Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  He nearly laughed when he envisioned her reaction to the man he’d become after the Isle of Parraba. Slowing the horse, he imagined their conversation. Well, my lady it appears that I have a bit of a problem. You see, Gifford and I spent some time on an island filled with magic. Unfortunately, some of the magic spilled into me, and now I find I have a very unwelcome, very noxious presence of another man inside me. His name is Eikki. And I have not yet discovered a way to banish him.

  She would undoubtedly faint in abject horror of the very idea of magic. Probably see it as the devil’s work.

  Piers thought she might have a point in that.

  A voice hissed inside him. The wench is a beauty. Use her as you will. She cannot deny you.

  “Shut up,” Piers told the voice. Yes, the girl was a beauty but he’d never before resorted to rape and wasn’t about to start now. It would be rape. He had no doubt of that.

  The irony of his predicament swamped him. He, who had become accustomed to women seeking him out, eagerly lying with him, was now bound to the one woman who would run screaming in revulsion at the prospect.

  There has to be a way out of this, he told himself as he turned his mount back toward Falcon’s Craig. I will talk to the girl and figure out a way to send her back.

  The voice inside him laughed in mocking glee.

  Piers stopped in the buttery and grabbed a jug of wine before making his way to the rose chamber. He felt like burying his face in a barrel before having to deal with the girl Giselle.

  He climbed up curved steps to the rose chamber, gathered his resolve, and knocked.

  No one answered.

  Surely, the girl had awoken by now, he thought. It had been hours. He slowly pushed open the door.

  A shaggy bundle of fur plowed into his legs, nearly making him drop the jug.

  “Guinevere,” Giselle called out.

  The dog gave him a look, then returned to the girl’s side.

  “My lord,” she said, dropping her gaze.

  Piers took another drink. Damn, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her pale hair fell around her in shimmering waves, her generously curved body draped by one of Amice’s pretty gowns. When his sight stopped at her breasts, he had to take another long drink of wine. They were so full they strained the fabric, clearly revealing her ample endowments. Despite her ethereal looks, this was no body of a nun.

  “Lady Giselle,” he began when he found his voice.

  She did not look up. “You should not be in my chamber.”

  Piers rolled his eyes. “We must talk.”

  She glanced up at him from under thick lashes, improbably dark against her pale skin.

  “What do you know of this … agreement between our parents?” he asked.

  Giselle turned a shade paler, but did not answer. She looks like a child, Piers thought, despite her breasts. A timid, frightened child. The idea of marrying the girl was beyond absurd.

  “Why have I not heard of this before today?” he asked her.

  “I do not know, my lord.”

  “Did you know of it?” Stand up and look at me, he wanted to shout.

  “Nay. I knew naught until I left Kerwick.”

  “You must have carried the letter with you when you came to the abbey,” he said, suspicions swirling in his mind.

  “Letter? Mayhap. I … I remember the Abbess looking at what I had brought with me. She must have taken it. I have never seen any letter.”

  “Neither the Abbess nor the Bishop ever told you of it?”

  “Nay.” She looked up then and he saw a trace of defiance in her gaze. “Perhaps they thought it best to ignore it as they know of my wish to take my vows.”

  “Why have you not taken them yet?”

  Uncertainty shadowed her face. “The Abbess did not feel I was ready.”

  Piers leaned against the doorway, surprised at her answer. “What of your parents?”

  Giselle looked away again. “My mother died when I was seven.”

  “And your father?”

  A tremor shook her shoulders before she said, in an undertone, “I do not know of him.”

  “You do not know who he is or do not know where he is?”

  “Both, my lord.”

  Piers frowned. Who was this girl? “How did you come to be in the nunnery?”

  She shrugged. “I do not remember, my lord. I was so young. I remember my mother dying and being alone, but I cannot say how I came to Kerwick.”

  Something was not right about her story, Piers thought. Or missing. “Why did you leave?”

  The girl began crying, tears flowing down her smooth cheeks like rainfall.

  Piers briefly closed his eyes. By Saint George’s sword, what am I to do with this girl? “You wish to become a nun?”

  She nodded through her tears.

  “I shall think on this.” Could it be the document was created by the Bishop as a way to get rid of the girl? But why? The girl seemed perfectly suited to be a nun. “You remember naught of your mother contacting my sire?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “You never traveled to Falcon’s Craig?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  Piers studied her. Even as a green lad, he was sure he would have remembered if a girl as beautiful as Giselle had visited Falcon’s Craig. “We will talk more after I have considered this matter.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Giselle watched Lord Veuxfort leave with a feeling of relief. She sensed he was not entirely satisfied with her answers, but she had no others to give him. She did not understand it herself. Why would her mother have sought to betroth her to a noble man? Why would the earl have agreed?

  He does seem kind, she told herself.

  And, as Nona would say, he was indeed a braw man. His presence had filled her chamber with masculine energy. She shivered, and told herself to forget how broad his shoulders were, how finely hewn his features, how his beautiful brown eyes drew her in.

  “I am a fool,” she told the dog. “The first man I’ve ever met who is not a priest, and my mind is spinning with thoughts I should not have.”

  Remember the rules, she told herself.

  One: Your only purpose is to serve God.

  Two: Unless necessary for a task or in prayer, your voice should remain silent.

  Three: Idleness is a sin.

  Four: Your body must be a pure reflection of God’s grace.

  Five: Honor God by imbibing simple food and drink.

  On number six, she got stuck. She looked at Guinevere in panic. “I cannot remember number six!” The dog gave a sniff.

  “No, wait. Six: To flaunt your body is an offense against God.”

  Seven: To covet possessions is against God’s will.

  Eight: Hard work is a tribute to God’s greatness.

  Nine: The only purpose of fornication is to bear children.

  Ten: Obey and submit to those in authority.

  Eleven: Displays of emotion are coarse and vulgar.

  Twelve: You must resist temptation, for it is the work of the devil.

  At once, she felt better. Lord Veuxfort had said he would think on her wish to take her vows. Perhaps he could devise a way to aid her. Clearly, he wanted the marriage no more than she. They could simply forget their parents’ apparent agreement and she could go her way. Where? her inner voice asked. She pushed back the twinge of pain the thought evoked and patted Guinevere’s head.

  She’d thought she was wanted at Kerwick, but that had turned out to be a lie. It was clear to her now the nuns, other than Sister Gertrude, had tolerated her as long as she produced the embroidered tapestries they sold, and did as they bade her.

  She should have never tried to warn Sister Anne, never let anyone know that sometimes she “saw” things. The Abbess had condemned her “sight” as the work of the devil, no doubt inherited from her disreputable mother.

  Though the people at Falcon’s Craig had been surprisingly hospitable to her, it was clear
she wasn’t wanted here either. Why would she be? A girl with no dowry, no skills in running a household, and who didn’t even know her ancestry?

  What should she do? Giselle wondered. Where should she go? I cannot marry, she thought. I will not marry. “I belong to God,” she told Guinevere. “No one else.”

  And deep in her heart, she knew that God wanted her.

  Giselle spent most of the remainder of the day in prayer. On the morrow, she would have to find the chapel, though today she had no desire to leave her chamber.

  Unfortunately, her stomach felt otherwise. Despite the chunk of bread she’d earlier eaten, her belly cramped with hunger. Lady Amice had asked her to come to the hall for supper, she recalled.

  She bit her lip in indecision. As much as she hated the idea of appearing before all of the strangers likely to gather in the hall, it would be rude to ignore Lady Amice’s invitation.

  Her stomach gave a loud rumble. Guinevere batted her head against Giselle’s shoulder as if to say, “Come on.”

  “Poor Guinevere, you are probably hungry too.” Giselle stood and rubbed the small of her back. “You will have to lead the way,” she told the dog and opened the door.

  Either Guinevere actually understood Giselle or just followed the scent of food, but within a few minutes, Giselle followed the dog across a patch of grass and into a large stone structure.

  When she entered, she paused and gaped at the scene. The hall was immense, a vast, columned space filled with trestle tables and a large dais where she spotted the man whose face had interrupted her prayerful thoughts too many times this day. Though she knew from her escort he was a younger brother, he looked every inch as if he were born to rule Falcon’s Craig, at ease in his exalted position.

  She looked around and saw candles along the whitewashed walls cast lambent light over the room. A fire burned cheerfully in a fireplace set into the wall near the dais.

  And there was food and drink everywhere, either being carried about by servants or resting upon the white-clothed tables.

  Giselle just stood there and took it in. Guinevere abandoned her to seek out scraps.

  Gradually, Giselle became aware of the stares and whispers directed her way and fought a flush. She made herself take a step forward and saw with relief that Gifford approached.

  “Good evening, Lady Giselle,” he said with a welcoming smile. “Are you feeling more refreshed?”

  “Aye.”

  He took her arm and led her to the dais. Along with Lady Amice, Piers, and Saraid sat another man Giselle assumed must be the earl. There were two empty spots at the table.

  When they reached the dais, the man next to Lady Amice stood. He looked much like Piers, but with piercing blue eyes. “Welcome to our home, Lady Giselle,” he said, his voice cool and composed. “I am the Earl of Hawksdown.”

  Giselle dropped a curtsey. “Thank you, my lord, for your kind welcome. You have a beautiful home.”

  “Come now,” Gifford said, pulling her along. “You must be hungry. I know I am.”

  Saraid looked at him, her expression filled with affection. “You are always hungry.”

  “Aye. And thirsty,” Gifford said as he settled Giselle in between him and Piers. He poured wine into a cup and filled the cup in front of Giselle.

  Piers laughed at something the earl said, and Giselle turned to look at him. She drew in a shaky breath. The man was handsome when he was not smiling, but with the smile he was much more than that. A strange flutter swept through her belly that Giselle told herself was merely hunger. An appealing face and form is not the substance of a man, she chided herself.

  She broke off a piece of bread and cut a chunk of cheese.

  “Ah, here we are,” Gifford said, glancing behind him. “You must try this, Lady Giselle,” he said as he dropped chunks of meat onto her trencher. “Adela does a superb preparation of our lamb.”

  Giselle slowly chewed a bite of bread and stared at the meat. It did look wonderful. “I cannot, uh, do not eat meat.”

  She sensed Piers turn and stare at her, but Giselle could not seem to take her eyes off of the forbidden food. It smelled delicious, of some kind of spice she didn’t recognize.

  “God’s wounds,” Gifford said with a snort. “Probably half-starved you in that nunnery.”

  She looked up to find Gifford rolling his eyes.

  “Eat, my lady,” he urged.

  With effort, Giselle ignored the lamb and took a bite of cheese.

  Gifford pushed a cup in Giselle’s direction. When she didn’t pick it up, Gifford snorted again. “Do not tell me you cannot drink wine either?”

  “I have never tried it.”

  “Well, it is past time you did.”

  Giselle looked at him and saw understanding mixed with determination in his gaze. Slowly, Giselle reached out and took the cup, trying a small sip. The Abbess had always claimed wine led a person to foolishness, but Giselle knew the Abbess herself regularly drank wine with her meals. The liquid trickled down Giselle’s throat and hit her stomach with a hint of warmth.

  She braved a look at Piers. Behind him a serving woman stood balancing a platter on her hip. She looked at Piers with familiarity and leaned down to whisper something in his ear. The movement brought her partially exposed breasts down to his eye level and Giselle saw him grin.

  She took another sip of wine.

  As the woman sauntered off, she heard Piers say to Lady Amice, “I notice your hair is still a bit damp.”

  The earl shot him a look, which Piers ignored. “And

  I swear I smell lavender,” he added.

  “No doubt, the two of them have been in the bathhouse again,” Gifford said with a chuckle. “They spend so much time in there, I can hardly find the place available for myself.”

  “Oh?” the earl said with a raised brow. “I seem to remember interrupting you two just yesterday.”

  As the import of their teasing sunk in, Giselle flushed and took a big gulp of wine. How could they casually speak of … she couldn’t say the word, even to herself.

  Apparently undeterred by her presence, Piers laughed again. “Perhaps I shall have to see to constructing a second bathhouse as the one seems particularly popular.”

  The earl leaned forward and put his arm around Lady Amice’s shoulders. “I have heard that the Earl of Carbonneaux has a private bathing room near his chamber with warm and cold water piped in.”

  Giselle blinked. Surely, he was mistaken. She couldn’t imagine such a thing was possible.

  “Hmm.” Piers stroked his chin. “Now, that would be a fine thing indeed.” He turned to Giselle with a challenging look. “What do you think, my lady?”

  Giselle felt the others’ scrutiny as she gazed into Piers’s eyes. A sudden vision of being with him in such a place sprang into her mind. Warm, fragrant water. Soft candlelight. The comfort of his strong arms around her. Her mouth went dry as stone and she gulped some wine. “It would be useful, I suppose,” she managed to say.

  “Aye.” Something flickered in his eyes and Giselle looked away.

  “Well, if you figure this out, I want one too,” Gifford said. “An old man should be allowed his comforts.”

  “Do not forget the old woman you are married to,” Saraid said.

  Gifford put his hand over hers. “You are not old, my jewel. Your beauty and grace still outshine the sun itself.”

  Saraid giggled.

  Giselle knew she should stay until the Lord Veuxfort and his wife left the table, but she suddenly found she could not bear another moment. The hall was too loud, too crowded, too everything. “I pray you will excuse me, my lord,” she said to the earl. “I find I am still weary from my travels, and ‘tis nearly Compline.”

  The earl gave her a long look, then nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

  “I shall escort you,” Piers said as he rose. A faint shadow of disapproval crossed his features before his expression blanked.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

 
; As they walked toward Giselle’s chamber, she struggled to find something to say to break the awkward silence. “Have … have you had the opportunity to consider our earlier discussion, my lord?”

  “Not as yet,” he replied, gesturing for her to precede him up the steep steps to her chamber.

  As Giselle passed him, her body brushed against his and she paused, startled at the sensation. She found herself looking up at Piers’s face only inches from hers.

  His eyes flared and he rested his big hand against her back.

  Giselle felt as if she were a rabbit caught in a snare. She licked her lips, then immediately regretted it when his gaze traveled to her mouth.

  He slowly smiled, and Giselle felt the force of it clear down to her toes.

  “You are determined to become a nun?” he asked quietly.

  “I … yes. That life is all I have ever known.”

  He nodded. “Watch yourself, my lady. These stairs are steep and narrow.”

  Giselle swallowed and began climbing. She sensed him behind her, close enough to touch if she reached back, and smelled the warm, woodsy scent of him. Dear Lord, I beg you for your aid, she silently prayed.

  Piers frowned as he followed Giselle. Damned if Gifford wasn’t right again—the girl was a beauty, particularly when her expression wasn’t fearful or disapproving. Still, she claimed to be committed to God. What a coil this was.

  There was no other solution—he would have to find a way to send her back to Kerwick.

  As soon as possible, he thought, given his body’s response to her nearness. He’d come perilously close to kissing the girl, far too tempted by her lush mouth so close to his.

  The presence inside him stirred to life and lust coursed through him. You needn’t stop at a kiss, the inner voice purred. Take the pretty virgin and seize your pleasure.

  Piers gritted his teeth. He heard a murmur of sound from Giselle and realized the girl was already praying.

  Leave her to God, he told himself. Leave her to God.

  “What do you think of the girl, Cain?” Gifford asked.

  “I am not sure.”

  “ ’Tis obvious she has been very sheltered from life,” Amice offered.