Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  A sliver of moonlight penetrated the leafy canopy and she saw a man’s face. Piers’s face.

  She took a step forward, the image blurring, then clearing once more. Another face stared back at her, his lips curled in anticipation. Dark hair spilled over his shoulders, his face carved into sharp planes and hollows, his black eyes glowing, seeking her.

  “Giselle,” he said. “Come to me now.”

  Horror swamped her, freezing her in place as he plowed through the woods, his dark gaze never leaving her. Deep inside she knew evil stalked her.

  “No!” she screamed, and fled into the night.

  Giselle looked up to find Olive’s small face staring down at her with concern. “Are you all right, my lady?” the child asked, gripping Giselle’s hand tightly in hers.

  “Aye.” Giselle realized she was lying on the ground, and pushed herself into a sitting position. Her head spun, and her stomach felt queasy.

  “What happened? Are you ill?”

  “I am fine,” she assured Olive and managed a smile. “I am still weak from my travels, and I have not eaten well today.” She stood and dusted off her skirt with her free hand. “Let us go to the kitchen.”

  Olive bit her lip, then nodded.

  Giselle let out a breath and let the child lead her forward.

  Chapter

  IV

  Clarise is most distressed over the news of your impending marriage,” Madoch said as he walked next to Piers toward the training grounds.

  Piers eyed his friend. With his blond hair, hard build, and sleepy blue eyes, Madoch seldom went without a woman in his bed. “I am sure you were able to console her.”

  Madoch grinned. “I gave it my best.”

  “And I do not intend to marry Giselle.”

  “Why not? She’s a fetching wench.”

  Piers frowned. “She has spent nearly her entire life in a nunnery. Can you imagine me being shackled to a woman like that?”

  “You can pray together,” Madoch said, chuckling.

  “That is not exactly what I have in mind for a bride. Asides, we have already taken steps to see her settled in another nunnery.”

  “Well, then, I suppose I shall have to look for someone other than the fair Clarise to keep me company.” Madoch let out a long sigh.

  “I doubt you will have to look far.” Piers stopped and withdrew his sword. “Why have you never married, Madoch?”

  Madoch gave him a look of horror. “Commit to one woman? Deprive all the rest of my considerable talents? Surely not.”

  Piers rolled his eyes.

  “Despite my substantial charm and manly form, I am landless. I have little to offer a bride.”

  “You could become seneschal of Styrling Castle. Talbot is getting old.”

  “Too much responsibility, but thank you. Now,” Madoch said as he withdrew his sword. “Let’s see if you have improved enough to beat me.”

  Piers grinned and brought his sword up.

  Giselle watched Piers and another man slash and hack at each other across the training field, wondering how she had allowed Olive to talk her into witnessing this. Piers’s expression was taut and hard as he thrust his blade at his opponent’s neck. Sweat dripped down his face as he dodged a thrust from the other man.

  Dear God in heaven, she thought. The men fought as if they were the greatest of enemies, snarling and snapping at each other.

  “Is that all you have, you lazy whoreson?” Piers called out.

  The other man grunted and attacked, narrowly missing Piers’s shoulder. “You fight like a wench,” he told Piers.

  Piers whirled and arced his sword up. Metal whined when the two blades met. Braced against each other, Piers and his opponent shoved and growled at each other. “Yield,” Piers shouted.

  The other man smiled. “I yield,” he said. “For today.”

  Piers lowered his sword.

  Olive started clapping and Piers turned. For a moment, his gaze snagged on Giselle’s and she fought the urge to step back. The cold intent in his eyes made Giselle feel as if she were a wounded sparrowhawk about to be gobbled up by a predatory falcon.

  “Uncle Piers, that was very well done,” Olive said.

  Piers’s expression cleared and he gave Olive a smile. “Why, thank you, Olive. And Lady Giselle. How nice to find you admiring my swordplay.”

  Giselle’s mouth opened and closed. Admiring? She squared her shoulders. “I cannot admire such a violent display. ‘Tis an affront to God.” She knew she sounded stiff and judgmental, but she couldn’t help it. She had listened to the Abbess rail against the sinful violence of men too many times.

  Beside Piers, the other man gave a snort and murmured, “I see what you mean.”

  Giselle stiffened. It didn’t take the sight to know Piers had been speaking of her in less than a flattering way. It doesn’t matter, she told herself.

  Piers marched over to Giselle, an angry look on his face. “An affront to God? Did the pope himself not call upon good Christian men to kill as many of the foul infidels as possible?” he snarled, his lips curled with derision.

  Olive took her hand and gave Piers a stern look.

  “I … I have never understood the pope’s reasoning,” Giselle said. “The Lord instructs us not to kill.”

  Piers laughed. “Does He? I have never had the privilege of speaking to God, myself.”

  Giselle’s lips tightened and she bit her lip. Do not offend this man, she told herself. He holds the key to your freedom.

  “How do you think we defend what is ours, Lady Giselle? With prayer? ‘Tis a man’s skill in battle which allows him to protect his holdings and his people.” He frowned. “And now that apparently includes you.”

  The way he said it made it clear he wished otherwise. Giselle dropped her gaze, stamping down her anger with the ease of long practice. “Forgive me, my lord,” Giselle said as she took a step back, Olive clinging to her hand. “I know only what I have been taught.”

  “Mayhap it is time for you to open your eyes to the world outside your precious nunnery. The real world. The one in which you now reside.”

  “You know of my wish to return to a nunnery, my lord. ‘Tis where I belong.”

  “Aye, that much is clear,” he said.

  “I do not think Lady Giselle should go to live with nuns,” Olive said. “She is too pretty to hide away like that. Do you not think so, Uncle Piers?”

  Giselle inwardly cringed. She lifted her gaze to find Piers studying her. “ ‘Tis the lady’s wish, Olive,” he said.

  Though she had no interest in Piers, Giselle was perversely disappointed he didn’t respond to Olive’s question about her appearance. Vanity and pride have no place in God’s service, she told herself sternly.

  “Though ‘tis indeed a shame to see such beauty closed away,” Piers added.

  Giselle blinked. She loosened Olive’s hold and smoothed down her skirts. “If you will excuse me, my lord, ‘tis almost None.

  He lifted a brow. “Off to the chapel?”

  “Of course.”

  “Of course.” He shook his head and turned away.

  Giselle fled.

  Olive crossed her arms and frowned at Piers. “Do you not like Lady Giselle?”

  He tousled her hair. “I do not know her.” Nor do I want to, he thought, remembering her tight expression of disapproval.

  “She seems nice.”

  “Olive, do not become attached to the woman. She will not be here long.” “Are you not going to marry her?”

  “Nay.”

  Olive stuck out her chin. “Why not? She is very pretty.”

  “Aye, but she is committed to her God.”

  “I like going to mass.”

  “That is because Father Michael always has a treat for you. And you do not go to the chapel seven times a day.”

  “But—”

  Piers raised a hand. “Olive, you do not understand. Marriage is forever. The two people involved should at the least be compatible.
And Lady Giselle is assuredly not well-suited to me. I will not enter into such a barren union.”

  “Then who will you marry?”

  “Mayhap no one. Now, come,” he said, draping an arm around her shoulder. “I have built up a thirst. Madoch?”

  “Aye.”

  “What think you of breeding Tyjs to Skye? She is in season.”

  Madoch fell into step beside Piers and Olive. “ ‘Twould be a good match. Tyjs has the strength and power, but Skye has an elegance about her.”

  Piers focused on his horses and told himself to put the problem of Lady Giselle from his mind. He had no doubt the woman was even now on her knees praying to God to deliver her from such a place of brutality. He had nothing against prayer, of course, but for Giselle it was an obsession and he suspected a well-ingrained way to hide from life. If she knew some of the thoughts that had wound through his brain during training, she would have fainted in horror.

  Eikki was always there, just below the surface, like a snake coiled and ready to spring. Take him, Eikki’s voice had urged. Spill his blood. Win the fight.

  You’ll not overcome me, you bastard, Piers thought. I am stronger than you.

  Eikki laughed. Not strong enough.

  Piers gritted his teeth and shoved the presence down deep.

  Lady Giselle was welcome to her prayers. He had his own problems to deal with.

  I am betrothed to pure innocence, and I harbor a demon inside me, he thought. A demon who would use Lady Giselle as a slave to slake his every desire. Pray her prayers bear fruit. He could hold Eikki back for now, but Eikki increasingly crept into Piers’s thoughts.

  An innocent such as Giselle would be devoured by such a being.

  A sennight later, Piers stood in Cain’s solar in shock.

  Cain gave him a grave look and passed over the piece of vellum. “ ’Tis not the answer I expected.”

  Amice sat on a nearby stool rubbing her belly and looking worried.

  “I do not understand this.” Piers looked down at the Bishop of Ravenswood’s letter. “Not only does he refuse to take her back at Kerwick, he says there is no place in the church for Giselle at all.”

  “It does not make sense,” Cain agreed. “I offered to pay for her to go to another abbey. Usually, the church is eager to accept coin.”

  Piers crumpled the vellum in his fist. “He offers no reason.”

  “No. Most curious.”

  “What could Giselle possibly have done to warrant such treatment? All the woman does is pray!”

  “Obviously, she somehow managed to offend the Bishop.”

  Piers scoffed. “How? Most of the time the girl acts like a scared rabbit. I cannot imagine how she could bring herself to offend anyone.”

  Cain shrugged. “Mayhap she disagreed with some of the Abbess’s teachings. Whatever happened, ’Tis clear she is no longer welcome in a nunnery.”

  “Hell.” Piers eyes lit with an idea. “We could send her to Italy. Surely there is a nunnery close to your villa.”

  “The Bishop of Ravenswood has a long reach, Piers. I doubt they would take her.” Cain gave Piers a sympathetic look.

  “I have to try, Cain. By Saint George’s sword, I cannot be saddled with such a woman.” “There is a small abbey not far from Villa Delphino. I know little about it.”

  Piers felt a glimmer of hope. “Send a message to the Abbess. Mayhap if we offer enough coin, she will accept Giselle.”

  “Nay,” Amice spoke up. “I have heard of that place. ’Tis said to be a poor, mean abbey, with only a few older nuns in residence. You cannot send Giselle there.”

  “There must be something I can do!” Piers paced across the floor. “Perhaps if I go to visit the Bishop myself.”

  “ ’Tis a thought. If naught else, you could discover why he put Giselle out of Kerwick.”

  “I think you should talk to Giselle, Piers,” Amice counseled. “And do not frown and bluster at the poor girl. She has as little a say in this as you.”

  Piers sighed. “I will try, but ’Tis difficult to engage Lady Giselle in conversation. She has spent most of the past sennight closing herself off in either your solar or the chapel.”

  Amice stood and stretched. “She is not comfortable here yet.”

  “I very much doubt she shall ever be,” Piers muttered. He tossed the vellum atop Cain’s worktable and strode from the room.

  Cain put his arms around his wife. “What do you think of this?”

  “ ’Tis a difficult situation. I feel sorry for Giselle, but …” Amice shook her head and leaned into him. “I want Piers to find what we have.”

  Amice patted his hand, and turned her face to his with a smile. “ ’Tis a rare thing to find that kind of love.”

  Cain smiled back at her. “Aye, I am a lucky man.”

  “Yes, you are.” Amice covered her yawn. “And one with a very weary wife.”

  He smoothed his hand down her belly and felt movement. “Our son is anxious to make his appearance.”

  “Perhaps the babe will be a girl.”

  “A girl who looks like her mother would be a treasure.” The thought of it brought a rush of warmth to Cain’s chest. Dear Lord, he was a fortunate man. Even after all this time, he still woke up each morn scarcely believing he had found the sense to win Amice’s heart a second time.

  “I wonder,” Amice began then stopped.

  “What is it, sweet?”

  “A small thing. Giselle … she seemed to know the babe would be a girl.”

  “How could she?”

  “What if she has some special ability? Could be a reason for the church to turn against her.”

  Cain groaned and rested his chin on Amice’s head.

  She laughed. “You married a woman who can talk to ghosts. And think of the woman Lugh married.”

  “I try not to. I am thankful for your talent, particularly since you were able to rid me of Muriel, but what I have heard of Iosobal goes beyond my imaginings.”

  “Giselle said if she ever had a child, she would wish for a girl. Perhaps that is all it was.”

  “I hope so. Do not mention anything to Piers. He has enough to worry about, without wondering if his betrothed has the sight too.”

  “Does Piers seem … different to you?”

  “How?”

  “I do not know exactly. It is just a feeling. Sometimes he seems harder, darker than usual.”

  “Aye, I know what you mean. I questioned him about it. ’Tis no doubt the strain of this betrothal hanging over him.”

  “He may have to marry her, Cain.”

  Cain tightened his grip on her. “I know, love. I know.”

  Piers found Giselle in the chapel. She knelt in front of the altar, a circle of sunlight surrounding her, her silvery blond hair gleaming. No one else was about. He could hear the whisper of her voice, and for some reason, it sent a chill down his spine. No doubt Eikki’s reaction to being within a house of God, he thought with resentment.

  What could this woman possibly have done to the Bishop of Ravenswood? She was like an angel kneeling there, pure and apart from others. Far apart from him and the man he had become after Parraba. He was almost hesitant to intrude, but the words of the Bishop’s letter rang in his mind. “Lady Giselle,” he said.

  She straightened and glanced back.

  “I need to speak with you.”

  She bent her head briefly, then crossed herself and stood.

  “Walk with me,” he said.

  “Have you news, my lord?” she asked softly.

  “Aye.” They walked out into the sunlight and Piers turned toward the garden. He didn’t say anything more until they walked through the gate into the garden. The girl is your responsibility now, the Bishop’s letter had said. She is not welcome in the church.

  Giselle stopped and gazed at him, her hands clasped tightly together, her expression wary.

  “I am confused, my lady.”

  “Confused?”

  “Aye. Very.” Do n
ot frown, he reminded himself. “The earl sent a letter to the Bishop of Ravenswood requesting either you return to Kerwick or be permitted to enter another nunnery. We offered to pay for your entrance, of course.”

  Her gaze brightened.

  “He refused our requests.”

  Her shoulders shook and she looked away.

  “Why, Giselle?”

  She fluttered her hands, but did not answer.

  “Why would the Bishop refuse to aid you?”

  “I … I do not know.”

  Piers narrowed his eyes. “Did he force you to leave Kerwick Abbey?”

  Her throat worked, then she slowly nodded. She still didn’t look at him.

  She is like Avalon, he realized, remember the mare he’d owned several years ago. Whatever had befallen the horse before she arrived at Falcon’s Craig, it had so affected her it had taken Piers two years to gain the horse’s trust enough to ride her. But he could not simply put Giselle in a stall and leave her to become accustomed to her new home. “What happened, Giselle? I want to help you, but I do not understand this. Why is the Bishop so determined to deny you your wishes?”

  When she turned to look at him, her eyes were so bleak his heart softened. “He has always hated me,” she said slowly.

  “For what reason?” Piers furrowed his brow in puzzlement.

  She let out a long sigh and bowed her head. “Because I remind him of my mother.”

  “He knew her?”

  “Aye.” She lifted her gaze. “You should know that I am illegitimate. My father is the Bishop, though he shall never admit to it.”

  Piers blinked. “Your father? But, how? How do you know this?”

  A bitter smile crossed her lips. “He told me once. ‘Twas a mistake, but apparently I look very much like my mother. He was … angry to find me at Kerwick.”

  “I see.” Actually, he didn’t at all, but he couldn’t think of how to respond to this surprising revelation. Illegitimate. All at once, he wanted to laugh out loud.

  “ ’Tis another reason why marriage between us would not suit,” she said.

  Piers opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He was half tempted to tell her of his own mixed parentage, but thought better of it. “You are not at fault for the circumstances of your birth.”