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Lost Touch Series

Page 67

by Amy Tolnitch


  A slow smile of approval spread across his face, and Giselle had to remind herself to chew.

  “So, the little nun is not beyond trying new things,” Piers commented, his teasing expression taking the bite from his words.

  “Not entirely, it seems.”

  Piers stabbed another piece of beef and laid it on her trencher.

  “My lord—”

  “Piers,” he said.

  “Uh, I—”

  “I wish you to call me Piers. Can you grant me that boon?”

  “Piers, then.” Giselle abruptly realized that using his given name leant an air of intimacy to their conversation. “What are you doing after dinner?”

  “Do you have need of me?”

  “I, uh, no. I am simply curious.”

  “Damn fool is going to see if he can break his neck,” Gifford grumbled.

  Piers gave his uncle a disgruntled look, which Gifford ignored. “ ’Tis part of what I do.” He turned back to Giselle. “I have acquired a new horse who needs training.”

  “Thing’s a demon, not a horse,” Gifford offered.

  “Do you not have grooms able to do the task?” Giselle asked.

  “None as skilled as myself.”

  Giselle sipped wine and tried to figure out a way to warn him without rousing suspicion. “I thought perhaps we could commence my riding lessons.”

  “Of course. Come to the stable with me. ’Twill not take long for me to ride Angel.”

  “Angel? That is the horse’s name?”

  Piers smiled, and Giselle’s stomach fluttered. “Aye. I suspect ’Tis the former owner’s attempt at a jest.”

  “Why not have someone else ride him today?”

  “The girl shows good sense, Piers,” Gifford said. “You are going to end up in the dirt.”

  “ ’Twill not be the first time.”

  Giselle bit her lip.

  Piers leaned close. “Are you concerned for me, lady wife?”

  “I … Giselle gazed into his eyes and momentarily lost the ability to speak. “I just have a bad feeling about this Angel,” she finally managed to say, wincing inside at the mention of her “feeling.”

  “No doubt due to your inexperience with horses. But I am touched by your concern.”

  What more could she do? Giselle thought. Aside from revealing the fact she’d had a vision of him being hurt, there seemed to be no way to dissuade him. She looked away. He would probably not believe her anyway, she reasoned. And she would have exposed herself for naught.

  The memory of the Abbess’s hard look of condemnation washed through her mind, and she suppressed a shiver. No, she thought. She would simply pray that Piers remained safe. That would have to suffice.

  Chapter

  IX

  Piers marched off to the stable with Giselle in tow. For the first time since he’d seen her, her lush mouth pursed in disapproval, he had a tiny shred of hope that perhaps their marriage had a chance.

  “Goin’ to try Angel?” Michel, one of the grooms, asked as they walked into the stable.

  “Aye,” Piers responded. “Today is the day Angel learns some manners.”

  Michel smiled. “Good luck to you.”

  “ ’Tis a matter of skill, Michel,” he said with a grin. He turned to Giselle, who had remained silent since they left the hall. “When I finish, I thought to put you on Etain,” he told her, gesturing to a stall. “She is a good, solid girl.”

  Giselle followed the direction of his arm, and Etain stuck her white head out to nudge Giselle’s shoulder. Giselle laughed and stroked the horse. “She is sweet.”

  He moved next to her, fascinated by the sound of her laughter. It struck him that he had never heard her laugh before. “The one next to her is Angel.”

  At the sound of his name, the improbably named Angel put his head over the stall door with a snort.

  “He is beautiful,” Giselle said, but didn’t move to touch him.

  “Aye, that he is. Once he is trained, I intend to breed him to one of my mares.”

  Giselle flushed and looked away.

  Piers quickly saddled Angel and led him out of the stall.

  “He seems quite calm,” Giselle commented, her brow furrowed.

  “He is until someone tries to get on his back,” Michel said.

  Piers led the horse into a fenced area next to the stable. Giselle stood with Michel, watching, her turquoise eyes glowing with concern.

  If he ended up eating dirt, it was worth it to evoke this change in attitude from his bride, Piers thought with an inward smile. He walked the horse around the pen, then stopped next to Giselle and Michel.

  “Be ready for ‘im,” Michel advised.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Giselle asked quietly. “You could be hurt.”

  Piers laughed. “Nay.” He launched himself atop Angel.

  The moment he landed in the saddle, the horse bolted. Piers immediately turned Angel in a circle, but it barely slowed him down. He turned him in a tighter circle. “Cease, you stubborn beast!” he shouted.

  Angel responded by bucking and fighting the bit, tossing his head and speeding up once more.

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” Piers yelled at him, yanking the horse’s head around until his nose was nearly at Piers’s boot.

  Angel bucked again, then reared and bolted to the far side of the pen.

  “He doesn’t lack for energy,” Michel called.

  Piers was too busy trying to regain control of the horse to answer. He turned Angel in a tight circle at the fence, only to be bucked again. “Damn horse,” Piers cursed.

  Angel spun to the right and dropped down, before launching forward.

  Piers lost a stirrup, but clung to the horse’s back. At a cry of dismay, he glanced up to find Giselle staring at him with stark fear in her eyes, her face drained of color.

  Angel spun again and bucked. Distracted by Giselle’s expression, Piers cursed as he felt his body fly off the horse. He landed hard on the dirt.

  Giselle screamed, and he looked up to see Angel rear over him. He rolled, barely escaping the horse’s hooves. Michel ran into the ring and chased Angel away from him.

  “Are you all right?” Michel asked, bending over his form.

  By the saints, it hurt to breathe. Piers slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. Pain lanced through his chest. “Think I might have cracked a rib or two,” he said lightly.

  Michel reached down a hand and helped Piers to his feet. Though he forced a smile to his face, his body throbbed with pain. “Not sure anybody’s going to be able to ride that beast,” Michel said as they walked toward the gate to the ring.

  “Not unless he decides to allow them, I fear,” Piers answered, biting back a groan. “Well, my lady,” he said as they neared Giselle. “It appears your feeling was a valid one.”

  She looked down before meeting his gaze. “Are you injured?” she asked in an undertone.

  Piers thought of denying it, but decided he might make more progress with his bride if she thought he needed tending. He groaned and rubbed his chest. “Aye, my ribs, I think.”

  “Can you make it your chamber?”

  He groaned again. “Aye, with aid.”

  Within a few minutes, Piers found himself installed in his chamber, and miracle of all miracles, being fussed over by his wife. He sat on a stool, suppressing a grin.

  “I need a length of cloth,” she muttered as she pulled clothing from his trunk. “And some arnica.”

  The door crashed open and Piers looked at his brother. “What happened?” Cain asked. “Are you hurt?”

  “Angel happened,” Piers said dryly. “Is your lady wife about? Giselle needs some supplies.”

  “She is in the solar.”

  “Pray, remain where you are,” Giselle told Piers with a frown. “I shall return anon.” She bustled out of the chamber.

  Cain lifted a brow. “Are you hurt?”

  Piers sighed. “Aye. Michel, see if you ca
n find some wine. I feel like I just ate a large clump of dirt.”

  Michel exited.

  “ ’Tis my ribs,” he told Cain. “Cracked, most likely.” His eyes twinkled. “My lady wife is tending me.”

  “You are fortunate your injuries are not worse.”

  “To be honest, they feel fairly bad at the moment,” Piers said, trying but failing to draw in a deep breath.

  “That horse is unmanageable.”

  Piers nodded. “I have to agree. Not sure what to do with him, though. No one would want to buy the beast.”

  “Perhaps you should put him down.”

  “ ’Tis a thought.” Piers winced. “Nay, I cannot kill him. As long as no one tries to ride him, he is easy to handle.”

  Giselle burst back through the door carrying a basket, Amice close behind her. “What happened?” Amice asked as she waddled into the chamber.

  “Just as Giselle predicted,” Piers told her.

  Amice tightened her lips, and exchanged a glance with Cain. “Do you need aid?” she asked Giselle.

  “Aye. We need to get his tunic off.”

  Well, this should be interesting, Piers thought. Unfortunately, pain overshadowed his enjoyment over having Giselle actually touch him. By the time they succeeded in removing his tunic and undershirt, a sheen of sweat covered his forehead. “Damn beast,” he said.

  Michel strode in with a jug of wine.

  “Thank you, Michel,” Piers said, gratefully accepting a cup.

  Giselle knelt before him with a pot in her hand. Piers saw her tremble, and bit back a smile. He remained completely still while she spread some kind of balm over his skin. By Saint George’s sword, it was a good thing Cain and Amice remained. The innocent touch of Giselle’s hand was sending quite a different message to his mind and his body.

  He sniffed. “What is this?”

  “Arnica. ‘Twill help the bruising.” She shook out a length of linen and began wrapping it around his ribs.

  Amice put her hand on Cain’s arm. “Well, love, it appears we are not needed here. Lady Giselle clearly knows what she is about.”

  Piers grinned at her. “Go on. I am in good hands.”

  Giselle stiffened, but continued binding his ribs. After Amice and Cain left, Piers took a sip of wine. Giselle was so close he could smell her scent—lavender and warm woman. He told his body to calm, but the command had no effect.

  Finally, she drew the fabric taut and tucked it in.

  “Thank you, Giselle,” he said, taking her chin in his hand.

  “You are welcome, my lor … uh … Piers. You should rest now.” “Sit with me,” he said, gesturing to the other stool. “Have some wine.”

  Giselle looked around the chamber as if she sought an escape path. “I need …” She flushed. “I shall return in a moment.”

  After she left, Piers allowed himself to smile. Off to the garderobe, no doubt. While he waited, he found himself staring at an empty cup. The opportunity was there, but should he take it? With an inward shrug, he slowly rose and made his way to a trunk along the wall. Stifling a groan, he bent and retrieved the vial Gifford had given him. Just a small bit, he thought, and splashed the liquid into Giselle’s cup before adding wine from the jug. He couldn’t imagine a mixture of herbs and honey would soften the lady’s heart, but who knew?

  By the time Giselle returned, he was seated on the window seat, leaning against the cool stone. “Join me,” he said, patting the wide stone seat.

  Hesitantly, she collected her cup and sat beside him.

  “How did you know?”

  She took a gulp of wine and looked out over the sea.

  “Giselle. Look at me.”

  Slowly, she shifted her gaze to his. Damn, but the woman had beautiful eyes, he thought. They reminded him of the sea on a bright, sunny day. Troubled eyes, however, at the moment. “How did you know?” he asked again.

  She licked her lips.

  Those lips would tempt the most devout of priests, Piers thought as he shifted on the window seat. But even if he could persuade the woman to yield to him, he was in little condition to do much about it.

  “ ’Twas just a feeling, naught more,” she finally said.

  “Do you often have these kinds of feelings?”

  She shrugged and sipped more wine. “Sometimes.”

  “I shall be sure to listen to you the next time,” he said, smiling at her.

  For a moment, she appeared shocked, but then she nodded. “What shall you do with the horse?”

  “I still think that with time and the right rider, Angel could be a fine mount. I cannot sell him the way he is.”

  “Perhaps—”

  “What? Speak your mind, my lady.”

  “Well, perhaps he does not like men,” she offered.

  Piers started. “I had not thought of that. Still, there is not a woman I would risk on him. Amice is a fine rider, but she is nearly ready to give birth.”

  A flash of concern crossed Giselle’s face.

  “Have you a feeling about Amice?”

  “Do you mock me, my lord?”

  “Piers,” he corrected. “After today, why would I mock you?”

  Again, she looked surprised. “I … nay. Childbirth is always a perilous matter, though.”

  “But well worth it, do you not agree?”

  “I have never given it much thought.”

  “Surely you desire children.”

  She flushed and looked down. “I never thought to be in a position to bear children.”

  “Now you are. Well, almost,” he added with a chuckle.

  Her flush deepened. “I thank you for your patience.”

  “Were my ribs not paining me, I am not sure just how much patience I could summon.”

  “You are in pain? You should lie abed.”

  “ ’Tis not too bad. I am accounted a good lover, you know,” he said carefully, watching for her response.

  “So I have heard.”

  She sounded so irked that he laughed aloud. Ignoring the pain in his ribs, he leaned close. “I am looking forward to showing you.”

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

  “Aye. One day soon you shall lie in that bed with me, drawing pleasure from my touch, learning how to grant me the same—”

  “My lord, please.” She shot off the window seat. “I have been taught ’Tis wrong to seek such pleasure.”

  “I know. And it will be my great privilege to show you just how wrong such teachings are.”

  Giselle’s throat worked and she gulped a big drink of wine. “You should rest now,” she said, backing up. “I have …”

  “Prayers to recite?”

  “Uh, yes.” She set down her cup. “Many.”

  Piers chuckled as she whirled and escaped their chamber. “One of these days, you shall stay, little nun,” he murmured. By the saints, he could not wait for the day when Giselle succumbed to her body’s natural urgings, the day she sighed his name as she found her release.

  So, do not wait, a voice inside him hissed.

  Not this again, Piers thought. I am not exactly at full strength at the moment.

  A weak excuse, Eikki jeered.

  “Go away,” Piers said, thinking perhaps a nap was in order.

  She belongs to you.

  Piers lay down and closed his eyes. The thought of taking Giselle with this thing inside him, sharing the experience was beyond distasteful. What if he lost control and Eikki took over?

  The idea was too bleak to contemplate.

  You want her. Her innocence draws you.

  Well, Eikki had a point in that, Piers thought. Knowing he would be the first to awaken her desires was a heady feeling. But still, he would prefer to do so by himself.

  Eikki laughed. Oh, I shall be here with you, do not doubt that. Here when you drive yourself between her soft thighs, here when you break through her maidenhead to possess her.

  Piers slammed Eikki back. Dear Lord, what am I to d
o? he wondered.

  Amice could communicate with ghosts. Perhaps she could do something with the spirit of Eikki. Before he ended up taking Giselle in a way that would forever turn her away from him, and with good reason.

  He would have to admit his foolishness and beg for aid. He had no other recourse.

  Giselle stared in disbelief at the man holding out a cloth-wrapped object. “What did you say?” she asked, certain she had not heard aright.

  “My lady, ’Tis a gift from the Bishop of Ravenswood in honor of your marriage.” The man bowed and set the object on the table in front of her.

  “You jest.”

  The man appeared puzzled by her comment. “Nay. The Bishop himself instructed me to deliver this gift to you and your husband. I have also sent a special ewer of wine to your chamber.”

  Giselle looked down at the bundle and felt her throat close. Why would the Bishop send her gifts? Was it possible he felt some remorse for his actions?

  “What is it?” Gifford called over.

  Slowly, Giselle pulled the object close and unwrapped its red silk covering, all the while feeling the curious stares of the others in the hall, and strangely wishing Piers had felt well enough to join her for the evening meal.

  “ ’Tis beautiful, is it not?” Lady Amice asked.

  As Giselle stared at the ornate cross, it suddenly became clear to her just why the Bishop had sent the gift. It was a reminder to her of who she was, of why it was so important for her to cleave to the Lord.

  The memory of the day she’d first encountered the Bishop flooded her mind. His expression of shock slowly turning to revulsion. You were born of sin and avarice, he had told her. Spend the rest of your days in penitence and perhaps you may save your condemned soul from the devil.

  “Giselle?” Amice asked.

  She shook off the memories. “Aye, my lady, the cross is beautiful indeed.” She looked at the Bishop’s messenger, wondering how much he knew of her. His face revealed nothing but polite deference. “Pray convey my thanks to your master,” she said coolly.

  He nodded and backed away.

  “Is there a note with the cross?” the earl asked.

  “Nay,” Giselle answered.

 

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