Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  “Take your feet out of the stirrups,” he said.

  Giselle widened her eyes. Was he mad?

  “Just for a moment.” He put a hand on Etain’s bridle. “She will not go anywhere.”

  Hesitantly, Giselle slipped her feet free.

  “Now, let your legs hang down.” He put one hand on her thigh, and Giselle flinched. Piers appeared not to notice. “Point your toes out, then in, and then down.”

  She complied.

  He slid her foot back into the closest stirrup, then moved around to do the same on the other side. “Sit up straight.”

  Giselle took another deep breath and tried to sit as he instructed.

  His hand moved up to her hip and Giselle froze. Warmth seeped through the fabric of her braies into her skin and she fought the urge to squirm away. What had begun as a simple lesson was quickly turning into something far more intimate, though her husband seemed completely unaware of it, thank God. “You absorb the horse’s movement through your hips and your knees,” he said. “If you tense your muscles, you cannot do it. That is why you bounce so much.”

  “I understand. I think.”

  “Good. Keep your body loose and try again.”

  Etain bent her head around and gave a soft nicker. I can do this, Giselle told herself as she urged the horse forward. Once more, they took off, but this time it seemed less bouncy. Before she knew it, they had made it around the entire ring.

  “Much better,” Piers said. “Now, let’s add something.”

  “Not faster,” Giselle said, momentarily panicked.

  “Not yet. When Etain bounces you up, swing your hips up and forward, and then sit back down as softly as you can.”

  “What?”

  He put his hands on his hips and rocked forward. “Like this.”

  Their gazes met and all at once Giselle felt heat rush to her face. Piers slowly smiled. Dear Lord, Giselle thought, her face flaming. His movement brought clearly to mind another activity all together, and, worse, he knew it.

  She gave him a skeptical look. “Are you sure?”

  “Aye. ‘Twill be more comfortable for your woman’s place.”

  If it were possible to flush more, Giselle couldn’t imagine it. “I—”

  “You said you wished to learn to ride,” he challenged.

  She lifted her chin, refusing to look at him. The knave, no doubt, was smiling in glee at provoking her. “I have not heard of such a thing.”

  “ ’Tis my own idea. Go on.”

  She blew out a breath and squeezed Etain into a trot. Giselle tried to move her hips forward, but it felt so awkward she ended up bouncing even more. She barely managed to slow Etain before sliding right over the side of the horse.

  “You are popping straight up and down,” Piers said. “You need to think of swinging forward.”

  Giselle tried again, but knew she’d failed when she cautioned a glance at Piers.

  He frowned and came over. “Stand up slightly in your stirrups.”

  She did, though she was shaking inside in anticipation of what he might do next.

  “Keep your shoulders back, and thrust your hips up and forward,” he said, taking hold of her hips and rocking her.

  Giselle thought she might fall off the horse in sheer mortification. “I shall try again,” she said, mostly to stop him from touching her.

  But instead of releasing her, he kept his hands in place and gazed up at her with a teasing light in his eyes. “I know of a very enjoyable method to practice that movement.”

  An image flashed into Giselle’s mind before she could halt it. “You … you cannot be referring to …” She sputtered to a halt.

  He winked. “Mating. Aye, I am. You could consider it another part of my teaching you to ride. A horse.”

  “I, uh,” she swallowed and tried again. “I am not ready for that.”

  “Are you sure? Last eve, I thought—”

  “I was not feeling well,” she quickly said. “I … I must have imbibed too much wine.”

  “Giselle, ’Tis natural for a woman to feel the need of a man. And we are wed.”

  She averted her gaze. Dear Lord, lead me not into temptation, she silently recited. Make of me a pure reflection of Your grace. “Perhaps I could attempt it again with Etain.”

  He chuckled softly. “As you wish, my lady. For now.”

  Without looking at him, Giselle made herself focus on the horse and squeezed her forward yet again. Shoulders back, hips forward, she recited to herself.

  “Good,” Piers said. “Swing your hips a little more, as if you are seeking to touch the front of the saddle.”

  Giselle gritted her teeth and tried, but it was no use. She stopped and let out a sigh. “I have had enough for today.”

  He lifted a brow. “You need more practice. ’Tis not something to learn in a day. And you need to ease your tension,” he added.

  She scowled at him. “ ’Tis not seemly for you to tease me so.”

  He shrugged, clearly unrepentant. “I think of it as encouraging your curiosity.”

  “I am not curious.”

  “No?” He stalked in her direction, his eyes gleaming. “Not at all?”

  Though her hands trembled, Giselle managed to say, “Nay.”

  “I would let you ride me, Giselle,” he said softly. “Anytime you wish.”

  “I … I do not even understand what you are talking about.” Somehow, she managed to dismount without her legs collapsing under her. When she turned, she found Piers only inches away.

  “I would teach you.”

  Her cheeks flamed. She tried to back away, but was blocked by solid horseflesh. “Leave me be.”

  He swept his gaze over her. “Think about it, Giselle.”

  “I shall not,” she said, knowing it was a lie. How could she not? Even as she admonished herself to ignore him, her imagination ran amok.

  He leaned close and smiled. “Yes, you will.”

  She couldn’t summon up a single word. He was right, and they both knew it.

  Chapter

  XI

  Giselle went straight from the stable to the chapel. If Father Michael was surprised to see her unusual attire, he had the graciousness not to show it. He came from behind the altar with a kind smile.

  “Lady Giselle, what a pleasure to see you.” He took her hands. “How do you fare?”

  Suddenly, she wasn’t sure any more than she was sure of the reason she was in the chapel. She gazed up at the gold cross and inwardly winced. “I am well, Father,” she said, reluctant to confide her troubles. The priest had already made his opinions on her marriage clear.

  “I must commend you on your brave aid to Lady Amice and her babe. I understand from the earl ‘twas most miraculous.”

  Giselle couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “Aye, God did, indeed, perform a miracle.”

  “Through you, child. Do not belittle that.”

  “I was fortunate to have the Lord’s guidance, Father. And the experience from my days at Kerwick.” “We are all fortunate to have you with us.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  He squeezed her hands. “Are you adjusting well to life outside of the abbey?”

  Giselle gulped. “I … I am trying, Father. ’Tis very different.”

  “Ah, but also exciting, is it not? So many new things to discover.” He gave her a gentle smile.

  I would teach you, Piers had said. She felt her face heat once more. “Aye, that there is.”

  Father Michael chuckled. With a final squeeze of her hands, he said, “I am off to check in on Lady Amice and little Meriall.”

  After he left, Giselle knelt on the floor and stared up at the cross. Her vision blurred and instead of the lovely chapel, she saw the face of the Abbess, her gaze dark and condemning. You must fight the taint of your blood by strict devotion to God. Born of wickedness, you must never sway from God or you shall forfeit your soul.

  Wicked. Tainted. Weak. Impure. Giselle had long lost co
unt of the times the Abbess had called her such, followed by yet another penance to be performed.

  She lowered her head, wishing she could recall more of her mother. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I …” she dropped her voice to a bare whisper. “I am sorely tempted, Father. And I am afraid I have become overly fond of wine. Not that I do not have cause to imbibe,” she finished with a trace of defiance.

  “Help me to be strong, Lord. Guide me to Your will. Grant me peace.”

  When she lifted her head, a shaft of sunlight caught the cross, reflecting golden light across the chapel. The heaviness in her heart lifted, and Giselle smiled.

  Giselle was about to pull on her chemise when the door to her chamber banged open. She whirled around, instinctively holding the chemise in front of her nakedness.

  “Do not bother putting it on,” Piers said.

  Shock and fear washed over her like a frigid breeze. “What did you say?”

  He shut the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms and staring at her with a hooded expression. “I am your husband, Giselle.”

  His gaze was so dark, it appeared black. She edged back a step. “My lord, Piers, I thought we had come to an agreement.”

  His lips curved. “Nay. I agreed to nothing.”

  “But—”

  “Drop the chemise, Giselle. I would see all of you.”

  Giselle could scarcely draw a breath. Bare her body in the middle of the day, with the sun streaming in the open window? Dear Lord, she could not. “No.”

  “You deny me?” His gaze narrowed and he dropped his hands to his sides. “Please. I cannot.”

  “Of course you can.” He took a step forward.

  In utter panic, Giselle ducked behind one of the bed curtains and pulled her chemise over her body. She barely had it over her hips when Piers swept aside the curtain. He trailed a finger down her throat, stopping at the curve of her breast.

  “I have decided ’Tis past time for me to claim my rights as your husband.” His voice was cold, completely at odds with the heat in his gaze. “Now.”

  “I need more time,” she whispered.

  “Methinks there is not enough time in all of eternity for you to willingly come to lie with me.” He flattened his hand over one breast. “I feel how quickly your heart beats, little nun. Are you thinking of how your hips will move when you are lying beneath me?”

  He was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. She closed her eyes. “No.”

  “I am,” he said softly.

  “Please do not ask this of me, my lord. Not yet. Perhaps in time—”

  He barked a laugh. “How much time? A sennight? A year? More? How much time should I live as a priest? Wed to a woman I did not choose, yet denied surcease.”

  Giselle stiffened and flashed open her eyes. “You have not denied yourself.”

  “Aye, I have.”

  “You lie.” Giselle sidled away from him. “I saw you with that, that woman, Clarise.”

  “Ah, the fair Clarise. Now, there is a woman who does not hide from her pleasure.”

  Giselle’s stomach clenched. “Then, perhaps you should seek her out.”

  “No. You are my wife. ’Tis your duty to see to my needs. All of them.”

  “You knew when you married me that I did not wish to … to fornicate.” She looked down, unable to meet his dark gaze.

  “As I recall, you offered to do so.”

  Inwardly, Giselle cringed. She fisted her hands in the folds of her chemise.

  “Nothing to say, Giselle?”

  She gritted her teeth to keep them from clattering together. She’d thought that if she had to lie with him, it would be in the dark of night, that her prayers would sustain her while he quickly finished.

  “Look at me, damn you,” he ordered.

  Slowly, she looked up to find him right beside her.

  “I want you. I ache with it,” he said.

  “Piers, I—”

  He swallowed her protest with a kiss.

  Every thought in Giselle’s mind vanished beneath the onslaught of his mouth. He savored her, stroked her, and Giselle found herself helplessly responding. Dear God, she could drown in this feeling, Giselle dimly thought, twining her fingers in Piers’s tunic. With a groan, he deepened the kiss, sweeping inside her mouth, sending tingling sensations over her body. He tasted of wine and temptation, and Giselle couldn’t get enough of it, couldn’t get close enough.

  His hand moved up to cradle her head, anchoring her, kissing her so deeply he felt a part of her.

  And then his hand slipped inside her chemise to cup her breast.

  Giselle pressed into his hand, her breast tight and full, craving the warmth of his caress.

  He flicked a finger over her nipple, and she heard herself moan. This felt so right, so perfect. She needed this. Needed him. Warmth pooled in her belly and spread downward, leaving her body aching and her legs weak.

  Piers cupped Giselle’s soft breast in his hand and was seized with a lust so powerful he burned with it. She is yours for the taking. His rod strained against his braies, and he backed Giselle up until she was against the wall.

  Take her now, Eikki urged.

  The image of bracing Giselle against the wall, lifting her chemise and burying himself in her took hold of him. Plunging into her mouth with his tongue, he unfastened his braies.

  Now. Do it now!

  Lost in the unbelievable pleasure of kissing Giselle, he barely heard. God, she was so sweet, so lush.

  He put his hand on the edge of her chemise.

  Rip it off.

  So sweet, Piers thought, breathing in her mingled scent of lavender and awakening desire. So innocent.

  She’s yours. Fuck her the way you want to.

  Innocent. Piers suddenly pulled away, filled with horror. Giselle’s eyes were huge circles of turquoise, her lips swollen, her chemise falling off one shoulder.

  She looked like a ravaged angel.

  He backed away, pulling up his braies. Dear God, he’d become an animal, nearly taking his virgin wife up against the wall like she was some well-paid whore. “Giselle,” he said, his voice a rasp. “I … I am sorry.”

  Unable to face the shock in her gaze another moment, he turned and fled the chamber.

  Giselle stood in the chamber staring at the door. She started to shake, and slid down the wall to crumple onto the floor.

  What had just happened? In one moment, Piers had coldly demanded his rights, in the next set her body on fire, and finally had run away as if he were horrified by the idea of taking her.

  And, God save her, with one kiss, she’d abandoned everything she’d been taught.

  Now she understood why the church preached against temptation, against joining with a man for nothing but the pleasure of it. When she’d given into her body’s yearnings, it had become all consuming. The heat of his huge arousal pressed against her had not brought revulsion, but a wild excitement. Nothing had mattered but touch, taste, satiating her senses.

  And it had been utterly glorious.

  The Abbess had been right. She did harbor wantonness in her soul.

  Giselle closed her eyes and told herself to be thankful that Piers had stopped, whatever his reasoning. But a tiny voice inside her wondered if in the end he’d found her wanting. If he’d gone after Clarise, who he admitted knew about pleasure.

  His expression had been one of a man awakening from a nightmare.

  Giselle made herself stand, and smoothed down her chemise. She didn’t understand any of it, from the time he’d entered the chamber. It was as if she dealt with two different men—one full of teasing warmth and the other harsh and frightening.

  As she pulled on an undertunic and bliaut, she tried to puzzle out the mystery of her husband but failed. “Dear Lord, how have I come to this?” she asked aloud.

  She’d never felt so utterly lost as she did at this moment.

  Was this her penance for lacking purity in her soul? Had God tur
ned His back on her because she had not proven herself devoted enough? Her mind spun with possibilities, none bringing any comfort.

  Finally, she squared her shoulders and sucked in a deep breath. If there was one thing she’d learned at Kerwick Abbey, it was how to move forward each day no matter how hard someone tried to beat her down.

  She allowed herself a small smile as she left the chamber. Her husband had quite a ways to go before he could match the Abbess of Kerwick Abbey.

  Piers burst into Cain and Amice’s chamber to find them both snuggled on their bed, smiling and cooing at their new daughter. Cain immediately broke off and stood. “Piers, by the saints, what is wrong?”

  “Everything.” Piers clenched and unclenched his hands.

  Cain and Amice exchanged a worried look. Amice pressed a kiss to the babe’s forehead and put her in a wooden cradle next to the bed. Meriall gave a big yawn and closed her eyes.

  Piers took a moment to study the child, the bands around his chest loosening slightly at the precious sight.

  “Tell us what ails you,” Amice urged.

  He gazed into her caring eyes. “I have a problem I am praying you can aid me with.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Is it something to do with Giselle?”

  Piers looked away. “Not exactly.” He sighed and slumped down onto a stool. “ ’Tis my own doing.”

  Cain put a hand on his shoulder. “Tell us. You know that Amice and I will do all we can to help.”

  By Saint George’s sword, how he hated to admit how reckless he’d been. The image of Giselle’s stricken face shifted across his mind, and more shame spilled into his gut. “ ’Tis a bit of a tale.”

  “How can I help?” Amice asked softly.

  “I thought perhaps as you can communicate with spirits, you could …”

  “Dear God, do not tell me we have another damned wraith to deal with,” Cain exclaimed.

  “Not we, but I,” Piers told him.

  “Piers,” Amice prodded. “Pray, explain.”

  Piers gritted his teeth. “On Parraba, there is a cave. We cleared the entrance of rubble for Lady Iosobal. She told us not to enter, but,” his lips twisted, “we did not heed her advice. I ventured back into the recesses of the cave and found a miraculous chamber. Within a pool I found a gold chalice. It was so beautiful I reached down and retrieved it.”