Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  Amice opened her eyes wide. “He said that to the King?”

  “Aye. And Richard responded by fining him the sum of two hundred thousand shillings to help fund his crusade.”

  It was a huge sum of money. More than Wareham could spare, she was sure.

  “And Mother presented me with Luce. Along with sufficient coin to pay the King and Styrling Castle, which Mother had long coveted.”

  “I see.”

  “I did my duty, Amice. ‘Twas the right thing to do.”

  Awareness seeped into her heart, along with a profound sense of irretrievable loss. “As you do still.”

  “Aye.” He opened the door and waited for Amice to exit before securely locking it and smoothing the vines back into place. “As I always will.”

  Amice returned to her chamber in silence.

  There was nothing more to say.

  When Amice entered her chamber, she found Hawis tidying up. “Hello, my lady.”

  Amice poked her head into the adjacent chamber.

  “Your friend is not here.”

  “Do you know where Laila is?”

  Hawis moved closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Aye, I saw her when she left.” She paused and gave Amice a secretive smile. “She said her people were camped nearby, and she was going to pay them a visit.”

  “Oh.” Amice’s spirits sank further. She wished Laila had waited for her.

  “Can I get you anything, my lady?”

  Amice looked around, noting the ewer of wine, covered basket, and fresh bowl of water. “Nay, thank you, Hawis.”

  The other woman bowed and left the chamber.

  Amice poured a cup of wine, settled onto the windowseat, and opened Gerard’s journal.

  But the words blurred until she could not see anything but the first page of Cain’s journal. No wonder he had so quickly grabbed it away from her.

  Tonight Amice’s father came to see me. He knows everything, even my family’s secret. I have no idea how he found out. The earl told me I must stay away from Amice or he would expose us. He claims to have proof. He told me I would never be good enough for a de Monceaux, not even his useless daughter. The earl is a callous brute but I know he is right. I shall never be worthy of Amice’s love. She knows it too. ‘Tis why she would never be faithful.

  A tear trickled down her cheek and she blinked. How she hated her father. Amice knew he had not demanded Cain leave because of his ancestry, but solely to take something away from her. Despair surged through her stomach with a burning ache.

  She took a sip of wine and started laughing. It was all so tragically pathetic.

  There was no way for her to prove to Cain he was wrong. All the love in the world could not make him see how fine a man he fundamentally was, whether noble or peasant. No words could convince him her heart knew him as her soulmate, and she could never give her heart to anyone else.

  Amice gazed out at the endless expanse of blue-grey sea. She felt as if her face was frozen into a perpetual expression of confusion. How could God allow this to happen? How could He let her know such perfect love, then tear it away?

  She buried her face in her hands, and her laughter turned to sobs. It was hopeless.

  Amice drew a shuddering breath, lifted her head, and put her shoulders back. She swiped the tears from her eyes and started reading Gerard’s journal.

  Bring Muriel peace and get away, she told herself. It is the only thing to think about. Maybe if she were far away from Cain and exploring a new world she could find a measure of contentment, if not happiness. Maybe in time she could stop seeing his ocean eyes, banish the memory of his skin against hers, and forget the way she felt when he did no more than hold her hand.

  And maybe Cain’s pigs would fly.

  Cain decided to ride out to Hazelstone to check on the status of repairs and went to find Olive to accompany him. He looked in the kitchen first, where he knew she spent much time, but Malina shook her head at his question. An hour later, he had checked the garden, her chamber, his solar, and even the fishpond, but Olive was nowhere to be found.

  Annoyance turned to worry, and he cautioned a visit to Gifford’s chamber to see if his uncle had seen her. When he opened the door, his jaw dropped.

  Olive sat cross-legged atop Gifford’s table, intently wielding a mallet against some kind of pink rock. Whack! Whack! Pieces flew across the table, and Gifford scurried to gather them into a pot.

  “Good job, Olive,” his uncle praised.

  She shot him a gamine grin, before bringing the mallet down again, her teeth worrying her lower lip.

  So as not to startle her, Cain slowly walked to the table.

  Olive looked up and gave him such an open smile, his heart warmed. “What are you doing, little one?”

  “Helping Uncle Gifford,” she announced.

  “I see.”

  She jumped down from the table and threw her skinny arms around his waist. “Where have you been, Lancelot?”

  Cain rubbed her back and looked over at Gifford who was sweeping pink fragments from the table. His uncle lifted his brows. “Lancelot?”

  “Aye,” Olive answered, as she hopped around the table to help Gifford. “My mother always told me stories about a brave knight called Lancelot who was a true and valiant hero.”

  “Hmm,” Gifford answered. “And do you see my nephew as a hero?”

  “Oh, yes.” Olive’s face drew into a fierce look. “He killed that bad man who murdered my mother, you know. Chopped his head right off,” she added, wide-eyed.

  Cain frowned. “Where did you hear that?”

  Olive shrugged. “Everyone knows how fearless and strong you were.” She turned her big, round brown eyes on him and Cain felt as if he really could be a hero. “I tried to explain that to the lady, but she would not listen.”

  Cain prayed “the lady” was not who he feared, but he had a strong feeling she was. “What lady?”

  Olive tilted her head. “The one with the pretty red hair. She is not very nice, though.”

  For a moment Cain was not sure what to say.

  Gifford put a hand on Olive’s shoulder. “That lady is not real.”

  Olive nodded gravely. “Aye, I know. She told me she was a spirit named Muriel.” Olive said it as if encountering a ghost was not particularly strange.

  “What did Muriel say to you?” Cain asked.

  She wrinkled her nose. “She said you wanted to drive her out but she would not leave.” Olive plucked at the fabric of her little bliaut. “I told her she should be in heaven like my mother, but she said she could not go yet.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “Nay.” Olive walked over and put her thin hand in his. “She kind of faded away then. I have not seen her since.”

  Thank God for that, Cain thought. He would see Olive spared Muriel’s bitter truths. He squeezed her hand. “I was going to ride over to Hazelstone. Do you wish to come with me?”

  Olive jumped up and down, yelling, “Yea!”

  Cain chuckled. “I assume that is a yes.”

  “Yes! I can see Nona. I miss her.”

  Cain crouched down so his face was at Olive’s level. “Are you happy here, or would you rather I find a place for you in the village?”

  She threw her arms around his neck and planted a big kiss on his cheek. “I want to stay with you.”

  To his surprise, Cain felt tears burn the backs of his eyes. In a short time, his little Olive had become an important part of his life. “Good.” He stood and took her hand.

  Gifford gazed at him with a thoughtful expression.

  “What?” Cain asked.

  His uncle hung the pot over a fire. “The child is good for you. You should have some of your own.”

  Cain sensed Olive wilt a bit, and he pulled her close. “Olive is my own, now.”

  She brightened.

  Gifford crossed his arms. “You know what I mean.”

  “As always, Uncle, I appreciate your counsel.”


  “Where is the Lady Amice?”

  “I know,” Olive said. “She is in her chamber reading. Hawis told me.” Her mouth turned down and she gazed up at Cain. “Do you think Lady Amice would teach me to read?”

  “She will not be here long, sweeting.”

  Gifford loudly cleared his throat.

  “But I shall be happy to teach you,” Cain added, ignoring his uncle.

  “You will?”

  “Aye.”

  “Thank you, Lancelot.”

  Cain grinned at her. “Shall we be off, my lady fair?”

  Olive giggled. “Aye. Maybe we shall come across the Rom’s camp. I should love to see their wagons.”

  “The Rom’s camp?”

  “Aye. Hawis told me they were near. Lancelot, can I have my fortune told?”

  She looked so hopeful Cain hated to deny her. “Sweeting, you know no one can really predict your future.”

  Gifford cleared his throat again.

  Cain gave him a stern look.

  “But it would be fun,” Olive insisted.

  “We shall see,” Cain said. “But for now, let us check on Hazelstone. You can play with Nona while I see how the rebuilding progresses.”

  Olive pulled him out of the workroom, skipping in her excitement.

  Chapter 18

  Amice closed Gerard’s journal as Laila entered the chamber. Her friend’s gaze was bright, her mouth curved into a slight smile. “Did you see Milosh?” Amice teased.

  “Aye. He is as much a rogue as always and sends his love.” Laila sat down beside her and pointed to the journal. “What is that?”

  “Gerard’s journal. I have been reading it.”

  “And?”

  “’Tis a sad tale.” Amice set the journal aside and poured a cup of wine, swirling the liquid around in her mouth.

  “We guessed as much.”

  “He did love her, that is apparent.” Amice looked out the window. “But he hurt her anyway.”

  Laila reached out and squeezed Amice’s shoulder. “Does he say why?”

  Amice nodded. “He claims a woman told him his fortune. She told Gerard if he married Muriel he would lose everything, and Muriel would lose her life.”

  “Who told him that? What was her name?”

  “Magda. Have you heard of her?”

  Laila jumped up and retrieved her string of polished, blue stones, which she fingered as if to soothe herself. “Aye. There are stories about a woman called Magda. Tales of a great seer.”

  “So it was true.”

  “Perhaps. But a person’s future is never fully predestined.”

  “Cain thinks ‘tis more likely that Elena paid this Magda to convince Gerard.”

  “Aye, he would think that. He would not believe in something like the ability to see through time.”

  Amice looked down at the journal. “There is more.”

  “Something to help us?”

  “One thing. Gerard claims Elena is the one who stole Muriel’s necklace. When he discovered it, he hid it in their secret chamber.”

  “Hmm. From what we have learned of this Elena, that makes sense.” Laila shook her head and crossed herself. “A wicked woman.”

  Amice took a deep breath. She would not tell Laila of Cain’s ancestor’s evil deed. But there was something more she found in the journal. Another link between her and the Veuxforts. “After Muriel’s death, Gerard ensured he had a son, then left Falcon’s Craig.”

  “Left? But Muriel said nothing of that.”

  “He was gone two years, traveling first toward the Holy Land and eventually seeking out what remained of his ancestral family.”

  Amice ran a finger down the journal. “He stopped in Italy, Laila. He loved it so much he stayed for months.” She lifted her gaze. “You should read his descriptions. It truly sounds like paradise.”

  “Why did he leave?”

  “He grew curious about what had happened to the family of… Harding Veuxfort. And when he finally found what was left of them, they were barely surviving.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He brought them back here and settled them in Hazelstone.”

  “I imagine Elena did not approve of that.”

  Amice shook her head. “According to Gerard, she was furious that he would associate in any way with such ‘filthy peasants.’”

  “What happened then?”

  “The journal ends.”

  Laila frowned. “’Tis odd he would stop so suddenly.”

  “Aye. Perhaps there is another book somewhere.” She bit her lip, wishing she could share with Laila the amazing secret chamber she had seen.

  “Laila, I think with all we have learned, we can free Muriel from this place.”

  Her friend sat and gave Amice an intent stare. “What shall you do when we have succeeded, te’sorthene?”

  A sliver of pain broke free of its bonds to swirl through her belly. She resolutely pushed it down. “Return to Wareham for a time. When Mother… passes on, I shall go to Villa Delphino. Live where the sun shines nearly all the time, the air is warm, and the sea is turquoise blue.”

  “Are you sure ‘tis the right course? I thought perhaps now that Morganna is gone—”

  “Nay,” Amice said softly. “’Twould be better if there was a great distance between me and Cain Veuxfort. I have finally accepted that.”

  Laila nodded, but her eyes held doubt. “As you wish.”

  “Will you go with me?”

  “I shall stay with you until you find your destiny.”

  “My destiny is in Italy.”

  Laila stood. “Perhaps.” She turned toward the door. “I need to deliver some mugwort I promised to Gifford.”

  Amice watched her friend leave and forced herself to make a list of what she would need when she finally left England. They would need passage on a ship. Horses, food, clothing, furniture. So many things to consider.

  Could she really do it? Leave all she knew? Was she brave enough? Desperate enough?

  Aye, she was.

  In the late afternoon, Cain rode back into the bailey of Falcon’s Craig to find Laila waiting for him. He slowed his mount as he approached her and dismounted with a sleeping Olive cuddled against his chest. “What is it?”

  She flattened her palms against her skirts. “My lord, I am concerned about Amice.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I do not know. She went out for a ride earlier today and has not returned.” Laila looked up at the dull, grey sky. “She should be back by now.”

  “Do you know where she intended to ride?”

  “She said along the coast.”

  Cain frowned. “Who went with her?”

  “She went alone, my lord.”

  “What?” Cain’s voice roused Olive, and she rubbed her eyes. In a calmer tone, he asked, “What was she thinking?”

  Laila gave him a hard look. “Amice said she needed the fresh air to clear her thoughts. She insisted on going alone.”

  “What is wrong?” Olive asked in a sleepy voice.

  “There is a storm headed in,” Cain said to Laila.

  “I know.”

  Cain handed Olive to Laila and started toward the stable. “I need a fresh horse.”

  “You will go after her?”

  “Aye.” He led his mount into the stable and found Piers emerging from one of the stalls holding a bucket full of oats. “Which of your horses is the fastest?”

  Piers stopped and leaned against the door to a stall. A horse pushed its head over the top and nudged his shoulder. “Pagan, now that his leg splints are healed. Why?”

  “Amice is out there somewhere,” Cain bit out. “Alone. And Laila says she has been gone too long.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “Nay, just help me saddle Pagan.”

  Within a few moments, the stallion was saddled and prancing, picking up on Cain’s sense of urgency. Cain leapt on his back and grabbed the reins. “If the storm is as bad as it
looks to be, we may have to seek shelter until morning.”

  Piers lifted a brow.

  Cain slapped Pagan’s rump, and they thundered out of the stable. Once across the drawbridge, Cain turned north and rode close to the cliff over the shoreline, scanning the countryside for any sign of Amice. A long, vast emptiness stretched out before him as he and Pagan galloped atop the sparse grass.

  Low clouds moved in, masking the sky in a grey fog. The scent of the sea was strong, the waves cresting in white before smashing against the sand and rocks below.

  Where was she?

  How could she be so foolish as to ride out alone? And why not return when it became clear a storm was moving in?

  He leaned down against Pagan, urging the horse to speed.

  How far would she have gone?

  Far enough to escape you, his inner voice mocked. You know why she felt compelled to leave Falcon’s Craig without a guard. You know why she remains outside despite the approaching rain. ‘Tis because you drove her out.

  A few drops of rain struck his face, and Cain reined in to look at the sky. Over the ocean, dark grey clouds roiled and the wind blew in gusts, scuttling the clouds across the sky and lifting his hair. Cain watched as the rain moved onto shore, then turned back to drive Pagan forward once more.

  Rain pelted him as he rode, the few drops turning to heavy sheets. Mist rose from the grass and the sky darkened to slate. He peered through the veil of water for Amice.

  “Amice!” he yelled. “Where are you?”

  There was no answer but the moan of the wind.

  “Damn it,” Cain swore. He turned inland and rode toward the hills. Where was she?

  The ground dipped and rolled, the grass turning slick beneath Pagan’s hooves. Cain slowed the horse and looked around. It was strangely still. Wreaths of mist and fog carpeted the grass and obscured the trees.

  “Amice!” he hollered.

  Then he heard it. A voice, somewhere ahead. He kicked Pagan and galloped forward, his heart clenching in relief when he finally saw her.

  She was on foot. Her bliaut was soaked to her skin, her hair slicked back from her face.

  He jumped off Pagan and ran to her. “Are you all right?”