Catherine Archer - Velvet Touch

It had certainly hurt for the man to stare at her so. But that was naught in comparison to what his gaze had made her forget.

Sir Stephen Clayburn had said she was to be married.

She longed to look at the man who had announced such incredible news. But Fellis could not bring herself to do so in the event that she might once again fall victim to that probing green gaze. Her attention focused on the whiteknuckled hands she twisted so tightly in her lap.

Married. And to Wynn ap Dafydd, her father’s sworn enemy. She had never so much as seen him, though the deeds of his followers were well-known to her. They were wont to rob, burn and terrorize the English residing at Malvern castle at every opportunity.

Her father had been granted custodianship of the castle twenty years ago, two years before she was even born, and Fellis knew no other existence beyond this uncertain one along the Welsh border.

Fellis looked to her mother, who had now dropped her hand so that the parchment dangled from her fingers as she visibly fought for control. And find it she would, of that Fellis had no doubt. Mother was not one to be overset by any circumstance, no matter how disturbing. She had a way of forcing things to come out as she wished them to.

Then Fellis realized that she need not concern herself with this marriage. Never would Mary Grayson agree to the match. She was determined for Fellis to enter the convent. In the past years her mother had managed to keep her father from so much as suggesting any suitor, though he still refused to pay the dowry that would grant her admittance to the abbey.

In Fellis’s eyes Mary Grayson was a more intimidating force than any distant king could ever be.

It did not occur to Fellis that she was more than an observer in these proceedings. She had been told, since she was old enough to remember, that she must enter the church.

Like Malvern castle, it was all she knew.

But her mother was not saying anything. Her pale cheeks were flushed with unhappiness as she looked from Stephen to her husband.

At last Mary Grayson spoke, and Fellis had the answer to the question of her mother’s reticence. “King Edward has deigned to command this. Why would he be so interested in the affairs of one insignificant girl?” She asked the question out of obvious anger but her tone was one of awe and respect.

So even Mary Grayson was moved by the wishes of a king, Fellis thought, realizing that her world was indeed on the verge of forever changing.

Stephen moved forward and gestured to the seats around the table. “Perhaps we should sit and discuss this more comfortably.” They followed his suggestion without demur, as if forgetting in their shock and confusion that they, and not he, were the hosts here.

Fellis’s surprised gaze went to his face. He appeared totally in control of himself and sure of the outcome of this situation. Fellis could not halt a glimmer of grudging admiration.

She had thought her parents the two most commanding people in all the world, and they were obeying this handsome young knight as if they had no wills of their own.

He sat down across from her and she could feel him willing her to look at him. But Fellis did not meet his probing gaze, finding an unaccustomed sense of rebellion swelling her chest. She knew a desire to show him that she, for one, did not feel the need to obey him. Yet the effort to withstand that magnetic attraction was great, and she was grateful when she felt him turn his attention to her mother.

She looked to Sir Stephen only when he began to speak. “First I must address your question as to why King Edward would be interested in the affairs of your daughter. I assure you, Lady Grayson, that King Edward is always concerned with the well-being of the least of his subjects. He has thought long and hard upon this matter and believes that a marriage between your daughter and Wynn ap Dafydd will bring about a peace in this region.”

“But why has he interested himself in this matter in particular?” she asked again. “How did it come to his attention?” The puzzlement on her once-fair countenance was obvious.

Richard Grayson cleared his throat. “You know, my lady wife, that I have asked King Edward to intercede in our troubles with the Welsh, though I had not asked for such a drastic solution. I had thought more of troops to help quell the knaves. This reply from His Majesty is most unexpected, to say the least.”

“This is your doing then,” she accused, eyeing her husband with a look of betrayal.

Lord Richard’s gaze hardened. “How can you say so, wife? I wouldst not have had our Fellis put to this sacnfice. Rather would I have seen her enter the convent as you have pleaded with me to do.”

Stephen halted further argument with a raised hand. “It is what the king wishes that matters. He is the one to have chosen this method of peacemaking. You know, do you not, that the Scots plague him without cease? And it is known to all that the war in France shows no sign of ending soon. The manpower could not be spared to send you military aid and he wishes to see this feuding done. For now and for all time. A marriage is a sensible solution. Wynn will not be near as likely to raid and make trouble for his own in-laws.”

Although it was Fellis who might be forced to marry the Welshman, and she was not particularly pleased about the idea, she listened to the knight thoughtfully. She could see the logic in this reasoning.

She wondered why she felt so little reaction at discovering that she was to marry. But she could find no real satisfactory answer. Mayhap it was just the shock of it that left her feeling numb. Surely it had nothing to do with the fact that even the probability of her own changed future seemed to pall in the presence of this all too fascinating man.

Her gaze went to Stephen. Seeing that he had his attention fixed firmly upon her mother for the moment, Fellis took the opportunity to examine him more carefully.

Mayhap if she really looked at him, the knight would not seem as devastatingly attractive as she had first thought him. No man could be so compelling, she told herself.

But as she studied him, she knew her own eyes gave lie to the thought.

He had a face and form that would make any damsel sigh with longing. His hair was a strange shade she had never seen on a man, dark, deep auburn, but on him, with his straight nose, hard jaw and wide shoulders, it was completely masculine and gave him an aura of being filled with fire and energy. Thick dark lashes framed the eyes she knew were an intense shade of green.

Meeting this knight did indeed make even the threat of marriage to a stranger fade into insignificance. After all, she did not know Wynn and so had a difficult time seeing him as a real threat to her ordered existence.

Sir Stephen Clayburn was another matter entirely. He was here and, in the oh-so-tangible flesh, far more compelling than any alleged husband-to-be.

* * *

Stephen could see that accomplishing his purpose was not going to be easy. His first impression that Lord and Lady Grayson seemed to have little liking for each other was apparently quite accurate. Stephen couldn’t help wondering at the cause of it.

It was obvious, despite their hostility for each other, that both parents loved their daughter, though in his mind they had an odd way of showing it. Did neither of them see that it was their child for whom they should show concern? She was the one who had just been told she was to marry.

Stephen did know that females were wed for political purposes on a regular basis. But he would have thought that, this coming as such a surprise to all of them, Lord and Lady Grayson might have felt some compulsion to assist their daughter in adjusting to the idea. After all, they must both see that ultimately, if Wynn agreed to the match, there was no way out of it. Once the king had set his hand to the idea it was done.