Stephen met his gaze. “He has agreed to abide by this in the event that you will, as well.”
Wynn sent him a mocking glance. “And I am to believe this?”
Nodding, Stephen said, “You are. Just yesterday a hostile act was committed against one of Lord Grayson’s crofters.” Quickly he related the events of the previous day. The knight ended by adding, “Methinks Lord Grayson would have moved against you then if he was of a mind to do so. You may believe that he is serious in this matter.”
Wynn had sat up straighter as Stephen spoke, his face taking on a thoughtful expression. “You say he told his folk that they were not to take retaliation.”
“He did.”
One of the other men sitting at a table nearby spoke then as if he could not prevent himself. “What have we to gain, by this, Wynn? We are not afraid of Grayson and his knights.”
Stephen turned to Wynn, deciding this was the moment to lay out his most persuasive point. “King Edward has given me leave to offer you, Wynn ap Dafydd, a very special boon.” He could feel all eyes upon him. “In the event that an agreement of peace is reached and this marriage takes place, you will be granted a license to build a crenellated castle. You will also be allowed to hold a market.”
Again silence descended.
Wynn finally spoke and the slight hint of incredulity he was not able to keep from his voice gave lie to the blunt statement. “I must think on this.”
Stephen was not surprised. Only the crown could grant such privileges as a fortified keep, and when it did it meant prosperity and added security to all in the area. Wynn could not simply dismiss such a boon, even if ’twas granted by a king he felt no real allegiance toward.
Some hours later, Stephen rode into the keep at Malvern. He ran a hand through his hair which was wet and heavy as the rain had begun anew. It had been a long day and he was damp, cold and tired.
Wynn had made no decision, but Stephen was sure the Welshman would come to see the merits of entering into talks on the matter. Stephen had felt the antagonistic stares of many sets of eyes as he left after first obtaining Wynn’s assurance that he would be notified when a determination had been reached.
So occupied was he with these thoughts that for a moment he did not take note of the way the guard at the portcullis was staring at him. All knew where he had been that day. And it was true Richard Grayson had warned him that he was walking into certain danger. But Stephen had felt no fear and thus could not credit that theirs was real. He had thought Richard’s warnings more a way of trying to convince him he could not succeed.
Now, seeing the awe on the guard’s face, Stephen began to understand that they might have been in earnest.
The man called out in surprise as if he could not stop himself, “You live.”
Stephen made a great show of looking down at himself. “Aye. I live.”
Once inside the inner bailey he was greeted with more amazed expressions. Surely these people did not fear their Welsh neighbors so very much? Had they really believed he would be killed without provocation? ’Twas all the more evidence that an end must be brought to this feud.
The only ill that could come of this proposed union was that Fellis would be lost to him for good.
Stephen drew himself up short, not knowing whence this unwarranted thought had come. It must simply be exhaustion and discomfort that made him think such an impossible thing. Even if she was free, Stephen knew he could not make a commitment to Fellis no matter that she drew him as no woman ever had.
He entered the bailey, trying to concentrate on the warm meal and fire he would soon enjoy, and came to a halt.
Mary Grayson and her daughter were just crossing the courtyard on their way to the castle kitchens. Both stopped as he drew his stallion to a halt before them and dismounted. With his recent thoughts of Fellis uppermost in his mind, Stephen kept his gaze carefully averted from hers.
“You live.” Lady Mary echoed the guard’s words.
“As you can see,” he answered.
Then, as he watched, he was amazed to see a grudging respect come into her eyes as she looked up at him. “I would not have thought it possible,” she replied. “You astonish me, young knight. Mayhap there is more to you than a strong back and a handsome face.”
Stephen looked to Fellis to gauge her reaction to her mother’s assessment and found her staring at the ground. The edge of her wimple and veil hid her face, but Stephen felt sure she was blushing. Did she agree with her mother’s judgment that he was pleasing of countenance? The possibility brought a rush of pleasure that warmed his blood. But he quickly quelled it.
Again he reminded himself that Fellis Grayson was meant for Wynn.
Tearing his eyes away from Fellis, who was now watching him with a pacific look that gave away none of her feelings, Stephen forced himself to attend her mother.
“So,” she inquired cooly, raising dark brows, “Wynn has agreed to the marriage?”
Stephen stiffened at her condescending tone, wondering why he was letting this woman rile him when he’d faced a whole clan of hostile Welshman with equanimity. He told himself vehemently that it had naught to do with the fact that Fellis continued to watch him, those blue eyes assessing, only the flush in her cheeks giving away any hint of anxiety
“Not as of yet,” he answered levelly. “But he will do so, and ere long if I make my guess.”
Mary Grayson smiled without humor, the momentary glimmer of admiration buried as if it had never been. “Methinks you speak with a great deal of assurance on a matter as yet so left to chance.”
“What say you?” he asked Fellis, trying to gauge more of her feelings.
“I know not.” She shook her head, her gaze uncertain. And though she kept her head high, he was aware of her fingers twisting the drab rough wool of her skirt. “These proceedings are beyond my experience. But I must admit I wonder why he would do so,” she answered.
He frowned at being reminded of how ill they garbed her and that hesitant expression tugged at him as he spoke from the heart. “The man has only to look at you and the thing will become fact,” he said, then stopped himself. He had no right to speak so. Stephen swung back to the mother, who looked on with narrowed, speculative eyes.
Searching for something, anything to divert that good dame from what she might have inferred from his words to Fellis, he knew he could not have Mary Grayson guess at his feelings for her daughter. Looking again at Fellis’s fingers worrying the cloth of her cote, Stephen introduced a subject that had been on his mind since coming to Malvern.
“You, my lady, will please have some suitable garments made for your daughter to meet with the man who may become her husband. We will offer no insult to Wynn ap Dafydd with these nun’s habits she is like to wear.”
The scowl that clouded the older woman’s face told him he had accomplished his goal. She stiffened. “How dare you, sir?”
“New garments?” Fellis asked, clutching her hand to the throat of her gray robe.
“Aye,” Stephen answered with agitation, still addressing Lady Mary as he turned and swung up into the saddle. “And recall that I said they were to befit her station and wealth. Make no mistake, the king would be displeased with anything less. His interest in seeing this matter settled is most sincere. Wynn ap Dafydd must have no reason to think he is being offered insult.”
Lady Mary took an angry step toward him.
Surprised by her action, the stallion pawed the ground and Stephen pulled him back. Having nothing more to say, the knight turned his horse to make his way to the stables.
Fellis had worn naught but black, brown or gray in her life. Not even as a child had she owned anything brighter. ’Twas not proper for a nun to wear worldly clothes, and her mother sought always to prepare her for that life.
She looked to the older woman, who was frowning in disapproval as Stephen disappeared around the side of the keep. But her mother remained silent.
Fellis ran her hand over the coars
e cloth of her cote.
Would Mother really do as Sir Stephen said? It hardly seemed possible and she was afraid to put any faith in the notion. Surely Mary Grayson would simply go to her husband and tell him she would not comply with the knight’s orders. In the past Richard had always done what his wife instructed as far as Fellis was concerned.
For some reason Fellis did not understand. Her parents, though married, behaved like strangers. It was almost as if each feared the other. Ofttimes she wondered what had brought about this state of affairs, but she dared not ask. She would see the pain in one parent’s eyes when the other was not watching and know she could do nothing to help.
She remembered once attempting to talk to her father about the situation at about the age of twelve. He had grown distraught at her even mentioning the topic and asked her not to do so again. He had ended by telling Fellis she should not interfere in something she did not, could not, understand.
She had taken his admonition to heart, though it seemed to her that, of the castle folk who were wed, most had more intimate relations. Most couples laughed and loved and even fought.
Fellis had often wondered if this was because the nobility was different from others. Mayhap only the common folk were allowed to show such displays of emotion.
But since Stephen Clayburn had arrived at Malvern, she’d come to doubt this explanation more than ever. Fellis couldn’t help believing that marriage to Stephen would be entirely different. He had a way of speaking his mind that made her think he would not hide his feelings from the one he loved, be they good or bad. And there was no mistaking that he came from a highly placed and noble lineage.
She frowned then. For some reason the notion of Stephen married was distressing to her, and Fellis had no wish to dwell on the reason for it.
She turned to her mother, concentrating on trying to anticipate what her mother would do in reaction to Sir Stephen’s declaration. To her surprise, Fellis saw a gleam of grudging respect. It appeared that, in spite of herself, Mary Grayson was struck by the knight’s confidence.
And heaven help her, Fellis was, too. Even though Stephen had come to Malvern with the idea of causing complete upheaval in her life, she could not still a rush of something warm inside her every time she saw him.
Just the thought of the way he’d held her in the stable, her body brushing the hard length of his, brought a heady lightness to her heart.
The idea that he might have kissed her, had the alarm not sounded, was surely a product of her willful imagination. And as she had told herself a thousand times since, she had best put such madness to the darkest part of her mind.
Fellis would do well to keep a steady head. Though she’d dreamed of having someone to love her, she’d known it was just that, a dream. All the while she’d known that no man would want her with her twisted ankle. But Stephen’s arrival had changed even that.
For had he not said that Wynn ap Dafydd had agreed to consider marriage talks?
Her heart thudded at the very notion. Wynn was a stranger to her. Never had she believed that he might actually go forward with the idea.
Now that he had, she felt a painful tightness in her chest at the very notion of wedding him. And even as the ache seized her, she could not help wondering why it seemed to be more closely connected to her confused feelings about Stephen Clayburn than her intended bridegroom.
Chapter Six
The next morning Stephen woke with a groan of frustration when he saw the weak strands of morning’s first light upon his chamber window. He reached up to rub eyes that seemed sprinkled with sand.
In spite of his fatigue the night before, he’d been restless. The bed seemed too big and empty with thoughts of Fellis swimming through his head. No matter how he tried he could not erase from his mind those images of her naked and beautiful in the forest glade. They burned behind his lids, leaving him aching and lonely.
And if that wasn’t enough to disturb his rest, Stephen was plagued by wondering if he was doing the right thing. Was marrying Wynn the best thing for Fellis? Would she be miserable married to her father’s enemy, wife to a man who took her only to fulfill an obligation?
Something inside Stephen rebelled at the notion. Did she not deserve better, after all the isolation and self-doubt she had known in her eighteen years?
Or, Stephen forced himself to face the question, did he only balk because he did not want to see her go to another man? He could not answer, for much as he tried to convince himself the question was ridiculous and he felt nothing toward her beyond a simple attraction, it did not ring true. Oh, he found her lovely. There was no denying that Again he was taunted by images of her bare, supple and creamy skinned. For the thousandth time the knight wished he’d not seen Fellis that way.
But worse even than those memories were the other ones. If only he had never seen the tender gentleness with which she touched her elderly grandmother, had not been the beneficiary of that sweet smile, had never held her body next to his and felt the awakening passion inside her.
Stephen sat up and moved to the edge of the bed with a groan. Would that he had never known what beauty and brightness of character was hidden by her drab garments and meekly bowed head.
But he did know and could not forget.
Which left him uncertain of his own motives. He must do nothing to sabotage his mission. His every action must be carefully considered in order that it be right.
He looked to the window and saw that hours had passed since he had awoken. Naked and golden, he moved to where he had tossed his clothing on the chest at the end of the bed. As he drew them on, he began to formulate a plan.
Having met Wynn, Stephen knew he was not ill-favored, nor crude or ignorant. Fellis would not be stooping far beneath herself to have him to husband. If they had not been enemies, the match might have been a natural one with their families living in such close proximity.
As he pulled his tunic over his short quilted pourpoint, then bent to put on his shoes, the knight told himself the problem lay in the fact that they knew nothing of each other. Stephen realized it would do well to tell Fellis of Wynn. Surely the more she knew of the man, the less he would seem like a stranger and an adversary to her.
Stephen refused to allow himself to dwell on the feeling that he was turning her over to the other man. She had never been his.
Fellis was not in the hall when he arrived there for the meal. As he sat down at the trestle table and helped himself to the light bread, cheese and meat on platters there, Lady Mary came from the passage that led to the castle kitchens.
“Good morrow.” He nodded with deliberate politeness.
After what he had said to her the previous night, Stephen was sure she was even more out of charity with him. Thus his current change in demeanor. From this moment on, Stephen meant to make a conscious effort to show Lady Mary every courtesy and to win her over to his cause. Surely she could be made to see that the wedding must come about.
When no reply was forthcoming to his greeting, Stephen tried again. “Good morrow.”
“Good morrow,” she answered stiffly, her eyes hard.
“I would like to talk with Lady Fellis this morning. Can you tell me where I might find her?”
A scowl furrowed her brow. “She is in the chapel saying her prayers, as is proper for her, considering her vocation.”
He had taken only a few bites of his food, but Stephen dropped the bread to his plate in exasperation, his resolve forgotten. “Have done with such talk. Your daughter is not for the church. This much you need come to accept, no matter how difficult. Can it be arranged, she must, and will end in marrying Wynn ap Dafydd. And she will do so not for her own sake but for all of yours.” His brows rose with his ire. “You have been very diligent in your teachings, Lady Mary, and your daughter has learned to attend her duty no matter what the cost to herself. You could at least try to remember that marrying a virtual stranger is going to be, at best, difficult for her, and lend some modicum of support t
o your daughter in this. No matter how disappointed you must be at this turn of events, my Lady Grayson, I am most sure it is more so for Fellis.”
She only stared at him, her expression unchanging, and Stephen wondered if she had even heard what he told her. She seemed too intent on her own wishes to pay any heed to those of others.
Stephen could not still the anger that rose up in his belly. Anger, not only with Lady Mary, but also with himself. How could he ever hope to make Fellis see Wynn in a favorable light in this setting?
There had to be some way to get Fellis away from Malvern, if only for a few hours. Aside from the complications with her parents, Fellis appeared to spend all her time in service to others. Stephen had seen her about the castle grounds, handing out bread and clothing to the beggars that came to the keep.
And just the previous morning he’d come upon her helping her mother to set the arm of a small boy. The parents were not from the village but had been journeying to live with relatives some distance away. The child had fallen from their donkey along the route and injured himself. They had been taken in without question. While her mother had set the break, Fellis had held the child tenderly, soothing him as best she could, though he was none too clean and screamed at her to be released. Stephen had been touched by her fortitude in retaining her grip on the squirming child even though her sympathy for his plight was apparent in her expression.
Aye, Fellis would indeed benefit from getting away. In a more customary frame of mind, Stephen might be better able to help Fellis see things more clearly.
But how to get her away?
He looked at Lady Mary, his gaze coming to rest on her fingers as they worked at the sleeve of her dark samite cote. The cloth was fine, if plain, and offered direct contrast to every garment he had seen Fellis wear other than the black robe in which she’d looked so fragilely beautiful the day he carried her grandmother to her room.
An idea began to form in his head. How it would be received he had no notion, but he was determined to get Fellis from beneath this woman’s thumb for at least a few hours.
Velvet Touch Page 10
