Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  “Good luck.”

  “Aye.” He turned to go, then stopped and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I must think on this.”

  “We shall rid Piers of this cursed presence.”

  Iosobal nodded her agreement, but inside she prayed the cost would not be as high as she feared.

  Piers studied the missive he’d written to King John and handed it to Cain. “What think you of this?”

  Cain stretched out his long legs and read. “Very well done. John cannot ignore this, no matter how much the Bishop of Ravenswood has apparently ingratiated himself with the court. And your offer to pay a fee for settling the matter will no doubt draw his attention.”

  “If he believes us,” Piers said with a frown. “No doubt the priest at Kindlemere is long gone.”

  Cain rubbed his chin. “Gone from Kindlemere, but perhaps not yet dead.”

  Piers shot up, hope and purpose washing over him. “Burness Abbey lies not far from Kindlemere.”

  “Send to the Abbot.”

  “Aye.” Piers quickly scrawled another letter.

  “Has Simon left for London?”

  “He leaves on the morn.” Piers sighed. “I wish for Giselle’s sake he learns her father lives, but I fear one of us would have heard of the man if ‘twas true.”

  Cain leaned forward. “Piers, assuming the king acts as he should and returns the St. Germain estates to Giselle, you need not feel responsible for her.”

  Piers froze and stared at his brother. “Annul the marriage, you mean.”

  “Aye.” Cain waved a hand. “Though I shall ever be grateful to Giselle, naught has changed about the kind of woman she is. I do not wish to see you in a loveless union.”

  Piers opened his mouth to agree with Cain, but instead said, “I would not feel right to abandon her now.”

  Cain narrowed his gaze. “Do you care for the girl?”

  Again, the words Piers meant to say didn’t come. “When she is not going all stiff and pious on me, she is … I don’t know. There is something about her that brings out more in me than simply the urge to mate.”

  “Well, that is news indeed.” Cain grinned at him.

  “Aye. Unfortunately, I find myself wanting Giselle as well, even without Eikki’s demands.”

  “If you take the girl, there will be no going back.”

  Piers ran a hand through his hair. “I know. And I won’t until I rid myself of this cursed presence.”

  Cain stood and clapped a hand on Piers’s shoulder. “You know that I shall support you in whatever you decide to do about your marriage.”

  By Saint George’s sword, was that a tear threatening to form in his eye? “I know. I think I should not make any decision on the matter until I know if the king will restore Giselle’s birthright.”

  “Then you’d best keep Eikki under control.” Cain looked so troubled Piers forced a light smile to his lips.

  “Do not worry. I’ll not let that whoreson make me do aught I do not wish.”

  Cain picked up the sheets of parchment and sealed the letters closed. “I shall dispatch messengers with these.”

  After Cain left, Piers simply sprawled in his chair, staring at nothing. Did he care for Giselle? Could their marriage become one in truth? Take the chance fate has handed you, and set the girl free, he told himself. She can turn Kindlemere Castle into a place of worship and not have to worry about being chained to a pleasure loving man possessed by the essence of evil.

  But, by God, he couldn’t do it. Not yet. You’re a selfish bastard, he told himself.

  And he wondered if his vow not to claim his wife would turn out to be as fragile as the look in her eyes.

  Giselle sat on the sand, her legs pulled up under her, staring out over the sea. Giselle St. Germain. Giselle de Sauvin. The names rolled through her mind. Edward de Sauvin. The Earl of Kindlemere.

  It struck her that she really no longer knew who she was.

  Heiress? Bastard child? Novice? Nun? Wife?

  As she continued looking over the endless blue water, a question popped into her mind. Who do you want to be?

  For the first time in her life, it appeared she actually had choices.

  With that realization came another, though it was hard to bear. Even if the Abbess of Kerwick Abbey welcomed her back with open arms, she would not wish to return. Her heart ached with the loss, but she could not lie to herself. Kerwick had been a refuge, one she had not chosen.

  She spilled sand through her fingers, thinking.

  “Giselle?”

  She looked up to find Piers standing over her. “It has been done,” he said as he settled himself on the sand beside her. “Messengers are on their way to the king and to the Abbot of Burness Abbey. I have someone leaving on the morn for London.”

  Giselle swallowed, an image of the bishop’s furious face leaping into her mind. “The Abbot of Burness Abbey? What has he to do with this?”

  “Cain and I thought it was worth finding out if the priest who married your parents yet lives.”

  “My parents.” She hung her head. “I do not even know who my father is.”

  “It matters not to your claim on Kindlemere, but … I understand your concern that you’re not the legitimate offspring of your mother and her husband.”

  “How could you possibly understand?” She waved a hand toward the immense walls of Falcon’s Craig. “You have always known who you are, where your rightful home lies. I only learned my surname today.”

  “Because I know that I am, in truth, illegitimate.”

  She looked at him in shock. “What?”

  He gave her a wry smile. “Aye, though I did not know it for many years. My mother—.” he broke off and shook his head. “Be glad you did not have the misfortune to meet her. She was obsessed by another man, the Earl of Holstoke. I am of his blood, not my … father’s.”

  “Oh.” Before she could stop herself, she put her hand on his arm. “I am sorry.”

  He nodded. “Other than Cain and Gifford, you are the only other person who knows.”

  A tingling warmth began in her belly and spread. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Now you understand why your legitimacy, or lack thereof, matters naught to me.”

  “Aye.” Giselle sucked in a breath. “Piers, if the king restores Kindlemere to me, you, well, you need not feel responsible for me. We could … seek an annulment.” She found herself looking into his eyes, scarcely able to breathe.

  “Is that what you want?” he asked softly. “I know I am not the kind of man you ever expected to marry.”

  Giselle smiled. “And I am just as sure I am not the kind of woman you expected.”

  “No.” He smiled back at her and the warmth in her body expanded. “What say you we wait and see what transpires? Once we regain Kindlemere for you we can discuss this again.”

  “You sound so sure.”

  “You are not alone anymore, Giselle. I promise you I shall do all in my power to regain your birthright. Regardless of how it came about, now you have family. Allies.”

  Tears stung the back of her eyes. “I never thought to have a family.”

  He stood and reached down his hand. “Well, now you do. Let us go in. I feel as if my belly is knocking against my ribs.”

  She put her hand in his and let him lead her toward the great hall. It was so comforting she simply clasped his hand and walked.

  “Perhaps we can finally persuade you to try Cook’s lamb.”

  “I believe I shall.”

  His frank gaze of approval warmed her to her toes.

  Giselle tied off a stitch on the tapestry she was embroidering for Lady Amice. On a nearby window seat, Amice gently rocked little Meriall, who was finally succumbing to sleep.

  “I never imagined one small babe could be so demanding,” Amice said with a sigh.

  Giselle glanced up. Amice’s hair was in disarray, and her eyes were cloudy with exhaustion. “Why do you
not hand her off to a nursemaid?”

  Amice smiled down at Meriall. “I cannot bear to do that. She is mine.”

  “Is it not customary to do so?”

  “Aye, but …” Amice smoothed a tuft of hair on Meriall’s tiny head. “It means so much to me to be able to hold her. I never thought to be able to bear a child.”

  “Why not?”

  Amice looked at her and sorrow clouded her features. “When I was younger, I … lost a babe. He was Cain’s, but we were not wed at the time. Cain had left me to marry his mother’s choice, to do his duty to his family. I was so grief stricken I …”

  “Oh, my lady, I am so sorry. I did not know.”

  “Of course not. Not many know the story.”

  Giselle bit her lip. “Gifford told me that a ghost brought you and Cain back together.” She could hardly believe she was even saying such a thing, considering it might be truth and not delusion.

  “Aye.” Amice gave a small laugh. “I can see you find that hard to believe.”

  “The existence of ghosts is something I have never contemplated, my lady.”

  “Please, call me Amice. And it is true. Poor Muriel refused to leave Falcon’s Craig, and devoted herself to tormenting Cain so much that he sent for me.”

  “Ah.”

  Amice’s face took on a dreamy expression. “Aye, it was difficult, but Cain and I, well, it turned out neither of us ever lost feelings for the other. And Muriel eventually reunited with the spirit of Cain’s ancestor, who had treated Muriel much the same as Cain did me.”

  Giselle’s eyes widened. “That must have been fascinating.”

  “Aye, and rewarding. In the end, Muriel and Gerard taught both Cain and I a valuable lesson.”

  “What was that, my, uh, Amice.”

  Amice beamed a smile at her. “Why, to never run from love. To not let pride or duty blind you. To seize love with both hands and never let go for anything.”

  “ ’Tis a sweet story,” Giselle said, wondering what it would be like to find a love so powerful.

  Amice covered a yawn.

  “Would you like me to tend Meriall for a bit?”

  “Would you mind? She should sleep for a while now.”

  “As should you.”

  “Thank you.” Amice deposited the babe in Giselle’s arms and stretched. “I would dearly love a nap.”

  “Do not worry. I am capable of holding her for a while. I shall fetch you when she begins to fuss.”

  Amice was gone before Giselle had settled the child in her arms. Giselle looked down at Meriall’s tiny face and something in her chest unfurled. She could not stop staring at the babe, so perfect, so precious and small.

  What would it be like to hold her own babe one day? she wondered.

  But that would mean lying with her husband. Probably more than once. She shivered, beset by a strange tingling in her veins at the prospect.

  Meriall disappeared from her vision.

  Giselle was lying on her back atop a pile of furs, the chamber lit only by firelight. Naked. The fur felt deliciously soft against her skin. The strangest feelings rippled through her: anticipation, excitement, and above all, desire.

  Over her loomed a man, but his features were shrouded in shadow. Big shoulders blocked the firelight as he bent over her, his skin hot.

  He kissed her and she sighed in pleasure. Then his tongue was in her mouth, savoring her, stroking her. She moaned and pressed her body closer to his.

  He skimmed a hand down over her breast, teasing her rigid peak, then moving down over her belly.

  When he touched her center, she arched into his hand, keening her need. With each stroke, her body tightened until she was bucking against his fingers, blinded to everything but the rising sensations in her body.

  His tongue stabbed into her mouth, and her body exploded, rapture seizing her and sending her over the edge of pleasure.

  With a hiss, the man lifted her knees, posing her for him. She lay back on the furs, replete yet breathless with sharp expectation.

  His manhood jutted from his body, big and proud.

  She licked her lips, and she saw the shadow of a smile on his lips.

  And then he was inside her, stretching her, filling her so completely, so wondrously that she moaned yet again. The friction of him sliding in and out of her brought gasps from her throat, and the heat in her body built again.

  She spiraled into the sky, screaming her release as her lover pumped into her, taking her with him.

  Giselle stared down at Meriall, and wanted to scream. She wasn’t sure if it was in horror or anger that the vision had ended. Who was the man? What did it mean?

  She adjusted the babe in her arms, and stared out the open window. Again the question rose in her mind. What did she want to do with her life? If all went well, she could retreat to Kindlemere and live a simple existence, surround herself with prayer and the comfort of the Lord. Safe and secure from temptation. She could free Piers from a marriage he clearly did not want.

  Or did he? She was no longer sure, no more than she was sure herself.

  She shifted on the window seat slowly as to not disturb the babe. Her vision had left her with a tight feeling in her body. Even she knew it for what it was—frustrated desire.

  She started to chastise herself, as she had so often over the years, then stopped. The Bishop and the Abbess had lied about her mother. She had not been the wicked seductress they painted, but a woman horribly violated by the Bishop. Why had he condemned her mother?

  The answer came to her and she sucked in a breath. It was obvious. The Bishop could not accept that he would hunger for a woman, so naturally it must have been the woman’s fault. He had poisoned the Abbess with his version of her mother’s character, and of course she had believed him. Why would she not? He was a respected man of God, while she, Giselle, was simply a penniless orphan who was fortunate to have a roof over her head.

  So, they had lied, made her believe something inside her was bad, so bad only a strict life in seclusion would save her.

  She allowed herself a small smile, imagining the Bishop’s surprise when he was confronted with her discovery.

  “Now I know him for the lying thief he is,” she told Meriall.

  She felt as if a monstrous weight lifted from her shoulders, as if she were suddenly free and light.

  Cuddling the babe close, she closed her eyes.

  Perhaps … perhaps there was a chance for her to find a place of happiness in her life.

  And perhaps, just perhaps, the very man who denounced her had inadvertently handed her that chance.

  Clarise cornered Piers as he exited the training field. He was sweaty and weary from fending off Madoch’s attacks, and wanted nothing more than to pour a bucket of water over his head and sit down somewhere. At the sight of her, arms crossed, her expression both smug and determined, Madoch slipped away.

  She sauntered toward Piers, her crossed arms lifting her breasts so they overflowed her plain, brown bliaut. “My lord, may I speak with you?”

  He sighed. “I think you should feel free to call me by my given name, Clarise.”

  Her face brightened, and Piers was tempted to take back the offer. “I have missed you,” she said, sidling closer. She put a hand on his arm.

  “I am busy these days, Clarise.” Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Giselle looking down on them from a window, and cursed under his breath.

  Clarise pursed her lips. “Aye, I heard of the nun’s discovery.” She smiled. “Now you can send her away.”

  Piers gritted his teeth. “The king has not yet granted our petition.”

  “Surely he will.” She inched closer until she pressed her body against his. “Do you not miss me, my … Piers?”

  He glanced up in time to see Giselle duck out of sight. “Clarise, you know I enjoyed your company, but I am wed. You shall have to seek your pleasure elsewhere.”

  She pouted her lips. “But no man satisfies me as you do. And your
… wife, so devoted to her prayers. Does she pray while you take her?”

  Piers stepped back. “ ’Tis none of your affair.”

  “No, she does not, does she? Because she denies you her body, denies you your rights as her husband.”

  A ripple of anger spread through him. The wench is right, Eikki hissed. Your wife shows you no respect. She is good for little else. She has no skills, save embroidery and an endless ability to pray.

  The hell of it was that Eikki was right. Piers looked up at the window where he’d spotted Giselle, but saw nothing. She hid from him, even now, when he’d taken up her cause as his own, shown her naught but kindness and patience. “Clarise—”

  “I can give you ease,” she said, purring the words. “You know that. You deserve that.”

  He shoved her away. “Find another to lie between your legs, wench. Leave me be.” He stalked past her shocked face toward the tower where Giselle no doubt was even now engaged in prayer.

  After shrinking from Piers’s sight, Giselle made her way to their chamber and took up her rosary. Desperate to find some sense of peace and place, she began saying the familiar prayers. They had always soothed her, connected her to a higher power, but today, all she could think about was that as she said her prayers, her husband was lying with another woman.

  Why does it bother you? she asked herself. If he takes his pleasure elsewhere, he shall not bother you. Still, the images that floated through her mind refused to cease.

  Somehow, she had become possessive of her husband. She hated the thought of him being in another woman’s arms, claiming her body the way he’d … Oh, dear Lord, she thought. Was Piers the man in her vision? She clenched the rosary tight. Who else could it be? Her visions were not always true, she reminded herself. Despite the dire fate she’d seen for Lady Amice and her babe, that destiny had not befallen them.

  But, if not Piers, then who?

  Captured by her whirling thoughts, it took her a moment to realize the door to the chamber had swung open. She glanced around and, to her shock, found her husband standing there. She clutched her rosary to her like a talisman as she stood. “I thought you would be busy with Clarise,” she said, appalled at the shrewish tone of her voice.