Catherine Archer - Velvet Touch

Stephen stole a glance at Fellis to see how she was taking the proceedings. The maiden flushed a deep scarlet and turned away.

Stephen spoke directly to her, ignoring the elder Graysons. She kept her face averted, and the edge of her veil effectively blocked her expression. “You do understand what I have said?”

She looked at him then, raising her brows as if in disdain. “Of course, my lord.”

He studied her even more closely, drawn to that slight show of spirit, which made her blue eyes sparkle like sunlight on water. The image was a disturbing one, for it reminded him anew of the way he had seen her that morning. He forced himself to set the thought aside and say what he had been about to. “You seem little moved by the notion of your impending marriage.”

She shrugged. “What choice have I? Though the outcome seems less assured than you would have us think, have you then already attained Wynn’s agreement to this proposal?”

Stephen grinned, despite his own preoccupation with controlling his reactions to the Lady Fellis. The maid had thought faster than her mother. He watched her approvingly, shrugging his shoulders with confidence. “I have not met with Wynn ap Dafydd. But I have no doubt that I will be able to convince him as to the merits of the plan.”

Lady Grayson interrupted, appearing decidedly pleased at this news. “You have not spoken with him?” She shook her head with a pity borne of condescension. “I am afraid, Sir Clayburn, that the outcome of this plan may not be so assured as you believe. Wynn ap Dafydd is not one to bow to anyone’s coercion, even that of a king. He, like the rest of his countrymen, resents English rule and does not recognize Edward as his true sovereign.”

“Hence your difficulties with him,” Stephen supplied. “But have no fear I shall gain his agreement. That is not your concern.” He turned back to Fellis, finding himself lost in the depths of her wide blue gaze. He forced himself to say what he must, to remember what his purpose here was. “I simply require your assurance that you will consider the notion of marriage to him.”

She stared at him, her surprise evident in her eyes. Fellis replied, “I must say that I am most astonished that you would even think to ask. I will have no say in what happens.” She flushed deeply as she faced him, looked down, then back at him. “What…who is to say that Wynn will have me? Does he know of me…of my imperfection?”

So occupied was Stephen in trying to put name to the exact shade of blue, azure, he thought, that it was a moment before he could attend to what she said. Then he frowned. “Wynn ap Dafydd is not so great a man that he might repudiate you.” It amazed him that she would think that Wynn might not want her. What man could refuse such grace and beauty for his very own? It was difficult for Stephen to even contemplate another man having the right to touch the perfection he had viewed that very day. He spoke slowly, thinking of his own loss in finding she was unavailable to fulfill his desire. “Not every man has the right to expect or even hope for true perfection in a bride. He must simply accept the more common lot he has been given.”

Stephen was surprised to hear Fellis gasp, and forced his attention away from his interior thoughts.

But the sound of Fellis’s indrawn breath was followed by her father’s angry words. “How dare you, Sir Knight!” Lord Richard stood to glare across the table at him.

Fellis Grayson rose, her face turned away from him, but Stephen could see her displeasure in the rigid line of her back. With careful dignity she stepped back from the trestle table. Her mother reached out a hand. But the maid waved it aside and turned from them without a word.

Stephen sat for what seemed an interminable moment, unsure as to what he might have said or done. Only then did he see that Fellis seemed to be limping as she left the room. He didn’t spare more than a glance for her mother, who was muttering under her breath as she cast the knight a glare of disapproval from her place across from him.

He could not stop a rush of confusion as Lord Grayson rounded on him with outrage.

“What think you, Sir Knight, to insult my daughter so? Have you no sense of chivalry.” The gray-haired man raked an iron-cold stare over Stephen.

Stephen stood, holding out his hands, his expression perplexed. “My lord, I know not what this is about. If you would but give me some clue as to what I have done to offend you, I would be grateful.”

Grayson looked at him closely, then obviously seeing the genuine confusion on the other man’s face, he calmed. His shoulders slumped down as he regained his seat. “You behave as if you actually do not know.”

“I do not!”

“Fellis is…” The older man halted, clearly finding what he was about to say difficult. He straightened his velvet-clad shoulders. “My daughter was born with a deformity of the ankle. It is commonly known as a clubfoot. Could you not see that she does not walk as others?”

Slowly Stephen sank into his seat, finally understanding what had upset them all so much. It seemed that by making that remark about Wynn not being able to reject a woman of such perfection he had inadvertently touched a painful wound.

For a moment Stephen felt angry with them all. What did it matter that Fellis had a twisted ankle? He had viewed her completely devoid of any covering and there was naught about that small imperfection to mar his memory of what he had seen. In point of fact, the blemish could not be so very disfiguring, for he had not even taken note of the fact.

And as far as his noticing that Fellis did not walk as others, he had been far too occupied with his own confused feelings at seeing her again. Even now he knew a tightening in his lower belly at the recollection of Fellis’s silvery beauty.

Stephen glanced over at the other man, a flush staining his throat as he realized his thoughts had gone where they had no right to. Now that he knew who Fellis was, he must remember that he was here for one reason only. And that was to have her wed with all possible haste.

He glanced toward Mary Grayson and saw her watching him with ill-concealed contempt. He would get no support from that quarter. Of that he was more than convinced.

Stephen’s speculative gaze went back to the father. Making Richard Grayson his ally was one thing that might certainly aid him in his task.

He was not sure how to go about telling Fellis’s parents that he had meant no insult to their daughter by what he had said. Assuring them that he had seen her naked in the forest this very morning would serve no purpose other than to fully convince them that he was a knave. He would likely be thrown from the keep.

But Stephen did know that others might not feel the same way about the deformity as he. Those who had not seen how completely lovely Fellis Grayson truly was.

But how to convince her father the slight imperfection was naught to him? He decided that it might help to say as much. “Learning of your daughter’s ankle makes no difference to me, my lord.”

Lady Grayson drew their eyes by standing with a sound of disbelief and condemnation. “Pretty words, my lord, when ’tis not yourself who would take her to wife. Methinks the conversation might have taken a different turn had it been otherwise.” She swept back the trailing hem of her blue cote and left them, her head held high.

Stephen found himself frowning with frustration. What more could he do? The woman was determined to think ill of him. He turned back to her husband.

Grayson watched him. “My wife means nothing against you as a man. She, as you know, has her own agenda in this. Nothing you could say would make her see you as anything but her enemy at this juncture.” He remained silent for a long moment, then shrugged. “As far as what you have said about meaning no harm toward Fellis, I believe you.” He eyed Stephen levelly. “There is a ring of sincerity in your voice when you say so. Although you are of a strange minority. Her affliction does matter to many. Even among those closest to her.” His mouth thinned to a line of frustration and, Stephen thought, perhaps, pain. “There are those who view such a malformation as the mark of the devil himself.”