneeling beside a pool. Looking back at him from within the water was a beautiful woman with one slender hand outstretched.

  A woman with red hair.

  Her heart picked up in pace and Amice moved closer to the hanging. “Laila?”

  “Aye.”

  She pointed at the woman. The hanging was old and faded, but it was still clear that the woman had long, red hair. “Does this resemble Muriel?”

  Laila came beside her and peered at the hanging. “It does.”

  They shared a look, then gently lifted the hanging from the wall. Amice groaned in frustration. The wall appeared solid.

  “Nay, wait,” Laila murmured. “This stone is different.” She slowly pushed against the stone and a door appeared, opening with the slightest touch.

  Amice stepped forward and her mouth dropped open. “A hidden room.”

  Laila handed her a candle. “Come.”

  They stepped down into the small chamber carved from the outer wall. The aura hit Amice at once. A warm, happy kind of feeling swelled in her chest as she took in the room.

  She stopped before a mattress piled with cushions and soft furs, noting the jeweled goblets and ewer on the adjacent table. A low brazier stood against the wall close to the makeshift bed. “This is where they met.”

  “Muriel and Gerard?”

  “Aye.” Amice twirled around, sighting the rush mats on the floor and the basin for water. “Met and loved. ‘Twas their secret, special place.”

  Laila ran a finger across the surface of the table. “There is not even any dust.”

  Gulping, Amice knelt before a trunk. She slowly lifted the lid, reached in and took out one of the rolls of parchment. The paper crinkled as she unrolled it. Age had darkened the color and softened the markings.

  “What is it?”

  Amice sat back on her heels. “Drawings.”

  Laila knelt beside her. “Oh, my.”

  Amice felt a flush of heat rise in her cheeks. The drawings were beautiful. And very detailed.

  “That looks like—”

  “Cain,” Amice finished. “He looks just like Cain.” As she gazed at the drawings, her body clenched inside itself.

  “And this is unmistakably Muriel.”

  “Aye.”

  “Which one drew them, do you think?”

  “Gerard. Look at the way Muriel is portrayed. Only a man in love would draw a woman in passion like that.” Amice shivered and looked down at the other drawings. They were all similar, portrayals of the lovers in various positions, losing themselves in their desires.

  Laila pointed down at the parchment. “Is that possible?”

  Amice giggled and turned the paper one way and then the other. “I am not sure.” She laughed again. “’Twould take a great deal of agility.”

  “Aye.” Laila chuckled and looked down into the trunk. She lifted out a flat wooden box.

  With more reluctance than she would admit, Amice set the drawings aside. She watched as Laila opened the lid and blinked in wonder. “’Tis just like Beornwynne’s Kiss, only with rubies instead of amethysts.”

  Laila ran her fingers over the heavy gold necklace, set with large, blood red rubies. Suddenly, she stilled and stared hard at the piece.

  “What is it, Laila?”

  “It should be returned,” Laila said in a distant voice.

  “Returned? To whom? Cain?”

  “Nay.” Laila met Amice’s gaze. “To Muriel.”

  “It was hers?”

  “Aye.” Laila unrolled the parchment and ran her finger down the drawings. “There, see. She wears it.”

  Amice studied the drawing. It was the most sensuous of them all. Muriel was astride Gerard, her back arched, her eyes closed, and he gazed up at her with an expression of awe. The necklace was the only thing she wore.

  “How did it end up here, do you think?”

  Laila put her palm over the necklace and closed her eyes. She shook her head. “I am not sure, but Muriel did not willingly give it up.”

  “How can we return a tangible object to a ghost? Bury it in her grave?”

  “’Tis the only way I know.”

  Amice stared down at the piece. “’Tis worth a great deal of coin.”

  “A King’s ransom.”

  “We must show it to Cain.” Amice rose to her feet, cradling the box in one hand, the parchment in the other.

  Laila stood also. “And then we need to talk to Muriel.”

  Agatha walked into the bathhouse, humming as she considered which of her new bliauts to wear for supper. She set down a stack of linen and unplaited her hair, running her fingers through the tight plaits. With a happy sigh, she stripped off her bliaut and undertunic and laid them carefully on a bench.

  It was then she heard breathing. Harsh breathing.

  Her throat tight, Agatha slowly turned to look at the bath. “Oh,” she gasped.

  Lugh MacKeir rose to his feet and gave her a look even she could not mistake.

  Agatha’s breath left her body. His emerald eyes smouldered. Actually smouldered. She had heard of such a thing, but
never imagined a man would direct such a look toward her.

  “Agatha,” he rumbled.

  With her name, Agatha felt her legs start to shake.

  Lugh parted the water in sure strides until he stood only inches away, the water sluicing down his chest.

  His very big, thickly muscled chest, covered with springy black hair that trailed down to… Oh, my God.

  Agatha blinked and licked her lips.

  Lugh growled deep in his throat.

  She took a step back.

  His nostrils flared as if he scented her, knew her to be as aroused as he obviously was. He was all raw sensuality, unabashed hunger, and his eyes drew her in as if she were caught in a powerful wave.

  “You… you are betrothed,” Agatha finally squeaked.

  “Aye, to a woman who clearly loves another.”

  Agatha’s lips parted. “I should leave,” she whispered.

  His face tightened and he took a step forward. “Stay.”

  Agatha inched around the bath toward the door, and Lugh followed her. She felt as if she were being stalked by some great beast of prey. What the beast might intend turned her insides to melted butter. She put her hand on the door, but another, much larger one covered hers.

  He was right behind her. She could feel the heat of him through her chemise. He pressed his body against hers and Agatha trembled.

  “Stay,” he rasped in her ear. “You know I want you. And I have seen the way you look at me. You want me too.”

  “Nay,” Agatha said weakly. Lugh MacKeir could not be more different than the suitor she had envisioned. He was rough, dark as night, and she very much doubted the man even knew what poetry was. Dear God, but it did not matter.

  “Aye.” He brushed her hair away from her neck with his other hand and smoothed his lips across her skin.

  She shivered.

  Then he nudged his heavy thigh between her legs and Agatha knew she was lost. Sheer lust ripped through her as she felt him prod her most hidden folds with his sex. Her body clenched and quivered, overriding all reason. She moaned and arched her back, pressing against his heat.

  Lugh let out a hiss and put his hand on her thigh, bunching the fabric of her chemise in his fist. With agonizing slowness, he gathered the folds of the linen, exposing her calves, her thighs, and finally her buttocks to the warm air.