Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  “I hope so. Dear God, I pray so.” Laila looked down, then back up. “How did the Earl of Hawksdown happen to marry Luce?”

  Gifford grumbled. “Ismena, my sister, persuaded Luce’s father to give Luce to Cain. The two of them had some kind of past, not exactly sure what. I think Ismena knew something Luce’s father wanted kept quiet. Anyway, he fetched Luce from Hexham and delivered her here along with a lot of coin and a grant of Styrling Castle. They were married within the fortnight.”

  “Oh.”

  “Nobody guessed how far Luce would go to be with Woodford. Turned out they often met at an old cottage deep in the woods.”

  “And then Luce turned up carrying a babe,” Piers added.

  Laila rose and paced. “Why would the Earl of Hawksdown not simply assume the babe was his?”

  Piers scowled. “Because after consummating the marriage, Luce would not allow Cain near her. Truth be told, he did not want her either.”

  “She killed herself,” Laila guessed.

  “Aye, but not on purpose. Fool tried to rid her body of the babe. She bled to death.”

  “And Woodford blames the Earl of Hawksdown for it.”

  “Aye.”

  “There is no hope for Amice,” Laila choked out.

  This time, Piers could not say anything.

  By mid-morning, Cain caught sight of Hexham. He nodded to The MacKeir. “That is it.”

  The MacKeir held up a hand and the group slowed to a stop.

  Graceful, pale grey towers rose from the center of a clear, blue lake. High, crenellated walls encircled the towers and led to a huge gatehouse that sprawled over the narrow thread of land crossing the water. “’Twill be difficult to breach,” Cain said.

  Under his breath, The MacKeir muttered in Gaelic. “I shall offer a ransom.”

  Cain lifted a brow. “I doubt Woodford will accept, but ‘tis worth a try. Better from you. Anything I offer shall be rejected.”

  “Let us proceed, then.” The MacKeir dug in his heels, and his mount shot toward the castle walls.

  As they neared the gatehouse, archers took position along the battlements. They stopped just out of reach. The MacKeir urged his horse a few steps forward. “I am The MacKeir. I demand you release my betrothed, Lady Amice de Monceaux, at once.”

  Cain spotted Woodford above the gatehouse. There was no sign of Amice. Cain held his breath.

  “Oh, how wonderful,” Woodford called down. “Two men to fight for the lady,” he mocked them.

  The MacKeir’s horse snorted and stepped sideways. “I am willing to pay a ransom for the lady’s safe return.”

  “I do not need your coin. And I have plans for the fair Amice.”

  Cain nudged his horse forward next to The MacKeir. “Your quarrel is with me, not Lady Amice. Release her.”

  “Why?”

  “She is innocent.”

  Woodford’s laughter spilled over the wall. “No woman is innocent. You know that, Hawksdown.”

  “I shall happily fight you for the lady.”

  “If I win?”

  Cain glared up at him. “You can take my life.”

  “Ah, a true pleasure. But what if you win?”

  “I shall spare your life in exchange for the lady’s safe release to me.”

  “To you? Or to her betrothed?”

  “Either.”

  “Hmm.” Woodford tilted his head back and forth. “No, ‘tis too simple. I have a better game in mind.”

  “What do you want?” The MacKeir yelled.

  “I want it all. And even now, Lady Amice is doing exactly what I hoped she would.”

  “What are you talking about? Where is Amice.”

  “Why, making her escape of course. Or at least she thinks she is.”

  “What have you done?”

  “The lady has decided to take a bit of a swim. And you, Hawksdown, are the only one who can save her. If any other man makes the attempt, my archers shall shoot him down.”

  The MacKeir shot a glance toward Cain. “He is mad,” he hissed.

  “Aye.” Cain’s heart thudded in his chest. “She must be in the lake.” Dread encircled his heart as he turned his horse and raced back across the causeway. He did not gallop far around the edge of the lake before he found her.

  “Filthy whoreson!” The MacKeir roared.

  Cain gazed across the water in horror. Trapped in an iron cage and slowly sinking into the water was Amice, her eyes wide in terror, her face white as bone.

  It was obvious she had heard everything.

  She knew she would drown.

  For Cain could not swim.

  Chapter 10

  How could I have been so stupid?

  Amice looked out across the deep blue water and saw the agony in Cain’s eyes. Lugh stood next to him, his thick arms crossed, his face drawn into angry lines.

  She had thought she was so clever, so brave. All the way until she reached the bottom of the winding stairs to find Woodford waiting to throw her into this damn cage. Her teeth chattered with cold as water splashed up over her foot. All night long, she’d huddled in the cage, kept awake by Woodford’s threats and Rafe’s mockery.

  She had never hated another person as much as she hated Henry Woodford. What kind of woman had Cain’s wife been to love such a brutal beast of a man?

  The cage dropped another inch and water seeped into the blanket she sat upon. She gazed across the water into Cain’s eyes and bit her lip. He could not save her, she knew that. He had never learned to swim, and the distance between them was too great.

  Pray God Lugh did not try. Woodford would cut him down in an instant.

  The cage rocked lower into the water, soaking into Amice’s skirt. She reached out, gripped the bars of the cage, and closed her eyes.

  She forced the cold water out of her mind, and she was back in Cain’s chamber, feeling the warmth of the fire and his touch against her skin. She took a deep breath and smelled cedar, not the damp mildew on the stone. She heard her own moan of delight, not the venomous taunts from Woodford.

  But a loud splash shattered her dream.

  In horror, Amice watched Cain stride into the lake, his face taut with rage and purpose. His mail lay in a pile on the bank. “No!” she yelled and rose to her knees. “Go back!”

  Woodford’s cackling laughter surrounded her, and Amice’s grip on the bars tightened.

  Cain did not say anything, but struck out in an awkward kind of paddling motion.

  For a moment, Amice held her breath. Could he do it? Had he learned to swim?

  And then his head went under.

  “No!” Amice screamed. “Cain!” She tore at the ropes binding the door of her cage, but they were wet and tied securely.

  A glimpse of fair hair sent her heart beating again as Cain surged out of the water, his arms propelling him by will alone. She could hear him gasp for breath.

  “Kick your feet, dammit,” Lugh shouted.

  “I am trying,” Cain called back.

  “Move your arms, man. Like you are pushing the water away from you. And for God’s sake, keep your fingers together!”

  Cain’s expression grew fierce as he slowly made his way through the water.

  Amice thought she would never see such a sight again. Even Woodford’s men grew silent as they watched Cain struggle to reach her. Every few feet, he sank under the surface, and Amice held her breath and prayed until his head popped back up.

  Woodford had proudly informed her sometime during the interminable night that the lake reached a depth of thirty feet.

  Tears half blinded her as she watched Cain’s head slip under again. “Come on, Cain,” she prayed.

  And continued to pray when the water remained smooth.

  Lugh roared a protest and put one foot in the water, but the ominous sound of arrows being drawn into place halted him. He paused, clearly weighing his chances.

  “Oh, God,” Amice sobbed. “Nay.” The cage was halfway in the water now, the cold water
swirling around Amice’s waist. Tears ran down her face and she bowed her head.

  Then, like some magical serpent from the deep, Cain shot out of the water in front of the cage. He caught at the bars, his breath coming in harsh rasps. “Are you all right?”

  Amice could not manage a word. She just blinked at him.

  In a moment, Cain drew out a dagger and cut through the ropes. He pulled Amice out and wrapped one arm around her.

  “I cannot believe you made it,” Amice choked out. “You cannot swim.”

  “Nay.” He shot her a cocky grin. “But I was determined.”

  Amice smiled, knowing she had never loved him more than in this moment. She shivered. “Let us get out of this water.”

  Cain gazed back across the lake. “You are a good swimmer. You go on.”

  “I am not leaving without you.”

  “You must.” He gave her a wry look. “My legs are going numb. I think a snake bit me. I will not make it.”

  “No.” Amice gazed at him in horror. “I can help you.”

  “I am too heavy.”

  Amice set her jaw. “I am not leaving you here.” She yanked his arm from the cage and struck out across the lake.

  They managed to get about halfway to the shore when Cain whispered, “Be well, my love,” as his head slid beneath the water.

  Amice kicked and paddled desperately as she slung one arm around Cain’s neck. She had to keep his face out of the water. She looked toward shore. God, it was so far.

  Lugh started to pull off his mail, and Woodford shouted to his men. “If the big man interferes, kill all of them.”

  “Bastard,” Lugh roared, shaking a fist.

  Between breaths, Amice called, “Stay, Lugh. I can make it.” She wished she believed her words, but she would not be the cause of Lugh’s death too.

  When had Cain gotten so heavy?

  Doggedly, she kicked and kicked, moving forward at an ant’s pace, the cold water and her lack of sleep weighing her down. Keep going, Amice. Keep going. Do not think about the cold. Do not think about how tired you are. Just keep going.

  She repeated the words to herself over and over until it was as if her mind were someplace else, reaching the shore the only thing that mattered.

  After an eternity, she felt ground beneath her feet and stumbled toward the bank.

  Ignoring Woodford’s yell of fury, Lugh jumped into the water and hauled both Cain and her out. “What ails him?”

  “Snake,” Amice gasped as she fell to her knees.

  Lugh threw Cain across his saddle and jumped up behind him. “Bran, take up Lady Amice.”

  Bran plucked her up and set her before him, wrapping a warm, weighty arm around her, before kicking his horse into a gallop. They fled Hexham under a shower of arrows.

  Amice tried to stay awake but exhaustion drew her down and down until she fell asleep, a prayer for Cain unspoken on her lips.

  Cain peered up at the old monk in confusion. The last he remembered, he was going under the water in that blasted lake again. “Where… where am I?”

  “Riveux Abbey, my lord.”

  He sat up and looked around the barren room in which he lay on a thin pallet. “How did I come here?”

  The monk crossed himself. “A band of men led by some huge Highland savage brought you.”

  “Was a woman with them?”

  “Aye. She rests in the chamber next to this one.”

  “Where is MacKeir? The Highlander?” Cain amended.

  “In our refectory, ploughing through most of our stores.”

  Cain smiled. “I shall see you well recompensed, Father.” He stood and tested his weight on his bandaged leg. It ached with a dull throb, but it was manageable. “Can you lead me to the refectory?”

  “Of course.” The monk turned and led Cain down a narrow passageway. They went through an arched doorway and across a grassy cloister surrounded by worn, stone walkways. The monk headed toward a large stone building which stood in one corner.

  When Cain entered, a group of brown-robed monks stood in a circle around The MacKeir and the rest of the men. It was clear they had never seen men eat with the kind of gusto The MacKeir and his Highlanders brought to the table. Huge platters of fresh and smoked fish, loaves of brown bread and creamy hunks of cheese disappeared into mouths as fast as some of the other monks could replenish the table.

  One of Cain’s men spotted him and jumped up. “My lord. Are you well?”

  “Well enough.” Cain leaned down and grabbed a chunk of cheese from The MacKeir’s hand.

  “Hey!”

  Cain grinned and popped it in his mouth, taking a seat on the bench next to The MacKeir. “I need to rebuild my strength.”

  The MacKeir gave him a somber look before filling a cup with wine and placing it before Cain. “’Twas a brave thing you did.”

  “I had no choice. That whore—, uh,” he looked at the monks. “Woodford would have let her drown. I have no doubt of it.”

  “But still, to brave the lake when you knew you had not the skill to swim was a courageous thing indeed.” The MacKeir grinned. “Worthy of a Highlander.”

  Cain took a gulp of wine and chewed on a piece of smoked trout.

  Around them, the other men told the monks of Cain’s feat, the story growing with the telling until Cain sounded as if he walked across the water to get to Amice. Would that it were so, Cain thought, recalling the stale taste of the lake water all too well.

  “Is Amice all right? The monk said she was resting.”

  The MacKeir nodded. “Aye, the poor lass was exhausted between no sleep in that infernal cage and coming close to drowning.”

  Cain frowned. “Woodford shall pay for that. I should have taken care of him before this.”

  “Why did you not?”

  “I did not want to take the time away from Falcon’s Craig.” He twirled his cup. “Woodford was annoying, but I did not see him as a real danger.”

  “If you need aid in thrashing the bastard, send for me at Tunvegen.” MacKeir chuckled. “I imagine Amice will wish to accompany me to make sure Woodford gets what he deserves.”

  The wine turned sour in Cain’s stomach. He looked down, then up to find The MacKeir staring at him with a knowing expression.

  “’Tis obvious you love her,” The MacKeir commented.

  Cain froze.

  “Aye,” The MacKeir said with a nod. “I saw your face when poor Amice hung in that cage.”

  “I was enraged, as were you.”

  “More than that. As if you looked upon your own life ebbing away and would do anything to stop it.” The MacKeir sighed and chewed on another bite of cheese. “You love her.”

  Cain just drank his wine and wondered if The MacKeir was the only one of them with any sense whatsoever.

  They returned to Falcon’s Craig the next day.

  When Amice rode into the bailey, Laila came hurtling from the garden, arms outstretched. “Oh, thank God,” she shouted.

  Amice slipped from the horse and rushed into Laila’s embrace.

  “You poor thing, I was so worried for you.” Laila put her hands on either side of Amice’s face and studied her. “You are all right?”

  Amice managed a shaky smile. “Aye.” She bit her lip. “’Twas horrible, Laila. What an evil, twisted man Woodford is.”

  “You should rest,” a voice said next to her.

  Cain’s voice. Amice peered up at him. His expression was closed. “Aye,” she said. “I am still a bit tired.”

  “I shall have Hawis bring food and drink.” Cain started to walk away, then paused and turned back. “Would you like a bath first?”

  For a moment, Amice just stared at him, the longing to bathe with him nearly uncontrollable. What sweet peace it would be to float in warm water with his arms wrapped around her, his skin hot against hers. Amice shivered. “I am too tired.”

  His eyes flashed for an instant then turned blank. “Very well. Take care of your friend, Laila. She has been
through much at Woodford’s hand.”

  Laila pulled her toward the rose chamber, clucking like a mother hen. Amice did not hear her words. She was so very tired. Tired of worrying about what she should do with her life, tired of fighting her yearning for Cain, tired of trying to get rid of Muriel. So tired of it all.

  She recalled the story one of her brothers had told her before he died. Of the coast of Italy, a beautiful, sunny place he had discovered on crusade. It sounded so perfect, like a place outside time, outside normal worries. How she longed to run away and lose herself there.

  Amice walked into her chamber and sat on a bench by the window overlooking the sea. She closed her eyes and breathed in the salty air, in a short time accepting a cup of wine Hawis pressed into her hands.

  As she sipped the wine, her spirits lifted a bit and she gave Laila a reassuring smile.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Aye. Famished.” She broke off a piece of bread and cut a big slice of cheese. “There is something about nearly dying that makes everything taste better.”

  Laila patted her hand. “What happened, chav?”

  As Amice told her of how she had been tricked by Woodford and his man Rafe to spend the night in a cold cage, she could not think of anything except the sight of Cain swimming to her.

  Laila muttered a gypsy curse under her breath.

  “You should have seen it, Laila. Even Woodford’s men stopped to watch. ‘Twas the bravest act I have ever seen.”

  Laila beamed a smile at her.

  “How impressive,” another voice interrupted.

  Muriel. Damn, if the wraith did not have an uncanny ability to appear at the wrong time. “Aye, Muriel, he was.”

  Muriel came more into view, her features cast in a sly look. “Who would have imagined the Earl of Hawksdown could be so selfless, so heroic?”

  “You misjudge him because of your own past.”

  She shimmered.

  “Have you ever seen your gravestone?” Amice asked softly.

  “Nay,” was the whisper.

  Amice sipped wine. “You do not leave the castle?”

  “I cannot.” Slowly, Muriel came back into view. “Where is my grave?”

  “Above the beach, in a lovely, grassy spot. Blue wildflowers grow there.”