Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
Books by Catherine Archer
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Copyright
Stephen felt a sudden rush of desire that could not be stilled.
And he made no effort to try. Reaching up his arms, he pulled Fellis from the horse. With torturous deliberation he allowed her to slide slowly down the length of him, his hands molding the gentle swell of her hips. Heat rose in his belly, and he closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet, warm woman scent of her.
She was a heady mixture of innocence and spirit, and he felt drawn to her as no maid before her.
When he opened his eyes again, Fellis was looking up at him, her own lids heavy, her breath coming quickly through parted lips.
Suddenly, he knew he was going to kiss her—had to kiss her…
Dear Reader,
Since the release of her first Medieval, Rose Among Thorns, Catherine Archer has been gaining fans, and her new book, Velvet Touch, is sure to win her more. This sequel to her previous title, Velvet Bond, is the bittersweet story of a young nobleman who is sent by his king to arrange a marriage and settle a feud, only to fall in love with the intended bride. Whether you’re a Medieval fan or not, don’t miss this touching read.
Three-time RITA Award winner Cheryl Reavis is back this month with her heart-wrenching tale, The Bartered Bride. Set in Civil War North Carolina, it’s the story of a pregnant woman who reluctantly marries her sister’s widower, yet soon discovers the healing powers of forgiveness and love.
Multigenre author Merline Lovelace makes history come alive in her new release, Lady of the Upper Kingdom, the dramatic story of forbidden love between two strongwilled people separated by the treachery and distrust that exists between their two cultures, the Egyptian and the Greek. And from popular new author Linda Castle we bring you Abbie’s Child, about a young woman who comes face-to-face with the father of the boy she has raised as her own.
Whatever your taste in reading, we hope you will enjoy all four Harlequin Historicals, available wherever books are sold.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Velvet Touch
Catherine Archer
Books by Catherine Archer
Harlequin Historicals
Rose Among Thorns #136
*Velvet Bond #282
*Velvet Touch #322
*Velvet Series
CATHERINE ARCHER
has been hooked on historical romance since reading Jane Eyre at the age of twelve. She has an avid interest in history, particularly the medieval period. A homemaker and mother, Catherine lives with her husband, three children and dog in Alberta, Canada, where the long winters give this American transplant plenty of time to write.
This book is dedicated to The Aunts, who each had a
profound impact on my life, Aunt Judy, Aunt Martha,
Aunt Pat and Aunt Susan. I hope you can all
appreciate why it was necessary to put you in
alphabetical order.
I must also give sincere and heartfelt thanks to our
friends, the DeGuilios, Sam, Sandi, Ernie, Taylor and
Zachary, for everything.
Chapter One
Stephen Clayburn shifted in the saddle to ease his stiff muscles. With his free hand he drew his cloak more closely about his wide shoulders, taking a deep breath of the cool morning air. Its early spring chill served to waken him more fully and he prodded his stallion to a slightly faster pace.
The knight had slept in the outdoors under the stars rather than spend time locating another abbey the previous night, for he was much tired of the gruel that passed for sustenance with the religious sector. He had even wondered to himself if the orders served guests such gruesome meals in an effort to discourage them from returning.
His chestnut stallion, Gabriel, seemed to sense his master’s thoughts, for he snorted and tossed his head. “A little skimpy on the oats, were they, boy?” Stephen laughed and patted the sleek animal’s muscular neck with a gauntleted hand. He’d left his other mount, Dancer, in the stables of his home in Windsor, preferring to ride the chestnut on longer trips such as this.
Stephen was concerned about getting to Malvern castle to complete his appointed task and be on his way again. When King Edward had first told him of the duty he wished done, Stephen had seen the journey as the answer to his immediate problems. His former mistress, Helen Denfield, was not accepting the end of their liaison with good grace, and plagued him at every turn. When they’d first begun the affair, she’d professed her agreement that they keep their relationship on a casual footing. But as time passed, Stephen learned that Helen, a once wealthy widow, was determined that Stephen should become husband number two.
It did not help that Stephen’s sister Elizabeth had gotten herself married unexpectedly. With Elizabeth at his side it had been more difficult for Lady Helen to be too open in her prodding.
Beth married. He shook his head in amazement.
He hadn’t thought her leaving their small house in Windsor would affect him so greatly, hadn’t imagined he would miss her so much. He told himself he should be glad to be rid of her. She was always meddling in his business, cleaning his rooms, asking him what time he would be home.
A man didn’t need all that mothering.
But the truth remained that he did miss Elizabeth, dreadfully. His sister had given him someone to come home to, someone to talk with in the evenings when he wasn’t away on the king’s business. As messenger to King Edward, Stephen never knew when he might be called on to do some service for his sovereign.
Elizabeth had been a friend and companion without the decidedly unpleasant complications of being a wife. And truth to tell, he was lonely without her. The whitewashed house was much too quiet and not nearly so comfortable with her gone.
That loneliness had definitely contributed to his present circumstances. It wasn’t his usual custom to see to such complicated diplomatic negotiations as the ones he must now arrange. But King Edward had professed great confidence in Stephen’s ability to get one Welsh lordling wed to the English bride Edward had chosen for him. King Edward had flattered him then, saying Stephen was a man of great charm and tact and more than equal to the task.
Stephen shook his dark auburn head. Aye, it might be true that he had the gift of using his tongue. But it was equally true that he had been chosen because most of Edward’s more seasoned negotiators were busy with the Scots and the French.
Not that Stephen doubted his own ability. It was simply that he didn’t relish the notion of arranging a wedding for anyone. He couldn’t imagine getting married and tying himself to one woman for life.
And that was what marriage meant as far as Stephen was concerned. His parents had been very much in love and, as far as he knew, had remained faithful to each other until they died of plague some six years ago. At that time his life had changed completely. One day they’d
been a happy family, their home full of laughter, life and, yes, tears. Then it was all gone, his parents dead, the home keep a hollow reminder of what had been.
To love meant to offer one’s self up for hurt, for one never knew when everything might be taken away. The thought of risking his heart and happiness in that way was disturbing at best. Mayhap that was why he was so set against the idea of marriage. He could not imagine allowing himself to care for any woman that much. His liaisons had been more out of convenience, to satisfy physical need both for himself and the lady involved.
He rode on, shrugging off such thoughts with determination. There was nothing to be gained by them. He knew what was best for himself.
Stephen’s pensive mood retreated when he took note of the surrounding countryside. The fields were showing a new growth of grain. It was still early for there was little sign of activity in the farmyards he passed. Neat cottages sat back from the road, and chickens and pigs roamed freely in the yards.
But there was no sign of Malvern castle, even in the distance. A hungry growl erupted from his stomach, and Stephen began to wonder how far he had to go.
As he turned a bend, he unexpectedly met a farmer carrying a hoe coming from the opposite direction. Stephen stopped his stallion and hailed the fellow. “You there.”
The farmer looked up, obviously surprised to see a mounted nobleman at this hour of the morning. “My lord,” he replied respectfully.
“Do you know the way to Malvern castle?”
“Aye.” The fellow pointed off down the road behind him. “It be some ten leagues hence. But if you’ve a mind to go through the wood it be only four leagues. Just head due north and you’ll see Malvern when you come out of the forest. The road, you see, follows around the fields,” he explained with a deferential nod.
Stephen looked down the road, then toward the forest as another grumble erupted from his flat belly. “You have my thanks,” he said.
Stephen left the road and went off toward the wood to his left. The branches of tall pine and oak formed a lacy green canopy overhead, but the trunks were spaced widely, allowing for fairly easy movement, even mounted as he was. The sun had risen high enough to begin peeking through the branches of the trees, creating a pattern of golden light and dusky shadow. It illuminated the ground before him, which was covered with a thick carpet of fallen needles that crunched under his horse’s hooves.
At the edge of the wood, Fellis Grayson checked over her shoulder one last time. There was no sign of movement on the path behind her. The only hint of human occupation was the tendrils of smoke that rose over the castle as the morning cooking was begun. From this distance she could not see the sentry upon the high stone wall, but she knew he was there.
Though the castle was a secure one, with its strong inner and outer bailey defenses, her father always insisted that a guard be stationed and alert at the portcullis. The outer wall was flanked by twin towers and circled by a moat. Inside were the granaries, gardens, animal pens, wells and armory required to withstand a siege. And surrounding the keep itself was another fortified stone wall.
Richard Grayson did not trust the wily Welshmen who raided his lands at every opportunity. Since the last episode only two moons past, when a band had burned the granary inside the outer wall, her father had been doubly careful.
Fellis knew that her father had again written King Edward asking for assistance in subduing his enemy. The harm that was wrought upon her father’s vassals and lands by the hostilities was great, and she prayed that the king would soon come to their aid.
She wished for this to happen for one other more selfish reason. It was getting harder and harder to find an opportunity to be out from under her mother’s watchful eyes. Mary Grayson was ever fearful that something untoward would befall her daughter before she was able to carry out her plans for her future.
This thought was followed immediately by a sense of guilt that she had again crept from the keep without her mother’s permission. Fellis said a hasty Hail Mary and crossed herself over the breast of her drab gray cote. She could not deny that escaping was exactly what she was doing.
Hurriedly she stepped onto the forest path and made her way through the thick growth. There was no hesitation in her step, for Fellis knew exactly where she was bound. As the soft silky sounds of running water came to her, she quickened her pace in anticipation.
A wall of tall trees rose up to block her path, but Fellis knew of a narrow path through them. It wasn’t a minute later that she stepped into the glade, her one private place, and felt her heart sing as it always did at the beauty of her surroundings.
The ground was covered with a thick bed of moss, and all around the quiet pool the trees grew tall and heavy with needles and leaves, creating a privacy screen of greenery. From the branches trailed tender vines of ivy and moss. Delicate white water lilies dotted the pool that was fed by a narrow, slow-moving stream which wended its way to this magical place.
This was Fellis’s favorite location on all of God’s earth. Never had she even heard anyone else speak of it. So inside her had grown the notion that she alone had the ability to find the magical spot.
It was as if God were giving her this one rare gift in order to make up for the twisted ankle that had ordained her destiny from the day she was born.
Only here could she forget for a time that she was not as other young women. In the water she need not walk with slow deliberation to keep from appearing awkward.
With her careful, halting gait, Fellis moved toward the wide shelf of moss-covered rock that jutted out over the pond. With a rising sense of anticipation tingling along her backbone, Fellis went forward, pulling the heavy gray veil and wimple from her head…
Stephen was dismayed to find the forest becoming denser and more difficult to traverse. The underbrush grew thicker as the land beneath Gabriel’s hooves became rough and uneven. Finally he had to dismount to pick his way through the growth.
Yet another grumble from his stomach made his lips twist in self-derision. If he’d had the sense to stay on the main road, surely he would have been at Malvern by now, eating a hearty breakfast.
At the gentle sound of water flowing close by, Stephen turned to follow the burbling noise. It was always a good idea to locate a body of water if lost. It must invariably lead to somewhere.
When he had pushed his way through to the stream, he frowned as he saw how small it was. Mayhap he had made a second misjudgment on this ill-fated morn. Such a narrow trickle might indeed lead nowhere.
But as he had no notion of how to go back, it seemed that following this course was preferable to heading off with no particular direction to follow. He continued on for a time, then once again cursed himself as he came up against a thick stand of trees, grown so closely together that they created what amounted to a solid wall.
Stephen studied the situation with ever-increasing ire. Thinking there must be some way through the tangle, no matter how thick it appeared, he decided that he would tie Gabriel to one of the branches. After doing so, he was free to press past and attempt to find a better position to lead the horse from the other side.
Choosing a spot that looked only slightly less dense than any other, Stephen closed his eyes and pressed his way through.
When he opened his eyes, what met his gaze was a true wonder. A lily-dotted pool rested in the center of a verdant and otherworldly glade. It was a secluded spot, completely cut off from even the rest of the forest around it. He felt rather like a knight braving an enchanted hedge in a tale of chivalry.
Stephen wasn’t quite sure why, but something inside told him to remain quiet. Mayhap it was the cathedral-like stillness he felt as he stood there and looked up at the arched canopy of treetops over his head.
He moved forward slowly, almost reverently, through the dense growth of brush at the edge of the glade. It was then he looked up toward the far end of the pool and halted. He stopped thinking of anything, save the nude feminine form poised there on a r
ock that jutted out over the water.
It was a woman, a nymph, a silver spirit of the forest. Jesu, what a woman.
She stood tall, bathed in a shaft of pure golden light, her hair hanging down her back in a silvery curtain that reached to her knees. She reached high, hands over her head as if basking in the sweet warmth of that single bright beam of sunlight as it pierced the treetops. It shimmered on the perfection of her high, full breasts, narrow waist and gently curved hips. Her legs were long, slender and shapely, the muscles flexed as she paused there on one slender foot. Her very skin seemed to glisten with incandescent fire.
Stephen was struck dumb by the sight of her. Never in all his twenty-seven years had he dreamed such a woman existed.
Something, some inner sense of caution, told him to keep his presence secret. Surely he had stumbled upon this bright silver fairy maid by accident and she would disappear, did she become aware of his presence in her lair.
Without pausing to reason out the wisdom or sensibility of his actions, Stephen hunkered down out of sight. But a need to see again that lovely creature, to reassure himself that she was indeed real, prodded him to move forward until he was able to part the dense brush at the water’s edge.
When he did so, he saw but a flash of pale skin as she disappeared into the cool depths of the water scarcely a few feet from where he crouched. The only things to mark her entry therein were a faint splash upon his face, and the heady sweet scent of the water lilies that were disturbed by her passage. Stephen wiped at the water, feeling its wetness upon his palm, and knew that he could not have been imagining the beautiful woman.
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