Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

“ ’Tis a strange feeling,” Giselle said, gripping Olive’s hand.

  “You shall get used to it.” Olive laughed as Guinevere plunged in, splashing both of them with cool water. Olive let go of Giselle’s hand and hopped forward, scooping up handfuls of water and tossing them at Guinevere.

  The dog barked and splashed through the water.

  With wet sand oozing between her toes, cool water lapping over her legs, and sun warming the air, Giselle’s sense of disquiet eased. She breathed in the salty air and put her hands in the water, spreading her fingers so the waves washed through her hands. She glanced up just in time to see Olive, a triumphant look on her face, splash water over her.

  Giselle laughed and splashed her back. In an instant, the battle was engaged, and water flew through the air, soaking them both to the skin. Giselle shrieked when Olive splashed water straight at her face.

  As she aimed her counter attack, a big wave washed over her. She lost her footing and ended up sitting in the water, still laughing. Guinevere bounded over and gave her face a long lick.

  Olive stood, arms crossed, her light laughter filling the air. “Do you concede, my lady?”

  “Aye.” Giselle struggled to her feet and wrung water from her hair.

  They trudged out of the surf and collapsed on the warm sand, Guinevere panting beside them. Giselle let out a breath. “ ’Tis a fine morn,” she said, realizing she truly meant it, despite what she’d seen of her husband the eve before. Today, with the splendor of the sea spread out before her, a peaceful feeling stole over her.

  “Father told me you saved Lady Amice and the babe.”

  Giselle looked at Olive, who was gazing at her in wonder. “I suppose I did. Have you seen the babe?”

  Olive’s gaze turned mischievous. “Aye, I snuck in to peek at her.” She wrinkled her nose. “Father says she has Lady Amice’s beauty, but I cannot see it.”

  Giselle chuckled and squeezed Olive’s shoulder. “ ’Tis difficult to see in a newborn babe, but perhaps in time.”

  “I am glad to have a sister, no matter what she looks like.”

  The back of Giselle’s throat stung at Olive’s earnest words, thinking how different her life might be if she had a sister or brother or any kind of family.

  “I am going to help take care of her. When you have a babe, I shall help you too.”

  Giselle’s mouth opened. “I … uh …” Dear heavens, what was she to say? She could not possibly explain her reluctance to share her husband’s bed with the child.

  Olive shrugged. “Father always says he is surprised Piers has not already fathered a hundred children, but perhaps the women know how to not conceive.”

  Well, and what was she to respond to that? “I know little of such things.”

  Olive popped up. “Uncle Piers is most knowledgeable. He can teach you. I am going to see if Adela has any fresh bread made.” With a bright smile, the child turned and skipped down the beach.

  He can teach you. With Olive’s assurance, the memory of how close she’d come to allowing Piers to do just that crashed into her mind. She shivered and put her hand on Guinevere’s soggy fur.

  What had come over her? She had never felt such desire in her life, never even close. It was as if she were under a spell, as if she’d lost control of who she was. She must have drunk too much wine, she decided. She would be more careful in the future.

  She gripped Guinevere tightly and gazed sightlessly over the sea. Forgive me, Father for I have sinned, she said to herself. I was weak, and nearly yielded to temptation. Help me to be strong, Lord, and live in your grace.

  Though the prayers rolled through her by rote, all she could see was the hunger in her husband’s eyes, the seduction of him saying, “Come to me.”

  And, God aid her, she still wanted to do that very thing.

  Piers rocked back on his heels, astounded by what he’d witnessed. It seemed another woman had replaced his pious, reserved wife. A woman capable of laughing and playing, clearly enjoying cavorting in the sea with Olive.

  He watched her as she slowly made her way back into the castle. Her wet bliaut clung to the curves of her body, her hair a loose banner of gleaming, pale silk down her back. In his mind, he saw her emerge from the sea, her naked body glistening with water droplets, a setting sun outlining her in gold. He would lay her down on the soft sand and pleasure her until she cried out, until the last bit of her control succumbed to her body’s demands. And then he would take her. Gently at first, but then hard, the way he truly wanted to.

  He fisted a hand and closed his eyes. Perhaps he should have accepted Clarise’s offer last eve, he thought. Giselle’s eyes appeared in his mind and he groaned. It was no use.

  He was in hell.

  The woman he wanted most in his bed was his own wife, but he could not fathom tainting all that lush innocence with what he harbored inside him.

  Giselle hurried across the bailey, hoping to reach her chamber to remove her wet things without running into anyone, particularly Piers. Ill at ease in her soaked bliaut, she kept her head down and scurried over the grass, ignoring the bustle of activity around her.

  “Lady Giselle,” a voice said, stopping her.

  When Giselle looked up, inwardly she sighed in dismay.

  Saraid gazed at her with her usual disapproving expression.

  Giselle stiffened and met the woman’s gaze. “Do you require something of me?”

  “Nay.” Saraid sniffed. “Not likely. ’Tis the Lady Amice who asks for you.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  Saraid’s face softened. “No. She is happily resting with the babe close. She would speak with you.”

  It was clear from Saraid’s expression she didn’t like the idea. All at once, other faces flashed across Giselle’s mind, each holding that same look of censure, judging her to be lacking or worse. “Why do you dislike me?” she asked, amazed at her boldness.

  When Saraid didn’t immediately answer, Giselle was tempted to duck her head and creep away, but she held fast, refusing to give in. “I have done no wrong to you.”

  Saraid’s eyes flashed. “You are of the church.”

  “Aye, I was and would be again. There is naught wrong with that.”

  “Is there not? Was your time at Kerwick Abbey such a pleasurable experience then? Was your Abbess kind and understanding?”

  “Kerwick was … a peaceful place. The Abbess was strict, true, but—”

  “Strict? My guess is she was more than that.” Saraid crossed her arms and frowned at Giselle.

  Perplexed, Giselle studied the woman for a moment. Why would she care about the Abbess’s behavior? “Why do you turn from God?”

  “I do not turn from God. He does not impose strictures that cannot be born.”

  “Father Michael—”

  “Is far better than most,” Saraid said.

  “I do not understand. The church is God’s house, a sanctuary for His children.”

  “Sanctuary?” Saraid’s mouth curled in derision. “Let me tell you about sanctuary. When I was fifteen years of age, my father ordered me to wed the Earl of Sturbridge. How foolish I was to think I would gain my own home and the devotion of my husband. The very first night of our marriage he brutally raped me and beat me for not acting the whore for him. Of course, I went to the priest.”

  Giselle gulped, fearing what Saraid was about to say. “And?”

  Saraid’s gaze turned to stone. “He told me ‘twas my duty to submit to my husband, to strive to please him. So I did.” She shook her head. “Nothing I did could ever please him enough. Again and again I sought the priest’s aid, and again and again he told me it was my fault I had brought my husband’s anger upon me. That my bruises and cuts were signs of my own sins. He even gave my husband advice on how best to punish me so I might learn how I should conduct myself.”

  Horror spread through Giselle’s veins. How could a man of God behave in such a way? Yet, there was no doubt Saraid spoke the truth. Though she’
d had nothing to do with the priest’s malicious treatment of Saraid, Giselle felt the shame of it down to her soul. “I am sorry, Saraid. I …” She shook her head. “I never imagined a man of God could be capable of such horror in the name of the church.”

  “Aye, that is what your church means to me.”

  Impulsively, Giselle touched the other woman’s hand. “I would not defend such a man. The God I know and worship would never countenance that kind of cruelty.”

  The hard expression in Saraid’s eyes faded. “No. I have always believed Sturbridge’s priest was more of the devil than God.”

  Giselle thought of the Bishop of Ravenswood, and gave Saraid a wry smile. “I know what you mean. I have experienced my own brand of maltreatment at the hands of the Bishop of Ravenswood, a man highly placed in the church, yet from all I saw, completely lacking in true spirituality.”

  Saraid let out a sigh. “I am wrong to blame you, my lady. I know well you had naught to do with Sturbridge’s priest’s transgressions.”

  “Perhaps …” Giselle faltered.

  “We could try to be friends,” Saraid finished for her.

  They exchanged a smile. “Aye,” Giselle said. “I would like that.”

  Saraid nodded. “I, as well. But now the Lady Amice awaits.”

  After receiving Lady Amice’s tearful thanks and admiring the babe, named Meriall, Giselle found Piers waiting for her in the great hall. With a courage Giselle was beginning to nurture, she met his gaze without allowing her anger to show.

  Piers sipped ale and stared at her so closely Giselle glanced down to see if her bliaut had come unlaced. “I thought to begin your lessons,” he said.

  For a moment, all Giselle could think of were Olive’s airy words. Uncle Piers is most knowledgeable. He can teach you. “Lessons?” she croaked.

  His slow smile told her he was thinking of the same thing.

  Giselle frowned, reminding herself it had been mere hours since he’d lain in another woman’s bed.

  “Riding lessons,” he said.

  “Oh.” Giselle blinked. “Of course.”

  “You will need to change clothing.”

  Puzzled, she looked down at her attire again. She wore a simple wool bliaut, having quickly changed before seeing Amice. “Why?”

  He stood and approached her. “I am going to teach you to ride as I do. Astride.”

  Her eyes widened. “But … but a lady should not ride astride.”

  “ ’Tis safer. And many ladies do. Amice, for one.”

  Would it be a sin to do as he suggested? Giselle wondered. Though the sisters of Kerwick had no need to ride anywhere, the Abbess had made her opinions clear on the subject. No lady would part her legs to ride astride. Such an act invited lewd temptation. “I would be more comfortable riding aside,” she told her husband.

  His gaze twinkled. “Not after a few minutes. Now, I have obtained clothing from one of the young grooms.” He eyed her. “It should fit well enough. I set it out in our chamber.”

  She gulped, but saw the wisdom of his plan. Her difficulties in riding without tumbling off the side of the horse had been what led her to seek lessons in the first place. “Very well, my lord.”

  “Piers,” he said. “Do you need aid in changing?”

  “Nay.” She backed away. “I can tend to myself.”

  One brow lifted. “I am happy to help.”

  Dear Lord, what next? Giselle thought. “Nay. I shall meet you at the stable anon.” She turned and fled for their chamber, hoping and silently praying he didn’t follow her.

  By the time Giselle clothed herself in a worn blue tunic and braies, she felt so discomfited she wasn’t sure she had it in her to leave the chamber. She took a few steps around the room, marveling at how much freer she felt. At the same time, she felt oddly exposed, accustomed to loose fitting bliauts with tunics and chemises underneath.

  Be brave, Giselle, she told herself. It occurred to her that if she couldn’t ride she would never be able to achieve any kind of independence. Unless she persuaded Piers to take her, she could never ride all the way back to Kerwick and Sister Gertrude. The ride to Falcon’s Craig had nearly done her in.

  Before she could think more about all of the reasons she shouldn’t go out in front of the castlefolk clad like a boy, she darted out of the chamber.

  Piers waited for her in the stable holding Etain who was already saddled. When Giselle appeared, he gave her a long look, perusing her from head to toe. His approving expression lingered on the place where her breasts, always too full for her liking, strained the front of the tunic.

  Giselle flushed and tried to ignore the curious stares of the grooms. “I am ready.”

  “Good.”

  He led her into a small fenced area. Giselle eyed the horse with no small amount of trepidation. The few times she’d ridden had been on a much smaller horse.

  Etain craned her head around and looked at Giselle. She patted the horse’s withers, her pale coat smooth to the touch. “She is rather big,” she told Piers, biting her lip.

  “Etain is the best behaved horse in my stable,” Piers responded as he tightened the girth. “And she is a smooth ride. You shall not have any trouble with her. Not like that beast from Hades, Angel.”

  Giselle had to smile at that. “How are your ribs?”

  Piers gave a snort. “Aching, but ’Tis not too bad.” He gave her a sideways look. “Thanks to the excellent ministrations from my wife, apparently a talented healer.”

  “You are welcome.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder, his expression suddenly solemn. “Thank you for your care of Amice and the babe. If we had lost them, well,” he shook his head, “my brother’s heart would be forever rent in two.”

  “He loves her very much.”

  “Aye. Now, up you go,” he said, holding out his hands.

  Gingerly, Giselle put one foot in his cupped hands and grabbed the front of the saddle. Before she could scarcely draw a breath, she was in the air. She landed with a squawk, her legs stuck out to the sides like thin branches of a tree. Dear Lord, what an odd sensation, she thought as her body adjusted to sitting astride a horse for the first time in her life. Odd, but Piers was right.

  He tucked her feet into the stirrups and backed away to study her.

  “This does feel more secure,” she said, then squawked again when Etain began walking.

  Piers caught her, and Giselle let out a breath of relief. “Move your seat a bit forward,” he instructed, staring at, oh Lord, the very spot where her woman’s place met the saddle.

  “Wha … what?”

  To Giselle’s shock, he put his hands around her hips and scooted her forward. “Aye, that is better.”

  Giselle looked down at him and he winked. A strange, warm feeling started somewhere in her chest and slowly trickled down her body. You can do this, she told herself.

  He positioned her hands on the reins. “Let your weight sink into the saddle and keep your legs relaxed,” he said. “Go on and ask her to walk.”

  Giselle gave the horse a gentle squeeze and they were moving.

  “Try to allow your body to move with her. Feel the way she rocks from side to side?”

  “Aye.”

  “Do the same. Let her carry you. And, Giselle?”

  Focused on the horse’s movement, for a moment she didn’t answer.

  “Breathe,” he said from beside her.

  As they walked around the ring, she tried not to grip the horse. Etain moved with an easy, swaying walk, blowing air out of her nostrils and seemingly content to carry Giselle along.

  “Whoa,” Piers said.

  Giselle pulled back on the reins, and Etain stopped. “What is wrong?”

  He shook his head. “You are gripping with your thighs, and leaning forward too much.”

  “Oh.” She flinched when he put his hand on her thigh.

  “This should be loose. Put your calves against her side, but keep your hips open.”

&nb
sp; Giselle was so discomfited by the discussion she sent Etain off again simply to escape Piers. They walked around the ring, and Giselle focused on following Piers’s instructions, breathing in and out.

  “Good,” Piers said. “Let me see how you do at the trot.”

  With that, Giselle’s body froze, and she pulled at the reins. Etain stopped and dropped her head. Giselle looked at Piers, who was eyeing her with puzzlement. “You want me to go faster?” she asked.

  He blinked. “You will need to if you ever want to get anywhere.”

  Giselle thought of all the times she’d fallen off on the way to Falcon’s Craig and shuddered inside. Thankfully, she’d landed on soft grass each time, but the sensation of knowing you were falling through air from a quickly moving animal remained a frightening memory in her mind.

  “What is wrong?”

  “I am not sure how to do that,” she finally admitted. Piers’s gaze turned thoughtful. “ ’Tis much the same idea as the walk. You need to relax into the rhythm of the horse.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she muttered.

  “Are you afraid of falling off?”

  “Of course I am afraid of falling off. ’Tis most uncomfortable.”

  He smiled. “I well know, but Etain is a good girl. She has a nice, smooth trot.”

  Giselle gathered up the reins and took a deep breath. He was right, of course. She needed to learn to ride at more than a walk. She pressed her legs against the side of the horse.

  Etain jolted forward, and Giselle’s breath left her body.

  “Do not pull back on the reins,” Piers called out. “Let your weight sink into the saddle.”

  Giselle couldn’t answer. She bounced atop Etain’s back so quickly she was certain it was only a matter of moments before she became unseated. Lord preserve me, she silently prayed over and over.

  About halfway around the ring, the horse mercifully halted.

  “That was not too bad, for a start,” Piers commented as he walked over.

  “Perhaps that is enough for today.”

  He shook his head. “The only way you will find your balance is to keep riding.”

  “I understand that, truly I do, but …” Her voice trailed off and she stared at Piers, a part of her unwilling to admit just how overwhelming she found the task. Other people ride all the time, she reminded herself.