Catherine Archer - Velvet Touch

’Twas no secret that many believed this way. Though Stephen himself did not adhere to that ridiculous school of thought, he could not honestly say if he would have felt the same way toward the girl had he not seen her as she truly was.

But the fact remained that he had. And he could not forget that Fellis was lovely enough to heat any man’s blood, twisted ankle or no.

Stephen knew he should not allow these thoughts to spill into his consciousness.

With determination, Stephen recalled the path of their conversation. It appeared there was more below the surface of what Lord Grayson was saying as he spoke. Stephen had a sense that his attention was turned inward on some hurt of his own.

Stephen shook his head. It seemed what he did was trade one unwise mode of thought for another. What he must concentrate on was making Fellis’s father see where the real obstacles to her future lay.

“My Lord Grayson,” he began. “I must tell you again that it makes no difference to me, and should not to any sane man. Lady Fellis is lovely and seems of bright mind and good health. If you worry over some aspect of her, please let it be her mode of dress. That nunlike garb is more liable to keep a man from her than her ankle. ’Twould give any warm-blooded male pause to wonder if she would be more inclined to pray all night than warm his bed. Would you welcome a woman who came to you in such?”

Now Stephen could clearly see that he had struck some sort of nerve as Grayson growled in reply. “Nay, I would not. ’Tis her mother’s doing. And make no mistake, though I do not approve, I have not been able to convince her otherwise.” He gave the younger man a long, measuring look. “There is more here than you know, sir. Are you able to change things, I will mark you a better man than myself.”

A heavy silence reigned as Stephen took this in. He had no desire to get himself involved in affairs between a man and wife. But if it must be so to see his duty done, he would have little choice. With trepidation, Stephen took a long breath and expelled it, then asked, “What mean you?”

“I mean, sir, that my wife will never allow this marriage to take place, even can you arrange it. You see, it began when Mary was a child and made a foolish vow to someday take the cloth. Years later, when her father arranged our marriage, she had not forgotten and balked against the union.” He spoke, his tone without feeling, as if once started he no longer cared about the telling of a tale that had long pained him. “But we were young and our bodies strong.” Only now did he take on a wistful intonation. “That was the happiest year of my life. Though reluctant at first, Mary became eager in her passions. For those months she gave of herself as I had not thought possible, especially when she had not wished to come to me, and had only acquiesced when her father forced her. But it was as if her desire, once awakened, could not be cooled Even when we discovered that she was with child, our passions did not abate. It was only when the babe was born, her ankle twisted, that my wife turned from me. She was convinced that Fellis’s deformity was a sign that God was punishing her for not fulfilling her vow to become a nun. Nothing could sway her from that thinking. She turned from me and our marital bed.”

Stephen could hardly credit this story. That a mother should think this of her own daughter, and that a wife should openly refuse her husband and her duty to produce children went against reason. It would be different if she had found her husband distasteful, but from the account, that was clearly not so. “How old is Fellis then? She is no longer a child.”

Lord Grayson frowned, looking down at his hands. “She is some moons past eighteen.”

Stephen shook his head. It amazed him that the situation could have gone on for so many years.

“My lady wife is determined that Fellis will fulfill her broken vow. And naught I have said has ever convinced her that it shall not be so.” The baron heaved a sigh of sorrows unspoken.

Stephen felt himself unwillingly being pulled into the web of their lives. He could not prevent himself from asking, “Why then is Fellis not a nun, if your lady is so determined that she will be?”

“I have refused to pay the dowry. It is the one thing I have had the strength to defy her on.”

With that, he rose and left a pensive Stephen seated alone in the hall. He felt sympathy for the other man but knew he could not allow himself to become too involved in what was going on between the residents of Malvern castle. His duty here was to see Fellis Grayson wed to Wynn ap Dafydd.

Mary Grayson must and would come to see the facts as they were. It was for the good of her family and the people of her lands that she do so. Her own desires surely came second to that.

And it was best for Fellis, Stephen told himself. What must it have been like for her to live with the knowledge that she was responsible for paying for her mother’s imagined sins? Marriage, even to her enemy, must be preferable to that. Fellis must simply be brought to understand this.

Stephen felt a tug of something uncomfortable in his chest at the notion of Fellis’s marriage. He sat up straighter, telling himself that having seen the woman without clothing did not give him any right to her.

And such thoughts were nothing short of foolish, as it was. He did not know her. Only that he had seen her and desired her in a way he had not known possible.

But somehow he must make himself forget that desire. It was all he could do.

Not knowing what to do with himself, Stephen remained seated. He had no idea where he might be accommodated. Such things were always an issue in the running of an overflowing keep. Clearly the family members were too upset to have given the matter any thought.

It was only a short time later that Stephen was surprised to see Lady Grayson return to the door of the hall. Although he knew she viewed him with ill favor, he could not deny a feeling of relief and went to her quickly.

She looked to him with a frown of displeasure, which Stephen did his best to ignore. “My Lady Grayson,” he said, “I am most gladdened to see you.”

Her pinched expression told him she was anything but delighted to see him. She made no pretense at polite response. “I came in search of my lord husband. I am sorry to have disturbed you, Sir Clayburn.”

He held out a hand to stop her. “Nay, you do not disturb me. I was hoping someone would come to tell me where I am to be housed.”

She gave him a long, disapproving look as if housing him was of great distaste to her. “I am seeing to that at this moment,” she replied with transparent reluctance. “If you will but wait for me to see to things I will attend you. Excuse me if the wait is overtaxing, I must first find my husband before I can do so. I have need of his strong arms.”

“Is there aught I can do to assist you?” he asked pleasantly, at his most agreeable even in the face of her dislike.

She frowned at him. “I think it best if I find my lord husband.”

She turned to go, but Stephen followed her. “Dear lady, please allow me to be of assistance. I feel as if I have inconvenienced you and wish to make myself useful.” He nodded, unruffled by her disapproval. Now that he knew whence it came, he felt no need to take any personal responsibility for her displeasure.

Lady Grayson was in a hell of her own making.

Obviously surprised at his continued good humor, she gave an offhanded shrug. “Mayhap you can help, if that be your desire.”

With a smile that had melted many a hard heart, Stephen motioned forward.

She only made a rude sound in her throat and led the way.

They climbed a narrow stairway to the second floor of the keep. Lady Grayson opened the door of a well-lighted, comfortable-looking chamber with a large bed and a tall window swathed in crimson draperies that matched those on the bed. A fire burned in the hearth and the room was somewhat overwarm for Stephen’s comfort.