Velvet Touch

by Catherine Archer

  For some time now Stephen had been aware that he was riding on Wynn ap Dafydd’s land. Lord Grayson had been quite clear in his instructions on locating them, even though it was obvious that he resented having to do so. Lord Grayson’s decision to move forward with the negotiations, as his daughter requested, had not changed his own resentment of the idea. Yet despite his obvious displeasure with the scheme and his former declaration that he would not assist the king’s man in his efforts to arrange the marriage, Lord Richard had gone so far as to offer an escort for the knight.

  Stephen had declined with grave politeness, knowing what the offer cost the other man. He had simply stated that he wished to give no sign that he was there for any purpose other than reasons of friendship.

  He felt that Wynn might be more inclined to believe him if he came alone. And that might make him more open to listening to the king’s proposal.

  Stephen had little doubt that the man would come to agree to the king’s terms. He, like the Graysons, had very limited choice in the matter, as peace could be close at hand. But a bitter draught was much easier to swallow if ’twas not forced down one’s throat.

  And that was exactly the way the Welshman would view the intended marriage. Speaking as a man, Stephen knew it would not be easy to allow another to pick one’s bride, even under the best of circumstances, and the reality of this situation was that the bnde in question was also the daughter of the enemy. But Stephen had every hope of making Wynn see that the solution to the troubles between him and Richard Grayson was a wise one.

  He refused to allow himself to dwell on the notion that ’twould not be so very hard for him were Fellis not the bride in question.

  With these disturbing thoughts running through his mind, he grew less alert than he might otherwise have been. Thus it came as more of a surprise than it should have when a man armed with a knife dropped from a tree to land on top of him. Stephen felt the impact jar him, then he was falling sideways to hit the needle-covered ground with a jolt that knocked the air from his lungs.

  Reacting out of instinct, Stephen sucked in a gasping breath even as he rolled to his back. His attacker had already gained his knees, giving a trilling whistle as he turned on the knight. Though the man was small in stature, he was solidly built, and Stephen’s attention was drawn to the knife in his hand as it flashed silver in the light.

  Realizing the whistle was most likely a signal to others, Stephen did not waste any time in pressing his own attack. Reaching up as the other man fell upon him, he grasped his arms, effectively stopping the knife in its downward arch. They grappled for several moments, then Stephen, with the grace born of much practice at hand to hand combat, rolled around, pinning the other man beneath him. In the space of a heartbeat he had the knife pressed to his attacker’s throat.

  His breath coming quickly from exertion, Stephen looked down into the other man’s eyes. Those orbs were dark brown, holding a spark of intelligence, and, in spite of the fellow’s precarious position, there was no fear in them.

  Stephen experienced a wave of respect. Although the knight had no intention of killing, the other man could not know this.

  Still holding the knife against the other’s throat, Stephen said, “Will you give me your assurance that we need fight no more. I have no wish to kill you.”

  Before the man could form a reply, there was the sound of an outraged gasp. Stephen looked up to see several other fellows as they moved to circle the pair on the ground.

  Deciding to ignore them for the moment, Stephen turned to the man beneath him. “What say you?”

  The man stared at him in surprise and spoke in richly accented English. “My friends will kill you if you harm me, English.”

  Stephen shrugged. “That will be my concern. Right now I am talking to you.”

  The man said. “Why should you believe me? I could lie to save myself and then have you killed.”

  Again Stephen shrugged. “I will take my chances. Suffice it to say that I will believe you. I have the notion that your honor is important to you.” Something told him this was indeed true, mayhap it was the caution the man used in agreeing. If he had a desire to simply fool Stephen into letting him go he would have done so immediately.

  The other man gave him a long, measuring look. “You have my word.”

  With that the knight shifted off him, letting the hand that held the knife drop to his side. Two of the other men fell on him, pinning him to the ground, even as the one he had just released called out for them to halt.

  “I have given my word,” he said, as they hesitated, then released the knight, but not before they had relieved him of the weapon.

  They moved to take his sword, but the first man halted them in this, too. “If he had meant to use it, I would be dead.” With obvious reluctance they backed away.

  With a sigh of forbearance, Stephen sat and looked up at them. They were all dark haired and eyed. Each one stood poised for action with the keen balance of a trained warrior. He had no doubt from the comfortable way the six held their weapons that they knew well how to use them. Their clothing was loose fitting and reflected the colors of the forest around them. Appropriate for hiding up amongst the tree limbs, he thought.

  Gingerly Stephen came to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

  One of the men said something to him in a lyrically throaty language that Stephen knew must be Welsh. He held up his hands in friendly appeal as he said, “Your pardon, good fellow. I do not speak Welsh.”

  The man gave what was clearly an angry retort, though he still spoke his own tongue. The only word of this that Stephen heard and understood was Saesneg, which he knew was Welsh for English. The fellow ended with a threatening motion toward the knight.

  Stephen held his ground, though he raised his hands even higher. “Nay, do not act so hastily. I have come in peace to speak with Wynn ap Dafydd.”

  The man who had first knocked him from his horse gave a mocking smile, though there was a certain amount of admiration in his dark eyes. “You ask for much, Englishman.”

  The other Welshman growled out a reply in heavily accented English. “We should kill him now.”

  Stepping back, Stephen drew his sword with a heavy sigh. “I had thought to avoid such conflict. I wished to do no harm. But if I must kill a few of you to protect my own hide, so be it.”

  The six men who faced him looked to one another in surprise. Then his original attacker smiled, this time with some genuine amusement. “He is brave, that much I’ll give him. And he certainly fights well. Not like the other English knights we’ve seen who only know how to fight from atop their horses. There’s no denying that he bested me even when I came on him by surprise.”

  The others looked to Stephen, obviously impressed by this. It appeared they held the wiry man in high regard. Stephen gave silent thanks to all the wrestling he had done with his older brother Henry as a boy.

  “You are either a fool or very brave,” the second man said gruffly.

  Stephen shrugged but stayed at the ready. “I am no fool of that I can assure you. As to the other?” He shrugged again. “I merely know that I will not allow you to kill me. If it is a choice between your lives or mine, the choice is made without much consideration.”

  Now one of the men began to laugh, and as the others joined in, Stephen sheathed his sword.

  As they saw this they laughed all the harder.

  The man Stephen had fought spoke again. “English, whether you be fool or nay, is left to be known. But I think you have earned the right to speak with Wynn if nothing else. Rest assured that it may be the last thing you do, but as my name is Haydn, see him you will.”

  They had insisted that he must wear a blindfold, and Stephen agreed. If it made them feel more secure to hide the exact location of their master’s stronghold, he would not attempt to gainsay them. Perhaps he had pushed his fortune as far as he should for the time being. His only query was to make certain they would bring Gabriel with
them.

  He was assured that the horse would be cared for and they started off. As they led him along, he concentrated on what he meant to say to Wynn himself.

  The group came to a halt and Stephen blinked as the cloth was removed from his eyes and the light assailed them. It was a moment before his vision adjusted enough to take in the low-built, long stone house before them. The roof was thatched and a trail of gray smoke rose from some point near the center of the high pitch. There were several outbuildings surrounding it, but he saw very little sign of activity around these.

  The man who had called himself Haydn said something to one of his fellows in his own tongue. The man nodded and went through the narrow doorway.

  Obviously they wanted to inform Wynn before bringing Stephen before him.

  In a relatively short time the man returned and, speaking again in Welsh, nodded toward the door. Hands reached from behind Stephen to take hold of both his arms as they entered the stone structure and moved across the rush-strewn floor.

  There were several trestle tables set up along the length of the dwelling and these were crowded with onlookers who studied Stephen with ill-concealed distaste and even hostility. Many of them drank from flagons that sat before them.

  Obviously the rain had forced people indoors. From the well-tended fields he had passed earlier while riding, Stephen could not credit that these men were wont to sit inside and drink ale all the day through.

  He was led to the far end of the room, where a man sat in a carved chair on a slightly raised dais. He, like his fellows, was dressed in the loose garments that bespoke a need for comfort and a desire to travel the forests unobserved. A thatch of dark hair curled about his proudly held head.

  Though he was of slender build and rested back in his chair easily, the keen intelligence in his eyes marked this man as a leader. Surely this must be Wynn ap Dafydd himself.

  Stephen moved forward more quickly, eager to speak with the man.

  The unexpectedness of his action caught the two men who held him off guard and he pulled away from them easily. “I have no further need of your assistance,” he said politely but firmly. Before they could move to stop him he strode directly to the dais.

  As he did so he became aware of a woman dressed in flowing garments, who rested on the arm of the chair. She leaned against the man familiarly. Tossing a lock of wild dark hair over her shoulder, she watched the knight with disdain.

  Obviously this was the lord’s leman. Stephen gave the fact little thought. Though she clearly felt some sense of possessiveness over her lover, she would be of no importance in these negotiations.

  He turned to the man, who studied him with keen hazel eyes.

  “My Lord Dafydd.” He bowed gracefully.

  The man in the chair stared at him for a long moment saying nothing.

  Stephen’s voice seemed to bring the two who had led him to their senses. They came forward with angry cries, reaching to take his arms once more.

  “I beg you indulgence,” Stephen said, neatly sidestepping their seeking hands. “I assure you I mean no threat to you or your master.” He turned and smiled with friendly reassurance at those seated at the tables near him.

  There was no welcome in any of the eyes that met his.

  A husky chuckle came from behind him and Stephen turned back to the dais and Wynn, who spoke mockingly. “You are a madman, English, to come here alone.”

  Stephen looked at him. “As I have already discussed with your men, I am no madman.”

  “So I have been told. I have also been told you are surprisingly brave for an Englishman. Or at least it would appear so to my men.” Wynn studied the knight with those steady hazel eyes.

  Stephen shrugged. “I know naught of bravery. There was nothing to fear. Test me in a real situation of trouble and you will see that I am no less or more bravado filled than any other man.”

  Wynn laughed, throwing back his head, strong white teeth flashing as he ran a hand through thick dark curls. “Have you not the sense to fear for your safety now?” He waved a hand around the crowded chamber. There was a murmur of agreement from his men that contained an undertone of threat.

  Stephen remained relaxed in his stance. “Had you any real desire to kill me you would have done so by now.”

  Wynn jerked upright, his movement forcing the girl to sit up straight, as well. “And why should I not kill you?”

  His dark eyes held a glimmer of danger. For the first time Stephen felt he was actually in jeopardy of making a wrong move, and that wrong move might cost him his life. Though Wynn seemed friendly enough, on the surface he was obviously dangerous. Any man who called the Welshman his enemy would have need to guard himself well. And though he wished it were not so, Stephen, being English, could consider himself an enemy.

  Inclining his head to the other man with a show of respect as one would an equal, Stephen said, “My lord, only you can answer that. Could it be that you believe me when I say I mean you no harm? And could it be further, as a man of intelligence, you want to know why I have come?”

  Stephen meant no idle flattery in the question. He had met many people in his travels and had learned to take their measure quickly and efficiently He had no doubt that his initial assessment of Wynn was accurate.

  But he did need to go carefully for the good of his mission—that of getting Fellis Grayson wed to one Wynn ap Dafydd. To see this happen the knight must gain not only Wynn’s tolerance, but also his acceptance.

  He could not jeopardize his task by appearing too sure of himself.

  Wynn seemed to sense Stephen’s inner struggle, for he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Why are you here, Englishman?”

  Stephen faced him squarely, somehow knowing his case would best be served by being straightforward. “On behalf of King Edward of England and all of Britain, I have come to negotiate a possible marriage between yourself and Lady Fellis Grayson of Malvern.”

  A cumbersome silence descended on the chamber.

  Then a loud gasp of fury erupted from the woman seated at Wynn’s side. “The cripple?”

  A startled Stephen looked to the woman. He had completely forgotten her and was surprisingly defensive at her contemptuous and vehement reaction.

  His lips tightened as she leaned toward him with open hostility in her dark brown eyes, her cheeks flushed with fury.

  Stephen fought his own rising anger at her scathing tone and her reference to Fellis as a cripple. Squaring his shoulders, he faced Wynn rather than the woman. It was difficult to control the rolling distaste for her in his belly, but by his will he nearly mastered the sensation. Yet try as he might the knight could not keep the outrage from his tone as he spoke. “My lord, Lady Fellis is no cripple. She is lovely beyond your imagining. A woman made to cause any man’s pulse to quicken.”

  Wynn was just recovering from hearing that he was expected to wed. Clearly he had not leapt to question or even care about the condition of the potential bride quite as quickly as his woman. “The English king has sent you here to tell me this?” His tone was rife with shock.

  “Aye,” Stephen answered. “There has been unrest in this region for too long. King Edward wishes to see a peace and he feels this would be the most expedient way to attain that end.”

  Wynn leaned back and was silent for so long Stephen could feel the tension in the rest of the folk assembled in the room. Many of them were probably surprised that their leader had not immediately dismissed the idea as preposterous.

  But, as Stephen had found with many men who had the strength and burden of leading others, Wynn could not do so. He, out of his duty as their chieftain, had to consider this and every other issue that arose, not only from his own personal perspective but from the view of being the one who is responsible for the good of many.

  Finally Wynn said so softly that only those close by could hear him. “Why should I agree to these negotiations?”

  The woman jumped to her feet, her dark tangle of curls flying
about her wildly. “Wynn, why do you pay heed to this nonsense.” Her voice broke on a sob. “You will not do this.” She turned and ran from the chamber.

  Wynn looked after her, his gaze unmistakably yearning, but he said nothing.

  A loud voice erupted from a table near them. “Nay.”

  Stephen swung around to see a large man, the tallest and brawniest he’d seen since entering the country, rise to his feet. He banged his mug of ale on the table so hard it sloshed over the sides. “You cannot be serious, Wynn. What would your father say to this.” The big man went for the knife in his belt, his gaze trained on Stephen with open hatred. “Recall, Englishman, what came of Henry de Shaldeford?”

  Stephen was already reaching for his sword. He knew what the other man referred to and took the threat to heart. Henry de Shaldeford had been murdered in 1345 as he was traveling to Caernarfon on the prince’s business.

  “Stay,” Wynn yelled. “This man has my protection. Touch him at my displeasure.”

  With a shout of frustration and anger, the man turned and stalked after the young woman.

  “Now, English,” the Welshman said with narrow eyes, “you will tell me of your king’s proposition.”

  Stephen sheathed his sword. “My lord, you know well that things have been anything but congenial between yourself and your neighbors. There is evidence of that here this very day.” He looked to the door through which the big man had just disappeared.

  Wynn was watching him as he turned back to face him. “Think you the wrongs are all done by my folk?”

  Stephen shook his head. “Nay, I do not. And that is the point. Do you not wish for this to cease, for your children to know a more stable existence? How can this feuding be to your good?” He held up his hands. “What King Edward proposes would bring about a peace, a state of safety for you and the people of Malvern.”

  “And Grayson has agreed to this?”