Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  “Green.” Ailie gave her a gamin grin. “Like my father’s eyes.”

  Iosobal felt a warm lurch in her belly. She furrowed her brow with a chastising look, but Ailie merely responded by widening her grin. “Green it is, then.” Iosobal waved a hand and at once Ailie resembled a wood sprite, clad in a green tunic and hose, with dark green boots on her feet, and her long blonde hair hanging in a silky braid down her back.

  Ailie twirled around in excitement. “Now you, my lady!”

  With a wave of her hand, Iosobal clad herself in garments identical to Ailie’s. The child clapped with delight. “We shall pretend we are fairies,” she said. “In search of a hidden kingdom.”

  In a short time, Iosobal had Ailie secured behind her atop Finian; Ailie’s arms twined tightly around Iosobal’s waist and her thin legs tucked behind Iosobal’s. Iosobal walked the horse down to the shore.

  “Faster,” Ailie said, thrumming her heels against Finian’s sides.

  Instead of responding, the horse craned his head around to look at them and blew out a snort.

  “Why is he not going?” Ailie asked.

  “I believe he is asking me if I am sure.” Iosobal fluttered one rein and nudged Finian. “’Tis all right, boy.”

  Finian launched into a nice, even trot. Ailie bounced along behind Iosobal, but kept her arms tightly wound around Iosobal’s waist.

  “Would you like him to show you some of his tricks?” Iosobal asked, looking back at Ailie’s beaming face.

  “Oh, yes.”

  With a small shift of her seat, Iosobal collected Finian’s trot, and he smoothly went into a rocking movement without moving forward. Ailie whooped and tightened her hold. “He is trotting in place!” she exclaimed. “How does he do that?”

  “I would say that I taught him, but in fact I think he taught me.” She patted Finian and brought him back to a walk. “Good boy.”

  “What else can he do?”

  Iosobal clicked to him and Finian stretched into a canter. Slowly, she collected the movement. “Turn, boy,” she said.

  Finian smoothly moved into a turn without breaking his gait, his hindquarters remaining in nearly the same spot, his front twirling around. The move was one of Iosobal’s favorites.

  When she brought Finian to a halt and turned to look at Ailie, the child’s eyes were huge in her face.

  “Did you enjoy that?” Iosobal asked her.

  “I have never seen a horse do that!”

  “Finian is a very special boy.” Iosobal rubbed his withers and Finian let out a long sigh. “Hold on, Ailie,” she said, then pressed her heels into Finian’s flanks.

  Ailie shrieked with excitement as they raced over the sand. When they reached a curve of the shoreline, Iosobal slowed Finian. She grinned as she turned the horse toward the water. Finian tossed his head, trotted into the shallows, and turned back the way they had come.

  “Come on, boy,” Iosobal yelled and pressed her heels to him. They splashed through water all the way back, Ailie laughing and shouting as water drenched them.

  After Finian slowed to a walk, Ailie loosened her hold on Iosobal. “Can I be in front?” she asked.

  Iosobal considered her request. “Finian can be a lot of horse to manage,” she said.

  “But you will be right here with me.”

  Finian gave a soft nicker as if to say it would be all right.

  Iosobal swung her legs over Finian’s head and landed in the shallow water.

  Ailie’s eyes gleamed with excitement as she took the reins.

  “Hold, Finian,” Iosobal said. She swung back up onto his back and wedged in behind Ailie. “Let him walk a bit.”

  Ailie clucked and Finian began a slow walk through the water, his head stretched down. “He is beautiful,” Ailie said.

  “Aye.”

  “I suppose I should say handsome,” Ailie said with a giggle.

  “Well, he is that too.”

  “Do you think my father is handsome?”

  Iosobal blinked at the back of Ailie’s head. Handsome? Aye, she thought. And beautiful. And far too beguiling for Iosobal’s peace of mind. “I … I suppose most women would find him so.” Iosobal shifted on the saddle, uncomfortable with the direction of her thoughts.

  Ailie turned and gave her an impish grin. “Do you?”

  “Your father is a fine-looking man.”

  “He is very kind, even though he bellows much of the time. And honorable and fair. All of the people of Tunvegan love him.”

  “Well, that is fortunate indeed.”

  “I think that you and father make a very fine match.”

  “Ailie—”

  The child continued as if Iosobal had not spoken. “You are both beautiful. You are both lonely. And I can tell by the way he looks at you that he would like to take you to his bed.”

  Iosobal’s mouth dropped open. She fought down the urge to giggle. He already has, she thought. Only it was my bed. She coughed and tried to think of something bland to say. “Your father and I are very different, Ailie.”

  Ailie wrinkled her nose. “That just makes love more interesting.”

  “When did you become so wise in the ways of love?”

  “I watch and I listen. Isac, our smith, works all of the time and hardly ever smiles. Like Hemming.”

  Iosobal had to smile at that.

  “But Marie, his wife, likes to dance and play; and she laughs all of the time.”

  “How do they get on?”

  Ailie tilted her head back and fixed Iosobal with a steady gaze. “Perfectly. Marie says that they balance each other.” She straightened and pulled her hair around to wring out some of the water.

  And Iosobal found herself staring at the back of Ailie’s neck. Just below the line of her hair was a small pinkish mark. Iosobal narrowed her eyes and studied it. Gradually, she realized that the mark resembled a rose in bloom. She frowned. Something about the mark seemed familiar. But how could that be?

  “I never noticed the lovely mark you have on the back of your neck,” she told Ailie.

  “Do you think it looks like a rose? ’Tis what my mother told me.”

  “Aye.”

  “My mother bore the very same mark.” Ailie reached back and rubbed her neck.

  Where had she seen it before? Iosobal thought hard, but could come up with no answer. She must be mistaken, she decided.

  Ailie’s stomach gave a loud rumble, and she laughed. Finian picked up his pace as they neared the shore below the palace.

  “I think both you and Finian are ready for supper,” Iosobal said.

  “Can I ride him again before we leave?”

  Iosobal’s stomach gave a lurch. “If there is time.” She reached past Ailie and took hold of the reins in case Finian became a little too anxious for his meal.

  Ailie was silent as they walked up the slope. As they reached the stable, she leaned back against Iosobal. “I shall miss it here, though Tunvegan is a wondrous place.”

  They rode into the stable. Iosobal was glad for the dim light as she feared the tears stinging the backs of her eyes might just make it down her cheeks at any moment.

  “And I shall miss you, my lady. I wish you could come back to Tunvegan with us.”

  “I … I shall miss you too, Ailie. Someday you shall have to return and visit me.” Iosobal smiled at Art and handed Ailie down to him. Of course, he did not meet Iosobal’s gaze, but smiled fondly at Ailie.

  “Did you enjoy riding Lord Finian?” he asked her.

  “’Tis a good name for him. And yes, I did!”

  Iosobal dismounted and led Finian into his stall.

  “I can take care of ’im, my lady.”

  Ailie’s stomach rumbled again.

  “Thank you, Art. Clearly, I should seek food for Ailie as soon as possible.” She gave Finian a last pat and joined Ailie, who slid her hand in Iosobal’s, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Iosobal squeezed her hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Wou
ld you like to surprise Niamh?”

  Ailie’s eyes sparkled and she nodded.

  “Hold on tight to my hand.” Iosobal closed her eyes.

  When she opened them, it was to find Niamh staring at them wide-eyed. The bowl she had been holding dropped to the floor.

  Ailie did a little skip and looked around. “I am hungry,” she announced, as if moving from one spot to another in the blink of an eye was an everyday occurrence.

  Niamh’s mouth opened and closed, but no words emerged.

  “Niamh?” Ailie asked, tilting her head. “Is there something wrong?”

  Iosobal hid a smile and fetched herself a cup of wine.

  “I … nay, sweeting. I was just surprised to see you. I did not see you come in the door.”

  “I can be very fast,” Ailie assured her, then turned and gave Iosobal a wink.

  ON THE RUSE OF DELIVERING SUPPLIES TO SARAID, GIFFORD drew out her direction from Niamh and set off with a full basket. As he walked, he mentally reviewed the arguments he’d spent every moment since she fled coming up with.

  One, I love you.

  Two, you love me.

  Three, I am nothing like that whoreson, the thankfully dead Earl of Sturbridge.

  Four, I pledge to love and care for you the rest of my days.

  Five, Falcon’s Craig is a fine holding with many more comforts than you have in your cottage.

  As he finished number five, he smelled roasting fish on the breeze and took a deep breath. The path to Saraid’s cottage wound through leafy trees and a thick carpet of emerald vegetation. Birdsong competed with the chatter of squirrels from deeper inland.

  Be bold, he told himself. Be brave.

  He squared his shoulders and walked into a clearing. Saraid sat before a small thatched cottage, poking a stick into the fire over which a pair of fat trout roasted. Gifford’s stomach rumbled at the smell, and Saraid’s gaze shot up.

  Neither of them said a word, but just stared at each other.

  Finally, Gifford moved forward and set the basket on the ground. “I brought you food from the palace.”

  Saraid stood and brushed her hands down her skirt. “Thank you.” She took off the lid to the basket and examined the contents.

  Gifford shifted back and forth on his feet, willing her to say something to him, to look at him instead of a pile of cheese, bread and who knew what else. After what seemed like hours, she pulled out a stoppered jug.

  “Would you like something to drink?” she asked.

  Dear Lord, how had they come to be so formal, like strangers who happened to encounter each other on their travels? Bold, he told himself. Brave. “Aye, that I would.”

  He sat on a bench outside the cottage. “That fish smells good,” he said, then wanted to bash himself in the face. Idiot, he thought. Tell her how you feel!

  “It will be ready soon,” she answered as she handed him a cup.

  He took a long drink and gazed into her eyes.

  “I … Gifford, I am sorry I left without bidding you farewell. ’Twas cowardly of me.”

  “Aye.” He took her hand. “It was.”

  Obviously, she had not expected him to simply agree with her. Her face tightened, and she pulled her hand away.

  Tell her number one, his inner voice yelled. Go through your list! Gifford opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head. He stood and took back her hands. “Are you truly happy here?” he asked, looking around them at the isolated cottage.

  “I have what I need.”

  He pulled her closer. “Do you?”

  “I … well, yes. I have shelter, clothing, and ample food from my garden and the sea. I have access to fresh water. The cottage is small, but—”

  Gifford stopped her with a finger against her lips. “You talk of possessions. I speak of the heart.”

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Saraid, I have been alone for a long time. As you have. Oh, Falcon’s Craig is full of people, and I have my nephews and others, but I have no one of my own.”

  She started to speak, but Gifford shushed her. “Hear me out, my love.”

  He stroked the back of her hand as he spoke. “I never expected that to change, never thought to meet a woman who would own my heart with one glance. Until I met you.”

  “Gifford, I—”

  “I cannot change the past for you, though I would dearly love to. I cannot erase your memories. All I can do is offer you all I am, all my love until the end of time.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Gifford let out a breath. “Take a chance, Saraid. Please. Take a chance on us. I do not want to live without you.”

  She stared into his eyes and he saw something flare to life. A seed of hope took root in his heart and he squeezed her hand. “I love you,” he said. “With every beat of my heart, every piece of my soul.”

  “I love you too,” she said softly.

  “Be with me. Always.”

  Through tears, she smiled. “Aye.”

  Gifford thought his heart would thud out of his chest, his joy was so great. He gathered Saraid close and released the breath he’d been holding. She wound her arms around him, and they stood wrapped in each other.

  “I think your fish are burning,” Gifford finally said.

  Saraid looked up at him with a playful smile. “I am not hungry for fish.”

  Gifford’s eyes widened in shock as she took his hand and led him into her cottage.

  And there they lingered for the rest of the day.

  Chapter

  XVII

  Lugh scowled at the cave entrance. It had taken the combined efforts of all of them most of the day to move one massive boulder. “By the saints, I truly detest this cave,” he swore as Piers handed him a skin of ale.

  Piers, Branor, and he were to a man soaked with sweat and visibly fatigued. Branor swiped sweat from his forehead and dumped a pail of water over his head. “I have to say, I never imagined the task would prove so difficult.”

  “But look,” Piers said, pointing. “We are nearly there. Mayhap one more day.”

  Lugh followed his gesture. “Aye. I can see why the villagers failed to aid Iosobal.”

  “Hmm.” Piers rubbed his chin, leaving a streak of dirt. “What is more puzzling is why the lady herself could not move the rocks.”

  “What do you mean?” Lugh asked.

  Piers shrugged. “’Tis clear Lady Iosobal possesses some kind of magical power. Why can she not wave a hand and make the rocks move themselves?”

  It was a good question, Lugh thought, and one that had not occurred to him. “Mayhap she does not have the power to move objects.”

  “Or maybe ’tis the cave itself,” Branor offered.

  “Well, whatever the reason, it worked to our advantage. Because of it, she agreed to aid Ailie.” Lugh’s thoughts turned to the lady under discussion. Would she be waiting for him? Looking for him to return and make good on the promise he’d made this morn? Or would she hide and try to pretend nothing had happened?

  He grinned at the thought. Most likely the last, not that it would avail her. He would find her. And once he found her …”

  “Lugh!”

  He blinked and looked at Piers, who wore a disgusted expression. “What?”

  “By the saints, you have the look,” Piers said.

  “The look?”

  Piers tossed back a drink of ale. “Aye. Like you are remembering the pleasure of settling yourself between a woman’s soft thighs. That look.”

  Branor chuckled and began gathering up their tools.

  Lugh tried to frown at Piers, but found himself grinning like a fool instead.

  Piers gave a snort of disgust. “As soon as I clean this stench from myself, I am going to spend the evening in the village. Surely I can find one woman willing to accommodate me.”

  Piers’s tone was so full of frustration that Lugh started laughing. “Try a woman by the name of Beatha. Lady Iosobal suggested her.”

  “
Beatha,” Piers muttered. “Aye.”

  Lugh met Branor’s amused gaze. “Perhaps you should go with him,” Lugh suggested. “Make sure he finds what he seeks.”

  “Does this Beatha have friends?”

  Piers clapped him on the back. “Surely the wench has friends. Let us be off. I cannot bear to see The MacKeir so self-satisfied another moment while we poor drudges work and work without any recompense.”

  They walked back to the palace, the sun still high overhead though it was late afternoon. A gull shrieked and dove for the water, and the sweet scent of wild roses drifted to Lugh’s nose.

  “So, MacKeir,” Piers said in a conversational tone. “I cannot help but wonder. What is it like to take a witch to bed? Does her magic give her any special … abilities?”

  Lugh rolled his eyes. “You cannot think I would share any details.”

  “You did bed the woman, did you not?” Piers waved aside Lugh’s response. “Of course you did. I know the look.”

  Lugh punched him in the arm. “Piers, I do think ’tis a good idea for you to seek company in the village this eve. You are displaying far too much interest in my affairs.”

  Piers eyed him, his gaze twinkling. “Oh, I shall. And I shall make sure my friend Branor is taken care of as well.”

  Branor coughed. “Why do I have the feeling that I am going to regret this?”

  “Enjoy yourself, Branor,” Lugh advised him. He winked. “I intend to.”

  IOSOBAL TRACED A PATTERN ON THE BLUE, INLAID TILE, wondering how she had come to this point in her life. The peaceful rhythm of the chamber washed over her, but she felt apart from herself, as if the Iosobal she had always been had gone, leaving in her place a woman who felt more keenly, saw things more clearly. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

  Earlier, she had lit each of the braziers and placed a combination of soothing plants in each. The smoke wound through the chamber, pungent and sweet. She inhaled deeply and felt her body begin to relax.

  She was hiding, of course. Hiding from herself and hiding from Lugh MacKeir. The very thought of the man sent a shiver through her and she fisted her hand in the folds of her bliaut. All these years, she had fooled herself into believing that she was truly happy living alone on Parraba.