Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  His hand stopped and Amice cried out. Then he slid his staff between her legs, rubbing himself against her and she forgot to breathe.

  “Say it, dammit,” he said roughly.

  “I want you,” she cried. “Please, I need you, Cain. Now!”

  He growled low in his throat and buried himself in her.

  Amice collapsed onto her arms and gave herself up to the night.

  He took her with such raw hunger Amice was unable to do anything but lay her head in the grass and accept him. Harsh, untamed, there was nothing measured in the way Cain invaded her body, claimed her soul even as he brought her to such a release she saw stars behind her eyes.

  And when it was over, he gathered her in his arms and held her close, taking her mouth, her tongue, with the same sweet abandon.

  She fell asleep with the sight of a tear on his cheek.

  Amice awoke in her own chamber. Without Cain. She opened her eyes and found a man casually perched on the end of the bed. A partially transparent man who happened to look exactly like Cain, only older. Amice groaned and shut her eyes.

  He laughed.

  With a sigh, Amice sat up and studied the ghost. “I assume you are Gerard Veuxfort?”

  With a glimmer of blue and white, the spirit gave a small bow with his head. “That I am, Lady Amice.”

  Had last night been a dream? She took a quick look around her chamber but there was no sign Cain had been there. The bed had clearly been slept in by one person, not two.

  “No, it was not a dream,” Gerard said with a smile.

  Amice gave him a sharp look.

  The ghost drifted closer, settled next to her, and crossed his legs. “I have wanted to meet you but,” his shoulders moved, “Muriel is usually lurking about.”

  “She is?” Amice peered into the corners of the room. “Is she here now?”

  “Oh, no. I would not be if she was.”

  “How can I help her?”

  Gerard uncrossed his legs and stood. “The only way for her to find peace is in forgiveness.”

  “Forgiveness of you.”

  “Aye.”

  “Why should she? You misused her and tossed her away.”

  “I had reasons.”

  “What reasons? How can you justify what you did?”

  “I am not trying to justify it. I know I made mistakes, acted foolishly. But I did not hurt Muriel on a whim.”

  “Why, then?”

  He started to fade, blending into a swirl of blue and white. “Find my journal.”

  Amice shot out of bed, clutching the bedcover to her chest. “What? Where is it?”

  “Cain knows. ‘Tis with the rest of our family records.” Gerard disappeared.

  “What?” Amice called, but there was no answer. She shook her head, gazing at the space the ghost had just inhabited. Piers was right. Madness was descending upon them.

  She clutched the bedcovers around her and sank back onto the bed, briefly closing her eyes. What had possessed her to… celebrate Beltane with Cain, of all people. When she remembered how he had taken her, she cringed in embarrassment while heat rose to her cheeks. God, but it had been intoxicating. She clenched her fingers in the covers at the memory.

  Cain had never been like that, so bare and unrestrained. But then he had left. Dumped her in her chamber and run.

  Nothing had changed. She was a fool to think it ever would.

  Cain stood in the bailey flanked by Gifford and Piers, watching Agatha coo and giggle at her new husband, who gazed at her with prideful possession. At least a few things were going well. Morganna was gone and Agatha truly appeared happy.

  Agatha came over and smiled at them. She looked around and asked, “Where is Amice? I wanted to say farewell.”

  Probably plotting how soon she can escape Falcon’s Craig, Cain thought. Escape the man who took her like some kind of animal last eve. “I—”

  “Here, Agatha,” another voice interrupted. A voice that sent a surge of heat straight to his rod.

  Cain took a deep breath and cautioned a look at her. Damn, but she stole his reason. She wore a deep purple silk bliaut with a lighter shade of purple undertunic, midnight hair framing her striking face. When Agatha took her hands, she smiled and Cain’s stomach turned over.

  “Amice, well, I hardly know what to say.”

  The MacKeir moved up behind Agatha and put a heavy hand on her shoulder. He shot Cain a hard look.

  “Be happy, Agatha. And you as well, Lugh.”

  “You are not angry with me?”

  Amice chuckled and shook her head. “Nay. I am pleased for you both.”

  “Amice is a wise woman, Agatha,” The MacKeir said. “She knows the heart will not be denied. Is that not right, Hawksdown?”

  Cain resisted the urge to roll his eyes. When would the man leave? “Should you not be on your way?”

  The MacKeir rumbled a laugh. “Aye.” He stepped around Agatha and embraced Amice in a tight hug, whispering something to her that Cain could not hear. Amice’s face paled.

  Agatha hugged Piers and Gifford, then turned to Cain. “Do not let happiness elude you, Brother.”

  “Be well, Agatha. Send us news when you arrive at Tunvegen.”

  Concern clouded her eyes for a moment, then she nodded. “Farewell.”

  With a final jaunty wave, The MacKeir led Agatha and his troop of Highlanders out of the bailey.

  “I am going to miss that man,” Gifford commented. “Livened things up around here.”

  Cain rubbed the back of his neck. “We have enough to occupy our attention without the complication of Lugh MacKeir.”

  Gifford sniffed.

  He had to do something. Something active. Every instinct in him screamed to throw Amice over his shoulder, take her to his chamber, and do all the things he dreamed of Dreams that left him feeling increasingly restless and empty. “Piers?”

  His brother stood looking at him with a mocking smile.

  Did everyone have to guess his pathetic lack of control when it came to Amice? “I want to practice a new tactic The MacKeir told me about. Will you join me?”

  Piers grinned. “Are you sure there is not something else you would rather be doing?”

  Cain gritted his teeth. “Nay.” He turned toward the training field and began walking. “Come,” he called over his shoulder.

  Piers chuckled as he followed Cain. “Desire swells when fulfillment is delayed.”

  “Shut up,” Cain snapped.

  Chapter 17

  With every swipe of his sword, Cain felt Amice’s eyes upon him. He struggled to ignore her, reminding himself that it was his duty to train, to keep his battle skills honed. Did the woman not have something better to do? Like get rid of that blasted ghost?

  And it did not help that Piers wore some silly grin on his face that widened each time Cain snuck a glance over at her.

  Finally, after an hour of exchanging blows and coming perilously close to losing a body part from his inability to concentrate, Cain lowered his sword. “Well? What do you want?” he barked.

  Amice flinched.

  Cain felt like a churl. It wasn’t her fault he felt such torment every time he looked at her. Or did not look at her. Or smelled her. Or heard her voice. Or thought about her. Damn it. “What is it, Amice,” he tried in a calmer tone.

  “I need to speak with you.”

  Piers immediately turned to engage one of the garrison, leaving Cain and Amice alone.

  Cain studied her face but could find no hint of her intention. He sheathed his sword and walked over to her. “Very well.”

  Her gaze could have frozen water in fire. “Where is Gerard’s journal?”

  He blinked in shock. “What?” Casting his voice low, he took her arm and led her away from the men.

  “His journal.”

  “How did you hear of a journal?”

  “From Gerard.”

  “What did he say about it?”

  “He said I should find his journal
and that you know where it is.” She glared at him. “Why did you not tell me of this?”

  Cain rubbed the back of his neck. Was he to have no secrets? Damn these meddlesome ghosts.

  “Where would it be? Gerard said the journal was with the other family records.” Amice lifted her chin and Cain’s stomach sank. He knew that look. She would not be put off by vague explanations.

  “’Tis a secret, known only to the earls of Hawksdown. Not even Piers knows.”

  Amice’s eyes gleamed with curiosity. “Why is it secret?”

  “Amice, I—”

  “We need to find the journal.” Her mouth was set. “I shall not reveal your secret to anyone; I give you my oath.” Could he trust her?

  Could he afford not to? Gerard would probably show her himself if Cain did not. “Come with me.”

  Amice walked with Cain in silence, her curiosity mounting with each step. She glanced at him and bit back a question. His face was taut, his eyes glowing, as if he kept some wildness leashed within him.

  A part of her wanted to see if she could make him loosen the leash, but she sternly reminded herself to focus on her task.

  They left the training field and crossed the bailey. The day was grey, the clouds low overhead, and a cool, salty breeze lifted from the sea to wash over them as they walked. Amice lifted her skirts and concentrated on keeping up with Cain’s long-legged stride.

  Cain said nothing but led the way into the garden and past the grove of apple trees. A huge arbor of grape vines spread across the back of the garden.

  Amice blinked in astonishment when Cain took out a key, reached through the arbor and unlocked a door covered with vines.

  Cain reached back and took her hand without looking at her. He pulled her through and shut the doorway.

  “What is this?” Amice wrinkled her nose at the musty smell in the tiny chamber.

  “Just as Gerard said. Where our family’s records are kept.” Cain lit a pair of candles and set them on a table.

  Amice peered around her, noting the chests stacked against the walls. “Why is it secret?”

  He turned then and looked at her. “For a very good reason. And it must remain so.”

  “I told you I would honor your wish in that regard.”

  Cain’s jaw tightened. “Be sure that you do.”

  Amice looked away. “The journal must be in one of the trunks.” She dropped to her knees and reached out to open the lid of the closest one.

  “Not that one.”

  She looked up.

  “They are arranged by date.” He gestured to another trunk. “That would be the one from Gerard’s time.”

  “Do you want to look?” Amice was dying to know what lay in the other trunks, but the expression on Cain’s face stopped her from moving. What was he hiding?

  “Aye.” He opened the trunk and began pulling our bundled sheets of vellum.

  Amice inched closer.

  “This looks to be Gerard’s,” Cain said, and handed her a bundle.

  Amice began reading. She was immediately entranced. “He writes of Muriel. This must be it!”

  Cain shoved the rest of the books back into the trunk and clicked it shut. “What does he say?”

  “How beautiful she is, how much he loves her.” Amice squinted to make out the words. “How much he looks forward to being with her always.” As Amice read, she felt Cain’s intense gaze and sat back on her heels to continue reading.

  “He… he writes, ‘She is so beautiful, she steals the breath from my body, so passionate, I could lie with her a thousand times and still starve for her.’” Amice stopped and swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

  “’Tis clear from the drawings they desired each other greatly.” Cain’s voice was close. Too close.

  Amice snapped up a look to find him nearly on top of her. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  His eyes glittered and Cain stared at her mouth. “What else does he write?”

  Amice dragged her gaze back to the journal. She sucked in a breath as a rush of heat sped to her face. “He, he says, ‘My desire for her is like a fever burning in my blood. I spend each day dreaming of sinking into the sweet oblivion of her body, our hearts merging as one.’ ”

  “Does he write anything about what happened?” Cain’s voice was hoarse.

  Afraid to look at him, Amice forced herself to remain focused on Gerard’s writing. She feared if she saw the same hunger in Cain’s eyes as she heard in his voice, she would be lost.

  “Amice?”

  She scanned the page and flipped to the next, skipping Gerard’s lengthy reflections on the joy of mating with Muriel.

  Amice stopped on the thirteenth page. “Here it is.”

  Cain peered over her shoulder. “He believed Elena.”

  “Aye. He did think Muriel disloyal. It broke his heart,” she said softly. She would not look at Cain. “But look at this.” Amice pointed to the center of the page.

  “‘Even though my Muriel betrayed me, I still could not imagine life without her. But then Magda visited me and everything changed. All know of the old woman’s strange powers. She sees things. And today she told me my future if I should take Muriel to wife,’” Cain read aloud.

  Amice gasped.

  Cain read on. “ ‘If I marry Muriel, I shall lose everything. That, I could accept if not for the worst part. Magda tells me that I will lose Muriel too. To death. I cannot allow that to happen, even if it means denying my own happiness. I shall send her away today.’”

  “So that is the real reason he broke the betrothal,” Amice breathed. She snuck a look at Cain.

  He scowled at the journal. “Elena probably paid the old woman to come up with Gerard’s ‘future.’”

  “Or Magda saw that Elena would have Muriel killed if she married Gerard.”

  “Mayhap.”

  Amice turned the page.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cain stiffen. He yanked the journal from her hands, but not before Amice read the words.

  When she looked at Cain, his face was bone white.

  “What… what does he mean?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She pointed to the journal. “I saw it, Cain. He says he is not really a Veuxfort, that the name and title were gained by deceit and treachery.”

  Cain turned a shade paler. “Amice, let it go.”

  “Nay.” She stood and crossed her arms. “I want to read the rest of the journal.”

  Cain jumped to his feet, holding the journal tight against his chest. “You found what you sought.”

  “I do not know that. There may be more.”

  “You know why Gerard felt he had to give her up. That should be enough for Muriel to forgive him,” Cain insisted.

  Amice dropped her arms and walked forward until she was so close to Cain she could feel the heat radiate from him. “Who are you?” she asked.

  For a moment, he just stared down at her, his throat working, his nostrils flared. “I am the Earl of Hawksdown.”

  “Cain Veuxfort?”

  “You know my name.”

  “How did you come by it?”

  He gave her a mocking smile. “From my sire.”

  “Who got it from?”

  “His sire.”

  “Who got it from?”

  “Amice. Cease.”

  “No, I shall not cease.” Unreasoning fury surged in her. She had given everything to a man who concealed his very identity.

  “Amice, this is not something I am free to speak of.”

  “I want to know who the hell you are!” she shouted. “I want to know who I gave my heart to!”

  Cain froze. “Your heart?”

  Amice blinked. She could not believe she had blurted that out. “Answer my question,” she hissed.

  He dropped the journal to the floor.

  “My life is a lie,” he whispered. “The real Veuxfort was foolish enough to trust a man who happened to look identical to him. A nob
ody, who was hard, ruthless and able with a sword. A man who decided it would be easy to become Veuxfort and take his young bride at the same time.”

  Amice stared at him. “He… killed the real Veuxfort?”

  Cain nodded. “And took his place. Anyone who raised a question disappeared.”

  “My God.”

  “Now, you understand the need for secrecy.”

  Amice gestured around the room. “But why keep the records at all? Why not burn them?”

  “There is much in the journals besides the shame of our lineage. And no one knows of this chamber.”

  “Did all of the Earls of Hawksdown keep journals?”

  “Aye, every one. Some are quite detailed in their description of life, our family history.”

  “Do you write in a journal?”

  Cain stilled. “Yes,” he admitted haltingly.

  “Is it here?” God, what she would give to read Cain’s journal. To know his true thoughts, his innermost feelings would be like solving a tantalizing mystery.

  Cain shook his head, but his eyes shot to another trunk and Amice knew he lied.

  She lunged for the trunk and threw open the lid, seizing the top journal.

  Cain stood over her, bristling. “Put that back. ‘Tis private.”

  “Are you afraid I will find out who you really are?” Amice opened the journal.

  “You know who I am.”

  Amice stared at him. “Do I?” she asked softly. “Do I, Cain?” She dropped her gaze to the journal.

  “As much as anyone.” He snatched the journal from her hands and closed it.

  “I wonder.”

  Cain tossed the journal back into the trunk. He leaned down and retrieved Gerard’s journal before placing it into her hands. “Now that you know our secret, there is no reason for you not to read it.” His voice was cool and impersonal.

  Damn him for his controlled indifference. Amice fingered the edges of the vellum. Pain and sorrow flooded her as she looked up at Cain’s set face. “Why did you leave me?”

  He flinched as if she had thrust a dagger home. “I had to.”

  “Why?”

  His gaze blanked of emotion. “The King levied a huge amercement upon us due to my father’s stupidity,” he bit out. “In one of his innumerable drunken binges, Father suggested to Richard that the reason he was so consumed by warring was because he preferred men to women.”