Catherine Archer - Velvet Touch

But he made no comment as she led him directly to the bed and he looked down upon a diminutive elderly lady who was dwarfed by the enormous piece of furniture. As she saw Stephen, she smiled, peering up at Mary Grayson curiously. “Is this the young man then who will sleep in my chambers?”

Immediately Stephen shook his head as understanding dawned. “Nay, Lady Grayson. I cannot put this lady from her bed.”

The elderly dame turned her still-alert blue eyes upon him. “Do not be foolish, young sir, I will be most insulted if you refuse.”

“But, my lady…” He looked to Mary Grayson, realizing he did not know to whom he was speaking.

Lady Mary answered the unspoken question stiffly. “This is my husband’s lady mother, Myrian Grayson.” She motioned toward the knight. “As you have guessed, Mother, this gentleman is Sir Stephen Clayburn, the very one I spoke to you about. He is come to make Fellis marry the Welshman.” She turned to Stephen with accusing eyes.

“’Tis time Fellis married,” the tiny woman said. “Too much of her life has been wasted already. The girl needs to give me a great-grandchild while I am still upon this earth.”

Lady Mary made a noise of denial. “You, as well as anyone, know that Fellis will be God’s bride and no other’s, Mother.” She looked to Stephen, her mouth set in stubborn rebellion.

“Now,” she said to him, clearly trying to forestall any rejoinder on his part, “shall we go about moving my lady mother, or will we stand about discussing matters which have already been set?” She gave an impatient sigh. “If you will not, I must fetch my husband. For Lady Myrian will not allow the servants to carry her.”

Stephen felt his ire rising and fought hard to quell it. He was not accustomed to being the brunt of such open antagonism and it irked him. But he was not going to allow this woman to see that. With carefully schooled features, he said, “I beg you, my lady, to allow this lady to remain in her own room. I will be most content with some other accommodation and have no objection to however humble it might prove to be.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Sir Knight, do not press me further. This chamber is all I have to offer that would befit the messenger of a king. The keep is full to repletion and I must beg your cooperation. Lest, of course, you would choose to sleep in the stables and insult me and mine by doing so. And let me assure you, my husband’s mother goes to a comfortable place. I would not have her tossed into the dungeons in order to make room for even you, Sir Clayburn.”

This time Stephen could not prevent the thinning of his lips. But he withheld the sharp retort that sprang to mind. It was clear that nothing he could do would melt the frozen exterior of this bitter woman. “What would you have me do?” he conceded.

Lady Grayson drew back the covers and stepped aside. “Please, will you bring her? I will show you the way.”

Raking a hand through his dark auburn hair, Stephen bent and lifted the little woman gently into his arms.

As Lady Grayson led the way from the room without so much as another word, Stephen went after her. He was eager to get this task accomplished and find some respite from Lady Mary’s sharp tongue.

They went to the end of the corridor to another oaken door, which lay open in welcome.

Thinking to settle the lady and be on his way, Stephen moved into the chamber eagerly.

Then he stopped as he saw who waited beside the bed.

It was Fellis. Seeing her so unexpectedly was more unnerving than he would have imagined. He turned away, aware of no more than the fact that she now wore black and that her hair hung down her back in a thick silver braid.

Trying to give himself time to recover his equilibrium, Stephen turned his attention to the chamber itself, finding he was indeed curious about where she spent her private time. The bed curtains were heavy and of good samite, but of a dark shade of gray, as were the window curtains. The floor was bare of any covering, but as clean as vigorous scrubbing could make worn stone. On a chest beside the window lay a plain comb, hair bobs or mirror conspicuously absent. On a table beside the bed was an unlit candle, a crucifix and a book of prayers. Everything was spotlessly clean and neat. Nowhere was there even one other item of a personal nature. Everything about it cried out with the same stark simplicity that her clothing did.

Stephen found himself wondering if there was one sign of the woman he had seen in the forest, that creature of light and magic who had bound him so effortlessly in her spell.

He looked to where Fellis stood beside the bed. And then he saw it, there, in her.

As he had glimpsed upon entering, she had removed her gray garb and was now wearing a long plain garment of black. Her silver blond hair was no longer covered by a veil and wimple, but hung down her back in a thick braid the size of his wrist. Soft wisps escaped to curl around her pale cheeks, which were just touched with a blush of pink.

He sucked in a breath, stunned by the sheer loveliness of her. Shocked at the intensity of his reaction to her, Stephen knew he must relieve himself of the slight burden of her grandmother and be gone.

What a fool he had been to think he could so easily dismiss the effect she had had on him in the forest. With determined strides, he moved to the bed and, although he was agitated, he took tender care to lay the elderly woman down upon the pillows.

As he straightened, he looked into Lady Myrian’s blue eyes, which were so like Fellis’s, and saw that she was watching him with great intensity and interest. Stephen knew she was seeing far more than he would have liked as she then cast a speculative glance toward her granddaughter, who was standing as if carved from stone.

He looked into Fellis’s face to see if she had taken note of her grandmother’s scrutiny.

When their eyes met for one brief moment, Stephen saw the pain there and knew how much he had hurt her with his remark downstairs. He had not meant to do so, but could not say that he found her more beautiful and desirable than any woman he had ever chanced to behold. It would serve no good purpose for Fellis to know how he felt about her.

But he could not help conveying his feelings with his eyes.

Fellis could hardly think past the racing of her heart. The way he was looking at her made it so very difficult to breathe, let alone reason.

Never would she have expected to see Stephen Clayburn here in her very chamber. No man save her father had ever even ventured inside when she was present. She reached up to place her hand over the naked vulnerability of her throat.

He was even more devastating to her senses than he had been when she had met him in the hall. There, the table had been in the way, putting a safe distance between them. Here he was standing so close to her she was able to see the faint stubble of dark hair upon his cheeks and the way the muscles flexed below the skin of his lean jaw. Though Fellis was not a diminutive woman, being a medium height, he seemed to tower over her, the wide breadth of his shoulders in dark green velvet drawing her eyes almost against her will.

Despite the fact that Stephen Clayburn had hurt her with his insensitive remarks in the hall, Fellis found herself mesmerized by the sheer size and force of him. Nothing in her life had prepared Fellis for the eventuality of coming into contact with this physically devastating man.

She knew she should be angry, but Fellis found it impossible to look away. She could not summon the spleen to protect her battered pride.

Only when her grandmother called her very softly was she able to regain her senses.

With a flush of shame she looked into the old lady’s eyes. There she saw sympathy and that nearly did her in. What that sign of sympathy meant she dared not contemplate. Did her grandmother pity her because she could see how Stephen affected her and knew that such a man would not want her?