by Amy Tolnitch
“I do not know exactly.”
Gifford rubbed his hands together. “We shall put her in the rose chamber. It has a lovely view of the ocean and, of course, the garden. We want her to feel welcome.”
“Gifford, the only reason she is coming is to get rid of that damned ghost,” Cain reminded them. God knew, he reminded himself of that fact twenty times a day.
Piers elbowed Gifford, who reluctantly handed over the jug. “Wonder what the girl looks like.”
“Visited Wareham once,” Gifford commented. “Cannot say I remember the girl. Her father, though.” He shook his head. “A brute of a man.”
Cain’s own memory surfaced and he nodded. “Aye, that he was.”
His uncle peered around the solar and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Got to be a sad case, what with not marrying and engaging in this ghost business.” He blinked at Cain and snatched back the jug.
“Amice de Monceaux is the most comely woman I have ever seen.” At the flash of suspicion in Piers’s eyes, Cain realized his slip.
Piers leaned forward and there was a brief tussle between his uncle and him for the jug. “Give it to me, you old sot.”
“I brought the jug. Get your own.”
Cain watched them go back and forth and shook his head, wondering how his life had gotten so out of control. All the scene needed now to make it complete was an appearance from the ghost of Falcon’s Craig. “Enough,” he barked.
The two looked back at him like guilty boys caught stealing custard tarts from the kitchen. “Sorry, Cain,” Piers said with a sheepish grin.
Gifford coughed. “So, how well do you know the wench?”
For a moment, Cain could not answer. It was a simple question, but impossible to answer. Did he know her? He had thought so once, but he was not sure he ever truly had. And knowing was far too mild a term to describe his tangled feelings for Amice. “She is a lady, not a wench. And when I fostered at Chasteney, Amice was there as well.”
Piers took a pull from the jug and glanced sideways at Gifford. “Uncle, I sense a tale here. What do you think?”
Gifford settled back and crossed his thin legs. “My boy, I believe you may be correct.” He stared at Cain. “Well?”
Cain was beginning to feel besieged. “As I said, Amice was at Chasteney the same time I was.”
“And? Did you bed her?”
He fought a flush. His uncle was never one to hold his tongue. Had he bedded her? Oh, aye, though rarely in a bed. Five years had not dimmed his memory one bit. Or his guilt. Heat puddled in his stomach and raced down to his groin. He shifted on his chair and gave Gifford a stern look. “I am not answering that question.”
“What does she look like?” Piers asked with a gleam in his eyes.
“You shall not try to add Amice to your collection of women.” Piers was the kind of man women fought over. His boyish good looks and lighthearted view toward life drew women in like the tide to shore.
“Why not?”
Cain just looked at him.
“Ah, so that is the way of it. Brown, blonde, or red?”
Making a vain attempt to smooth down his white hair, Gifford noted, “I prefer red on a woman, myself.”
“Brown, blonde, or red what?” Cain asked.
Gifford slapped a hand on the table. “Hair, of course.”
Cain rolled his eyes. “Dark brown hair.”
His brother leaned forward. “And? What else?”
For a moment, he let himself remember. “Big dark eyes. Tall, slender, with the longest legs I have ever seen on a woman.”
Piers stared for a moment, then said, “Damn. Are you sure I—?”
“Aye.”
Gifford started cackling and reached for the jug. “You just answered my question.”
Well, hell. Cain shrugged.
Piers made a pass at the jug, but Gifford clutched it tight. Turning back to Cain, he asked, “What happened?”
He drew a mantle over his expression. “You know what happened. Mother saw fit to tell me I had been betrothed to Luce. Honor demanded I marry her.” He silenced Piers’s protest with a raised hand. “It was my duty as the earl. To keep both of you in home and,” he paused, “ample drink.”
Gifford gave another snort and passed the jug to Piers. “Luce. Naught but a twisted bit of fluff. Why Ismena liked her is beyond me. God rest both their souls, of course.”
“Mother liked Cain’s wife because she could deliver Styrling Castle,” Piers reminded him. “And enough coin to pay the King’s amercement.”
“Not right,” Gifford muttered.
Cain rubbed the back of his neck. He refused to think of his late wife, let alone discuss her. “None of it matters now. Luce is dead. As is whatever Amice and I might have shared.” How he managed to utter the last with such certainty he could not fathom.
Piers’s gaze narrowed. “Some things have a habit of lingering.”
“Like that demented wraith who keeps mucking up my experiments,” Gifford groused.
“Which is why Amice is coming here. She shall rid us of the ghost for good.”
Gifford popped up and started toward the door. “I shall make sure Hawis gets the chamber ready.”
“I have already spoken to her, Uncle.”
Half turning, his uncle said, “I had better make sure.” Opening the door, he muttered to himself between swigs from his jug.
Piers gazed at Cain and lifted a brow. “I have always wondered why you bought Villa Delphino.”
Cain gritted his teeth. “I like Italy.”
“Hmm. But you have only visited once.”
“I am busy.” He kept his gaze blank. It would only encourage Piers to learn the truth, that the villa reminded him of what could have been. He had seen Amice everywhere at Villa Delphino, imagined her in every room. It took only once to convince him he should never have bought the place, never tried to keep a memory alive.
“You have been alone too long, Brother.”
“I like being alone.”
“A man alone shall forfeit the sweetness of life.”
Cain scowled. “More of your nonsense.”
“You have an obligation.”
Heirs, he meant. “Why don’t you legitimize one of yours?”
Piers shook his head. “I am too careful to sire bastards. And you are the earl.”
Cain stood and placed his hands atop the old, scarred table. “I married once. ‘Twas a farce.”
“Not all women are as corrupt as Luce. Perhaps, this Amice—”
“Nay!” He shook his head, mentally crushing an unruly surge of hope at the thought. “Nay, Piers. Put it from your mind.”
“Very well.” His brother’s expression said the topic was far from forgotten. “I shall be in the stable. Pleasance is nearly ready to foal.”
“Good.” Cain watched his brother depart, and he dropped back into his chair, burying his face in his hands.
What had possessed him to send for Amice de Monceaux?
Just as he gave in to the thought, his inkpot went sailing into the air, landing with a wet plop on top of Nyle’s carefully written accounts. As he watched the black ink drip across the parchment, he knew he had no choice.
Amice would rid him of the ghost. He would happily give up Villa Delphino and return to his life. Naught more. He was the Earl of Hawksdown now, not a young man swept away by beautiful eyes, a sweet mouth, and the body of a goddess. I am strong, he reminded himself.
“I am in control,” he said aloud.
The inkpot rose from the parchment and did a little twirl in the air.
Cain grabbed up his sword and strode out of the solar.
The next morning, Amice and her companion, Laila, were mounted in the bailey bidding farewell to Amice’s brother, Rand, when a shout rang out.
“Who is it?” Rand called up to one of the guards.
A bellow rolled in from outside the castle, and Amice cringed. She knew that voice. Lugh MacKeir of Tunvegen, Highland la
ird and frequent visitor to Wareham.
Rand started laughing at the expression on her face.
“Rand, please. I must go.”
Her brother looked up at the guard and ordered, “Raise the portcullis. ’Tis a friend.”
With a heavy, grinding sound, the iron portcullis slowly lifted, and a huge, roan destrier pounded into the bailey, blowing air from its nostrils. The MacKeir easily balanced atop the beast, clad in his green and black plaid and an impressive collection of blades. Behind him rode a troop of his Highlanders, all nearly as massively built and armed as if they approached the greatest battle of their lives.
The MacKeir came to a halt and gave her a graceful bow. “Lady Amice, you are even lovelier than last I saw you.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She smiled in what she hoped conveyed a cool distance.
He gestured with an arm like a tree trunk. “Is she not the most beautiful woman you have ever seen, men?”
Caught between the temptation to blush or laugh, she watched as ten battle-hardened Highlanders all bobbed heads in unison, chorusing, “Aye.” One of the men shouted out, “Make a fine bride for you,” and she wanted to press her heels to her horse and flee.
“I have decided ’Tis time, my treasure.” The MacKeir glanced down at Rand and nodded an acknowledgment.
“Time for what?” And why in the world was he calling her his treasure? She frowned down at her brother, but Rand just stood there grinning.
“Why, to claim my bride, of course.” The MacKeir’s smile broadened, and he inched his mount closer to hers. He seized one of her hands in a meaty grip. “Your wait is over. The MacKeir has come for you at last.”
She stared at him in astonishment. He clearly expected her gratitude. True, she was well past marriageable age, but still. “What … what are you talking about?”
Before he could answer, Rand loudly cleared his throat. “Chief MacKeir, I do not recall having an agreement for Amice.”
“Details, my friend. I shall agree to whatever you require for the privilege of possessing this rare jewel.”
She tried to pull her hand free but it was like trying to escape a lion’s paw. “Rand?”
“Chief MacKeir, Lugh, please come into the hall and share a cup. You must be thirsty from your travel.”
With a last squeeze, The MacKeir released her hand and leapt from his horse. “Fine idea, my lord.” He clapped Rand on the back. Luckily, her brother was a big man himself, or he would be sprawling on the ground from the force of the blow. Of course, during his long friendship with Lugh MacKeir, Rand had learned to brace himself. “Come, Amice,” The MacKeir said as he held out his hand to her.
“Unfortunately, I cannot, Chief MacKeir. I am leaving.”
Heavy black brows furrowed into a single line. “Leaving? But ’Tis too soon, my precious. My men and I need to remain overnight and rest our horses.”
She sighed. “Not with you. I must journey to Falcon’s Craig.”
“Nay. I forbid it.” His forest green eyes flashed with possession. “My bride stays with me.”
The whole conversation was so ridiculous, she was tempted to laugh. But she knew Lugh MacKeir well enough to clamp the urge. She had always thought of him as a gentle giant, but underneath dwelled a formidable Highland chief. She forced herself to smile politely. “I am not your bride, my lord.”
He waved a hand. “Merely a matter of time. Do not worry, Amice. You shall be mine.”
“I am not worried.”
Obviously, he understood her response as assent and shot her an approving nod. “Let us discuss this in the hall. I have a powerful thirst on me, and I would look upon you.”
“Chief MacKeir, did you not hear me? I must leave. Now.”
He took a step toward her, his expression hardening.
Rand grabbed his arm and whispered something to him. As Amice watched, The MacKeir allowed Rand to pull him a small distance away and the two men held a soft, but clearly heated discussion, punctuated by several sharp looks in her direction from Chief MacKeir.
Finally, he stared at her brother and slowly tipped his head.
Amice looked at Rand, but his expression told her nothing. The warriors flanking The MacKeir stepped forward as he returned to her side.
Swallowing thickly, she waited for him to speak.
“You may journey to Falcon’s Craig.” He scowled. “Though I like it not, your brother convinces me ’Tis important to you.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“But when you return, I shall be here, ready to take you to Tunvegen where you belong.”
Tunvegen, deep in the Highlands, far from anything or anyone familiar. Far from a villa perched over the warm sea. She gripped the reins tight. “Has my brother agreed to this?”
“Nay. But he will. As soon as we come to terms.” He stepped closer and before she could get out an objection, swept her down to the ground.
She peered up at him, all at once aware of just how big he was. Normally, she was nearly as tall as a man, but next to The MacKeir she felt almost fragile.
“You are mine, Amice.”
She opened her mouth to protest but found it plundered by another. And plundered it was, his firm lips capturing hers, tasting her, stroking her tongue, and sweeping through her mouth with gentle force.
He broke the kiss and cocked a brow. “ ’Tis only the beginning, my flower.” He puffed out his broad chest. “The MacKeir shall make you cry with joy.”
Her jaw dropped. Dear God, how was she to escape this wild Scot? A journey to Falcon’s Craig suddenly did not seem long enough. Before her bewildered eyes, Chief MacKeir and his men trooped into the great hall with Rand, talking and laughing like the greatest of friends. Surely, Rand would not give her to this big bear of a man. He knew her heart’s desire, supported it in fact.
“Come, Amice,” Laila said. “We should go before your Chief MacKeir changes his mind.”
Amice was on her horse and outside the gatehouse faster than she had ever been in her life. Surrounded by her guards, she spurred her mount to a gallop and never looked back.
ISBN#1932815260
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A Lost touch of paradise
Amy Tolnitch
For the first time in his life, Lugh MacKeir, Laird of Tunvegan, finds himself in a battle he cannot win. His precious daughter is dying of the same illness that claimed his wife.
The Isle of Parraba is a whispered legend, a place rumored to be ruled by a sorceress, an isle no one can reach. Yet, legend speaks of a powerful healer as well. Lugh MacKeir, desperate, determines to find Parraba and face its mysterious ruler.
Iosobal is the Lady of Parraba, mystical and magical, a woman apart from the world around her. Drawn to something familiar in Lugh’s child, however, she reluctantly agrees to help her in exchange for Lugh clearing the blocked entrance to a very special cave.
But the child’s illness defies Iosobal’s skill, and Lugh’s task proves more of a challenge than he anticipated. In the end, the secret to saving Lugh’s daughter lies in Iosobal’s ability to open her heart to a brash warrior who has invaded her tranquil sanctuary. She must find the courage to end her isolation, and the wise innocence of a child must lead them all to
A LOST TOUCH OF PARADISE.
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ISBN#9781932815665
Jewel Imprint: Amethyst
US $6.99 / CDN $9.99
Available Now
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Previous accolades for Amy Tolnitch:
A LOST TOUCH OF BLISS:
“Magical, sensuous, funny and touching—a sparkling gem of a book by a superb new autho
r.”
–Mary Lennox, author of “The Moon Runners”
“Readers of paranormal romances will find a new author for their reading lists in Amy Tolnich.”
–Enchanted in Romance
“A LOST TOUCH OF BLISS has everything I could want in a romance, great characterization, a conflicted and heartfelt romance that keeps me reading, a few small mysteries, a bit of sizzle, and really good secondary characters.”
–The Romance Studio
“A tale of star-crossed lovers, tragic pasts, lost loves, and love once again found, makes this book a gem of a story that all paranormal romance readers will love. Ms. Tolnitch is sure to gain many fans, no doubt eagerly looking for her next book. A don’t miss!”
–A Romance Review
“A LOST TOUCH OF BLISS grips readers from page one! Amy Tolnitch mesmerizes readers with strong elements of the paranormal, the heartbreaking loss of a powerful love, and the breathless anticipation that a second chance hovers on the brink of forgiveness.”
–Romance Junkies
OUTSTANDING!
“A LOST TOUCH OF BLISS is a rare treasure. Being a paranormal romance set in 1196, this engaging tale is one I truly loved and hated to see end. Reminiscent of Jude Deveraux’s early historicals, Ms. Tolnitch’s writing will have you wanting to read more. For readers that enjoy a truly wonderful tale of finding love when it seems all is lost, then you need to add A LOST TOUCH OF BLISS to your ‘to buy’ list!”
—K. Ahlers, Independent Reviewer
“Fans of historical and those of otherworldly will appreciate this second chance at love in which the present (that is twelfth century present) and the deceased share so much in common.”
—H. Klausner, Independent Reviewer
“Ms. Tolnitch writes with much passion and wit as you read A LOST TOUCH OF BLISS and highly entertains the reader with her debut novel! This is truly an author to keep your eye on in the coming years as she delivers a heart stirring story told with a passion that weaves a web around the reader and leaves you wanting more. Run to grab A LOST TOUCH OF BLISS and be carried away with a tender romance that delivers all the right touches and hits you on every level.”
