Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  He looked up. Both Amice and Cain gazed at him with the same somber expression. They were holding hands.

  “The chalice held a strange purple crystal. Curious fool that I am, I took it in my hand, and thus freed Eikki.”

  “Eikki?” Cain asked. “What is that?”

  “Not a that, but a who. The essence, spirit, of one assuredly rightfully imprisoned in the crystal for centuries.” Unable to remain still, Piers stood and paced across the floor. “A whoreson without any concern but gaining what he desires, no matter the cost to others. He is inside me.”

  Piers turned and faced Amice and Cain. “And he is getting stronger.” He felt Eikki stir to life inside him, but managed to stamp him down.

  Amice cried out and clutched Cain’s hand tighter. His brother merely stared at him, his expression resolute.

  “You think Amice can draw him out?” Cain asked.

  “I do not know what else to do,” Piers said. “He wants … the things he wants me to do are terrible. I am fighting him, but it is becoming more difficult. I am afraid what I might do.”

  “Of course, I shall try,” Amice said.

  Piers swallowed and allowed himself a flicker of hope. “Thank you.”

  “What do you know of him?” Cain asked.

  “Not very much.”

  “What kinds of things does he urge you to do?” Amice asked.

  Piers cringed. “About what you might guess. Kill. He is most insistent about …”

  “Giselle,” Cain finished, his face taut.

  “Aye,” Piers admitted. “ ’Tis what troubles me the most.”

  “God’s blood,” Cain swore. “What a coil.”

  “I shall try this eve,” Amice said. “In the same chamber where I summoned Muriel.” She patted Piers’s arm. “We shall rid you of this Eikki.”

  He wanted to believe her, but he had the strong feeling Eikki would not be as easy to banish as Muriel.

  It was dusk by the time the three gathered in the upper tower chamber. Piers watched Amice’s preparations with a mix of hope and worry.

  Eikki had been quiet after he’d driven Piers to nearly rape Giselle. Perhaps the spirit had expended too much energy, but Piers had the sense that Eikki simply lay in wait for his next opportunity to wreak further havoc with Piers’s life.

  Cain gazed at him with a solemn expression as Amice set out candles in a pattern on the floor. “Why was this cave on Parraba so special to Lady Iosobal?”

  Piers shrugged, but remembered the place’s odd feeling. “I am not entirely sure. Parraba is a strange place. ‘Twas obvious Iosobal considered the cave important. I think it was a link to her family, to her history.”

  “What do you remember of it?”

  “Not too much. There were strange drawings on the walls and I think there were objects on the ground, but I did not stop to study them. Veins of purple crystal ran through some of the walls, particularly in the cave where I uncovered the chalice.”

  Amice lit the candles and Piers saw she’d arranged them in the shape of a pentagram. He blinked with a sudden memory. “There was a pentagram etched into the stone at the entrance.”

  Amice frowned. “How odd.”

  “Aye.” Piers drew in a deep breath. “ ’Tis hard to describe. I felt as if I took a step back through time when I entered the cave.”

  Cain grunted and built up the fire. “I should have been with you.”

  “ ’Tis not your duty to protect me, brother. Even from myself.”

  “I am the eldest. ‘Twill always be my duty.”

  As Amice added herbs to a small pot hanging over the fire, Piers paced the floor. By Saint George’s sword, he was afraid, and he hated it.

  “I am ready, Piers.”

  He turned and faced his sister-in-law, clad in a snowy white bliaut, with her ancient torc around her slender neck. She appeared so calm and sure that he moved forward until he stood in the center of the pentagram with her.

  The lion head terminals of the torc gleamed blood red in the firelight.

  Amice took his hands. “Come to me, troubled spirit. Tell me of your woe so that I might aid you to the other side. Come to me.”

  Piers gazed into her eyes and felt Eikki rumble to life.

  “Come to me,” Amice repeated.

  Pathetic, really, Eikki said in his sibilant voice. Does she think me a mere ghost?

  “Tell me why you have come into my brother,” Amice said.

  Eikki laughed.

  Amice sucked in a breath as she gazed into Piers’s eyes. They darkened, and darkened further until they were black as night. His grip on her hands tightened, and Amice felt the first tendril of fear. No, she had to continue. Piers was depending on her. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I am Eikki,” a low voice responded.

  “Holy Mother of God,” Cain whispered. “Amice?”

  “I am all right,” she told him, unable to look away from Piers. “Why have you not moved on, spirit?”

  Piers’s lips curved into a cold smile. “I doubt heaven would have me, my lady.”

  “You must release your hold on this earth. On Piers.”

  “Oh, I do not think so. He is proving to be most entertaining.”

  Amice cast about for an argument to sway him. Before, the ghosts had an earthly reason to remain, unfinished matters in their life. She’d never encountered one who believed they were destined to hell. “Heaven is open to all who repent,” she finally said, repeating Father Michael’s words.

  She jolted as a barrage of images slammed into her mind. Death. Rape. Cruelty. Her breath came in shallow pants, and she tried to pull away.

  “Nay. I believe I shall stay with Piers,” he said.

  And a jolt of pain shot through Amice’s body. She jerked and shrieked in pain. In an instant, Cain was beside her, yanking her away from Piers and knocking his brother to the floor. He carried her outside the candles. “Are you all right?”

  She shivered in his arms and held onto his shoulders tightly. “Aye.”

  Piers rolled over and blinked up at them. His eyes were back to brown, and he looked puzzled. “What happened?’

  Amice struggled to find an explanation.

  “Did I … he hurt you?” Piers asked as he jumped to his feet. “Amice?”

  “I am well, Piers. But,” she glanced at Cain. “I fear I was not able to help you.”

  “I sensed as much.” In his mind, Eikki cackled. You shall not be rid of me so easily. Piers fisted his hands, anger and frustration raging inside him. “What shall I do?”

  Amice gazed at him with wide eyes, but shook her head in clear dismay.

  “What of the Lady Iosobal?” Cain asked, his expression reluctant but determined. “If anyone can aid you, ‘twould be her. She knows her isle.”

  Piers sighed. “Aye. I shall send word to her, and hope her anger with me is outweighed by her sympathies as a healer.”

  Cain set Amice back on her feet. “From what you have said of the woman, surely she can do something.”

  “I hope so.” Piers walked out of the candle pentagram. “If not …” He gazed helplessly at Cain.

  “You are a strong man, Piers,” Cain told him. “Stronger than you realize. Fight this creature.”

  “Believe me, Cain, I am. Every moment.” Piers left the chamber, unable to stay in this place of failure an instant more. He would send a messenger to Tunvegan at once and plead for Iosobal’s aid.

  And pray, in the meantime, he was strong enough to hold Eikki at bay.

  Giselle awoke the next morning alone but for a loudly snoring Guinevere. The covers on the other side of the bed were smooth and there was no sign of Piers. She wondered in whose bed he’d slept last night.

  She clutched the bedcovers and tried to hold back the sting of tears. I should be pleased, she told herself. If he ignored her for other women, it was for the best. He was too much for her, she knew. Too much man, too much temptation, and too much of a mystery.

  You shou
ld be content, she chided herself. You have a fine place to live, ample food and drink, beautiful clothing, and no one reminding you over and over again that you are a tainted woman.

  Guinevere let out a snort and stretched, putting her head on Giselle’s stomach. And you have been adopted by a dog, Giselle reminded herself. Your tapestry for Lady Amice is proceeding well, and you have earned the gratitude of the earl for your service to his lady.

  If only Piers hadn’t kissed her, Giselle thought as she forced her body out of bed. If only it hadn’t felt so … shockingly wondrous, so right, like she was on the verge of making an incredible discovery. For a moment, she’d let herself think perhaps she’d found someone who could care for her, hold her in strong, loving arms.

  You are a fool, she told herself. It was simple lust that drove him to kiss you, a lust that quickly died when he came to his senses and realized just who he was kissing.

  She unwrapped the cross she’d received from the Bishop and stared down at it, wishing with all her heart she could ask God why he’d put her in this situation and receive a wise answer. Guinevere snuffled against her shoulder, and Giselle leaned against the dog.

  At a knock on the door, Giselle straightened. Before she could speak, Olive’s bright face peered around the door. “Good morn, my lady,” she greeted.

  “Hello, Olive. Come in.”

  The child bounded into the chamber, and stopped to pat Guinevere. “What is that?” she asked, pointing at the cross.

  “It is a wedding gift from the Bishop of Ravenswood.”

  A frown crossed Olive’s face. “The same Bishop who made you leave Kerwick Abbey.” Giselle started. “How do you know about that?”

  Olive shrugged and gave Giselle an impish grin. “I hear all sorts of things.”

  “I see.”

  “ ’Tis very beautiful,” Olive said peering at the cross. “May I hold it?”

  “Of course.” Giselle handed the cross to Olive, who held it up to the light, turning it around.

  “Why did the Bishop send you such a fine piece?”

  To remind me I am unworthy, Giselle thought, but shrugged instead of voicing the fact. “ ‘Twas quite a surprise,” she said. That much was the truth.

  Olive took a step and her leg buckled. The cross slipped from her fingers and crashed onto the floor. “Oh, no,” Olive cried. “I am so sorry, my lady.” She knelt on the floor. “I have broken it.”

  Giselle knelt next to her and picked up the cross. The back had separated, and when she picked it up, two folded sheets of vellum fell out. Puzzled, she reached for one and glanced at Olive.

  The child’s eyes were wide. “A secret compartment.”

  “So it appears.” Giselle unfolded the vellum. A flowing script spilled across the page. She bent closer and tried to make out the words. She’d learned some of her letters, but the Abbess had never deemed the ability to read and write of importance enough to take Giselle from her prayers and work. “I cannot read it,” she finally admitted.

  “May I see it?” Olive asked. “I promise to be careful. Lady Amice taught me to read.”

  Giselle handed her the vellum.

  Olive screwed her eyes in concentration, and studied the document. Her lips moved silently as she read.

  “What does it say?” Giselle asked.

  “It is a record of marriage.” Olive squinted at the document. “Between Annora St. Germain and Edward de Sauvin, son of the Earl of Claybourne.”

  “Annora was my mother’s name,” Giselle said. Her heart began to beat faster.

  “ ’Tis signed by a priest, a Father Thomas, and dated the second day of June, in the year of our Lord Eleven Hundred and Eighty-Nine.

  Giselle pointed to a blob of hard gray wax. “What is that?”

  “Some kind of seal. There is a name next to it, but I cannot make it out.” Olive gently set the vellum down and reached for the other sheet.

  Giselle simply sat there, her heart pounding but the rest of her body numb.

  Olive scooted closer. “This is so exciting,” she said. “I shall read it to you. ‘On this twelfth day of August, in the year of our Lord Eleven Hundred and Eighty-Nine, I Annora de Sauvin, born Annora St. Germain, make this record in the hope that one day the truth of what I am too ashamed to face shall be known’.”

  My mother, Giselle thought, and her throat closed. Olive paused and looked at her in sympathy. “She writes, ‘Before my husband returns to collect me, I must flee. I am with child, and I cannot bear the shame of it. It is my hope that one day, my dear husband and my father can forgive me’.”

  Dear God, it must be true, Giselle thought. Her mother had lain with the Bishop while she was wed to another.

  “There is something more, but it is smudged. No, I see.” Olive’s little face turned pale.

  Giselle swallowed. “What is it?”

  “She … she writes, ‘I fear Edward will never believe that Aldrik forced me, that my beloved husband will always wonder if the child I carry is his. So I must leave the only home I have ever known. I must protect my unborn babe. I must protect Giselle’.”

  For a moment, Giselle couldn’t say a word. She could scarcely breathe. “Oh, my God.”

  “Who is Aldrik?”

  Giselle sucked in a breath. “The Bishop of Ravenswood.”

  Olive’s eyes went wide in horror. “We must go to Father with this.”

  Giselle’s mind spun, and she couldn’t seem to find the strength to stand. St. Germain, she thought. Her surname is St. Germain. No, de Sauvin. Somehow, she managed to stand, though her mind was dazed and her limbs felt leaden. Olive carefully set the vellum aside, and helped her dress.

  Within a few minutes, Giselle followed Olive out of the chamber, clutching the sheets of vellum and the cross in her hands.

  Piers held a quill in his hand and stared down at the blank piece of parchment. Perhaps he should forgo the message and journey to Tunvegan to throw himself upon Iosobal’s mercy, he thought, then rejected the idea. Though a part of him thought it would be a good thing to be away from Giselle, a larger part felt duty bound to remain.

  But, how to explain? Just say it, he told himself, dipping the quill into a pot of black ink. Greetings, he wrote, and then stopped. Saints, he wasn’t sure which he hated more—having to admit his stupidity or his helplessness.

  He’d been like a curious child, heedless of the possible consequences. Why he’d done so ground into him with a sharp ache of guilt. The truth was that life had always come easily to him. He had a natural talent with horses, which had brought him a reputation across the land. From the time he’d started to notice them, women had fallen into his arms without hesitation. And Cain had always been the responsible one, paving Piers’s way to leading an idyllic life.

  He’d never really had to fight for anything he wanted.

  Perhaps Eikki was God’s way of repaying him for that.

  He gritted his teeth and made himself write the words. Iosobal, I beg your forgiveness. I should never have entered your cave, and I am heartily sorry for it. Because of my reckless stupidity, the essence of a devil in the guise of a condemned Fin Man now resides within me. I pray you can aid me. He is called Eikki.

  He scrawled his name at the bottom and rolled the parchment before sealing it with warm wax.

  Even with his fastest horse, it would take almost a sennight for a messenger to reach Tunvegan. He hung his head and sent up a silent prayer. I will control the bastard, he thought savagely. By God, this is one fight I shall win, he told himself. No matter what it takes.

  Resolved, he went to seek out a messenger.

  Giselle and Olive found the earl in his solar, frowning at a stack of parchment.

  “Father?” Olive said, as she skipped into the chamber. “We need to show you something!” She scooted around his worktable and slid onto his lap.

  He smiled and ruffled her hair. “You are saving me from studying the accounts. Lady Giselle?” he asked. His gaze held an odd note of conc
ern. “Is something wrong?”

  Olive tugged at his tunic. “We found something important,” she whispered.

  Giselle set the cross on the table. “Thanks to Olive, we uncovered this,” she said, holding up the sheets of vellum. With a shaking hand, she gave them over.

  His brows furrowed as he read. Astonishment slowly washed over his face. “You are …” He shook his head and stared at her. “You knew naught of this?”

  “Nay.” Giselle sank onto a stool, her legs too weak to support her.

  He picked up the cross and studied it.

  “I dropped it, Father,” Olive said. “The back broke off. For once, my clumsiness did something good.”

  “You are not clumsy, sweet. But you are right. ’Tis finely worked. Absent an accident, it could have hung on the wall forever without anyone knowing it held such secrets. To be sure, the Bishop of Ravenswood had no idea what it held,” he murmured.

  “Why …” Giselle swallowed, “why do you say that?”

  He lifted a brow. “According to this, you—”

  The door flung open and Piers walked in. At the sight of Giselle, he froze.

  “Good that you are here, Piers,” the earl said. “Olive and Giselle have just presented me with a bit of a mystery.”

  Olive’s eyes brightened. “We found a hidden compartment in Giselle’s cross.”

  Piers looked at Giselle, a question in his gaze.

  She nodded, unable to do more.

  The earl stood and handed the vellum to Piers. “ ’Tis very interesting.”

  Piers sat on the edge of the table and read. When he finished, he looked at Giselle in wonder. “Do you know what this means?”

  “I know my surname,” Giselle answered.

  “Not just that.” He exchanged a glance with the earl, whose expression had turned angry.

  “I do not understand,” she said slowly.

  “You are the daughter of Annora St. Germain.” He fisted a hand. “Which also makes you the heiress to Kindlemere.”