Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  “Piers? Eikki?” Giselle stammered.

  “Gone.”

  “Oh, thank God.” For a moment Giselle couldn’t speak as tears erupted once more. “I was so afraid you would …”

  “Die,” Piers finished. His grin faded. “ ‘Twas a close thing.”

  “Too damned close,” Gifford said in a shaky voice, before taking a long drink from his jug of ale.

  Giselle put her palm against Pier’s cheek. “How do you feel?”

  “Free.”

  “Give me some of that ale, Gifford,” Cain ordered, his own voice none too steady.

  Giselle’s lips quirked as Gifford handed over the jug, obviously too shaken to guard his brew.

  Piers put his hand over Giselle’s. “Thank you. You have given me an incredible gift.”

  She knew he was not talking about her aiding Iosobal, but the reason she was able to do so. Abruptly ill at ease, she lowered her gaze. He knew she loved him. She waited for him to tell her he was fond of her, but that it would better if she lived at Kindlemere without him.

  “Giselle,” he said quietly.

  She swallowed and forced herself to lift her gaze.

  “I love you too. More than I ever imagined possible.”

  “ ‘Bout damn time!” Gifford shouted.

  Between her tears, Giselle started laughing as her husband caught her in his arms and kissed her until her head swam.

  “You look so much like your mother,” the Earl of Claybourne said. “I did love her, you know.”

  Giselle stood in the bailey, with Piers at her side, trying but utterly failing to keep her tears at bay.

  Her father took her hands. “I am pleased to see you have found a good man to take care of you.” He turned to Piers. “I cannot tell you what it means to me to have found my child.” He gave a bittersweet smile. “And to know the fate of my wife.”

  “I wish she would have trusted in you,” Giselle said softly.

  “As do I.” He studied her for a moment. “But I understand. Your mother was … was like a bright, beautiful light. I was not the only man to seek her hand. Truth be told, I was jealous of the attention she received, though I never saw that bastard’s interest in her.”

  “I think …” Giselle gulped, trying to force the words out. “I think she died of a broken heart. My memories have faded with time, but I can still see her staring out across the hills with a sad look on her face. She would never talk to me about her past.”

  He squeezed her hands. “If ever you have need of me, I shall be there.”

  “Please come and visit us at Kindlemere,” Piers said, sliding a hand around her waist. “You and Giselle have many years of catching up to do.”

  “I shall.” He pressed a kiss to Giselle’s forehead. “Be well, my child.”

  “Must you leave so soon?”

  “Aye. I have obligations that will not wait. Send word to me when you are settled at Kindlemere. I promise I shall come.”

  Giselle nodded.

  “Treat her well,” her father told Piers.

  “I shall treat her as the precious jewel she is,” her husband vowed. “Every moment.”

  “ ‘Tis all a father can ask.” With a final smile, he walked away.

  Giselle leaned into Piers, and sighed. “Every moment, you say?”

  Piers held her close and nibbled at her ear. “Aye. What say you I start right now?”

  “Hmm. Do you perhaps bear a gift for me?”

  “Some women might consider it such.”

  She slapped at his drifting hands. “I was thinking of another sort of gift. Perhaps a new rosary?”

  He turned her in his arms, his eyes twinkling. “I shall buy you all the rosaries you want. You can adorn the walls of Kindlemere with them, if you wish.”

  She put her palm against his cheek. “I was jesting. The one I have will suffice. But,” she said, leading him back toward the hall, “I do have a boon to ask.”

  “Ask away, my jewel.”

  “Will you attend mass with me?” She stopped and gave him a somber look. “I can never give up my devotion to God.”

  “I would not ask you to. I shall be honored to attend mass with you.” He smiled. “I have much to give thanks for these days.”

  She returned his smile. “So you do, indeed.”

  The door to the great hall flew open and Gifford’s voice bellowed out across the bailey. “Piers!”

  Piers groaned. “What now?”

  “Piers!” his uncle shouted again. “Get in here.”

  Giselle followed Piers into the great hall, and stopped short. But for Gifford, muttering something about seeking out a sword, everyone stood motionless, varied expressions of shock on each face.

  When Giselle saw what they were staring at, she swayed on her feet and grabbed for Piers’s arm.

  Something shimmered in the air in front of Padruig, something faintly resembling the form of a woman.

  Padruig’s face could have been carved of stone, but for his blazing gaze.

  “Ye canna run forever from your destiny.” The shimmer expanded, and then faded bit by bit until nothing was left.

  For a long moment, no one spoke. “Well, that was interesting,” The MacKeir finally said, resheathing his sword. Beside him, Iosobal stood with a curious expression on her face.

  “Damned spirits,” Gifford groused. “Amice, we have need of you again.”

  Lady Amice shook her head. “She is gone.”

  Gifford peered around the hall. “Are you sure?”

  “Aye.” Giselle saw Amice exchange a confused glance with the earl.

  “What happened?” Piers asked.

  “Another damned ghost showed up, that is what happened,” Gifford answered. “I told you there was one about.” Saraid handed him a cup of ale.

  Giselle let go of Piers and approached Padruig. She touched his arm, and he flinched, as if he’d been sleeping, or so dazed he was unaware of anyone else’s presence. “Padruig?”

  “I must go,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper.

  “To where?”

  “Home, of course.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “I shall walk with you out to the bailey.”

  “You need not.”

  “I want to.”

  He nodded, and gave his farewells to the rest of the group. Giselle was afraid Piers would insist on accompanying her, but with a glance, he understood her wish to speak to Padruig alone.

  As they walked to the stables, Giselle put her hand on Padruig’s arm once more, and pulled him to a stop. “I never believed in ghosts.”

  “I am no sure I do yet.”

  “But that … it … she spoke to you. What did she mean about your destiny?”

  He smiled and took her hands. “Giselle, do not worry for me. You have a new life ahead of you now.

  Treasure that. Live.”

  She bit her lip. “Padruig, you have helped me in the past. Let me help you now.”

  For a moment, such torment filled his gaze that Giselle caught her lip between her teeth. “You cannot aid me, lass. ‘Tis my path to walk alone.”

  “But, Padruig, I—”

  “Nay, lass. Wish me Godspeed and be happy.” He pulled free, and walked away, turning once to offer her a final smile.

  Giselle watched him go, her heart heavy with questions, wishing he would trust her enough, but knowing it was not in his nature to do so. I have no clan. His words came back to her.

  And suddenly, the bailey disappeared.

  Fires lit the black night, a patchwork of gold strewn across the countryside. The pounding of hooves rumbled the ground, the labored breathing of horses audible in the air. A man shouted, his voice carried away by the bitter wind.

  A broken body lay in a circle of firelight, a tangle of dark hair cradling a young, ashen cheek. Blood soaked her gown and spread into a pool beneath her body. One arm lay outstretched, as if in death she sought to reach something. Or someone.

  A howl of disbelief, of fie
rce agony rent the air.

  Smoke billowed and clouded the scene, clearing to reveal another. A man faced away, his golden hair spilling down his back, his broad shoulders rigid, his feet planted in

  a wide stance. Padruig. Pain and guilt cloaked him like living shadows of what once was.

  His sword caught the sunlight and gleamed like a ribbon of firelit water. A sword washed in blood.

  Before him stood an older man, his hair a shock of red, his gaze wide, filled with both relief and wariness. Though his tunic was torn and bloodstained, he slowly smiled.

  “Welcome home, laird” he said, and bowed in obeisance. “Welcome home to Castle MacCoinneach.”

  Giselle smiled and returned to the hall.

  Epilogue

  Piers led a blindfolded Giselle through the long corridors of Kindlemere Castle. She held tightly to his hand, flushing at the twittering of servants when they passed. When she stumbled, she reached up to remove the blindfold, but Piers’s hand stopped her.

  “ ‘Tis a surprise,” he told her. “Behave.”

  He led her up steps, but Giselle was so disoriented she couldn’t tell where they were going. Finally, he stopped and she heard the sound of a door opening. “ ‘Tis a wedding gift,” he said, and swept off her blindfold.

  Giselle looked around the chamber in wonderment. Thick rush mats covered the plank floor and tapestries hung on the walls, closing out the drafts of air. A fire burnt merrily in a corner fireplace, turning the chamber into a cocoon of warmth.

  She walked toward the center of the chamber and trailed a hand through the warm water. Blue tile lined the tub, easily big enough for two.

  “Do you like it?” Piers asked.

  She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Mmm, yes. Would you like to join me?”

  “I thought you would never ask.”

  Within moments, she found herself nestled in Piers’s arms, leaning against his broad chest and swishing her feet through the water. “ ‘Tis very decadent.”

  “I surely hope so.”

  She laughed, and turned in his arms. “This is exactly what I envisioned the first time you asked me what I thought of Cain’s request for an indoor bathing chamber.”

  His brows lifted. “At the same time you were praying to God to deliver you from the dire fate of marrying me?”

  “Aye.” She sighed and traced a pattern on his chest. “I think even then He knew I did not mean it.”

  Piers chuckled, drew her close, and nuzzled her hair. “You certainly had me convinced.”

  “How foolish I must have seemed to you.”

  “Nay. Innocent and naïve, perhaps. Misguided for certain. Not foolish.” He stroked his fingers down her arms, and over her belly. “Courageous, yes. And, of course, I wanted you in my bed from the very first moment.”

  “Only in your bed?” she teased.

  His eyes flared. “I think ‘tis time for the second part of my wedding gift.”

  Giselle smiled as her husband proceeded to love her with a passion that left her heart so full it could not hold more love for him. Afterward, when she lay sprawled across his lap, savoring the quiet and the soothing warmth of the water, it struck her that the last remnant of her rules had gone from her mind and heart.

  Perhaps it was time to make some new rules, she mused. Number One: Let not pride or duty blind you, but seize love with both hands and never let go. Aye, now that was a fine rule to live by.

  Abruptly her vision filled with the image of her mother. She stood bathed in a soft glow of gold, her beautiful face so real that Giselle felt as if she could reach out and touch her skin. Her mother smiled, nodded in approval, and slowly faded away.

  And Giselle’s heart finally soared free.

  A LOST TOUCH OF BLISS

  Amy Tolnitch

  Chapter 1

  Wareham Castle, Cumberland, 1196

  “Please come to Falcon’s Craig,” the note read. “I am in need of your unique services. I own Villa Delphino on the Italian coast. It is yours if you will aid me.” Amice de Monceaux read the Earl of Hawksdown’s boldly scrawled letter for the second time and crushed the vellum in her fist.

  Then she started shaking. How could Cain ask this of her? Tempt her with the one thing he knew she had always dreamt of ever since her brother told her stories of the sun-drenched land. And why did he own the villa? That was her dream.

  Her stomach churned with memories, too many, too clear even now. After five years, she could still feel Cain’s arms around her. And could still hear his calm voice saying, “I am betrothed,” before he walked away.

  The door to her chamber opened slowly. “Amice, dear? Are you in here?”

  “Aye, Mother.” Amice stuffed the vellum under her mattress and crossed the rush-covered floor to take her mother’s arm.

  Lady Eleanora pulled free and paced across the chamber, her pale fingers fluttering like butterflies in a meadow. “I cannot find Beornwynne’s Kiss. Your father, the whoreson, must have hidden it again.”

  Amice took a deep breath, no longer startled by her mother’s language. And, truth be told, she accurately described her late father. “Mother, the necklace is right here.” She opened a trunk and lifted out a carved box, placing it in her mother’s hands. “ ’Tis safe, as always.”

  Her mother sat on the stone ledge in front of the window slit and opened the box. She gathered up the heavy gold and amethyst necklace in her gnarled fingers.

  Amice laid a hand on her mother’s shoulder and felt bones, as if she held a tiny bird beneath her palm. “Would you like to go sit in the garden, Mother?”

  Her mother’s brow furrowed, and she tilted her head to stare at Amice. “Where is Isolda? I told her to get my blue gown ready for the feast tonight.”

  “Mother, Isolda died last year.” Amice kept her voice even, though she wanted to scream at the loss of the vibrant person who had been her mother and friend.

  Blinking quickly, her mother looked around the chamber, as if she expected Isolda to pop out from behind the bed at any moment. “Aye, of course.” She gave a small laugh. “I was confused for a moment. Poor Isolda. How I miss her.”

  Amice squeezed her mother’s shoulder and took a deep breath. “Come with me outside. ’Tis a beautiful day.”

  “What were we talking about?”

  “Beornwynne’s Kiss.”

  “Of course. I … forgot.” Her mother dropped the necklace, grabbed Amice’s hands and squeezed tight. Too tight. Amice felt her mother’s frail body tremble.

  “Mother,” she began.

  Her mother’s gaze clouded. “Beornwynne’s Kiss will protect me, see me safe across the river when I die.”

  “And you have it.”

  When her mother looked up at her, her gaze was far away. “Is this it?” she asked, her lips trembling.

  Amice stared down at the top of her mother’s head, the strands of silver hair mixed with white, and her heart splintered. “Mother, all is well.”

  Her mother patted Amice on the hand and rose. She wobbled and caught herself for a moment with her hand on the seat, waving Amice away with the other. “I believe I shall go down to the kitchen and see if Cook has prepared any meat pies.”

  “ ’Tis a good idea.” Amice watched her mother’s departure with a heavy heart, the knowledge that she was dying an aching lump in her belly.

  The’ only reason Amice remained at Wareham was to care for her mother. And by Michaelmas, her brother, the Earl of Wareham, would be wed to a woman who made it clear Wareham would have only one mistress.

  Soon, she would have no place.

  She closed her eyes and envisioned soft sand, a sparkling blue sea, and golden sunlight. Yes, there she could find peace. Take what Cain offers, her inner voice urged. Take it and flee to warmth and beauty.

  How simple it sounded, but in her heart she knew it would take every scrap of strength and pride she possessed. Five years ago Cain Veuxfort had nearly destroyed her. Had taken her heart into the
palm of his hand and then crushed it in his uncaring fist.

  Her mouth curved in a wry smile. Now, it appeared he had a troublesome ghost who would not leave him alone. He needed her, the Spirit Goddess. She would be a fool not to take everything she could gain from Cain Veuxfort. Aye, he would give her what he offered and more.

  And she would be free.

  Cain strode into his solar, wiping sweat from his forehead. He unbuckled his sword belt and poured a cup of ale, which he downed in one long swallow.

  “Any survivors, my lord?” his seneschal, Nyle, asked.

  “Geoffrey is improving, but he still swings like a maid.” He sat and leaned his sword against the wall. “How are the figures, Nyle?”

  Nyle rubbed his eyes and looked at the columns of numbers running down the parchment. “Good.”

  “Well done. What do you think of—”

  The door to his solar suddenly crashed open. “There you are!” His Uncle Gifford blew in, closely followed by Cain’s brother, Piers. Gifford carried a jug with him and spared not a glance for Nyle.

  Gifford and Piers came to an abrupt halt in front of Cain. His uncle gazed at him with twinkling eyes. “Is the …” his voice dropped, “Spirit Goddess coming?”

  Cain gave him a stern look. “I am attending to important matters here. And that … title is supposed to be secret.”

  Gifford snorted.

  Piers waved a hand in dismissal. “You are always attending to important matters.”

  Gifford took a swig from the jug, plopped it down on an empty space on the table, and sat on the remaining stool. “Well, answer my question. Is she coming?”

  “Aye. Lady Amice shall arrive soon.”

  “Ha! Wonderful news. Go on now, Nyle. We need to speak to the lord about something truly weighty.”

  “Some might judge keeping a roof over our heads and food on the table of concern,” Cain suggested.

  “Pah. Time enough for that later. Now, we want to know about our guest.”

  Giving up, he nodded to Nyle. “Go. When these two release me, I shall send for you.”

  Nyle’s lips twitched. “Good luck, my lord.”

  He exited quickly, and Piers grabbed the vacated stool. His brother drummed his fingers on his thigh and gazed at Cain expectantly. “When will she be here?”