Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  Amice nodded tiredly, but as she took a step forward, her face tightened and she stumbled.

  Cain caught her shoulders and steadied her. “What happened?”

  “My horse took a fright when she saw a wolf and threw me, before running off. I did something to my ankle.”

  Cain bent down and ran his hands up her ankle. It was swollen. “You should not have been out by yourself.”

  Amice did not say anything.

  “You will ride back with me,” he said. But just as he took Amice’s arm, lightning cracked across the sky in a blinding, jagged arc, and Pagan reared up with a scream. Cain ran forward, but another bolt of lightning crackled and Pagan took off at a gallop before Cain could catch the reins.

  He stood watching the horse flee and let out a long curse. They were leagues from Falcon’s Craig, and Amice should not be walking on her ankle.

  As he considered their options, Amice limped past him. He caught her arm. “What are you doing?”

  She looked at him as if he were addlepated. “Walking back to Falcon’s Craig.”

  “You cannot walk all the way to the castle on that ankle.”

  “Yes, I can.” She took a couple of steps forward, her mouth drawn into a thin line, her gaze focused.

  “Pagan will return to Falcon’s Craig. Someone will come to find us.”

  “I am not waiting out here in the rain.” She shoved a wet tangle of hair from her face and kept walking.

  Cain caught up with her. “At least lean on me to take weight off your ankle.”

  “I am fine.”

  The rain came down so heavily, it seemed as if they were caught in some kind of isolated waterworld. Mud sucked at Cain’s boots, and he could not see far in front of him.

  Amice sailed on as if she were taking a stroll in a sunlit garden.

  “Let me help you,” he repeated.

  “I do not need your help.”

  “Damn it, Amice, you do not have to do everything on your own.”

  She glared at him. “Aye, I do. I always do.”

  “Sometimes, you need to depend on someone else.”

  Amice laughed in his face. “Like you? Surely, you jest.”

  Her jibe struck him in the gut and Cain sucked in a breath. “You cannot bring yourself to depend on any man, can you?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  “Give me your arm,” he ordered.

  “Nay.”

  “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

  “Why do you have to be so controlled?”

  Cain rubbed the back of his neck. “’Tis safer,” he admitted.

  “Easier,” she sneered.

  “Aye.”

  Amice stepped forward and gave a cry before she went down to the ground. She knelt on the grass and closed her eyes.

  Cain squatted beside her and waited for her to look at him.

  “I do not like to be dependent on anyone,” she finally said. “I cannot. You are right.”

  “But sometimes you do need someone. I understand why I am the last person you would wish to rely on. But I am the only person here and you need help.” He reached out.

  Slowly, Amice took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. He took her arm, wrapping his own around her waist. Amice stared straight ahead.

  They moved forward, making slow progress as Amice half walked, half hopped along. Night was falling and a cool breeze floated in from the sea.

  Amice shivered. “I shall be happy where the days are warm and sunny,” she said softly.

  Cain stiffened. “Amice, you cannot be serious about leaving England to live in Italy.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Tis madness. A woman has no business going on such a journey alone. You should be content to stay at home.”

  He knew he had made a mistake when she narrowed her eyes and glared at him, before attempting to pull away. “It is not your affair, Cain.”

  “You barely know anything about this place, other than some story your brother told you.”

  “As well as your ancestor’s journal.”

  Cain drew his brows together. “What are you talking about?”

  “Gerard’s journal. After Muriel died and he sired a son, he left Falcon’s Craig and ended up for a time on the Italian coast.”

  “How long was he gone?”

  “Two years in total.”

  “I wonder why he came back.”

  “He traced his true origins and brought his blood relations back to settle at Hazelstone. But then, the journal ends.”

  Cain stared at her in astonishment. “Do you mean I am related to some of the villagers?”

  “Aye.”

  “Olive,” he said.

  “’Twould explain the strong bond between you.”

  Cain shook his head to clear it. “All of that is interesting, but still, you cannot think to live at the villa. What will you do there?”

  She stiffened her lips. “Whatever I wish. Leave be, Cain.”

  “Am I so abhorrent to you that you must run so far?”

  When she looked at him, there were tears in her eyes. “You can never let it go, can you? You have to push and prod and peel away the layers.”

  “’Tis my way. And I am not ashamed that I seek the truth.”

  “Do you, Cain? What about the truth from yourself?”

  “What?”

  Amice prodded him in the chest. “The truth about what you really want in life. When you take away duty, the important image of the Earl of Hawksdown, what is left?”

  “I do not know what you mean.”

  At his words, her expression turned to bleak sadness. “Nay, you do not, and that is the shame of it.”

  “Amice, I—”

  Out of the grey rain and fog emerged a group of horses led by Piers. “Cain!” he shouted. Behind him rode a troop of men from the garrison, one leading Pagan by the reins.

  He heard Amice’s sigh of relief before she stepped away from him. She stumbled a bit, but when he reached for her, she managed to elude his hand.

  “Stubborn,” he muttered.

  Piers jumped down and wrapped a mantle around Amice. “Are you all right?”

  “My ankle is twisted.”

  Cain vaulted onto Pagan and nudged the horse to where Amice stood in the rain. “Lift her up. She rides with me.”

  Before Amice could protest, Piers lifted her onto Pagan.

  Cain wrapped his arm around her and drew her close.

  She pulled the hood of the mantle down over her face.

  While Amice rested in her chamber, Cain met with Nyle and tried to pay attention to his seneschal’s report. “How many of the barley fields are planted?”

  “All.” Nyle looked down at a diagram. “And we are nearly finished with the wheat, oats, peas, and beans.”

  “Good.” Cain opened his mouth, then snapped it shut as Gifford barreled through the door, Piers following close behind him. His uncle, naturally, carried a jug of wine with him and careened to a stop before Cain’s worktable without acknowledging Nyle’s presence.

  “Want to talk to you.” Gifford took a gulp of wine and wiped his mouth.

  “Uncle Gifford, can it wait? Nyle and I are going over the progress of the planting.” At least Nyle is going over it, and I am trying without success to listen, Cain thought.

  “Nay.” Gifford took a stool and gazed at Cain expectantly. “’Tis important.”

  “It always is.” His uncle’s visit reminded him of when Gifford and Piers came to ask about Amice.

  “Would you like to finish later, my lord?” Nyle asked. “I can take the time to check on the harrowing.”

  “Very well. We shall meet on the morrow at sext.” Nyle gathered up his records and nodded before walking out.

  Piers took his seat and reached for Gifford’s jug. “Amice’s horse made it back to the stable.”

  Cain frowned. “Was there anything wrong with the horse?”

  “Nay.”

  “Amice said
a wolf scared her.”

  Gifford grabbed back the jug. “I do not want to talk about poor Amice’s accident.”

  “What is it, Gifford? More supplies for your experiments?”

  His uncle wagged a finger at him. “I know better than to ask you to get me what I need. No, this is about something even more pressing than finding the great Merlin.”

  Cain raised a brow. “It must be very critical, indeed.”

  Piers crossed his arms and grinned at Cain.

  “Marriage,” Gifford announced.

  Oh, no. “Gifford, we have had this discussion before.”

  “Different now. Amice is no longer betrothed.”

  Piers leaned forward. “And ‘tis obvious you want her.”

  Want her. Want was too mild a word for the way he felt toward Amice. Maybe craved, or ached for with an intensity that would not be controlled. Cain rubbed the back of his neck. “I do not deny my desire for Amice.”

  Gifford tossed back a drink and fixed Cain with a disapproving stare. “You belittle the girl. ‘Tis not ‘desire’ you feel, and you know it.”

  “Oh, but it certainly is.”

  “Not only that.”

  “Uncle Gifford, let it be.”

  “Are you going to let her leave? Travel to some faraway land? Where you will never see her again?”

  Pain sliced through his chest at the thought. “I—”

  “Can do the right thing by her now,” Piers commented. “There is no amercement to pay, Mother is long dead, and you are free to choose a wife.”

  Cain blinked at him. The right thing.

  “Think of it as doing your duty,” Gifford said, unable to completely hide his smile.

  “Aye,” Piers added. “After all, you did dally with her, then marry another. Not right, that. And if not for you demanding she come here, her betrothed would never have met Agatha. Amice would be married to The MacKeir.”

  Gifford set down the jug and clapped his hands. “Right. When you look at it that way, ‘tis the only thing to do. Offer for her. Give her a home to take charge of.”

  Piers took the jug. “Olive would love a babe to help take care of.”

  Cain looked back and forth between Gifford and Piers and a wall within him gave way.

  The hell of it was they were both right. He had the chance to make something up to Amice.

  Perhaps he could marry her then spend more of his time traveling to his other manors rather than sending Nyle or his assistants.

  Or maybe he could stay right here and spend every night learning new ways to pleasure Amice. A bead of sweat coursed down his back.

  “Well?” Gifford barked. “What are you going to do?”

  Cain stared at him and a strangely wonderful feeling unfurled in his chest. “Offer for her.”

  The morning after her accident, Amice looked at Cain in complete bewilderment. “What did you say?”

  “Marry me.” He stood absolutely still, his gaze unreadable.

  “Why?”

  Cain gave a dry laugh. “Are you wanting some great proclamation of love?”

  Yes, Amice wanted to scream. Of course, that is what I want. She crossed her arms. “I do not understand. Why ask me to marry you now?”

  “As Gifford and Piers continually remind me, ‘tis my duty to take a wife.”

  Amice’s heart sank. “Is there naught for you but duty?”

  He took a step closer. “We desire each other,” he said softly. “That part of our marriage will be good.”

  “And the rest?”

  Cain shrugged. “Amice, I do feel badly about how things ended between us before. And if I had not asked you to come to Falcon’s Craig to oust Muriel, The MacKeir would not have come here either. You would be securely married by now.”

  “I see.” Amice felt as if her chest was slowly cracking open like an eggshell, her heart oozing out onto the floor. “You feel responsible for my unmarried state.”

  “Aye.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  “I made my own choices, Cain.”

  “But—”

  “The answer is no. I shall not marry you.”

  Cain looked at her as if she had lost her wits. “What?”

  “I will not marry you.”

  “Why not? ‘Tis a good offer.” He gestured to her chamber. “Falcon’s Craig is a fine castle now. I have ample coin to indulge you.” He glanced at her. “But I will insist on your loyalty.”

  Rage ripped through Amice’s blood with such force, she half expected it to erupt in thunderbolts from her fingertips. He spoke as if he made her some kind of business proposition. A partnership of sorts, with an untrustworthy spouse. “I told you. I am going to Italy.”

  “To live alone?” he asked incredulously.

  “Perhaps. Or maybe I shall find one of the Italian men to my liking.”

  Cain’s face blanched. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Why not? The Italians are rumored to be a handsome people.”

  “Amice, do not do this.”

  She walked over until their faces nearly touched and glared at him. “How dare you ask me to marry you like this? As if it were no more than the fulfillment of another duty.”

  “I did not mean to make it sound like that,” he said stiffly.

  “Aye, you did. And do you know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are still hiding,” she spat. “You want the truth from everyone else but not from yourself. You run from yourself and hide behind duty and responsibility. What do you want?”

  His jaw wrenched. “You, damn it. I want you.”

  “You want to have me in your bed,” she said softly. “I know that.”

  “Or out of the bed. Anywhere I can,” he answered just as softly.

  “Even though you do not trust me.”

  Cain just looked at her.

  “Even though you cannot bring yourself to say you love me.”

  He said nothing.

  “Even though you will not admit your life is empty without me.”

  Cain gazed down at her, his eyes unfathomable pools of blue. “I said I want you. That should be enough.”

  Amice gave a bitter laugh. “It is not enough for me.” She walked back across the chamber and gazed out the window. “My answer is no.”

  “I am not the only one who runs, Amice.” Cain left without another word.

  Amice held herself rigid until she heard the door shut behind Cain. Her whole body shook, and she could only breathe in short, shallow gasps.

  How could he do this? How could he be so damned indifferent? She could not understand it. She never would.

  Marry me, he had said. God, once she would have given everything in the world to hear those two words. Had thought she would hear them, had created the joyful picture in her mind over and over.

  But not phrased as duty. Or as simple lust. And how could she be with him when Cain still did not trust her?

  Amice bowed her head and clenched the material of her bliaut in her fists. Damn him. She tried to tell herself to be strong, to accept what could never be, but her heart would not allow it. Cain had finally broken through her defensive walls, and it was as if flaming oil seared deep, wounding and scarring as it went.

  “It is all quite ironic, you must admit,” a voice said.

  “Aye,” Amice whispered in a broken voice, before turning to face Muriel.

  The spirit floated closer. “Veuxfort men are incredibly stupid. They destroy any chance they have at true happiness.”

  “So it seems.”

  “Unfortunate for the women who love them.”

  Amice stared at Muriel, feeling more depleted than she ever had in her life. She sat on the windowseat. “Why do you stay, then?”

  Muriel glided over and sat beside her. “For the same reason you came here. Beyond hope, beyond prayers, beyond any realistic chance, I hope one day Gerard will know himself, will know his heart and that it belongs to me.” She gave Amice a sad smile. “’Tis
pathetic, I know.”

  “But Muriel, I am not so sure of that. You should talk to him.”

  “I cannot. He destroyed me in life. I cannot give him the opportunity to do the same in death.”

  “’Tis the only way to free yourself from this,” Amice gestured around the chamber, “empty existence.”

  “Free myself? You are a fine one to give advice on the matter.”

  “I—”

  “Just refused marriage to the man you love because of pride.” Muriel lifted her hands and gold shimmers spilled from her fingertips. “How can you possibly think to free me when you cannot free yourself?”

  Amice watched as Muriel faded away. So, it had come to this. She was receiving advice first from Lugh MacKeir, and now from a ghost. She was going mad.

  For they were both right.

  Chapter 19

  Cain stormed into Gifford’s workroom and slammed the door. Gifford’s and Piers’s heads snapped up with identical expressions of surprise.

  “Oh, no,” Piers said.

  “Damned right,” Cain snarled. He spotted the pink crystal in Gifford’s hand and pointed to it. “And forget your elixirs, old man. I have had enough!”

  “What did you do?” Gifford asked before calmly smashing the rock.

  Cain rubbed the back of his neck and paced across the chamber. “Offered to marry Amice.”

  Piers beamed a smile at him.

  “She refused,” he snapped. God, he still could not believe it. Thanks to these two and their scheming, he had made a fool of himself once again.

  Gifford got out another jar holding some dried green substance. “Why?”

  “She says she is going to Italy.” He smashed a fist down onto the table. “Damn it!”

  “How did you ask her?”

  Cain glowered at his uncle. “I said, ‘marry me.’ ‘Twas plain enough.”

  “Did you tell her you love her?” Piers asked.

  “Nay.”

  Gifford rolled his eyes. “Well, then, of course she said no. A woman needs to hear she is loved.”

  “When did you become an expert on women?”

  “I told my Marna every day until she died that I loved her. You have to say the words in your heart, boy.”

  Piers sat on the edge of the table and crossed his arms. “A man may desire a woman, but a woman desires the desire of a man.”