by Alexa Aston
And yet, he had kissed Rosalyne with abandon. Not a simple kiss, a light brushing of his lips against hers. Nay, it had been multiple kisses, growing in fervor and passion as their tongues waged war. He had wanted to possess her. Learn everything about her. Brand her—as his.
The depth of his feelings frightened him beyond measure.
Marriage was something far off in his mind and his future wife would need to be kind and intelligent for, to spend a lifetime with someone, he did not want to be bored. Especially by some court-bred beauty with an empty head and no thoughts to call her own. He wanted a friend, a true companion, someone he could share every thought with. A woman who was lively and interesting.
A woman … like Rosalyne Parry.
Both his mother and father had told him that when he met the woman destined to be his bride, he would know without a doubt. ’Twould be a feeling deep inside, both in his gut and heart. Geoffrey de Montfort and Merryn Mantel had been a rare love match and they insisted their own children should follow their hearts. It was the reason why none of the de Montfort children had been betrothed at a young age. His parents did not care for wealth or power, the two reasons families united through their children and planned marriages far in advance. Position meant little to Geoffrey and Merryn. What mattered most was family—and the happiness of their children.
Was he meant to love Rosalyne? Spend a lifetime with her?
Edward had only known her since yesterday, yet he’d been drawn to her in inexplicable ways. Her beauty was obvious, with her oval face and midnight blue eyes and thick, blond hair that he longed to unbraid and run his fingers through. But he saw past that to her soaring spirit and sweet disposition. Add that to the fact that she aided her uncle in his painting and Rosalyne Parry proved to be the most fascinating woman of his acquaintance.
It made him long to know even more about her.
“I cannot explain why I kissed you,” he shared. “I am not a spontaneous man. I think through each decision, carefully pondering both sides of an argument before I act. I am meticulous to a fault. I have never acted rashly in my entire life. Until now.”
Edward struggled to find the words to say to her. “I did not know I was going to kiss you,” he admitted. “It happened before I realized what I was doing.”
Rosalyne worried her bottom lip, driving him to distraction. He fought the urge to capture her and kiss her again.
And lost.
Once more, he moved toward her, enveloping her in his arms before she could protest or question him further. One hand went to the small of her back. The other wrapped around the nape of her long, slender neck. His fingers touched its silky smoothness and held her in place as he lowered his lips to hers again.
This time, Edward found himself more in control. The fervent, passionate kisses that had spun out of control the first time their mouths collided gave way to a different kind of kiss, one more leisurely, but no less ardent. He brushed his lips against hers slowly, not rushing the sensations that began to build. She opened to him all the same and he began a languid exploration of her mouth and tongue, drawing on the essence of the sweetness he tasted within.
He became aware of more than her mouth, which had dominated the previous kisses. As Edward took his time, he not only tasted her but inhaled the scent of roses that rose from her heated skin and hair. He smiled against her mouth, thinking it appropriate that given her name, she smelled of the same flower. His callused fingers rubbed against her neck, the skin like fine silk against them. Though her injured arm hung in the sling between them, he pressed close enough to her to feel her breasts swelling against his chest.
Time stood still as his kisses remained unhurried, though they were no less passionate than the ones which came before. He let the heat build, savoring her scent and taste and feel, holding her prisoner within his arms. His mouth eased from hers, feathering soft kisses along her cheek and jaw, trailing to her ear. His teeth tugged lightly on her lobe and he felt her tremble as a small moan escaped her lips. He kissed her eyelids, her temple, and then brought his lips to her brow. He pressed them tenderly against it, wishing he could stay this way forever.
Edward lifted his head but kept Rosalyne tightly against him. Her skin was flushed with heat, her lips swollen from their love play. Slowly, she opened her eyes and met his. He saw a mixture of confusion and desire in them.
“I still cannot reveal why I kissed you,” he said. “Only that something compelled me to do so.” He gave her a tender smile.
She returned it. “I am glad you did, for I have never been kissed before. I did not know I could feel such a way.”
Part of him swelled with pride, knowing his kisses had been her first. An even stronger part of him wanted to be the last man she would ever kiss. But Rosalyne did not even know his true name. She had no idea that he was a knight of the realm, in service to the king as a member of his royal guard.
And from the little that he knew of her, she would not take kindly to having been lied to.
His thumb caressed her cheek, reluctant to release her. He wished he could show her that kissing was only a small part of what a man and woman could share between them. He longed to take her to bed and remove each layer of clothing she wore and touch every part of this woman.
But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
Edward dropped his hands and stared at her for a long moment.
Rosalyne said in a shaking voice, “I am glad to have shared these kisses with you, Edward, but I fear you must make haste. I know you are eager to get to the wall and find work.”
That was the last thing he wanted to do, despite the fact that being at the wall and observing what went on there was his sole mission while in Canterbury.
Instead, he countered with, “The wall will wait. They have worked on it for years. Another couple of days without me there won’t make a difference. Besides, I have saved up enough coin. I am not desperate for work just yet.”
“What are you saying?” she asked, frowning at him.
“I am the one who caused you to injure yourself. You cannot help your uncle because of it. I plan to devote a few days to helping the two of you. You can instruct me what to do and I will act as your hands in readying the wood and paints.”
She hesitated, mulling over his offer. Edward thought to sweeten the pot and nudged her by saying, “I am sure the archbishop expects the panel to be finished by a certain time. Men in his position have little patience. You would not want to disappoint him, Rosalyne, and affect the reputation of your uncle by delaying the panel’s completion.”
She sighed. “Archbishop Courtenay is the second most powerful man in all of England, next to the king. He has given Uncle Temp the date he wishes the panel to be placed inside the chapel. I would not want Uncle to let him down.” Rosalyne paused. “All right. You may assist me so everything will be ready when the time comes.”
“And I believe that I can help your Uncle with his cough,” Edward volunteered. “But first, I shall have to go to the market.”
“Why? How will you help him?” she asked.
He laughed. “Remember, I explained to you that my sister practiced the healing arts on me while we were growing up. A severe cough was one of the complaints I acted out on several occasions. I coughed better than Hal or Ancel, making it sound both deep and nasty.”
Edward demonstrated as Rosalyne laughed. “You sound worse than Uncle Temp!”
He loved hearing her laugh, so carefree and unpracticed, unlike the women at court.
“I might have missed my calling as an actor,” he offered. “Still, when Alys ministered to me, Mother always had Alys speak aloud what was wrong with her patient and how she would remedy the illness. I actually learned quite a bit over the years and would like to treat your uncle’s cough if you will allow me to do so.”
“What would it involve?”
He thought a moment. “I will need to mix horehound with diapenidion.”
Rosalyne cocked her head. “I have
little knowledge of those things. What are they?”
“Horehound is an herb. A plant that is a member of the mint family, which makes it ideal to treat coughs.”
“And dia … diapenidion?”
“That is a confection made up of barley water, sugar, and the whites of eggs. I will draw it out into slender threads, like strands of fine hair and have your uncle eat it. The sweetness of the sugar, along with the mint, gives it a pleasant taste.” He chuckled. “I never complained when Alys made me ingest it.”
“I can boil the barley water for you and I can also collect the eggs from our hens for you to use.”
“Then all I need to purchase is the horehound and sugar. I can leave now and head to the market. It shouldn’t take me long. I will return shortly. I hope that the concoction will calm Temp’s cough. If it does, it may also help the tremors to subside and he will be able to return to his painting sooner rather than later.”
This time, Edward refrained from kissing Rosalyne, though he wanted to very badly. He opened the door to the cottage and gave her a friendly wave.
As he stepped into the May morning, he tried to push the memory of their kisses from his mind and remember why he’d been sent to Canterbury in the first place.
*
Rosalyne checked on Uncle Temp and found him resting comfortably, though he coughed in his sleep as both hands trembled slightly. She closed his chamber door and went outside since it was her usual time to gather the eggs from her hens. Placing the basket over her arm which was in the sling didn’t work, so she rested it on the ground and collected the eggs with her good hand and placed them in the basket. Once she had gathered all the hens had laid, she scattered feed across the yard and then leaned against the fence as they ate.
Her best thinking occurred as she watched her feathered friends eat. But today, all her thoughts seemed more scrambled than any egg ever had been.
It was all because of Edward’s kisses.
She gave in to the sweet memories, closing her eyes and reliving different moments. The first kisses startled her. Rosalyne hadn’t known she was supposed to open her mouth to him. She had only seen a few married couples peck each other on the cheek or briefly on the lips. What she and Edward had done went far beyond that.
Only now, away from his presence, did she feel her body finally cool from the fiery heat that had possessed her from the inside and spread outward to flush her skin and make her flustered. She brought her fingertips to her lips and touched them, knowing Edward’s lips had been against hers a short while ago.
It felt as if he consumed her whole during that first round of kisses. They couldn’t get enough of each other. A fervor raged inside her as they seemed to go up in flames. She longed to crawl inside his gypon and run her hands across his bare flesh, half-believing her fingers would be scorched by the contact between them.
When he kissed her a second time, the desire still remained—banked, smoldering, until his slow examination of her mouth brought intense waves of need within her.
Rosalyne had enjoyed both kinds of kisses. She desperately wanted Edward to do it again.
And even more.
It was the more that troubled her. She had no idea what that might entail. She knew what she felt like doing—stripping her clothing off and tossing it aside so she could press her flesh against his. Rosalyne wanted to remove the layers between them. Curl up in his lap. Kiss him. Not just his lips, but him. She wanted to run her mouth along his muscled arms and chest and have him do the same to her.
Just the thought of his mouth on her bare flesh made her tremble. A wicked, wicked thought came to her.
What if Edward kissed her breasts?
As they’d pressed against him, she felt them growing in size. Her nipples ached as she rubbed them against him. Suddenly, Rosalyne pictured his large hand on her breast, stroking it. His lips teasing her nipple. His tongue licking it. She began to burn with need.
And shame.
Only an evil woman would have such terrible thoughts, ones that made her breasts tingle and her nether regions start to pound. Rosalyne wanted to touch herself down there and fought the urge to do so.
What had Edward done to her?
She pushed off the fence and returned to the kitchen with her basket of eggs. She would put the barley water on to boil. That would keep her busy. But as Rosalyne waited for the water to boil and then cool, her thoughts returned to the image of the man who kept pushing himself inside her head, invading every thought she had. Breathing now even seemed different, thanks to her experience in Edward’s arms. He’d stolen the very breath from her with his constant kisses yet somehow she had survived.
And Rosalyne wanted more of it. And him. Much, much more.
She heard the door to the cottage open and tamped down the excitement that flooded her, knowing he had returned.
“I found what we needed,” Edward said, looming large in the doorway.
Rosalyne glanced up at him and looked away. Already in his presence again, her heart slammed against her ribs. It seemed harder to breathe. A fluttering in her belly and chest made her want to scream. She wanted to hurl herself at him and devour him.
He came and stood next to her. “Let me.” He took the pot in which she’d boiled the barley water and dropped some of the herb he’d brought back into it.
“It needs to rest there for a few minutes.”
Edward busied himself, adding a small amount of sugar a bit at a time and, soon, his created concoction was ready for her uncle to sample. Rosalyne went and woke Uncle Temp, who looked better than he had when he first rose this morning. She led him to the table, where Edward explained what he had made and why he did so.
“I believe this will calm your cough if not rid you of it outright. That way, you can return to working on the panel for the chapel. In the meantime, while you and Rosalyne both heal, she will instruct me on how to ready the wood and paints for you so that no time will be wasted.”
Uncle Temp smiled at their guest. “You are an interesting man, Edward Munn. Who knew when we took you in that you had healing powers?”
“I only hope this will help you,” Edward said modestly. “If so, ’tis because of what I learned from my mother and sister. They are both remarkable women, strong in their convictions and two of the most intelligent people I have known.”
“I feel the same about Rosalyne,” Uncle Temp said, giving her a smile. “She is talented in many ways.”
She felt a blush heat her cheeks as her uncle digested Edward’s blend.
“This is most delightful. Even if it does not cure me, I will still enjoy drinking it.”
“This mixture of sugar and mint flavor is pleasant,” Edward pointed out. “Not all of Alys’ brews were so tasty. My sister often had me drink horrible potions, all in the name of perfecting her craft.”
Uncle Temp finished and said, “I think I will go back to my bed. Already, the tickling in my throat has subsided.”
“That is good news, Uncle.” She led him back and settled him in bed, plumping his pillows.
“I am glad you suggested that Edward stay with us,” he said. “The coin he provides will be helpful but his company is even better.”
Rosalyne tossed the bedclothes over him. “His offer to help with the wood and paints will make sure that we are back on schedule. I should be able to produce the panel in the timeframe the archbishop requires.”
His eyes began to droop. She excused herself and left the room, already hearing his soft snores start up as she shut the door.
Edward was nowhere to be found when she returned to the kitchen. He wasn’t seated at the table. Then she heard a noise and went to her uncle’s studio. She found him there, sifting through various lengths of wood.
He looked up, giving her a smile that warmed her in a way nothing had before.
“So, where do we begin?”
Chapter 9
Edward watched Rosalyne sort through various stacks of wood using the arm not in a sl
ing, enjoying the view of her rounded bottom against the soft wool of her gown as she bent over and tossed planks here and there.
“Tell me about what you are looking for and what your uncle’s panel will involve,” he suggested. “Remember, I am to be your hands for the next couple of days until your wrist mends and you can return to your normal activities.”
She moved a few pieces of wood to the side. “Painted panels can be one piece or involve multiple pieces. Uncle has created some altarpiece art in the past, which hangs over the altar in a church or chapel. He has done diptych and triptych, which are two-and three-panel works. Polyptych panels are truly complicated, for they involve multiple panels and many hinged joints.”
“Which one did Temp promise the archbishop he will produce?”
Rosalyne shifted and dropped to her knees as she examined a large plank, running her hand against the grain of the wood. “This commission is for a triptych, so it will have a large painted panel in the center and two related but smaller panels, on each side.”
“Is there a certain type wood needed?” Edward asked, moving closer to her. “I see many different kinds here in his workshop.”
She leaned back on her heels. “Uncle studied art—painting, in particular—for two years in Florence. The Italians prefer to paint panels and portraits on white poplar but most European artists tend to use oak.”
“Oak is plentiful here in England. I see many fine pieces of it present.”
“True. And uncle uses many other woods in his work. Walnut. Beech. Even spruce. But I know he’ll wish to use the poplar for this commission. It is one of the most important—if not the most important—that he has ever accepted.” She touched her right hand to a piece next to her. “It looks like this. If you can help me remove all the planks of this type, we can lay them out and see what we have and then consider the dimensions of the space which the panel will occupy.”
He helped her sort through the various woods. Soon, they had a hefty stack of white poplar, which he separated by size and placed every piece in a row.
