Velvet Touch. Catherine Archer

      With a sigh Fellis slipped through the gentle caress of the water, her eyes closed as she drifted. In the buoyant liquid she was neither cautious nor awkward, but supple and fleet, diving here and surfacing there. And each time she did, the water lapped at her skin, bathed her in silken kisses. Unbidden came the thought that a lover’s hands might feel much the same way, slipping over her legs, her hips, her breasts.

      Her eyes flew open and she gasped, shocked at the path her own imagination had taken. ’Twas wrong of her to give form to such thoughts. Never before had they come to her with such intensity and she knew not whence they had sprung.

      The course of her life had already been determined and, no matter that her future was not of her own choosing, she had resigned herself long ago to the knowledge that she would do as her mother insisted. Fellis was never to know the touch of any man’s hands, never to hear the cry of her own child.

      Her mother had determined for her long ago that she must one day take the veil.

      She turned toward the shoreline, knowing it had been a mistake to come here. Each time she felt the call of the forest, she told herself that she had gained the power to hold all lustfull thoughts at bay, and each time they crept back into her mind. Once again the sensuous pleasures of being in her glade had conjured up thoughts she must not succumb to.

      And today they had more vividness than ever before.

      

      Stephen entered the high-ceilinged circular stone hall directly on the heels of the guard who announced him. A row of arched windows ran the whole circumference of the chamber, allowing ample light even without tapers. Only the far end of the room lay in shadow, where a wide-arched opening led to a dimly lit stairway. He was tired, hungry and more than a little angry with himself for his actions of the morning.

      What had he been thinking to allow himself to become so enraptured by a strange woman he had no knowledge of whatsoever? Surely she could not have been as he remembered. Though he’d madly roused up fanciful thoughts of woodland sprites, Stephen realized the woman must reside somewhere locally.

      Stephen told himself he must stop thinking of her. His foolishness had already delayed his arrival at Malvern by no small length of time. After leaving her, the knight had been forced to backtrack and come by the main road in the end anyway.

      But the instant tightening of his body as that silvery image flooded his mind for the thousandth time since leaving her told Stephen he was only fooling himself. With a silent growl of self-disgust he forced himself to attend to what was happening as he followed the guard across the rush-strewn floor of the hall.

      The trestle tables had been set up for the meal as he had hoped, but by this late hour the serving women were even now removing trays which had earlier been loaded with yesterday’s bread, cold roast meat and cheese. There was only a smattering of crumbs and bones to greet his hunger. He forced back a grimace of disappointment.

      The few remaming occupants of the room looked up as he came forward to the high table where a well-favored man of some forty years sat. As Stephen moved closer, he saw the man’s tanned face was marked by few lines though his hair was an all-over shade of iron. Far from adding age to the features, the gray hair only served to highlight two deep blue eyes that lit up as the knight approached.

      Lord Richard Grayson welcomed Stephen to the morning meal with an open smile. “Ah, Sir Stephen,” he greeted, “the guard tells me you are just come from the king’s court. I feel fortune to have lingered in breaking my fast else I might have missed you. You are most welcome to our hall. News from court is always received with gladness.” He went on with a frown, “We get few visitors so close to the Welsh border.”

      Seeing the other man’s adverse reaction to even mentioning his enemies, Stephen wondered how the king’s solution to his problems would be met.

      Richard Grayson’s features cleared. “Please take a seat and join us. Surely you have not broken your own fast.”

      Stephen nodded with a smile. “Nay, my Lord Grayson, I have not and I thank you for your hospitality.” He was pleased that he would not have need to discuss the most delicate matter of a marriage between this man’s daughter and his enemy without sustenance.

      He took the place indicated to him at the high table to Lord Grayson’s left, as the older man raised his hand and called for more food to be brought. The other seats at the table were vacant and Stephen could only assume that the other members of the baron’s family had taken their meal and gone.

      When the golden-haired and curvaceous serving woman arrived bearing a laden tray, her eyes held a flirtatious smile as she set it before him. Taking only cursory notice of her, Stephen took liberal helpings of meat, cheese and bread. He was too occupied with behaving casually with the other man’s close attention on him. He was careful to keep a relaxed demeanor, for he knew not how Lord Grayson would take the news of his daughter’s proposed marriage. From what he had been told by the king, Lord Grayson had been feuding with his closest neighbors, the Welsh, since he had taken over the running of the castle.

      Judging from the tone of Lord Grayson’s voice when mentioning the Welsh, it seemed he was no nearer to developing a tolerance for them. This did not bode well for Stephen’s mission and he knew he must tread carefully here. Mayhap it would take more time and care to see the matter done than he had envisioned, but he was determined to accomplish what he had been asked to do.

      With obviously waning patience, Lord Grayson watched Stephen as he began to eat.

      Realizing that he had best get the initial disclosure out of the way without further ado, Stephen took a long drink of the watered wine that had been set before him. He smiled then and sat back in his seat. “I must thank you, Lord Grayson, for greeting me with such warmth.”

      Lord Grayson nodded pleasantly enough. “As I said, we are always pleased to greet a messenger from court. I am most eager to hear the news.” As if he could not withhold the query any longer, he asked, “Has King Edward decided what will be done about our feud with the Welsh? I have waited long for his reply.”

      Stephen returned the nod, pleased that Lord Grayson had introduced the subject on his own. Obviously the problem was an important one in his eyes. Mayhap he would be eager to see any solution to the situation and would welcome King Edward’s decision, though from what Stephen had observed thus far, this would come as a surprise to him.

      “I have come with news,” Stephen replied. “The king is indeed ready to see your troubles settled.”

      Lord Grayson smiled, looking pleased as he folded his hands together and leaned closer. “I am most eager to learn of his plans. Will he be sending troops to add to our garrison here? Or mayhap he intends to attack and put down our enemies without preamble.”

      The bent of Lord Grayson’s thinking further confirmed that his mind and the king’s were not following similar paths. Stephen answered with careful deliberation. “Nay, neither of those things will occur.”

      Lord Grayson frowned then and leaned back. “What then? Pray tell me. How will he make this aright?”

      Stephen laid his hands flat on the tabletop and met Lord Grayson’s troubled gaze without wavering. “His Highness has proposed a union between your house and that of Wynn ap Dafydd.”

      “A union?” Lord Grayson’s expression could only be described as baffled.

      Stephen went on evenly. “Aye, a marriage between your daughter and Wynn himself.” Reaching into his sleeve, Stephen removed a roll of parchment.

      When he saw the royal seal that held the document closed, Lord Grayson’s mouth opened but no sound emerged for a moment.

      The serving woman, who had, at that very moment, been pouring more wine into his cup, let out a gasp of shock.

      It was as if the sound of her gasping helped Richard Grayson find his tongue, for he cried, “Nay.” He rose, pushing back his chair and nearly knocking the luckily quick footed serving woman out of his way. “I will not have it. Not my