Velvet Touch. Catherine Archer

      Fellis could hear the weariness in her tone. Her grandmother had suffered with a bout of lung fever during the winter and was still weak and frail from the illness. She tired easily and needed a great deal of rest. They were all grateful to the good Lord for her recovery, though Fellis knew they must still have fear for her.

      Saying no more, she took up her book of prayer to read while her grandmother drifted off to sleep.

      But the familiar words on the page could not hold her this day. It was a pair of deep green eyes that lingered in her mind, making her very aware of the fact that for some time Stephen Clayburn would be a guest in this very keep.

      How was she ever to bear it? Not only had he come here thinking he could arrange a marriage between her and her father’s enemy, he had offered insult by saying Wynn had no right to repudiate such as she even if she was not a worthy bride.

      There was no reason for anyone to remind her of her shortcomings. Fellis was not like to forget them even for a moment.

      Her traitorous thoughts tangled on. Why then, if he felt that way about her had he looked at her that way when they first met—so…as if, oh heaven, as if he were hungry. Looked at her as he had only minutes ago in this very same room.

      For those instants when his eyes had met hers something strange had seemed to pass between them, a feeling that made her belly tighten, a yearning to touch and be touched.

      It made no sense. And even if the man had not made cruel reference to her defect, he would have no personal interest in her.

      The knight had come here with the preposterous notion of seeing her wed to none other than Wynn ap Dafydd. Fellis had not so much as laid eyes upon the man. And he was their sworn enemy. She knew her father would not approve of such a match. Even if Richard Grayson could be convinced, there was no chance of such a thing taking place.

      Her mother would not allow a marriage, was Wynn the most acceptable of suitors. Her plans for Fellis did not in any way include marriage and—it was hard for Fellis to even think the word without regret—children.

      Resolutely she shook her head on her pain. Such was not for her. She knew her duty and would do it.

      Stephen Clayburn and his schemes could mean nothing to her.

      

      Stephen allowed Lady Mary to lead him to the chamber from whence he had just taken the grandmother, without really hearing most of what she said. So preoccupied was he with thoughts of her daughter and his own guilt at having hurt her, that he was not affected by her disregard of him or even aware if she continued to display it.

      Inside the chamber, Lady Mary halted, turning to face him.

      Focusing his attention on his hostess, the knight learned that he would be expected to attend meals in the hall with the other castle folk, unless he gave instructions to the contrary.

      Muttering that he would be happy to share his meals with them and that he would require no special care, Stephen watched the door close behind her with relief.

      He could not stop thinking that, though he had not meant to offend Fellis Grayson, it was his responsibility to set the matter aright.

      The naked sadness in her eyes had near done him in. But there had been no opportunity to explain himself in her room. And if truth be told, he’d been too overcome by his own reactions to her beauty to think of trying.

      He threw himself down upon the bed, his hand across his eyes as he remembered it was what had come afterward that really unnerved him.

      As he had watched her tenderly caring for her elderly grandmother, Stephen had been assaulted by images of Fellis nude, the clear vision of her burned in his mind for all time. He’d thought of her soft slender hands smoothing over his flesh as he lay gasping beneath her.

      The image had been so real and vivid that he was unable to stop the immediate rush of heat in his loins. Only the fact that his pourpoint covered his arousal kept him from completely embarrassing himself.

      Dear Lord, he groaned. What was he to do with himself? He was a man full grown, well past the time when he had gained authority over his body. And never, he had to admit, however reluctantly, had he known such a reaction, even as an unschooled lad.

      But somehow he must wrest control of this madness. He knew why he had come here, and it had naught to do with becoming obsessed with the baron’s daughter.

      For the good of himself and his mission, Stephen knew he would need attain enough mastery over this situation to carry on with his duties. It was imperative that he at least make contact with the girl and so obtain her acceptance of the way things must be. ’Twould help him immensely in gaining his ends.

      Firstly he must certainly explain about what he had said in the hall There was little hope of convincing her of anything if he did not try to ease that expression of pain in her eyes.

      Stephen sat up, a scowl of determination on his face. How he would persuade her he had no notion, but do it he would.

      He refused to acknowledge the voice inside him that told him he had more private reasons for wanting to see the hurt disappear.

      

      It was that very afternoon that his opportunity arose. He had taken the noon meal without seeing even one member of the family. This was a sure indication of their continued discomfort with the idea he had presented them.

      He was not concerned about this though. Given time, Lord Grayson would see what must happen. He simply needed an opportunity to adjust.

      After the meal, Stephen decided to take a walk about the grounds as he was loath to spend one more moment in his chamber. Never one to enjoy too much leisure, Stephen had paced the chamber’s every inch in the hours he’d spent there during the morning.

      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