Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  “I, uh, fifty thousand shillings, my lady.”

  “Nay.” Giselle jumped up, her gaze on Piers. “ ’Tis a fortune. I cannot let you pay this.”

  “Of course I shall pay it, and gladly.” Piers was dimly aware he was shouting. “You are my wife. ’Tis my duty and my honor to do so.”

  Giselle slumped back onto the stool, shaking her head as if life had suddenly become too confusing.

  Piers knew exactly how she felt.

  Giselle strolled along the sand, Guinevere keeping pace with her. Though a guard followed at a distance, Giselle was too mired in her own thoughts to care. Asides, she carried a dagger now, she thought with an inward thump of shock.

  She felt so adrift she wasn’t even sure where to start sorting out the bewildering morass her life had become.

  One by one, recent events tumbled through her mind. The Abbess and the Bishop throwing her out of Kerwick Abbey, their patent scorn wrapping her in misery. Nearly being ravaged not once, but twice. Her marriage to Piers. The incredible sweetness of an act she’d vowed never to do. How foolish she’d been. How ignorant of life. And now, of all things she turned out to be not the baseborn orphan she’d been led to believe, but a titled woman with an estate.

  She sank down upon the sand and put her hand on Guinevere’s fur.

  In the process of all that had befallen her, she’d broken just about every one of her rules and at this moment couldn’t seem to care.

  Idly, she sifted the cool sand through her fingers and gazed out over the sea.

  The peace of the endless blue expanse washed over her, distilling her thoughts. Over all of the changes, all of her new experiences, everything that had occurred since that rainy day at Kerwick, one naked fact pealed through her mind.

  There could be no annulment now. She was as bound to Piers as he was to her.

  Why her heart leapt at the realization she refused to ponder.

  Giselle sat in the great hall that eve, determined to quell her doubts and uncertainties to revel in the satisfying news she would take back what the Bishop of Ravenswood stole from her. She smiled at the group of musicians playing on the left side of the hall, tapping her foot to the rhythm of the psaltery.

  Masses of candles dispelled the shadows, and the fine silk of her deep blue bliaut felt rich beneath her fingers. Servants moved between the tables, dispensing ale and wine with a free hand, and the hum of a hundred conversations surrounded her.

  It seemed to Giselle everyone was smiling.

  Father Michel leaned near her. “I have not had the chance to tell you how pleased I am for you.”

  “Thank you, Father. It has all been quite a shock. I have to keep reminding myself to believe it.”

  The priest’s eyes twinkled. “Your husband is proving to be a bit more of a man than you initially anticipated, I imagine.”

  “Aye.” Giselle glanced around the hall, looking for him. She spied him walking in with Gifford and Saraid. He was laughing at something Gifford said, and the sight of him struck her like a bolt of fire to her belly.

  How beautiful he is, she thought. He’d clearly come from a bath, his tawny hair still damp. An emerald colored tunic cloaked his broad shoulders and his face was alight with mirth. Many of the women’s eyes followed him as he strode toward the dais, but Giselle realized with a shiver that he looked only at her.

  Dear Lord, she thought. How did it come to be that this beautiful, strong, loyal man is mine? Mine. The very word sent a tremor of excitement through her.

  “My lady,” he said when he reached her side. His gaze slid over her. “You look most lovely this eve.”

  “Thank you.”

  The earl stood and the hall quieted. “I offer a toast this night,” he called out. “To achieving what is right and defeating those who would threaten it.” He lifted his cup and people called out cheers.

  He drank deeply, sat, and gazed at Giselle with approval.

  She lifted her cup. “My thanks to you for your support, my lord.”

  “You are family. No thanks are needed.”

  Her eyes burned as she took a sip of wine. Blinking, she turned to Piers. “And my thanks to you as well. I cannot convey to you the depth of my gratitude.”

  Piers leaned close and winked. “Oh, I can think of a way you can.”

  Giselle flushed, but inside her body warmed.

  The rest of the supper passed in a haze. Giselle was sure she ate, drank, and conversed with those seated around her, but the heat of her husband’s thigh pressed close to hers, his velvety voice, his smiles occupied all of her thoughts.

  By the time he suggested they retire, her body felt like a tightly stretched bowstring.

  When she thought of Piers’s odd behavior of the past weeks, she decided it must have been the strain of awaiting the king’s decision. Though she was still having difficulty accepting the idea, he seemed to genuinely consider the Bishop’s theft of her identity and birthright as his personal battle to wage.

  She’d made no secret of her early impressions of him. He probably feared that if the king ruled against them, she would perceive it as proof her first opinion was correct.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  They were partway across the bailey. Torches cast wavering light at intervals, but it was dark and still save for occasional shouts by guards patrolling the walls. Giselle took a deep breath of the night air, fresh with a faint scent of woodsmoke.

  Piers took her hand in his calloused palm. “Is aught amiss?”

  “Nay. I suppose I am simply having trouble adjusting to the idea Kindlemere is ours. I wonder what it is like.”

  “I wonder what kind of stables it possesses.”

  Giselle laughed.

  “Come, my lady.”

  “Are you terribly weary?”

  He led her into their chamber, and turned with a mischievous smile. “Nay.”

  Giselle looked around her. Fat candles burned along one wall, while a fire sparked golden light. Upon a table near the bed sat a ewer and a pair of cups.

  Piers put his hands around her waist. “I thought a private celebration was in order.”

  “Oh.” Giselle licked her lips, suddenly shy. As many times as she’d revisited their time in the bathhouse, it still seemed like a dream to her, like something that had happened to someone else.

  “Would you care for some wine?”

  “Yes,” she said softly when he released her and poured. She took the cup and perched on the window seat.

  Piers sat beside her and simply stared.

  Giselle was so nervous she could barely bring the cup to her lips without spilling the contents.

  “Turn around,” Piers said.

  She blinked.

  “I want to brush out your hair.”

  Her heart thumping, she shifted around so her back was to him.

  “After your eyes, your hair was the first thing I noticed about you,” he murmured as he uncoiled the plaits. “I thought at the time it was like wind-tossed silver.”

  A shiver rippled down her back.

  He smoothed his fingers through the weight of her hair and drew a brush through it, smoothing out the tangles. “You looked like an angel,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck.

  Giselle just leaned back, lulled by the steady pull of the brush through her hair, the sonorous sound of Piers’s voice making her feel beautiful beyond measure.

  “I did not want a wife.” He chuckled. “Particularly an angelic one.” He continued brushing her hair and pressed a kiss to her temple.

  Giselle simply sighed and sipped her wine.

  “And, of course, you stared at me as if you’d suddenly swallowed something rancid.” He nibbled on her ear.

  “Mmm. I was in shock over finding myself here.” With a start, Giselle realized Piers had unlaced her bliaut and undertunic. She jumped when he smoothed a hand over her breast, covered only by her thin linen chemise.

  �
�But there was something about you, even then,” he murmured, stroking a finger over her nipple.

  A part of her wanted to squeak in protest, but his touch felt so wondrously good Giselle stamped it down.

  “And that was before I knew you possessed the most perfect breasts God has surely ever fashioned.”

  Giselle tried to catch a breath and failed.

  He lifted and turned her so she knelt facing him, his gaze so hungry Giselle shivered. Shocked at her boldness, she took his face in her hands and pressed her mouth to his.

  With a groan, he hauled her atop his lap and plundered her mouth, his tongue stabbing deep at the same time his hands roamed over her body.

  Giselle closed her eyes and gave herself up to the tempest of sensation.

  She clutched his shoulders as he kissed her throat, her neck, and then drew the tip of her breast into his mouth through her chemise. Buffeted by spirals of heat, her eyes flashed open when she felt his fingers stroke the entrance to her body. His burning gaze consumed her.

  Giselle let out a cry. “Piers.”

  He slowly smiled and flicked a finger over her skin.

  The bowstring snapped. Her body clenched down and erupted.

  “So beautiful in your pleasure,” he whispered. The expression on his face was reverent.

  Awash in the power of her release, Giselle forgot to be embarrassed.

  He picked her up and laid her on the bed, slowly stripping her clothes, his gaze so frankly appreciative Giselle simply let him. In moments, his own clothing joined hers on the floor.

  Dear Lord, he is the beautiful one, Giselle thought as he joined her on the bed, his warm hardness pressing along the length of her. When he nudged her thighs apart, she trembled with anticipation.

  Then he kissed her, a tender claiming that spread warmth through her body. “Open for me, Giselle,” he said, and she did, gasping when he slid his thick length into her.

  He rose up on his elbows, and began to move, thrusting almost gently, rocking her. She stared into his eyes, her entire being transfixed by him, feeling as if he’d crept into her very soul.

  His features grew taut, and Giselle began to meet his thrusts, arching her body off the bed.

  “Dear God,” he rasped.

  Pleasure built in her, a growing fire she couldn’t control, didn’t want to control. “Piers. More.”

  She saw relief spill over his face before he lifted her hips and took them both into rapture.

  Afterward, Giselle felt absolutely boneless. And absolutely sated. She snuggled against Piers’s hard chest and let out a sigh.

  “Turn over,” he said, his voice holding an edge.

  Giselle blinked at him. “What?”

  “Turn over and get up on your knees.”

  “What? Why?” She glanced down and sucked in a breath at the sight of his manhood jutting up against his belly.

  He smiled. It was not his smile of moments ago, but one that sent a chill of foreboding down her spine. “Just do as I tell you.” He flipped her onto her stomach and spread her legs.

  Giselle tried to turn around but he held her down. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you as I wish.” His voice was so cold Giselle couldn’t believe this was the same man who’d just brought her to such exquisite bliss.

  She cried out when he slapped her buttocks. “Get on your knees.”

  “Are you mad? I am not—” Her voice broke off in shock when he yanked her to the side of the bed so her legs hung over the side. His fingers dug into her thighs.

  “Or not,” he said. “I can just as easily take you this way.”

  No, she thought. Not like this. She twisted around and stared at him. His eyes were like burning embers in his face, dark and fathomless. “Nay.”

  His lips twisted. “You are my wife. Your duty is to obey me, to ensure my needs are satisfied.” He bent down and cupped her chin. “All of them.”

  She glared at him though inside she shook with fear. “Who are you?” she asked slowly.

  “Your master.”

  “No. My husband, aye, but not my master.”

  “ ’Tis the same.”

  “No!” She pushed away and fell onto the floor, scooting back against the side of the bed. Something is wrong, she told herself. Very wrong. Her vision played over and over in her mind as she stared at a man with cold eyes and a cruel twist to his mouth.

  “Come now, little nun. You belong to me.”

  “I shall not submit to such … depravity,” she hissed.

  He chuckled. “Oh, we have not even started with that. And what difference does it make how I bury my rod inside your hot, damp body. You shall still enjoy it. You cannot hide that from me.”

  Giselle was so appalled at his crudity she could scarcely draw a breath. “No. Who are you? ’Tis as if you are two men. Even your eyes,” she said pointing. “Who are you?” she shouted.

  He seized her wrist in an iron grip and hauled her to her feet. “Bend over,” he hissed.

  Tears filled Giselle’s eyes, but she glared back at him. “No, Piers.”

  At the sound of his name, his body heaved in a great shudder and he closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were golden brown once more. And filled with such bleak pain Giselle’s heart turned over, desperate to hear his explanation but at the same time terrified at what she might discover.

  “Dear God, I am sorry, Giselle,” he rasped, striding across the room to fill a cup with wine, which he drained in one long swallow.

  Curiosity overcame her fear, and she pulled a sheet over her nakedness. “What is this? You love me with such tenderness, and then … then you become a cold stranger.”

  He refilled his cup, and slowly turned. “That is because I am two men.”

  “That is impossible.” She sank onto the window seat.

  “It should be.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “No, of course not. How could you?” He drew on braies and sat on the edge of the bed cradling his cup. “But you deserve to know. To know what a reckless fool your husband has been.”

  Giselle stared wordlessly at him while he told her an incredible story. At the end, he bowed his head. “I should never have touched you, should have sent you away from this, but I was too selfish. Now you are bound to the demon I have become.”

  On wobbly legs, Giselle rose and sat beside him, placing her hand over his. “Not a demon. A man faced with a test from God, a challenge to your faith and honor. One I am certain you shall win.”

  He lifted his gaze, clearly stunned by her words.

  “I shall aid you as I can.”

  “You … Kindlemere is yours now, or soon shall be. I release you from any bond to me. You can make a new life there.”

  “I shall not abandon you in this dark hour.”

  “Giselle …” He shook his head. “I know not how to rid myself of this curse I have wrought. Amice tried and failed. I … Eikki would have harmed her if Cain had not been there.”

  “God does not burden us with more that we can surmount.”

  “Do you truly believe that?” The hint of hope in his voice tore at her heart.

  She stood and retrieved a cup of wine, suddenly parched. “I do, with every bit of my heart and soul.” She laughed, but it was a broken sound. “Do you have any idea how I felt when the Abbess and the Bishop threw me out of Kerwick?”

  He gave her a measured look. “They tore you from the only life you had known.”

  “Aye. From everything I knew. All that made me feel safe. Everyone I knew.”

  “Was there someone in particular?” he guessed.

  “Sister Gertrude. She was a mother to me.” Giselle scowled. “They did not even let me speak to her before they tossed me atop a horse and dragged me away.”

  “I am sorry, Giselle. If you would like to see her, I shall take you to Kerwick.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I would like that.” She gazed out the window. “When I arrived here, I was terrified, utt
erly lost, convinced that for my sins God had turned His back on me.”

  “What sins?”

  She shrugged. “The Abbess always told me my soul was tainted.”

  “Old bitch,” he swore.

  “I realize she was merely repeating the Bishop’s words.” She turned back to Piers. “And now, well, I have gained a family, and a husband who cared enough to fight for me, things I never had and never thought to have.”

  He rose and took her hands in his. “I am afraid, Giselle. Afraid Eikki shall overcome me again and I will hurt you.”

  “I am not,” she said, surprised to find she meant it. “You will not allow it.”

  His face crinkled in a smile. “You have much faith in me.”

  “Aye. And you must have faith in yourself. ’Tis what will save you.”

  Chapter

  XVI

  The next morning, Cain sat in his solar, enduring Gifford’s prolonged advice on Amice’s necklace when he felt a cool draft of air cross his face. He looked up, expecting to see someone entering the chamber, but the door remained closed. With an inward shrug, he said, “Gifford, I have decided upon opals. They possess a fire inside that reminds me of Amice.”

  “Fine choice, Veuxfort,” a man’s voice said.

  Gifford let out a screech as Cain leapt up, his hand going to his sword.

  Lugh MacKeir gazed back at him with a huge grin on his face. To his side stood the most unusual looking woman Cain had ever seen. Her purple eyes stared back at him with a trace of amusement, as if she knew very well the effect of her appearance.

  “MacKeir!” Gifford shouted. “Nearly scared me into losing my jug, man.” He clapped Lugh on the shoulder, then took the woman’s hand. “And Lady Iosobal, as lovely as ever. ’Tis wondrous to see you again.”

  The woman smiled indulgently at Gifford as he pressed a fervent kiss to her hand.

  Cain was so relieved to see them he felt like shouting himself. He nodded to Lugh, then walked to Lady Iosobal, palms outstretched. “Thank you for coming, my lady.”

  Her gaze became solemn. “I shall do what I can,” she said, placing her hands in his.

  At the contact, Cain felt tendrils of warmth spread into his palms. He glanced at The MacKeir, who was still grinning like the besotted fool he undoubtedly was.