Lost Touch Series

by Amy Tolnitch

  Though Aimili at times harbored her own doubts about her husband, she could not believe him capable of such a cold-blooded, brutal act as murder. “Padruig is not that kind of man.”

  “Simple child.”

  Aimili leapt to her feet. By God, she was beyond tired of being referred to as a child. “Who are you?”

  “His dam. The one who, to my sorrow, gave Padruig birth.”

  “You are called Mairi?” Aimili remembered Efrika’s words. A bit teched, Efrika had said. Aimili thought it was a great deal more than that.

  “Aye. Surely you have heard the story.”

  “Are you talking about Brona’s death?”

  “My beautiful child. Padruig killed her.”

  “My lady, Symund MacVegan killed her,” Aimili said gently. “All know of how Padruig came upon him with the dagger in his hand.”

  “Nay! ’Twas Padruig’s fault. All of it. Look at his face. He bears the devil’s marks to show all his wicked nature.”

  “He was injured in battle. Padruig is not the first man to bear a scar.”

  It was as if Aimili had not spoken. “He refused to let Brona follow her heart. If he had, she would be alive. She would have borne me grandchildren by now. Instead, because of him, I am left with nothing. I curse him.” Mairi’s gaze was feverish, her bony hands outstretched like claws.

  Aimili took another step back. Dear God, what am I to do? “What of Freya, your other daughter?”

  Mairi blinked. “I lost Brona.” Tears dripped down her face. “Because of Padruig, I lost my Brona.”

  Aimili spied the priest enter a side door, and frantically motioned him over. “Father, the Lady Mairi needs your aid,” she said.

  Father Thomas put his arm around the sobbing woman and led her to a bench. “Now, Mairi, let us pray together.”

  “I lost my Brona,” she said.

  “Aye. Let us pray for her blessed soul.”

  Aimili ran out of the chapel into the morning air and took a deep, cleansing breath. The woman was mad, clearly. Poor Padruig. Aimili had heard the stories of that horrible day. It was a tragedy, and depending on who told the story, Padruig was at the least, guilty of poor judgment, and at most, solely responsible for his sister’s death and the ensuing carnage.

  Still, how could a mother hate her own child so? Aimili couldn’t imagine that.

  Unless there was something she didn’t know of that day. Unless there was some truth beyond a madwoman’s ravings.

  She frowned, considering seeking out Padruig, but inside she cringed. Not after last night’s disaster. She’d all but begged Padruig to take her to bed, and he’d fled, his expression telling her just how futile her overture had been.

  “Well, Loki, let us see what you have to say now,” she muttered to herself, turning for the stables.

  Padruig sat in his solar, staring at the pile of coin as if by will alone he could multiply it. Magnus leaned against one wall, his arms crossed, while Alasdair sat on a stool. “’Tis enough to repay Ransolm, but not much more.” Padruig slammed a fist down on the table. “Damn Grigor. And damn that useless Alard!”

  “Alard is not all to fault, but truth be said, he did not try to control Grigor very hard,” Alasdair said.

  “You shall immediately take over as my seneschal,” Padruig said, drumming his fingers on the table.

  The older man straightened his shoulders. “I shall be happy to.”

  “I have a store of pelts. Some ermine,” Magnus said. “And two finely wrought gold necklaces, set with pearls. We could trade them for food in Inverness.”

  “Damn,” Padruig muttered again. He knew Magnus had worked hard to gain a measure of wealth. It was not fair that he sacrifice it all to the clan.

  “I will see to the task myself,” Magnus said. “I know a merchant or two who owe me a favor.”

  “’Twill not be enough, Magnus,” Padruig said. “And I hate to take all that you have.” Unable to remain seated, Padruig stood to pace. Everyone was depending upon him to find a way to see them through the winter, and he felt completely useless for the task. Why had he come back to this?

  Freya, his inner voice reminded. The clan. Home.

  Magnus shrugged. “I am a part of the clan.”

  Padruig flipped over a silver coin. “We cannot make it alone.”

  “The de Granthams?” Alasdair questioned.

  “Have already done their share. And God knows what the laird would demand of me this time.”

  Magnus snickered.

  “I shall send to Giselle,” Padruig announced.

  Alasdair’s brows rose. “Giselle?”

  “Ah, so the laird did not spend his time away without female companionship,” Magnus said.

  “’Tis not like that.”

  Both Magnus and Alasdair chuckled.

  “’Tis a long story, but I found myself in a position to aid a young woman. At the time, her family offered me a reward, but, of course, I declined.”

  “So you will claim it now.”

  “Aye.”

  “It must have been quite a bit of aid.”

  “I saved her life.” Padruig smiled, thinking of how happy Giselle had been when he left England.

  “Who is this woman?”

  “She is wed to the younger brother of the Earl of Hawksdown. Giselle and her husband, Piers, reside at Kindlemere Castle.”

  “A wealthy holding,” Magnus remarked.

  “Aye. Alasdair, determine exactly how much we need. I want to dispatch a messenger as soon as possible.”

  “Aye, Laird. I will speak to Alard also.”

  Padruig rubbed his chin. “Is he worth keeping on as your assistant?”

  “I am not sure.”

  “Give him a sennight.”

  Alasdair nodded and departed the solar. At the same time, Freya swept in. “Padruig,” she said. “A merchant has arrived!” Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

  “Ah, great tidings, indeed.”

  Freya opened her eyes wide and pouted her lips. “Please, say I may buy some cloth. I am in desperate need of new clothing. Desperate!”

  Padruig glanced at Magnus, who was gazing at Freya in a way that was definitely not the expression of a big brother. “Weel, we cannae have that, can we?” He slid a coin from the pile. “Purchase enough to fashion yourself a new gown.”

  “Oh, thank you, Padruig.” She rushed over and hugged him tight. Padruig patted her back, and couldn’t help but smile despite his concerns over their lack of funds. Freya’s exuberance had a way of being contagious.

  “Choose something for Aimili, also.”

  Freya stood back and tilted her head. “Do you wish me to find her so that she may choose?”

  “She will most likely choose something more suited to a lad.”

  “Aye.” Freya grinned. “She is not one much for silks I fear, but every woman should have at least one beautiful gown.”

  “I agree. Choose well. And check with Efrika to see if she requires anything.”

  “I shall.” Freya disappeared in a swish of well-worn wool.

  Magnus was smiling, Padruig noted. Smiling like some kind of besotted fool. Had Padruig never noticed, or had Magnus’s feelings changed over the time Padruig had been gone? By the saints, Freya was only fifteen.

  Many girls have already borne a bairn by fifteen, his inner voice taunted. Freya should be at the least betrothed.

  “She shall ruin the man she marries,” Padruig commented, “just keeping her in silk and baubles.”

  “He will not mind.”

  “Magnus,” Padruig began, but halted at the look on his friend’s face.

  “I know,” Magnus said quietly. “Freya can reach much higher than a simple trader.”

  Brona’s face appeared in Padruig’s mind. I love Malcolm, she’d said, her blue eyes filled with tears. He’d discounted her feelings as a young girl’s passing whim. Malcolm had been a simple guardsman, not the kind of man suitable for the laird’s sister. Or so he’d told
himself.

  “Does she know how you feel?” Padruig finally asked.

  “I doubt it. Do not worry, Padruig. I would not dishonor your sister.”

  “I am not worried about that. I but wonder if Freya returns your affection.”

  “She thinks of me as another brother. Naught more.”

  Padruig found it hard to envision Freya having feelings for any man, but knew he was deluding himself that she was still the angelic-looking child who followed him about looking for mischief.

  As you delude yourself about your wife? his inner voice mocked.

  He pushed the thought aside with disgust. “She is young, Magnus.”

  Magnus glanced at him with a knowing look. “Not too young.”

  “First, I need to get rid of any claim Angus Ransolm might think he has.”

  “You sent a message revoking Grigor’s agreement?”

  “Aye, but until now I lacked the coin to repay Angus. He wants Freya.”

  “He cannot have her.”

  “Nay. ’Tis why I returned, as you know. I shall deal with Angus Ransolm.”

  “And then?”

  Padruig grinned at him. “And then we shall see.”

  Chapter Eight

  This makes no sense at all, Loki said. What kind of man rejects what is freely offered?

  Humans are more complicated than horses, Aimili told him.

  Loki snorted. Not from what I’ve observed.

  Aimili combed pieces of straw out of Loki’s long, black tail, the familiar rhythm of the work soothing her. Well, clearly Padruig is.

  Tell me more of this. Were you wearing the same clothes as the lads?

  Nay.

  What, then?

  A simple chemise.

  You need to wear something to entice his interest.

  Aimili rolled her eyes. I cannot believe I am receiving advice on my wardrobe from a fractious stallion.

  Ignoring her comment, Loki continued. Surely there is a woman in the castle with a sense of these things.

  And what am I to say to this woman I do not know? My husband refuses to treat me as a wife? Please help me transform myself into a woman he shall desire.

  That might work.

  And the entire castle would be talking about the laird’s ignorant and unwanted bride.

  What exactly did you say to him?

  Aimili busied herself putting the saddle atop Loki’s back. By the saints, how she hated to recall the embarrassing scene. I asked him why he ignored me. And I asked him … I asked him to sleep in the bed with me. Her face burned with remembered humiliation.

  Did he?

  No. He left. Quickly.

  Hmm. Mayhap he is scared of you.

  Aimili laughed as she tightened the girth. Scared? I am half his size, and the man is deadly with a sword.

  Loki sighed. I am not talking about who can beat whom in a fight.

  Aimili put the reins over Loki’s neck and looked him in the eye. Time to work. I do not want to think about my husband anymore.

  Work? I was thinking of taking a nap.

  You can nap later. After you’ve earned it.

  Aimili finished with the bridle and led Loki into the ring. Oscar, one of the stable boys, poked his head out of a stall and walked over to stand outside the ring. “He seems calmer today, my lady. Mayhap he is settling in here.”

  “He is behaving with you?”

  “Aye. He senses I won’t hurt ‘im.”

  The boy is right.

  “Good,” Aimili told Oscar. Between him and D’Ary, she might actually have the help she’d long needed. “Well, let’s see how Loki is really feeling today.”

  Cooperate, she told the horse.

  Or what?

  Or you will not get the apple I brought. Oh, did I mention I have a mare due to arrive soon who is coming into season?

  Food and sex. Maybe you know more about males than you realize.

  Aimili grinned and clucked at him. “Walk,” she said with a small squeeze of her calves against his barrel.

  Loki ambled forward, swaying from side to side.

  “Oscar?”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  “Come in here and lead him. I want to close my eyes.”

  “I shall do it,” a man’s voice said. D’Ary.

  Loki? she asked silently.

  For a couple of moments, the horse didn’t answer. Aimili slowed him to a stop as D’Ary entered the ring. I will allow him to lead me, though ’tis not necessary.

  Forgive me if I remain unconvinced. “Thank you, D’Ary,” she said aloud.

  Loki let out a sigh.

  D’Ary took the reins and began walking Loki. Aimili closed her eyes and let her body simply follow the movement of Loki’s.

  “Are you looking for something in particular?” D’Ary asked.

  Keeping her eyes closed, Aimili said, “Aye. He is not in balance. I am trying to determine why and how best to correct it.”

  “His walk does not look too bad.”

  Too bad? Loki muttered.

  Aimili squeezed slightly. “He is not using his hind enough. There, better,” she said to Loki. She opened her eyes as Loki picked up a trot.

  “No. Walk.”

  Loki slowed.

  You have to learn to propel yourself forward by stepping through with your hind end and lifting your shoulders.

  That is harder.

  I know, but better for you and for a rider.

  If horses could groan aloud, Aimili was sure Loki would have done it, but he began trying to step up with his back end instead of dragging himself along with his front.

  “That is better,” D’Ary commented.

  “Aye. I’ll take the reins back now.”

  He looped them back over Loki’s head but kept walking alongside Aimili and Loki. Aimili took up the reins and circled Loki to change direction, at the same time urging him to keep working his hind.

  After they completed a couple of walks around the ring, Aimili decided to try the trot. “D’Ary, you may wish to move out of the way before I trot.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s when he goes crazy,” Oscar called out.

  Not today, Loki told Aimili.

  Good.

  “Do you want me to ride him, my lady?”

  Aimili’s instinct was to take offense, but realized D’Ary was not impugning her ability but simply offering to help. “Nay. I have a feeling today shall be a more successful ride.”

  “As you wish.” D’Ary moved back against the rail close to Oscar.

  “All right, boy,” Aimili said softly as she squeezed Loki’s barrel. He shot forward, his head down, bouncing Aimili along as if she were a rock skipping across the loch. “Easy, boy,” she said. Remember, hind, not front.

  She pushed him forward, and at the same time used the reins to try to capture his energy. By the second time they circled the ring, he began to settle down and step through with his hind, but still Aimili bounced.

  Aimili circled to go to the right. “Tell me what you see,” she called to D’Ary.

  “His shoulder dropped at the turn,” D’Ary called back.

  Harder, Loki said, swishing his tail.

  Think of pushing yourself forward from the back, not pulling forward with your head and front shoulders.

  I shall try.

  Slowly, Aimili felt the shift and the trot smoothed slightly. She looked down at Loki’s front shoulders. “His muscles are uneven,” she said to D’Ary as she slowed Loki to a walk and then to a halt near D’Ary and Gunnr. “Much less muscle on the right than on the left.”

  “And he is stiffer on the right, particularly in the hind.” D’Ary walked over and put a hand on Loki’s right shoulder, smoothing his hand down, then moving around to do the same on the left shoulder.

  Ransolm never could sit straight, Loki said.

  He leaned to the left?

  Almost always. ’Tis one of the reasons he could never find his balance.

 
And so you moved under him.

  Not that it did any good. The man would just end up flopping around and beating me for his failure.

  “The stiffness is most likely from learning to brace against Angus Ransolm’s cruel form of riding,” Aimili said with a frown. How she hated someone who would mistreat an animal, particularly when it was the man’s own fault, not the animal’s.

  “Perhaps. We need to build up the muscle, though.”

  “Aye.”

  D’Ary gave Loki a pat. “You are a good rider, Aimili.”

  Aimili grinned down at him. “My thanks. ’Tis something I have always loved to do.” As she swung off Loki’s back, the horse took a step to the side, and Aimili ended up stumbling into D’Ary’s arms.

  “Careful,” he said.

  That same odd tingling feeling spread down her arms, infusing her fingertips with warmth. She caught D’Ary’s gaze and for a moment, was sure she saw a flash of recognition. Loki bumped her with his head, and she moved away from D’Ary’s touch.

  “Where did you say you hailed from?” she asked.

  He smiled. “I did not say.”

  Aimili cocked a brow.

  “’Tis a small village far to the north called Parth. You will no have heard of it.”

  “Parth.”

  “Aye. A simple place. Too simple for me, I fear.”

  Aimili did not believe a word of it, but had no way to disprove his claim. Was he fleeing something? Or someone?

  “Would you like me to take Loki?” he asked, nodding to the horse who stood patiently.

  “Nay. I shall see to it. My other horses are due to arrive on the morrow. See if Hugo needs help preparing their stalls.”

  Put the mare close to me, Loki said.

  You shall have your chance. She patted his neck.

  “Very well, my lady,” D’Ary said. “And well done today.”

  “Thank you, D’Ary.”

  I am definitely ready to nap.

  Aimili chuckled as she led Loki back into the stable.

  Padruig stood watching his wife follow the new stable hand into the stables and clenched his jaw. He’d heard more than one lass in the castle prattling on about the man, how broad his shoulders were, how beautiful his golden eyes were, and on and on.

  And he’d touched Aimili, touched her with a casualness that burned in Padruig’s gut no matter how he told himself he didn’t care. Did the touch mean D’Ary was already familiar with Aimili?