Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means she needs to know what she means to you, simpkin.”

  “Next, you will have me writing poetry.”

  Piers cocked his head. “Not a bad idea, but I doubt your ability.”

  “It is done. I let you two talk me into this, and she said no. That is it. I do not want to hear any more talk from either of you about Amice. Understood?”

  “Went about it all wrong,” Gifford muttered.

  Piers gazed at him and shook his head, his mouth turning down. “You probably told her you felt it was your duty.”

  Cain gritted his teeth. “I do.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Gifford swore.

  “Life is more than duty, Cain.”

  “’Tis easy for you, Piers. You are not the earl. You do not have charge of Falcon’s Craig and the safety of our people. You play with your horses and women. I have responsibilities.”

  His brother’s face looked as if Cain had struck him. “You are a fool,” Piers finally said. “You do not deserve a woman like Amice.” He popped off the table and went out.

  Cain felt like the worst of churls. “I should not have said that,” he murmured.

  Gifford dumped the pink pieces into a pot already holding ground herbs. “Aye, you should not have. Piers is a good boy. He wants the best for you.” His uncle gave him a sad look. “As I do.” He shook his head. “But you keep mucking it up.”

  “He is right, you know. I do not deserve Amice.” Cain turned and left.

  That afternoon, Amice packed her trunks. Tomorrow she was leaving this place, Villa Delphino or no. She would just find another way to find her paradise. As she tossed in a pale yellow bliaut, Laila walked in.

  “Are we leaving?”

  Amice put in a chemise and pressed the stack flat. “Aye. On the morrow. We shall try one more time with Muriel.”

  Laila put her arms around Amice and hugged her. “’Twill be all right, te’sorthene.”

  “I need to return to Mother.”

  “Aye.” Laila rubbed her back. “Lady Eleanora’s journey to the other side comes soon.”

  “I fear you are right.”

  Laila smiled brightly. “And then you shall go on your adventure to this Villa Delphino.”

  Amice blinked back a tear. “Yes. Where the sun and warmth shall soothe my heart.”

  “I stopped in to see Gifford on my way here.”

  “He told you about Cain?”

  “Aye. I am sorry.”

  Amice just shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks in a torrent. She could not seem to stop, and Laila clucked in concern. “’Twas terrible, Laila,” she finally managed to choke out. “He looked at me, and there was nothing in his eyes at all. Nothing.”

  “I do not understand these gadje.”

  “Apparently, neither do I.” Amice drew in a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes. “I am going to bathe. Can you find Hawis and ask her to send food and drink later?”

  “Of course.”

  “I cannot bear to sit next to Cain at supper this eve.”

  “I understand. I shall stay here with you. And after we dine, we shall contact Muriel and send her on her way.”

  Laila sounded so determined, Amice had to smile. “I pray you are right.”

  When Laila looked at her, there was an odd glint in her eyes. “I am.”

  As Amice prepared for that eve’s attempt to summon Muriel, she made herself list all the things she needed to do before leaving Falcon’s Craig. See her three trunks loaded. Make sure Hawis packed sufficient food to last them four days. Inform Thomas of their imminent departure so he could ensure the horses and men were ready. It would be difficult to manage, but they would.

  On the morrow, she would leave. Amice knew Cain was right. She was running. From him, but also from herself. From her own weakness. Cain sapped all will from her with just a look.

  He did not understand. To him, it was a simple matter. He would remain the Earl of Hawksdown no matter how many times he joined his body with hers. But for her, the risk was too high. Perhaps it would be a gradual thing, but over time she would be consumed by him, a slave to her emotions, her abiding need for him. His simple presence engulfed her free will.

  She had to get away from Cain before she crumbled like a dry fall leaf.

  Amice knelt in the center of a ring of candles arranged in the pattern of a five-point star. Between Laila and her was a tall, fat candle scented with myrrh.

  Like spectators at a tournament, Cain, Gifford, and Piers stood along one wall. Amice glanced over at them. Gifford fairly quivered with excitement. Piers gave her a supportive look.

  Cain, of course, bore an impassive expression, his legs braced apart, his arms crossed.

  The candlelight wavered and moonbeams shifted across the tower floor with the night wind.

  Amice held out her hands, palms up. “Togaidh mise chlach, Mar a thog Moire da Mac—”

  In a bright flash of gold and green, Muriel appeared. “’Tis not necessary to go to all this trouble,” she said with impatience. “If it pleases me, I shall appear to you, and if it does not, no amount of incantations shall bring me to you.”

  Amice sat back on her heels. “You must talk to Gerard,” she said softly.

  Muriel’s shape gleamed and she narrowed her green gaze. “Why?”

  “I found his journal.”

  “What interest is that to me?” Muriel floated closer to the candle star.

  “He writes of you. There is much you do not know. Reasons for his actions.”

  “What difference does it make? He wronged me, no matter his reasons. Shamed me. Cleaved my heart into so many pieces it could never be made whole. And all the while looking at me with blank eyes, as if it meant naught to him.”

  Amice tried to find the right words to convince Muriel, but in truth she was right. Amice felt the same. Why should Muriel listen to Gerard?

  Then the answer struck her. Because Muriel needed to. Because she wanted to forgive Gerard.

  And, after all, Muriel was dead.

  “Cease this foolishness, Lady Amice,” Muriel mocked. “Run away to your pretty villa and forget about the Veuxforts and the tragedy they wreak.”

  Amice stood. “Nay.”

  Muriel turned her gaze on Cain. “Why not give the girl the villa? Set her free.”

  Cain’s jaw clenched. “You know why.”

  “Aye, I do.” Muriel’s expression was smug. “What think you, Cain? Should I let Gerard tell me his story? Explain why he destroyed me?”

  Cain looked only at Amice. “Aye. What is the cost of that?”

  “Greater than you can imagine,” Muriel whispered.

  “He still loves you,” Laila said.

  Amice’s face burned and she looked away from Cain. For a moment, she thought Muriel would disappear, but her image fluttered and remained.

  “Then let him be brave enough to face me,” Muriel snapped.

  “Mayhap if you promise not to curse him this time?” Cain suggested.

  “I make no promises. Either he is courageous enough, or not. This is the only chance I shall give him.”

  Amice’s breath lodged in her throat as a glimmer of blue slowly transformed into the spirit of Gerard Veuxfort. He stared at Muriel with a sort of wonderment.

  “I have missed you,” he said.

  Muriel blinked. She pointed at Amice. “The girl claims you have something you wish to say to me.”

  “Aye, love, I do. Will you listen?”

  “I have said I will.”

  Amice looked from Muriel to Gerard then back again. Even though she had brought two spirits together before, it had never been like this. It was as if the very air held itself still as the two old spirits faced each other across the expanse of a chamber. As if time paused.

  Gerard drifted a bit closer to Muriel. “I am so sorry for everything, Muriel. I was a stupid fool.”

  “Aye, yo
u were stupid.”

  “I did not see Elena’s black heart. She tricked me.”

  “Because you would not believe in me. Believe in the strength of our love.”

  “You are right.” Gerard hung his head, then lifted his gaze to Muriel’s. “I was wrong. I made a terrible mistake.”

  “I lost our child,” Muriel responded, her voice anguished. “Our daughter.”

  Gerard closed his eyes. When he opened them, there were tears on his face.

  Amice sucked in a breath. She had never known a spirit to shed tears. Laila stood and took Amice’s hand.

  “God, Muriel, I never knew.” Gerard shook his head. “The pathetic part of it all is that I broke the betrothal to save you.”

  Muriel moved a few feet toward Gerard. “What do you mean? Save me from what?”

  “Death.” Gerard took a step forward. “The old witch, Magda, she told me if I married you, you would die.”

  “What?”

  Gerard nodded. “That is the real reason I did not marry you.” He held out his hands. “It killed a part of me, my love. The best part. Aye, I married Elena, but I never loved her. I could never love a woman other than you. And when you jumped to your death…” He broke off and scrunched up his face. “ There was nothing left for me.”

  Muriel inched closer, and Amice held her breath.

  “I did my duty for the Veuxfort line and left Falcon’s Craig. I became a wanderer for a time.”

  “I know you left.”

  “Aye. I only came back to see to my family. My real family.” He waved a hand. “But that is another story.”

  “Did you order my gravestone?”

  “Nay.”

  Muriel dimmed a touch.

  “I made it myself. I found the stone. I carved the words with my own hands. And I carried it to the place I chose to bury you.”

  Muriel put a hand to her mouth.

  “I love you.” Gerard reached out a hand. “Be with me forever, my love.”

  “But… what of my necklace? Why did you take it from me? Give it to her?”

  Gerard’s expression grew fierce. “I did not take it from you. That bitch, Elena, stripped it from your body without my knowing. She actually dared to wear it in front of me.” His lips twisted. “I yanked it from her neck and put it in our chamber.” He shook his head. “I am sorry.”

  Amice squeezed Laila’s hand as Muriel slowly lifted her hand. She placed it in Gerard’s and they glowed bright, blending together like two fires becoming one.

  Muriel turned to Amice with a smile on her face. “Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome. May God keep you.”

  “And you, my lady.”

  In a whoosh, both spirits disappeared.

  “They are gone,” Laila said.

  Amice fastened her gaze on Cain. “Give me Villa Delphino.”

  He reached inside his tunic and drew out a rolled piece of vellum.

  Amice stepped over the candles and held out her hand.

  Without a word, Cain gave her the document.

  Amice turned and left.

  The next day, Cain watched Amice and her companions ride out of the bailey and felt as if his lifeblood slowly seeped out of his veins into the dirt.

  She had really left. Gone with no more than a cursory farewell.

  Gifford shuffled up beside him. “Damned disappointed in you, boy. Thought you were smarter than this.”

  Cain could not find it in himself to rebuff his uncle. “Where is Piers?”

  “Playing with his horses, no doubt.” Gifford let out a loud huff. “Should have told her how you feel.”

  “How is that, Uncle?” Cain lashed out. “You seem to know me better than I know myself.”

  “That I do,” Gifford replied with a frown. “And if you would be honest with yourself, you would see I am right. Forget about what you should do for a moment, who you should be. Look inside yourself for once! Think about who you are, what you truly want.”

  “Peace. Prosperity. And I finally have that.”

  Gifford just shook his head. “Head like a rock,” he murmured and walked away.

  Cain climbed to the battlements and watched Amice depart. He set his jaw and reminded himself of all he needed to do. On the morrow was court day. Now that Agatha had departed for Tunvegen, a visit to Styrling Castle was overdue.

  Amice looked over her shoulder toward the castle, and Cain’s heart pounded. Would she turn back? He half opened his mouth to speak, then realized there was no way she could hear him. Cain slowly lifted a hand.

  She turned back around and urged her mount to a gallop. Within a few minutes, she was gone from view.

  And Cain finally saw the clear truth. Gifford was absolutely right. He was a stupid fool. He had made terrible, irrevocable mistakes, much like his ancestor. Had thrown aside the woman of his heart.

  But there, the similarity between their situations parted. For it was obvious Muriel had loved Gerard with everything she had. Still loved him even after he betrayed her. Remained a spirit trapped at Falcon’s Craig by her love for him.

  Amice could not run away from him fast enough. If she had loved him once, it was gone now. And he had only himself to blame.

  He had killed any feelings Amice might have held for him by his own blind stupidity, his devotion to duty.

  It was as he told Gifford. He did not deserve Amice. He never had. He was lucky that for a time she did not realize it.

  She surely did now.

  Four days later, Amice wearily dragged herself into the hall at Wareham. God, she was happy to be home. The journey from Falcon’s Craig had seemed to take forever, every step haunted by the sight of Cain standing alone on the battlements watching her leave.

  Pain snapped through her chest, and Amice made a fist. She would not cry. She would not give in to the bleak hopelessness that invaded her soul.

  Rand burst into the hall and rushed over to her. He took her hands, his face drawn into lines of sorrow. “Amice, thank God you are here.”

  She looked dully at him.

  “It is Mother. She is barely hanging on, keeps asking for you.”

  Sharp pain turned to an overwhelming ache. Rand took her arm. “Come.”

  Amice let him tug her out of the hall and across the bailey to the south tower. She felt as if a turbulent wave of emotion carried her, helpless to do aught but keep her head above water. As she followed Rand up the narrow stone steps, she struggled to gather her strength, her composure. Something deep within her had begun unraveling upon her departure from Falcon’s Craig, and she could not seem to weave the threads back together.

  They reached the door to her mother’s chamber, and Rand paused. “She is not well,” he said softly. “Her mind, well, you will see. She is nearly gone.”

  Though she knew her mother faded with each day, Amice had held out the hope that somehow her mother would find renewed strength. She nodded. “I understand, Rand.”

  But when they entered the chamber and Amice saw her mother, she realized she did not understand at all. She walked to her parent’s bedside. “Mother?”

  Her mother’s eyes fluttered open. She stared at Amice as if she did not know who she was.

  Fighting back tears, Amice sat on the bed.

  Her mother gripped Beornwynne’s Kiss in her thin fingers, gazing at it in wonder. “’Tis so beautiful,” she said in a watery voice.

  Amice’s throat was so tight she could not speak.

  Her mother turned her gaze to Amice and smiled. “What of the Earl of Hawksdown?”

  Amice’s heart clenched in her chest. “What of him, Mother?”

  “I thought perhaps…” her mother paused, her eyes clouding. She smiled. “My mother and sisters wait for me.”

  “Nay,” Amice said, taking her mother’s other hand. “Not yet.”

  “Yes.”

  “I do not want to lose you, Mother,” Amice said, her voice breaking. “I need you.”

  “No, Amice, you do not n
eed me. You are the strong one now. You always have been. Do not be afraid to fight for what you want. Be happy.”

  “I shall try.”

  Her mother’s gaze suddenly bored into hers. “Do more than that. Do not let your father’s legacy deprive you of happiness.”

  Amice swallowed hard.

  “Rand, you shall take care of her.”

  “Of course, Mother,” Rand said, and he kissed her forehead.

  “I shall miss you both. It has been my honor to call you both mine.”

  “We shall miss you too, Mother,” Amice whispered.

  Her mother smiled softly and closed her eyes.

  For a moment, Amice just stared, then yelled, “Nay.” She gripped her mother’s hand tight, keening sobs of grief ripping from her mouth.

  Her mother’s maid dropped to her knees and silently prayed.

  Rand gently removed their mother’s hand from hers and pulled Amice into his arms, rubbing her back as one might soothe a child. Only the shaking of his own body revealed his grief.

  They stood like that for a long time. Amice closed her eyes and gradually managed to control her sobs. She was vaguely aware of other people entering and leaving the chamber, but she had not the strength to care who or what they were doing.

  Her mother was dead.

  Until this moment, she had not realized how much she had depended on the bond, on having her mother’s presence in her life. Even though her mind was not capable of listening to Amice’s troubles, she still was an anchor of warmth, of caring.

  But for Rand, Amice was now adrift. The only man she would ever love lost to her forever; her mother gone. She drew in a rough breath and gazed up at her brother.

  His eyes were damp with tears, and he gave her a shaky smile. “She is at peace now.”

  “Aye.” Amice took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. “And I am free to go to Italy.”

  “That is still your wish?”

  “Very much. I need to build a new life.”

  Rand sighed. “I shall send Guy with you.”

  Amice smiled at him, silently thanking God for giving her a brother like Rand. “I had a feeling you might let me have your second-in-command. Are you sure you do not wish to come yourself?”

  “I cannot be gone that long.” He caught her chin with his hand. “Are you sure you want to go, Amice?”