Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  “Aye.”

  Gifford grinned from ear to ear. “Finally, someone in the family with an open mind.”

  “I caught a glimpse of something in the chapel. No one save me was there, but … something assuredly was.”

  “Amice,” Cain said, touching his wife on her arm.

  She shook her head.

  “Well, any place this old is bound to have a few wraiths left knocking around,” Piers said. “ ’Tis nothing to worry about.” He patted Giselle’s hand.

  She shot him a surprised glance. “I am not worried.”

  “Good girl,” Gifford said.

  Piers merely sat there trying to wrap his mind around the fact not only had his timid nun of a wife conquered Angel this day, but now calmly announced she’d seen a ghost without so much as a flicker of fear. He shook his head, wondering if he was not the only one possessed by another.

  He continued to sit in silence and sip his wine while his wife participated in a discussion about the existence of ghosts that proved so spirited even Cain gave up trying to rein in Gifford’s zeal for the subject. Of course, Giselle from time to time offered some bit of church doctrine on the matter, which Gifford genially listened to and then promptly ignored.

  It struck Piers he had never observed his wife enjoying herself so much in the company of others. Was it simply that she now knew her heritage and stood to gain a measure of independence?

  Or, dare he hope the rigid, pious woman he’d married was discovering there was another life for her, if she was brave enough to seek it?

  He could only pray, he thought, his gaze moving to the swell of Giselle’s breasts as she responded to another volley by Gifford.

  Pray hard.

  Aldrik, the Bishop of Ravenswood, read the missive from King John with mounting rage. He crumpled the vellum in his fist and tossed it to the floor. “Damn that bitch!” he roared.

  “Interesting language for a bishop,” Donninc commented from where he sat in the corner, calmly sipping the finest wine from Kindlemere’s stores.

  Aldrik flexed his fingers, overwhelmed by the wish it was the girl’s slender neck between his hands. He sucked in a breath as Donninc retrieved the message from the floor. “How could she know?” He paced, stopping briefly to grab a cup of wine.

  Donninc let out a low whistle. “You’ve been found out, my friend.”

  “I know that, damn it.” Aldrik gritted his teeth. “ ’Tis not to be born. Kindlemere is mine!” He gazed around the sumptuous solar, mentally comparing it to the one at Ravenswood Abbey. It was like comparing a chalice of wrought silver to one of chipped wood. No, he thought. He would not, could not give this up.

  Donninc set the vellum down on a table and retook his seat. “Perhaps one of the sisters at Kerwick told her.” “No. I made sure none of those silly crows knew a thing, not even the Abbess.” He narrowed his eyes to slits.

  “I am surprised John would so quickly consider their petition.”

  “As am I.” Aldrik barked out a bitter laugh. “Falcon’s Craig may lie in the middle of nowhere, but rumour is that it is a wealthy estate. No doubt the Earl of Hawksdown eased his brother’s way with coin.”

  “What shall you do?”

  Aldrik looked at Donninc and saw the man appeared amused by the whole debacle. But that was how Donninc viewed life in general—through jaded amusement. Of course, Aldrik would be every bit as jaded as his halfbrother too if, like Donninc, for years he’d been offered to numerous and varied guests of their father for their entertainment. “You were right. I should have dealt with the girl before when she was still under my control.”

  Donninc raised a brow.

  “I can trust no one else to see to this matter.”

  Aldrik sat down opposite Donninc.

  “What do you want me to do?” Donninc asked, taking another sip of wine.

  “Kill them both. With Giselle gone and the earl’s brother dead, the matter will go away. I shall assure John it was all a mistake, and the earl will have no reason to press the matter.”

  “Other than to avenge his brother’s death.”

  “Ruffians abound everywhere.”

  Donninc’s lips curved in a thin smile. “Any particular way you wish the deed to be done?”

  “Nay. Use your imagination.” Aldrik paused, his gaze boring into Donninc’s. “As long as there is no tie back to me, I care not about your methods.”

  “Ah, an incentive indeed.”

  “Just get it done.”

  Donninc nodded and slipped out the door.

  “Truly, my lady, you should try it,” Nona urged as she combed Giselle’s hair. “ ’Tis a luxury few can sample.” She giggled. “The Lord and Lady seem to enjoy the bathhouse very much.”

  “So I gathered.” Giselle had seen the structure of course, half-hidden in the depths of the gardens. She had never been brave enough to caution a closer look.

  “ ’Twill be just the thing to lift your spirits. Forgive me, my lady, but as of late, you seem a bit melancholy.”

  Giselle let out a sigh. Nona was right. Giselle felt as though she floated in a sea of waiting. Waiting to find out the king’s response to their petition to return her birthright. Waiting to learn if the man she might be able to call Father yet lived.

  And, if she were honest with herself, waiting to see if Piers would do more than give her heated looks, more than sleep beside her, all smooth muscles and heat, so close but never touching. Waiting to know if he intended to take the final step to making their marriage one in truth.

  She shivered. “Perhaps you are right, Nona. ‘Twill be a new experience.”

  Nona finished combing and gave Giselle’s shoulder a squeeze. “And most relaxing, I imagine.” The maid bustled about, gathering new clothing.

  “It seems odd to be carrying clothing and such outside.” Giselle swallowed, realizing that everyone she passed would no doubt guess she was on her way to bathe. “I am not sure about this—”

  “Come, my lady, ‘twill be fine and good. As you say, a new experience.” Nona winked and pushed her gently out of the chamber. “The bathhouse is already stocked with scents and drying cloths. I shall run and have a groom make sure the water is heated.”

  Giselle opened her mouth to protest, but instead watched Nona scurry down the steps. She glanced down at Guinevere, who thumped her tail on the floor. “What could be the harm in it?”

  The dog pushed her head against Giselle’s legs.

  “All right.” Giselle slowly walked down the steps and out into the bailey, her shoulders squared as if she felt there was not a thing wrong with her course. She paused a handful of times, beset by uncertainty, but each time she reminded herself it was merely a bath and continued on. An image of the Abbess’s horrified face crept into her mind, but she brushed it away.

  Guinevere trotted beside her as they entered the gardens. Giselle let out a breath of relief to find no one about. “You’d best stay out here,” she told Guinevere. The dog found a patch of sun and plopped down in the grass, letting out a snort and promptly closing her eyes.

  Giselle cautiously edged the wooden door open. “Is anyone there?” she called. Her voice echoed off the stone walls.

  The groom had worked quickly, Giselle thought as she took in the brace of burning candles lighting the small structure with pale gold light. She walked in and draped her clothing on a wooden bench. A cupboard sat against one wall holding stacks of folded cloth, and a line of stoppered vials stood next to the sunken area in the center.

  She picked one up, took out the stopper and sniffed before smiling. Lavender, of course. Going to her knees, she swept her fingers through the water in the huge, sunken tub. It was blessedly warm. After pouring in a measure of scent, she sat back on her heels and stared into the water. Should she? Dare she?

  Telling herself that Guinevere would surely bark if anyone approached, she quickly disrobed and slipped into the water. “Dear Lord, this is wondrous,” she murmured as the warm, scented water c
overed her body up to her neck. Nona had been absolutely right—it was soothing.

  And quite possibly the most decadent thing Giselle had ever done in her life.

  She tried to muster up some reason why she should not enjoy the sensation so much, but failed utterly, the strictures she’d lived under so long refusing to come to mind. After finding a spot to lay her head on the edge, she closed her eyes and simply breathed in, feeling her limbs relax one by one until she floated free in the water.

  Lost in unexpected delight, it took her a moment to realize she’d heard a sound. Her eyes flashed open, and she let out a squeak of surprise.

  Her husband stood there silhouetted in the candlelight. “Giselle,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

  Her body immediately lost its languor, instead tensing in a wild combination of fear and excitement. “I, uh …”

  He pulled off his boots.

  Dear Lord, her throat was so dry she couldn’t utter a word. Instead, she watched silently as he shed his clothing, revealing a body she’d come to know, in truth had come to crave.

  But not, she realized with a hitch of her breath, as she wished to.

  “You do not mind if I join you, do you?” he said, stepping into the water.

  Giselle burned inside. All she could think of was the fact that only a warm shimmer of water separated them. “No.”

  He moved and Giselle noticed he’d brought a ewer and a cup with him. She held her breath as he filled the cup, bending down to reveal muscled buttocks and strong thighs.

  Breathe, Giselle, she told herself. It is only a bath.

  She knew she lied when he turned around.

  As he walked toward her through the water, she tried to swallow, but found she couldn’t. Dear Lord, the man was huge. Olive’s words spilled though her mind, bringing with them a rush of heat. She says Uncle Piers is built like a stallion, and knows very well how to use the gifts God has given him. Now Giselle understood what she’d meant.

  He sat down in the water beside her. When he looked down, he sucked in a harsh breath, and Giselle realized her breasts bobbed close to the surface. She started to bend forward, but Piers stopped her with a touch to her shoulder. “No. You are beautiful.”

  Giselle looked at him and saw his expression was taut, his eyes gleaming.

  Carefully, he set the cup of wine on the edge of the tub, and took her chin in his hand. “I told myself I would not do this,” he said. “But—”

  “I want you to.” Giselle couldn’t believe the words had come out of her mouth.

  With a groan, he pulled her onto his thighs and seized her lips in a bruising kiss. On and on it went, lips crushed together, tongues tasting, stroking, sucking. Giselle was dimly aware she sought as much as she gave, smoothing her hands over his shoulders, gripping tight.

  His manhood was a hard, hot mystery pressing against her.

  He pulled back his head with a soft curse and filled his hands with her breasts, his roughened fingertips brushing the tips, coaxing the hardened points into fullness. “Oh,” Giselle gasped, and then gasped anew when he took one in his mouth and suckled hard.

  She held onto his broad shoulders with everything she had, dissolving into need and heat as he worshipped the part of her body she’d always been ashamed of.

  “You are beautiful,” he said again, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to hers.

  Lost in the magic of his mouth, she barely felt him ease her legs apart. Beyond caring, beyond embarrassment, she still cried out when he touched her. And touched her again, stroking circles against a part of her that instantly came to tingling life.

  She panted for breath and found herself staring into his intense gaze. Dear God, it was all at once too much to bear, too exposed, but her body didn’t care, seeking the touch of his fingers, her whole being shrunk to that one spot. “Piers,” she gasped.

  He slowly smiled. “Pleasure, Giselle. Give yourself up to it.”

  Surely this must be sinful, she thought, at the same time realizing she didn’t care. His fingers moved faster, drawing the hot ache in her body into a sharp need, building and pulsing. She held on to his shoulders and rocked against his hand. More, she needed more.

  He let out a growl and pressed inside her with his thumb.

  Lights exploded behind her eyes and her body erupted. Giselle stared into Piers’s gaze, absolutely spellbound by the sensations buffeting her.

  For a moment, they simply gazed into each other’s eyes. The water swirled around them, warm and fragrant. It was utterly still but for the labor of Giselle’s breathing.

  Floating in the mist of discovery, it took Giselle a moment to realize that Piers was stroking her back, at the same time edging her back onto her knees in the water.

  When he lifted her atop his thighs and she came up against his manhood, her breath stopped.

  He gazed at her with glittering eyes. “Pleasure, Giselle,” he rumbled, and her body clenched in response.

  As he drew her lips into a lingering kiss, he slid his hands down and lifted her over him. Slowly, so slowly Giselle nearly cried out to him to hurry, he lowered her, the head of his manhood slipping inside, then the hot, heavy length of him, stretching her, filling her. Dear Lord, she thought. She’d never imagined anything like this.

  When he paused, she moaned.

  Through gritted teeth, he said, “Your virgin barrier. By Saint George’s sword, you are so tight, I …

  Giselle wriggled and Piers briefly closed his eyes.

  She knew she was missing something, but had no idea what it was. “Piers. Teach me.”

  He thrust upward and Giselle cried out, a shaft of pain slicing through her. Piers simply held her close, not moving. The pain quickly slid away and Giselle wriggled again.

  “You have all of me now,” he said, his gaze hot on hers.

  Giselle was so overwhelmed she couldn’t speak.

  Slowly, he began to thrust, deep strokes that seized Giselle’s body in a storm of sensation. She kissed him, open mouthed, her tongue mating with his as he continued to surge inside her.

  “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he said with a groan. “Hurry.”

  When she did, he lifted her out of the water and laid her down gently on the edge of the pool, bracing his arms against the stone. “No,” he said. “Gentle.” A sheen of sweat shone on his forehead.

  Again and again he plunged into her until Giselle thought she couldn’t possibly draw a deep enough breath, couldn’t possibly take any more pleasure.

  But then his fingers found her again, and she realized she could. She cried out at the same time his face convulsed and he let out a long groan.

  They collapsed on the stone floor, wrapped in each other, Piers making soothing noises as he stroked her arm.

  Giselle told herself she should be mortified, but found her mind unable to chide her. “That was …” She coughed.

  Piers chuckled. “Worth waiting for, I am thinking.”

  “Oh, yes.” Giselle flushed and slid out of his arms.

  He lay back, his hands behind his head, obviously at ease in his skin.

  Abruptly uncomfortable, Giselle looked around for her clothes.

  “You should soak in the water for a bit. ‘Twill soothe you.”

  She was halfway to the drying cloths. He was probably right, she told herself. She slipped into the water.

  Languidly, he rose. “I shall leave you to it.” After pulling on his garments, he crouched beside the tub and stroked a fingertip down her cheek. “Otherwise I would be tempted to teach you a few other things this day.”

  Giselle was sure her face was scarlet.

  He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips and left.

  Giselle sank deeper into the water, telling herself to be grateful that he’d gone, but wondering with no small amount of curiosity just what he had in mind to teach her.

  Piers paused outside the bathhouse and collapsed onto a garden bench, his hands shaking. What the hell had he been thinking? He stared at
the garden, seeing nothing, and fought for control.

  Eikki had been there, just as he’d claimed, prodding, urging Piers to take Giselle with the kind of single-minded selfishness that would have left her weeping. It had taken everything Piers had to avoid succumbing to Eikki.

  But you did, he reminded himself. You held on and loved Giselle the way she deserved, the way you wanted to.

  It had not been without cost. Instead of feeling satiated and at ease, he was shaky and on edge, depleted by fighting Eikki’s invasive presence.

  He took deep, even breaths and prayed for Iosobal’s quick arrival.

  Giselle drew in the scent of the misty morning air and glanced at her husband. They rode across a rolling expanse of green, the castle far in the distance. A creek gurgled along in a dip to their left. At the edge of a forest, she spied the tawny head of a deer poking its head out.

  “ ’Tis a lovely day.”

  Piers gazed at the sky. “Aye, but I fear ‘twill not last. I can smell the rain coming in.”

  “I do not smell anything but lush grass and wild primrose.”

  “You have not lived on the coast long enough yet.”

  She smiled at him. After the bathhouse, a wall had crumbled between them. Giselle found she was enjoying getting to know Piers very much.

  “I cannot believe how well-behaved that beast is for you.” Piers sounded so disgruntled Giselle had to laugh.

  She stroked Angel on the withers. “He likes me.”

  “Aye. The creature has good taste at least.”

  The warmth in his gaze sent a tingle down to her toes. High overhead, a hawk flew, its shrill cry riding the winds.

  “Let us trot until we reach that line of trees,” Giselle said, pointing. “I need more practice.”

  Piers winked at her and spurred his mount forward. “I would be happy to provide it, my lady, in more comfortable surroundings.”

  Giselle giggled as she and Angel pursued Piers. The breeze shifted through her plaited hair as they rode up a slight incline. “I am talking about riding a horse,” she called out, ruining the chastisement by giggling again. She focused on moving with Angel’s rhythm, but he was so smooth, it was easy to do and she found her gaze roaming over the verdant countryside.