Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  Gifford grunted and set his candle on the table. “Looking for ale, of course.” He rummaged around in a cupboard and returned to the table with a jug.

  “I would have thought you’d be abed.”

  “Was. Could not sleep, though.” Gifford poured himself a long swallow straight from the jug, peering at Lugh. “What are you doing, sitting here in the dark?”

  “Thinking.”

  Gifford shot him a grin. “I am guessing we both are here for the same reason—a woman.”

  “Troubles with Saraid?”

  “Aye.” Gifford shook his head and drank deeply. “She is gone.”

  “What?” Lugh was genuinely surprised. He’d thought Gifford was making progress with the woman. “When?”

  “This afternoon. Right after I asked her to marry me.”

  “She said nay? Why?”

  Gifford let out a long sigh. “Stubborn woman. It seems that bastard, the Earl of Sturbridge, left a deep scar that is not easily healed.” He fixed Lugh with a stare. “But I do not intend to give up.”

  “Good. Surely, she will come round in time.”

  “I pray so, for I have fallen madly in love with the woman. I cannot imagine returning to Falcon’s Craig without her.”

  Lugh put his hand on Gifford’s shoulder. “You will not have to. Saraid is fearful because of the past, comfortable with the sanctuary of Parraba, ’tis all.”

  “Aye. She told me as much. Said she could no more leave Parraba than Lady Iosobal.” He gave Lugh a knowing glance. “Both of them hiding. Saraid’s reason is simple enough, but what of Iosobal?”

  After what he’d seen tonight, Lugh had a pretty good idea, but he was not going to divulge Iosobal’s secrets. Instead of answering, he shrugged.

  “I like her,” Gifford said.

  “As do I,” Lugh said softly.

  “She is a beautiful woman.”

  “Aye.”

  “And a lonely one, methinks. Much like Saraid.”

  “Iosobal appears to enjoy her isolation.”

  “Bunk. No one enjoys being alone.” Gifford tipped back more ale. “Agatha is dead, God rest her soul.”

  Lugh briefly closed his eyes, even after three years, pain slicing through him at the memory. He blinked them open and stared at Gifford. “What are you saying?”

  Gifford leaned over the table. “I have seen the way you look at her, Lugh. When the two of you are together, ’tis as if a fire blazes between you.”

  Lugh couldn’t deny it. “She is … different, Gifford.”

  “Aye, ’tis no question about that.” Gifford chuckled. “She reminds me a bit of dear Amice.”

  “Can Amice do more than converse with ghosts?”

  “’Tis enough, do you not think?”

  “Iosobal—”

  “Is more than that, I realize. But still, beneath all of her magic, she is still a woman.”

  “I know.”

  Gifford chuckled again. “You have always been a man who goes after what he wants, Lugh.” He stood, holding his jug. “I have long admired you for that.”

  Lugh met his gaze and nodded.

  “Do not stop now. Let go of Agatha. ’Tis what she would have wanted.” Gifford lifted his jug in a salute and left the kitchens, humming to himself.

  And Lugh realized what he needed to do.

  AFTER GATHERING AN EXTRA CHEMISE, SOME DRYING cloths, and giving Artemis a tight hug, Iosobal slowly made her way down to the steam chamber. Lavender, she thought. Restful, soothing lavender.

  She felt as if another person had taken residence inside her skin. A person of strong emotion, bold action, power. “What is happening to me, Mother?” she whispered. The stone passage echoed with her words, but no one answered.

  Dear Saint Brigid, the image of Tomas’s burned body kept flashing into her mind. Perhaps she was a demon, she thought. But no, Tomas had meant to kill her. She’d seen it in the fervor of his gaze. He’d considered her refusal to be a betrayal of the relationship he’d created in his sick mind.

  In the moment he attacked, she’d felt such rage. How dare he talk to her as if she were some wayward woman who was too stupid to realize how badly she’d sinned? And the truly ironic part of it all was that she’d done nothing. Well, almost nothing, she thought, recalling that glorious kiss in the snow.

  But she had always been in control of her magic, had never used it to lash out at anyone. Nor had she every felt such strong emotions, accustomed to living a placid life, each day flowing seamlessly into the next.

  Troubled by her thoughts, she pushed open the door to the steam room and walked in, depositing her bundle close to the edge of the pool. From her candle, she lit more and placed them around the pool until the water rippled with reflected candlelight. She gathered up a large bunch of dried lavender and crumbled it in her hands, dropping the powder into the water.

  As the scent poured over her, she felt the ache in her chest ease. She stripped off her dirt-stained clothes and climbed down into the water to sit on the ledge. Her hair floated around her as the heat soaked into her tense body.

  Lugh was right, she thought idly. The bath was a comfort. She closed her eyes and breathed in lavender. The man continuously surprised her. When she turned and saw him she wanted to cringe in shame. Had expected to see revulsion in his eyes, perhaps even fear. Certainly not calm acceptance and approval.

  She doubted many men would have reacted the same. For a wild moment, she’d half expected him to decry her a witch and attack with his sword. Instead, he’d treated her like a vaunted warrior.

  But still … the fact remained that her power had burst into something horrific. No man, not even The MacKeir, would easily forget that.

  He was probably even now thinking of how quickly he could open the cave and leave Parraba. Leave the woman who’d struck out in anger, and burned Tomas to a pile of ash and bones. Leave her.

  Lost in the misery of her thoughts, it took her a moment to realize that someone had said her name. She opened her eyes and looked into Lugh MacKeir’s.

  She was so shocked to see him that she barely considered the fact that she was completely naked in the water. “What … what do you want?”

  He tendered a slow, lazy smile. “You.”

  May Saint Brigid preserve her, Iosobal thought. She hunched over in the water, hoping her hair hid at least some of her body from view. “You cannot … not after—”

  “Oh, but I do.” With the same calm purpose he’d shown earlier, he started taking off his clothes.

  Iosobal’s mouth dropped open. She was so fascinated by the sight that she didn’t even blink.

  First his tunic, baring his smooth, muscular chest and his rippled stomach. Iosobal felt heat steal over her.

  Next, his boots. Dear Lord, even his feet were beautiful, Iosobal thought. And very large.

  His hose disappeared next, revealing strong calves. The heat inside her intensified.

  His hands paused at the tie to his braies. He gazed at her, his eyes glowing like fire-lit emeralds. Then, he yanked the tie and stepped out of them to stand on the edge of the pool.

  Iosobal thought she might just faint for the first time in her life. He looked like a statue, all planes and hollows of muscle, a sprinkling of dark hair on his chest and legs. Her gaze drifted down and froze. She couldn’t swallow, she couldn’t blink, she couldn’t even breathe.

  He stepped down into the pool and Iosobal somehow managed to find her voice. “You should not be here,” she said.

  His smile widened. “But you want me to be.”

  “I—” She broke off when his hand caressed her cheek.

  “No more games, Iosobal. I have made it plain that I want you.” He glanced down and chuckled. “Even if I never said a thing.”

  Fire rushed up Iosobal’s body to pool in her face. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh in sheer delight, or beg for mercy. This was the absolutely last way she’d imagined this terrible evening would end.

  His hand drift
ed lower and covered one breast.

  Iosobal told herself to pull away, but her body thought otherwise, her breast aching and full, pushing into his hand. What are you doing? her inner voice shouted. But the sensations skittering through her drowned the voice out.

  “Ever since you tried the ritual with Ailie, I’ve wanted to touch you,” he said, smoothing his fingertips over her nipple. “Just like this.”

  Iosobal closed her eyes, and his hand stilled.

  “No,” he whispered, his breath fanning her hair. “You will not hide this time.” His lips skimmed across her forehead.

  Before Iosobal could halt herself, she moaned.

  “Open your eyes. Look at me. See what I am doing to you.”

  Iosobal blinked her eyes opened and gazed into Lugh’s deep green eyes. He rolled her nipple in his calloused fingertips, and her breath quickened. She felt too heavy to move, yet weightless at the same time, buoyed by the warm water. “Lugh,” she began.

  “Shh,” he whispered, then bent down and kissed her.

  The instant his lips touched hers Iosobal knew any thought she had of denying him had surrendered. She sighed and wound her arms around his strong neck, threading his hair through her fingers.

  He kissed her as if she were the most delectable sweet he’d ever had, his tongue tasting, stroking, claiming her own. He tasted like wine and sin and Iosobal couldn’t get enough, couldn’t kiss deeply enough, couldn’t get close enough.

  Then, his hands moved, one stroking down her back, the other gliding down her belly.

  Iosobal froze when his hand reached the juncture of her thighs. But even as she told herself to stop this now, Lugh thrust his tongue into her mouth and she opened her legs. With a guttural noise, he was touching her, opening her, his knowing fingers sending such flashes of pleasure rolling though her that Iosobal forgot about anything else but how to feel.

  He eased back and Iosobal opened her eyes. His fingers never stilled, stroking in circles over a part of her Iosobal knew existed but had never dared touch. With each stroke, tension inside her grew, a slow pressure building, demanding. “Oh,” she groaned as she ground herself against his hand. “Dear Saint Brigid. What do you do to me?”

  He smiled. “Let go, Iosobal. Give to me.”

  She could only gaze helplessly at him, beyond words, beyond anything but her body’s demands. Faster and faster he stroked, holding her back with his other hand so that she didn’t slip under the water, holding her a prisoner to his touch. And then he thrust a thick finger into her sex and the pressure exploded.

  Iosobal shrieked and bucked against his hand as her body clenched down.

  While she still shook from the force of it, he quickly lifted her. Iosobal dimly realized that he now sat on the ledge and she was sprawled across his lap, her knees on either side of his firm thighs. His hard length touched the entrance to her body, and Iosobal’s mouth went as dry as sand.

  She looked at him, his expression taut, his gaze intense, and thought of a leashed panther, all power and sinew barely held in check. She shook with a combination of desire and fear, part of her wanting him inside her so badly she ached with it and another part afraid to take him.

  But instead of plunging into her, he lifted her and took her breast into his mouth, laving and sucking her sensitive flesh until the heat inside her began to rise once more. Dear Lord, she couldn’t take any more of this. She grasped his shoulders and slid forward on his lap, arching her body against his.

  Lugh lifted his head like an animal scenting prey. Then, he eased her down, slipping inside her so gently that Iosobal let out a long moan. The hard fullness of him filled her, deeper then deeper yet. Iosobal threw back her head, panting, her legs spread, every inch of her focused on the feel of Lugh MacKeir’s hot flesh inside her own.

  “Iosobal,” he grunted, as he wrapped a hand in her hair. He pulled her head down for a savage kiss and thrust deep. Iosobal flinched at the sharp slice of pain.

  “Easy,” Lugh murmured as he kissed her cheek, her throat. “’Twill pass.”

  Iosobal laid her head against his broad shoulder and shuddered. “I hope not too soon.”

  He laughed then and kissed her forehead. Then all mirth disappeared as he moved again, slowly lifting her, then lowering her, long sweet strokes that fanned the fire inside her.

  He was holding back. She could see it in his eyes, feel it by the way he grasped her waist. Drawing it out, leashing his passion. Her gaze narrowed and something inside her stirred to life, her own inner panther. “I want all of you.”

  His gaze flashed.

  “Everything,” she said, astounded at her boldness.

  “Than, that is what you shall have.” He rose with her in the water, still embedded in her. When she wrapped her legs around him, he let out a hiss. “What I would not do for a soft bed.”

  Through the haze of desire clouding her mind, Iosobal pointed. “’Tis a door there. Passageway leads to my chamber.”

  Before she finished the explanation, he was through the door and striding down the passage. With each stride, his sex slid and pulsed inside her. By the time they reached her chamber, they were both panting and Lugh was nearly at a run.

  They burst into her chamber and landed in a tangle on Iosobal’s bed. Lugh bent to kiss her and anchored her thighs, pressing hard into her.

  “Yes,” she said on a breath. “Everything.”

  He paused for an instant, then looked down at her with dark eyes and began to thrust. Slow to start, then faster, their wet skin slapping together. Iosobal grabbed fists of the bedcovers and wound her legs around his hips.

  He lifted her onto his thighs, pounding into her with an endless rhythm.

  Iosobal glanced down and stared, transfixed. She felt so open, so exposed, but oddly enough, wanted more.

  His pace quickened, deepened, and his breathing grew harsh. “No,” he said. As he plunged again and again, his fingers found her. One stroke sent her body aflame.

  “Lugh,” she moaned.

  “Aye. Come and fly with me,” he said.

  Dear Saint Brigid, she no longer knew where he ended and she began. She bucked and arched into him, her body winding tighter and tighter and …

  She screamed at the same time Lugh let out a roar, convulsing around him with great spasms as he shot warmth into her, his teeth clenched.

  She didn’t even know when it ended. Some time later, she became aware that she lay upon her bed enfolded by a very large and very naked Lugh MacKeir. His arm curled possessively across her belly. On the edge of the bed Artemis rested her head, her knowing gaze seeming to ask Iosobal what to do.

  If only Iosobal knew. Lugh was so warm, so solid, that she let her eyes drift closed. Deep down, she realized that she never wanted to move, never wanted this incredible feeling of soft closeness to end. And what of what happened before? her inner voice asked. Iosobal caught her breath, remembering. The desire to experience such pleasure again gnawed at her, made her skin itch with it.

  For a wicked moment, she wondered what it would be like to nudge Lugh awake, take his hand and put it on the place that most yearned for his touch, spread her thighs, and invite him to take her just like that, like an animal claiming his mate.

  Her breathing turned shallow, her loins involuntarily clenching at the mental picture.

  Or she could transport them to the far side of the island, where a rough shelter still stood next to the shore. Keep him for days, with nothing to do but give and receive pleasure. There was a pool beneath a waterfall where they could swim. A secret place where she could glut herself on the magic of Lugh MacKeir until she’d had her fill. The thought was so tempting Iosobal had to grip the bedcover to stop herself from making it so.

  Artemis whined and shifted her head. Iosobal gazed into her eyes and a chill of awareness washed through her. What was she thinking? The man had offered no words of love, no mention of treating what they had done as any more than a mutual sharing of pleasure.

  So ta
ke it for what it is, her inner voice prodded. You may never have the chance again, certainly not with a man like Lugh MacKeir.

  But therein lay the problem, her mind argued. You cannot jump into the flame and emerge unscathed. She edged out of his hold, carefully moving his arm onto the bed.

  Artemis thumped her tail as Iosobal scooted out of bed. Clothes, Iosobal thought. She fluttered a hand and was gowned in a bliaut of pale turquoise, her hair neatly plaited in a crown around her head.

  She cautioned a glance back at the bed and sighed in relief. Lugh’s eyes remained closed, his breathing deep and even. Thank Saint Brigid, Iosobal thought. Embarrassment flowed over her as she stared at him, ran her gaze over his magnificent body. What could she possibly say to him this morn?

  She shook her head in a vain effort to clear it, and crept out of the chamber, Artemis on her heels.

  SHE LOOKED BACK, LUGH THOUGHT AS HE OPENED HIS eyes fully. He grinned and swung his legs out of bed, then started laughing when he realized he had not a stitch of clothes in the chamber.

  Perhaps he should just wrap himself in Iosobal’s pink and white coverlet and saunter into the hall to break his fast. By the saints, it would almost be worth it to see the expressions on people’s faces, particularly if Iosobal happened to be there.

  Instead he stretched, and walked over to the window to study the play of sunlight on the sea. When she’d moved his arm, it took all of his considerable self-control not to haul her back and kiss her until she forgot to run away. You took advantage of her vulnerable state, his conscience reminded him. Marched in and took what you wanted when her resolve had been weakened by the horror of what she’d done.

  “Aye,” he said aloud. “And I would do it again. A clever mon uses any weapon he has.” And it was past time for the fortress around Lady Iosobal to crumble. She shut herself off from far too much, and he could see the effects of it in her somber gaze.

  That gaze had changed when he’d loved her, turning nearly black with desire, and then flashing in surprise at the sensations taking hold of her. By the saints, he could fall into the magic of those eyes, that passion, and be a happy man for the rest of his days.