Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  “Odd.”

  Giselle carefully rewrapped the cross. What could she possibly say? Odd was not the word she would choose. Cunning, perhaps, like a powerful spider who never made a move without the idea of furthering his own cause.

  The only reason she knew anything about him was Sister Gertrude. From her, she’d learned the Bishop was the younger son of an impoverished earl. He had excelled in rising in the church, so much so the king had granted him a wealthy castle.

  Why would such an ambitious man have risked being discovered breaking his vow of abstinence? She had never understood it, and had never had the chance to ask her mother about what had happened.

  It doesn’t matter anymore, Giselle, she told herself. He has no control over you now.

  “Oh!” Lady Amice exclaimed.

  The earl immediately looked concerned. “Is it the babe?”

  “I … oh!” she said again, leaning against him, her eyes wide. “I think so.”

  “Is she kicking?” Saraid asked.

  “No, it is not that. Oh, my,” Lady Amice said on a long breath.

  Fear curdled in Giselle’s belly. “Perhaps you should send for the midwife,” she told the earl.

  For a moment he froze in clear panic. “Hawis!” he yelled.

  Hawis bustled toward the dais.

  “Fetch the midwife.” The earl’s face split into a wide grin. “We are going to have a babe.”

  Hawis beamed a smile, then whirled and sped out of the hall.

  The earl jumped up and swept Lady Amice into his arms.

  She giggled. “I am not ill.”

  He gazed down at her with such raw devotion Giselle caught her breath. In one instant, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be loved like that, and in the next, her heart wrenched at the possibility her vision of Amice might come true.

  What could she do? She had skills at healing, true, but surely the midwife knew her business.

  “Cease your dithering and get Amice to comfort,” Gifford boomed. “I’ve a grand-niece coming!”

  Amice laughed again as the earl bore her off. Saraid rose and followed them. “I shall stay with you until the midwife comes,” she told Amice.

  Giselle was left with only Gifford for company.

  “And now we wait,” he said, refilling his cup and then hers. “If I know my nephew, he will be hovering over poor Amice until she throws him out.”

  “He appears to be very devoted to her.”

  “Aye.” Gifford gave a snort. “Wasn’t always so, at least not that a body could see. The damn fool almost lost her.” He eyed Giselle in a way that made her want to squirm on her stool. “Until Muriel, God rest her troublesome soul, brought Cain and Amice back together, Cain thought only of duty. Duty to Falcon’s Craig and to the family.”

  He said the word as if it were a curse. “Duty is not a bad thing,” she said.

  “Aye, you are of the same ilk, only your duty is to God.” Surely, he could not be criticizing her devotion to God? That would be blasphemous.

  He shook a finger at her. “Do not look at me like that. There is nothing wrong with worshiping God, of course.”

  “I … I fear I do not understand.”

  “ ’Tis simple.” He took a long drink of ale. “Duty is not living.”

  “I—”

  “I can see you still do not understand. Would that you had been here when Muriel was still haunting us.”

  Giselle decided another sip of wine was in order. “You truly believe in ghosts?”

  He chuckled. “I do, indeed. I saw the shade with my own eyes, as did many others.” He leaned near her. “In the end, however, Muriel served a purpose. She aided my stubborn nephew to open his eyes and his heart.”

  She finally understood. “ ’Tis not the same.”

  “Is it not?”

  “Nay.” Giselle rose and took up the cross.

  He didn’t say another word, but simply watched her go. The truth was, he didn’t need to and he clearly knew it.

  In the middle of the night, Giselle suddenly awoke. Dear Lord, what was wrong with her? she wondered. Her stomach roiled, and she jumped out of bed, managing to reach the chamber pot just in time to retch.

  She knelt on the floor and wiped her mouth. Perhaps her body was so unused to eating meat it had made her sick, she thought, but then dismissed the idea, remembering the delicious stew she’d eaten at Padruig’s dwelling.

  “Giselle?” Piers asked, leaning his head over the bed. “Are you all right?”

  The sound of his voice sent a spiral of heat through her to explode in her woman’s place. She stifled a gasp. Her body itched, actually itched and she felt as if her woman’s place was swollen, throbbing, desperate for … Dear God, preserve me, she silently prayed.

  “Giselle?” Piers swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  Her mouth went dry. Even in the dim light of the dying fire, she could see his man part. It was huge, jutting out from his loins.

  She knew she should look away, but her body inched closer. What would it feel like to have him inside her? she wondered. Her body clenched in response to the thought.

  No, she told herself. Resist temptation. “I … my stomach is queasy.”

  Piers glanced down with an odd look, as if he were surprised to find his body in such a state. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to hers. “Come back to bed,” he said, his voice flowing over her skin like warm honey.

  “I—”

  He smiled and reached out a hand. “Come to bed.”

  Her body convulsed inside, already anticipating what he clearly intended. She stood and clenched the folds of her chemise. Run, Giselle, her inner voice screamed. She took a step toward Piers instead.

  “You are injured,” she said, appalled at the husky sound of her voice.

  “Thanks to your care, I am feeling much better.”

  She took another step.

  “Come to me, Giselle,” he cajoled.

  Lead me not into temptation, she recited to herself. It had no effect. Her body had taken over her mind, and she quivered with the realization she wanted him to take her, to show her what his gaze promised. But just as she started to close the remaining distance between them, a loud banging on the door rang through the chamber.

  “Lady Giselle!” a voice called.

  She whirled and edged the door open to find the earl standing there. The anguished expression on his face told her at once her vision of Lady Amice was coming true.

  “Can you help?” he asked, his voice raw.

  “I can try,” she said, rushing over to pull a bliaut from a trunk. Hastily, she laced it on and thrust her feet into a pair of slippers.

  “What is happening?” Piers asked, coming to his feet.

  Giselle cautioned a glance at him, relieved to find he’d pulled a sheet around his body.

  “ ’Tis Amice. The labor is not,” the earl’s throat worked, “not going well.”

  “Go, Giselle,” Piers told her. “Cain, what can I do?”

  The earl ran a hand over his face. “I do not know.”

  Giselle laid a hand on his arm. “I am ready, my lord.”

  They rushed down the stairs and into another tower. Giselle held her skirts up to match the earl’s rapid pace, all the while praying they were not too late. When they entered the chamber where Lady Amice lay, it was just as Giselle had foreseen it.

  Several candles illuminated the scene. Amice lay on a tangle of sheets, her legs splayed open. The pungent smell of sweat filled the air, and blood stained the sheets. To one side of the bed, an older woman stood, grim resignation stamped on her features.

  “Amice!” the earl hollered, running to her side.

  She opened her eyes, and reached a hand to stroke his face.

  Giselle cautiously approached the bed. “What is wrong?” she asked the midwife.

  The woman shook her head. “The babe will not come.”

  “Giselle.” Amice’s voice was so faint Giselle barely
heard her. “Can you aid me?”

  There had been women, from time to time, who had sought the aid of the nuns in childbirth. Giselle had assisted Sister Alice many times with the women as most of the nuns would have no part in such an intimate event. She looked into Amice’s eyes, clouded with pain and fear and nodded.

  She pushed the sheet back over Amice’s legs and barely stifled a cry of dismay. The problem was immediately clear. Instead of the babe’s head, she was looking at her buttocks.

  The midwife moved close and peered down at Giselle. “Nothing can be done,” she said.

  All at once, Giselle was back at the abbey. Sister Alice had once faced the same dilemma. Giselle stared down at her hands. “I need to turn the babe,” she told Amice.

  Amice’s eyes flared with hope.

  “It will hurt,” Giselle told her.

  “I care not. Save my babe.”

  Giselle quickly washed her hands and gently touched the baby’s buttocks. As she inched the babe around, Amice screamed. Giselle paused.

  “No!” Amice shouted. “Do it.”

  Though in truth it happened quickly, it seemed hours before Giselle managed to shift the babe into the right position. Throughout, she felt the anguished gaze of the earl upon her, her ears ringing with the sounds of Amice’s moans and shrieks. As soon as Giselle turned the babe, she shot out into Giselle’s hands.

  The midwife handed her a wet cloth and Giselle wiped out the tiny infant’s mouth, gently pressing on her chest.

  The babe let out a piercing cry.

  Giselle smiled. Tears flowed down both Amice’s and the earl’s faces as the earl stepped forward.

  Thankfully, the midwife sprang into action, cutting the umbilical cord and cleansing the babe before wrapping her in a piece of linen. Giselle simply knelt at the side of the bed, unable to move, the wonder of what she’d done overcoming her completely.

  The earl put a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you.”

  Giselle looked at him, and then at Amice, who cradled her babe. Her face was radiant as she gazed down upon her child.

  “You are most welcome, my lord.”

  Chapter

  X

  Piers found Cain in the great hall, slumped in a chair with a beatific expression on his face. “Cain?” he asked as he took a seat. “Is all well?’

  His brother shook himself and beamed a smile. “Aye, thank the Lord. And thanks to your lady wife.”

  “You have a child?” Piers shifted on his stool. Damned if his rod hadn’t developed a mind of its own this eve. He was so hard he ached, but knew the brief moment of possibly sating his desires was no doubt gone.

  “Aye. A daughter with her mother’s beauty.”

  Piers clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Congratulations. Amice is well?”

  Cain nodded. He took a long sip of ale. “ ‘Twas a close thing, Piers. I have never been so terrified of anything in all my days. Amice was so exhausted she fell asleep not long after the babe came.”

  “Giselle?”

  “Saved both my wife and my child.” Cain’s gaze turned a dark blue. “Giselle, thank God, has such small hands she was able to turn the babe.” He shuddered. “I shall never forget the sight, Giselle so determined, Amice so resolute even though she screamed in agony.”

  “I am surprised Giselle would know of such things.” And that she would willingly participate in the product of an act she refused to consider, he thought, though for an instant before Cain’s interruption, he’d thought perhaps she might.

  “Aye. But thank the Lord, she did.” Cain rose. “I am off to find my bed for a few hours.” He picked up his cup and left Piers alone in the hall.

  As he pondered the events of the night, and the uncomfortable state of his arousal, he suddenly felt two hands massaging his shoulders. He jolted and snapped his head around, some part of him hoping the hands belonged to Giselle, even though his rational mind knew she would not touch him in such a way.

  Clarise stood there, her ample breasts nearly exposed, her lips curved in a provocative smile.

  “ ’Tis early for you to be out of bed,” he commented, trying but utterly failing to squelch the desire to lay her on the table and take her right there.

  Her gaze dropped to his braies, and she licked her lips.

  Piers barely bit back a groan.

  “I was lonely,” she said. Before he could anticipate what she was about, her hand was inside his braies and around his rod.

  This time, he couldn’t control his moan. Dear Lord, he craved a woman so badly he shook with it.

  Clarise stroked the length of him and let out a sound of appreciation. “Your wife does not leave you satisfied,” she said, clearly pleased with the fact.

  Stop her, his inner voice shouted. You are wed. But his body craved release, no demanded it. He was so damn close, Clarise’s hand pumping him with the skill of long practice. “Not quite,” he managed to hiss, bucking against her hand.

  “Let me help you,” she said, pulling up her skirts and straddling his lap.

  Take her, Eikki cried. Bury yourself in her now. She wants it. You want it.

  Even though every inch of his body screamed at him to do it, Piers hesitated. He gazed into Clarise’s plain brown eyes and saw Giselle’s gaze of clear turquoise. With strength he didn’t know he possessed, and had surely never made use of, he shook his head. “Nay,” he whispered.

  Clarise pulled the top of her gown down, exposing her breasts. She lifted them in her hands. “Aye. Take me, Piers.”

  He closed his eyes, sweat beading his brown. “I am wed,” he said softly, as much to remind himself as to refuse Clarise.

  She laughed and slipped her hand into his braies again. “Your body does not care,” she said in a triumphant tone.

  She is right, Eikki hissed. Think of how good it will feel to sink into her body, find your pleasure.

  Piers groaned. “I am injured, Clarise.”

  “I will do most of the work. You need not worry.”

  He pushed Clarise off his lap. She stood over him, nearly naked and held out a hand.

  Piers took it, but simply squeezed it gently. “I am sorry, Clarise. Cover yourself. I shall see you back to the kitchen.”

  They left the hall together, never seeing the figure hidden in the shadows.

  Giselle clamped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming. How could she have considered for one moment mating with Piers Veuxfort? She watched him leave with the woman who had so brazenly displayed her breasts, had touched him.

  And he had welcomed it. She could see it in his face, hear it in his moans.

  He was doing exactly what he’d threatened, what she’d feared. Even his cracked ribs did not deter him.

  I am a man, with a man’s needs. If you refuse to oblige me, then I shall find others who will, he’d told her that day in the garden.

  It was obvious that he was doing just that.

  Padruig sat before a low fire, Cai happily slumbering at his feet. He liked the hours before dawn, the silence. Though he had long lost his ability to find peace, the stillness of the pre-dawn soothed his restless soul.

  He found himself wondering how Giselle fared. Had she wed the Earl of Hawksdown’s brother? Was she able to accept marriage, and not a life in God’s service?

  There was something about her angelic look of innocence that had touched his heart, a part of him he’d thought beyond feeling much of anything at all. He simply moved through each day, doing his best to ensure his survival but little else.

  Cai was the first living thing he’d allowed into his life since he left the Highlands.

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his mind swelling with memories, some bittersweet, some just painful.

  Perhaps soon he would pay a visit to Falcon’s Craig, he thought. Make sure Giselle was adjusting to her new life.

  And what if she is not? his inner voice mocked. What shall you do about it?

  He sighed. The girl wou
ld be fine. He’d done what he could for her.

  Giselle awoke, unsurprised to find herself alone but for Guinevere who slept curled on the floor. Her husband had no doubt found a quiet corner somewhere to be with that slatternly woman.

  She splashed water on her face, refusing to think of it. It is all for the good, she told herself, stamping back the ache of pain and shame. If he sates his desires elsewhere, he will not bother me.

  After drawing on fresh clothes, she flung open the shutters on the window overlooking the sea. Sun rose high above the water, glowing orange and yellow. The sea appeared calm today, the waves lapping softly at the shore.

  She had yet to feel the sea, she realized. “Come, Guinevere,” she said.

  The dog lifted her head but didn’t otherwise move.

  “Come, you lazy thing,” Giselle said, patting her thigh. “We are going to explore this morn.”

  Guinevere stood and shook herself all over before bounding over to Giselle and licking her hand.

  Within a few minutes, Giselle made her way out of a doorway set into the east curtain wall, and began winding down the rocky path toward the shore, Guinevere trailing behind. She stepped onto the sand, and smiled at the pillowy sensation under her feet.

  The sea appeared endless, a vast, shimmering glide of blue. She shaded her eyes, gazing into the distance. For a moment, she thought she spied an isle, but when she blinked the speck was gone.

  “Lady Giselle!” a child’s voice called.

  Giselle turned to find Olive skipping across the sand, a bright smile on her face. Guinevere ran to meet the child, dancing and yipping in circles around her. “Good morn,” Giselle said as Olive hopped to a stop.

  “Are you going for a swim?” Olive asked.

  “I …” Giselle paused and looked at the water. “I do not know how.”

  “ ’Tis not deep here. We can walk in the water.”

  I am not afraid, Giselle told herself, walking closer to the edge of the sea. She stripped off her shoes while Olive did the same. The child took Giselle’s hand and pulled her into the gentle waves.

  “Oh!” Giselle exclaimed, rocking back and forth as a wave came in and the sand beneath her feet shifted.

  Olive giggled.