Velvet Touch

by Catherine Archer

  He did so, but with obvious reluctance. She refused to meet his probing gaze, looking out unseeing at the people around them, who seemed to pay no notice to the two of them, since they were no longer accompanied by a mounted guard. For all the attention they attracted from the busy strangers surrounding them, they might have been alone. That made her feel an odd sense of disquiet that she could not put name to. To cover her confusion, Fellis said, “My lord, I am no child to be treated thus. I have my own mind and would act on it. None of you seem to understand that.”

  He raised his hand in a gesture of acceptance. “I admit I am at fault. You speak true.”

  When she only studied him without answering, he added, “May we begin afresh. I had hoped to see you enjoy your time of freedom. I vow to treat you as the woman you are for the rest of our time together. You may do as you will.”

  He bowed with fluid grace, catching the eyes of several maidens nearby, causing Fellis to realize once again that many women would look upon one Stephen Clayburn with favor.

  He appeared not to notice the covetous gazes cast his way as he looked into her eyes. “I await your pleasure.”

  She could not halt the heady rush of blood to her face and neck. Fellis was infinitely grateful that the knight had no idea of the provocative memory of her body gliding along his that the words brought to mind.

  Stephen really was trying to be agreeable. In all honesty, Fellis had to admit that it was not his fault she could not control her own impure thoughts.

  Surely she must take his offer of friendly companionship as just that. It would serve her best to form a reasonable reply to his suggestion. “I do not know where to go,” she admitted, biting her lip in consternation.

  “Then allow me to attend you.” He held out his arm for her to take. “And if at any time, where I lead is not to your liking, you must only tell me and we shall venture forth to some other point of interest.”

  He appeared so earnest that she could not restrain a laugh, a soft melodious sound that drew Stephen’s gaze to her lips. And for a moment neither of them moved or even breathed as a shaft of longing so sweet it stilled her pulse shot through her.

  Stephen found himself drowning in those blue eyes, so innocent yet so intoxicating. Fellis had no idea how desirable she was and the soft sound of her laughter slid over his skin like warm honey, leaving him achingly aware of how much he wanted her, how much he needed to put his mouth to those soft pink lips.

  Chapter Eight

  Stephen looked away even as he swallowed hard past the lump of desire in his throat. When he spoke, his voice was unexpectedly husky. “This way then, my lady. Mayhap we might find some ribbons and baubles to go with your wedding garments.”

  For Fellis the words were like a dash of cold rainwater. For the second time since she had known him, Fellis had felt that Stephen Clayburn might kiss her. But of course that was foolish. Whatever was the matter with her?

  By turning all her attentions to simply walking beside the knight without awkwardness, Fellis was finally able to bring herself under control.

  It was simply a matter of calling on her own sense of pride, she told herself. She knew that she had to find some mastery over her reactions to Stephen if she was to know any peace.

  This day she meant to enjoy, come what may. And after a time she began to do just that.

  They saw a troop of acrobats, tumbling for what coin might come their way, and stopped to watch. When the performers were finished, Stephen took a copper from his own purse and tossed it to them.

  Fellis could hardly catch her breath as they moved through the throng, her gaze lingering on the people and sights with avid interest. Never had she seen so many folk all together at one time.

  Strolling along slowly upon Stephen’s arm, her limp was so slight as to be imperceptible and Fellis drew not a second glance. For this day she was not Fellis Grayson, crippled daughter to the Baron of Malvern, but an anonymous young maid in the company of a handsome knight. A maid who drew the envious glances of other young women when they passed close by.

  The feeling was a heady one.

  After a time they grew hungry, and true to his word, Stephen allowed Fellis to pick from one of the many merchants selling food. She was drawn by the pungent scent of savory to choose a booth that sold freshly baked pastries still warm from the oven, as well as another where they purchased two apples roasted with cinnamon. Breathing in the spicy scent Fellis moved with Stephen to the edge of the crowded court to eat them.

  Never had she enjoyed herself more.

  As Fellis was finishing her last bite of apple, she took note of a young woman with a mane of tangled dark hair, who stood at the edge of a crowd gathered around one of the stalls selling food. The girl was lovely, to be sure, but what drew her attention was the way the woman was watching herself and Stephen.

  Having now grown accustomed to the covetous glances brought by the man at her side, Fellis was unaccountably made uncomfortable by this particular stare. The expression on the woman’s face was not so much admiring as others had been but seemed more of a look of anger or resentment.

  Looking toward Stephen with a puzzled frown, she was relieved to find the woman gone when she turned back. Stephen seemed not to have noticed the exchange and Fellis did not wish to explain her own uncomfortable feelings about the situation.

  Surely she had been mistaken in thinking the young woman was angry. She did not know the girl and did not believe that Stephen could, as he was so recently come to the area.

  With little effort Fellis was able to forget the incident, for Stephen continued to present himself as a charming and attentive escort.

  Next they wandered toward the edge of the town, where a group of men were gathered around several horses tied out in the open.

  Pulling her gently along, Stephen made his way to a particularly lovely black filly. Stopping before the mare, Stephen held out his hand and softly urged Fellis to do the same.

  “Slowly now,” he instructed, holding Fellis’s hand forward in his own. “Let her get your scent.”

  With a thrill of excitement that was a direct result of Stephen’s strong fingers curved protectively beneath her own, Fellis found herself holding her breath as the mare leaned forward to sniff her hand.

  Then Stephen’s hand was gone from hers. Trying not to show her disappointment, Fellis reached up to trace her trembling fingers over the mare’s delicate nose as the midnight head dipped toward her. Now a thrill of pleasure raced through her at touching the beautiful animal.

  “She is quite an ebony beauty, is she not?” Stephen spoke quietly, his voice filled with admiration.

  “Yes, she is,” Fellis answered. “What a lovely girl you are,” she said as she caressed the noble head.

  Feeling Stephen move away from her, Fellis looked up to see him engage in conversation with a man who had stood close by. He seemed to be discussing the merits of the mare, for the two men glanced toward where Fellis stood beside her, nodding and chatting amiably.

  It was only a few moments later, as Fellis saw Stephen remove his purse from his belt and count out what seemed an inordinate amount of gold, that she realized what was happening.

  Why ever would Stephen buy the mare? Fellis knew it was against the codes of chivalry for any knight to ever be mounted on a filly. The horse could not be for him.

  And then realization dawned.

  “Nay.” She shook her head, moving to stop him even as he came toward her. “’Twill not serve, Sir Knight. I cannot accept. Verily, even if I could, ’twould be a crime. Having so little experience in riding never would I be able to ride such an animal.”

  He halted before her, his jaw setting stubbornly even as he tried to reason with her. “’Twill be no great trouble. The breeder assures me she is most gentle and has been specially schooled for the needs of a lady. Besides, you are growing more accustomed to riding. You did journey here this day by that very method.”

  “On the old mare from my fa
ther’s stable. A blind man could do so.” She waved a hand toward the horse seller. “What if he lied about the mare’s training?”

  Stephen’s gaze hardened even as she looked up at him, and Fellis knew a moment of compassion for any who dared to dupe Sir Stephen Clayburn. Then his face cleared and his expression became his usual pleasant one. “He did not. I have some knowledge of horseflesh and this mare is of the best.”

  “And there,” she said, “we have another problem. I cannot accept such a gift. My father is not expecting any such purchase. He made absolutely no mention of such an extravagant thing.”

  Stephen looked down at her with unshakable obstinacy. “That is why I have paid for the mare of my own coin. I would not expect your father to do so without consulting him.”

  Her own will rose to her defense and she stood as tall as she could though her head still came only to his shoulder. She did her best to keep her tone polite but feared she was not quite succeeding. “That I cannot allow. You have no obligation to buy me such a dear gift. ’Tis not right and I would be wrong to accept.”

  “It is no great matter. I can well afford the horse.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I will not accept.”

  A look of complete consternation crossed his face. And for a moment, Fellis felt a rush of almost childish pleasure. She was more certain than ever that Stephen Clayburn was quite unaccustomed to anyone defying his wishes.

  He glared at her, but there seemed a contradictory glint of amusement in his eyes as he spoke. “It is becoming clearer to me by the very hour that you have played some unexplained hoax on all of us. You are not in the least the milk-cheeked maid you pretend. Beneath those overmodest garments lurks a will of iron.”

  She could find no reply to such an outrageous statement. He had no right to accuse her so. And even worse than his having accused her was the unmistakable impression that the knight seemed shockingly pleased by his observations.

  Without another word, Fellis moved away from him, intending to seek out her father’s men and make ready for the journey home. This latest conversation had left her feeling she’d had enough of Stephen’s company to last her for some time.

  Fellis refused to acknowledge his presence in any way as she made her way back through the press of the market. But even as she ignored him she was completely conscious of the knight keeping perfect pace with her as they made their way through the throng. If she slowed to let someone by, he slowed. If she hurried to get away from him, he sped up. Finally she gave up trying, though she was aware of a feeling of disappointment in the way the day was ending.

  Now that she was tired and angry, the town seemed not to hold its former fascination for her. All she wished to do was return to Malvern and her ordered life there.

  As her thoughts calmed, she reflected on what he had said. Inside her she knew Stephen had not understood the truth of things. She had not sought to mislead her family. She was agreeable and slow to react in anger. Fellis was the very damsel they thought her.

  Only with the advent of Stephen Clayburn had she found this hidden well of stubbornness. In all the years of her life she’d never experienced as much animosity and aggression as she had since his coming.

  It was also true that she’d never felt so alive.

  Suddenly through the haze of her thoughts, Fellis heard someone call out behind her. Stopping, she turned, something in the tone alerting her to danger.

  What she saw brought a frown of confusion to her delicate brow.

  Stephen was standing on the path behind her. Another man, tall and burly, with a head of shaggy gray hair, had moved before him, blocking his path. As the man addressed Stephen, Fellis realized it was he who had spoken, but to the knight.

  She watched the two of them and took note of a girl standing near the gray-haired man. It was the same young woman who had looked upon them so coldly in the market. There was no mistaking that mane of dark hair that framed her exotically pretty face in an attractive tangle.

  Even as Fellis studied her, the girl turned to face her. Fellis nearly recoiled at the expression of rank hatred on the other’s face, and she searched her mind to discover a reason for it.

  She found none. Fellis knew this woman not and could fathom no cause for her ill will.

  But she did not linger on the puzzle as the gray-haired man spoke to Stephen in a voice of rage. “Go home, Sais. You are not wanted here.” His English was spoken slowly and with the deep lilt of the Welsh.

  Stephen held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I wish you no ill, sir. This is a public thoroughfare and I wouldst thank you to allow me to pass unmolested.”

  The man made a deep growling noise in his throat. “I said, Sais, that we do not want you here. You should take yourself back to your Saesneg king and stay there, if you know your own good.”

  Stephen’s jaw hardened in repressed anger at the verbal attack. He knew this man.

  ’Twas the same one who had spoken against him at Wynn’s holding the day he went there. Wynn had called him Owain, saying that he had been his father’s closest friend. This was not a fellow who could easily be dismissed, but someone Wynn obviously trusted and had a close relationship with. It was not a part of Stephen’s plan to become involved in a public brawl with one of the very folk he hoped to come to terms with. He must not allow himself to get into an altercation with one of Wynn’s close allies.

  But neither was Stephen about to let any hint of danger threaten Fellis. Even as he risked a fleeting glance toward her, from the corner of his eye, Stephen saw her start forward. Desperately he wanted to tell her to keep her distance, but he had no desire to call attention to her.

  As Stephen watched, he saw a woman move to block her path. He was not reassured as to Fellis’s safety when he noted that it was the same woman who had sat on the arm of Wynn’s chair the day he went to see him.

  “Do you hear me, Sais? Are you so much a coward that you have naught to even say to me?” the Welshman chided in a voice of scorn.

  Stephen answered him with forced patience, trying to see what was going on with Fellis while keeping this bear of a man in control. “As I said, I wish you no ill. This conversation would be better left to a more private place. Do you wish me to attend you at some future date, I would be most happy to oblige.”

  The man let out a bitter, scoffing laugh. “Hear me well, Sais, I wish naught to do with you or your kind other than to be rid of you. I sought you out to tell you that if you continue on the course you have set, you would do well to watch your back. You just might find a Welsh arrow sticking from it.”

  Stephen heard an answering laugh from behind him and looked to see that quite a crowd had gathered.

  They were in what seemed to be an area where a large number of Welsh countrymen had gathered to talk and trade. He’d been so occupied with following Fellis that he’d not seen this heretofore.

  Besides, Stephen told himself, he would not have taken any particular notice of the fact. Hadn’t he already seen that there was an unspoken truce amongst the people in the town?

  But it had taken only this one furious man to change the attitudes of many. Their animosity was more than apparent now.

  Witnessing the angry and resentful faces pressing close around them, Stephen knew that there was no real peace even here. Their hatred had only been thinly disguised in order to conduct what commerce must be done before the people went thankfully back to their own lands. There might even be added resentment that they were forced to come here to English lands to do business.

  All knew that the right to hold a market town could be granted by the king or one of his powerful supporters. And it was a right that was guarded most closely.

  Stephen knew King Edward sought to bring the Welsh into his law under the guise of granting the rights to build such towns to those loyal to him. When the Welsh moved closer to these towns in order to conduct business, they would be brought directly into the path of those loyal to him, their bailiffs,
sheriffs—and the royal justice.

  But even as this realization passed through his mind, Stephen had no notion that the crowd would erupt into violence. Then he felt something hit the back of his head—hard.

  His head reeling from the force and the unexpectedness of the blow, Stephen staggered to one knee. Bile rose in his throat but he forced it down, willing himself to stay conscious.

  He must protect Fellis.

  But directly on that thought, he heard her voice beside him, even as her gentle fingers moved through his hair. Unerringly she located the growing lump on the back of his head.

  “How do you dare!” she cried in outrage. “This man has done nothing to any of you. Besides ’tis a coward’s way to strike a man from behind. I had thought better of the Welsh sense of honor.”

  There was an angry growl from the gray-haired giant who leaned over them. “Stay your tongue, girl. There is no honor in treating with the enemies of Wales. And this knight is our enemy, as are you. But he’s come to meddle in affairs that are none of his concern.”

  Stephen looked up to see Fellis standing over him. Somehow in the heat of the moment she had lost her veil and wimple and her silver blond hair fluttered about her like a halo. She appeared as some pagan goddess of old, become flesh, but not of this world. He recalled again in a flash of vivid detail the way she had looked that first morning in the forest and he felt a desperate yearning to possess her, her body, her spirit—all of her.

  He felt a swell of pride in his chest that this glorious woman would come so quickly to his defense. Though he also wished she had not placed herself in the midst of this.

  He heard Fellis answering Owain, her tone confused. “I know not how you are aware of his purpose, sir. But let me say that he has come only to do his duty to the king. As a man he has no ill feelings against you or any of your folk. Can you blame him for the wishes of a king? He has no more say in that than you or I.”

  Angrily Owain replied, “I care nothing for the wishes of your English king. He has no say over me and mine.”