Catherine Archer - Velvet Touch

He did not wish to go to the Welshman until things were progressing more satisfactorily at Malvern. Hopefully Lord Grayson would be able to bring himself to at least attend Stephen with civility ere long.

He was directed to the castle gardens by a buxom serving girl with a cloud of dark hair and flirtatious eyes. For the first time in his life Stephen was not moved by such charms.

It was eyes of light blue and hair of silver that occupied his thoughts to the exclusion of any others.

He hurried in the direction the servant had indicated. Mayhap a walk in the fresh air would cure him of whatever ailed him. The knight had gone only a short ways into the well-tended gardens, with their neat rows of flowers that had not yet begun to bloom, when he saw her sitting on a bench just ahead.

Fellis.

Stephen drew up short, taking a deep breath.

Though it had been in his mind to speak with Fellis Grayson, he had not thought the occasion would come so soon. Uncomfortably aware of the way he had been thinking of her, he hesitated. Then he chided himself. He was not so faint of heart that he must cower from facing a woman—however lovely and compelling.

As he moved toward her again, he found he had mastered some control over his reactions to her, for he was able to smile with casual civility as she looked up from her book. Or mayhap, he told himself with complete honesty, his fortitude was greatly buoyed by the fact that she wore what he thought of as her nun’s garb again.

Fellis looked up, her eyes widening, her mouth opening in an O of surprise as she bolted to her feet. Her readiness to make an exit was clear.

“Lady Fellis.” Stephen held up a hand to halt her. “Please do not leave on my accord. I have a wish to speak with you, would you allow me.”

She looked about as if seeking some excuse to deny him.

He rushed on. “I must explain what happened this morn in the hall. What I said.”

A deep flush stained her cheeks. “I assure you, Sir Knight, there is no need for you to explain aught.”

“Oh, but there is.” His voice took on an almost commanding tone as he insisted she listen to him. “I must do this for my own peace of heart if not for yours.”

Fellis stood looking at him for a long moment. Peace of heart was a concept she readily understood. It was the one thing that she hoped for in the future her mother had chosen for her. She nodded slowly. “I will hear you.”

He smiled at her then, and her heart thrummed in her chest. Dear heaven, but he was handsome. The spring sun glinted in his hair, bringing out the fiery highlights and making her fingers ache to touch it. She tightened her grip on the book of prayers she was holding as if that could stop her from thinking such sinful things.

It did not.

He moved closer to her, indicating that she was to retake her seat on the bench.

When she did, Stephen settled himself beside her.

Fellis could not keep herself from noticing how very hard the muscles in his thighs appeared as he stretched out his long legs in dark hose. The sleeve of his green tunic was so near that it almost touched her own sleeve. When she allowed herself a fleeting glance upward she became certain that the shoulders of his white pourpoint bore no extra padding, for the throat that rose from the open neck was strong and tanned.

She was grateful for her heavy veil and wimple, for surely it helped hide the color that had risen up to heat her face and neck.

“Lady Fellis,” he began, “I am afraid I made a most unconsidered comment this morn.”

She looked down at his strong hands, which seemed to be gripping his knees. Fellis would have believed this indicated discomfiture, if the notion was not so far removed from her ideas of who and what this man was. There was no way this worldly and powerful knight could feel anxious at saying anything to her. He lived and socialized with the most powerful and sophisticated people in the land—the very king himself.

’Twas her own agitation that made her see such in him.

But Sir Stephen continued to speak, and what he said made all else fly from her thoughts.

“I must tell you,” he said, “that I had no knowledge of your infirmity when I spoke. I meant then, and do now, that you are most agreeable to look upon and Wynn would be a fool to reject you. In spite of what I have learned of your physical condition since then, I cannot credit that any man, including the Welshman, would have the stupidity to repudiate you. The truth, sweet damsel, is that you are lovely beyond what my simple tongue has words to describe.”

Fellis found her eyes caught and held by his dark ones as the words sank into her soul. The way he was watching her, his expression revealing the depth of his sincerity, left her with little doubt that Stephen Clayburn believed what he was telling her. Going over in her mind the words he had spoken, Fellis could see she might have misunderstood them. She was simply so accustomed to people’s pitying reactions to her that she had placed the wrong connotation on what had been said.

She found herself unable to turn away from that searing intensity. His eyes were so green and deep and, for some reason she could not fathom, made her think again of her special place in the forest, the place she had resolved time and time again never to return to.

There she felt so different, freer than at any time in her life, but with it also came yearnings she had no right to feel. Mayhap that could explain why Stephen Clayburn called up those images in her mind. For he too made her feel things she had no right to.

Her heart was beating so loudly that she was sure he could hear it, and still she could not look away.

But a bird chirped nearby and Fellis came to herself with a jolt. With a hot flush she looked down at her hands, which were clasped around her book. They were white knuckled with the intensity of her grip.

Whatever had she been thinking to stare at him so? He was here to complete a task, and surely he would do what he must to see that carried through.

Not that Fellis doubted the truth of his not knowing about her clubfoot. That much seemed reasonable. But the rest, especially the part about her being lovely beyond words. That was too much to believe. She was more than relatively certain that Stephen Clayburn was no stranger to beautiful women and knew how to use his considerable charm to best effect.

She was disturbed to find her own voice sounding decidedly breathless as she answered him. “Please, sir, there is no need to go on so. I accept your apology and your word that you meant no offense.”

Feeling that the meeting was now concluded, Fellis rose.

But Stephen reached out to detain her, putting his hand on her sleeve. To her utter confusion, Fellis felt a tingle of awareness even through the heavy wool of her long sleeve. So surprised was she that she nearly gasped aloud as she jerked away from him, her gaze again going to his.

To her further amazement the knight seemed to be battling some emotion himself, for his eyes were troubled as he met hers.

But he appeared to recover quickly or perhaps she had been wrong in her first impression, for when he spoke, it was without any hint of emotion. “Lady Fellis, I need speak with you a moment more if you will allow.”

She looked away, feeling awkward and wondering what more there could be. “If you will.”

“Please sit.” He indicated the place she had just vacated. “I would discuss the matter of your proposed marriage to Wynn ap Dafydd.”

Unaccountably, Fellis felt a wave of disappointment, then told herself she was nothing more than a perfect fool. What had she thought he might wish to discuss with her? Such a man would not put himself forward for the likes of her without reason. Disappointment made her sigh as she answered, “So be it.”