by Alexa Aston
Selfishly, he wished the holy man could know Rosalyne was the artist behind the work but he understood why she would allow her uncle to receive credit instead and discourage Temp from sharing the truth.
“Teach me,” he said. “I would love to try to paint something.”
“I did promise you a lesson in painting,” she mused.
Rosalyne went to the far side of the workshop, where a few bits of wood rested against the wall. She chose one and brought it back. Edward noted it was already coated with enough layers of gesso to make it gleam.
“This is a small piece. Why don’t you try something on it?”
“But what would I paint?”
“People are difficult to capture but objects are much easier. Wait here.”
She left the room and returned moments later with an apple in her hand. Setting it on the table, she gestured for him to take a seat on the bench. Retrieving parchment and a piece of charcoal, she placed the parchment flat on the table and handed him the charcoal before sitting on the bench next to him. He could smell the faint scent of roses wafting from her.
“First, you need to practice by drawing the fruit on the page.”
Immediately, he put the charcoal against the page and heard her click her tongue.
“Is something wrong?”
“You must study the apple first, Edward. Never be in a rush. That is the first secret of art—patience.”
He rested the charcoal on the table and gazed upon the apple before he picked it up and eyed it from different angles. He sensed her nodding in approval as he concentrated on the fruit. Finally, he returned it to the table and took up the charcoal.
“When you draw, commit to each line. Think about it first, then capture what you see on the parchment. Remember, there is no rush with a sketch.”
Edward focused on the object before him and then drew its likeness on the page.
When he finished, he said, “I know it’s not perfect but at least I can tell what it is.”
“You have gotten the likeness down,” she agreed. Then she told him ways to shade it to bring depth to the flat image.
He tried and only succeeded a little bit. “I think it takes a true artist to do as you ask.”
“Still, you grasped the idea,” Rosalyne said encouragingly. “Now use the sketch to draw on the wood.”
It didn’t take him long to do so and he was pleased with his effort when finished since it looked even more like the apple than his sketch did.
“’Tis time to mix the paints. I will tell you what to do but I want you to do the actual work.”
She walked him through each step in the process, from cracking the egg and separating the egg’s yolk from its white to mixing in the pigments, blending slowly until he had several shades of red to use along with a bit of green for the sprig at the top.
“The egg tempera dries very quickly,” she reminded him. “Once you start, keep that in mind.” She laid out several brushes to his right to use with the various hues.
Edward dipped a sable brush she handed him into the first egg tempera and outlined the apple’s shape on the wood. Rosalyne spoke softly, encouraging him as he dipped into the different shades and swept them against the gesso. He had trouble again with the shadowing, though.
“Here, I can remedy that,” she said.
“Don’t do it for me,” he chided. “I want this to be my own piece.”
“All right.”
She rose and stood behind him, leaning into him to retrieve a brush. Dipping it into the paint, she handed the brush to him. Once he took it, she wrapped her own hand around his and guided it to the wood. Awareness of her warmth against his back filled Edward’s mind. Her breasts pressed into him, her left hand gripping his shoulder for support as she steered his hand along the wood.
He relaxed and let her take over, using him as her instrument. Though Edward held the brush, Rosalyne was the true artist in their combined effort. He watched as the apple came alive before him, looking every bit as good—if not better—than the real one on the table.
“A last stroke or two. There,” she said, lifting his hand and the brush away from the surface. “See, you did it. For a first effort, it is quite remarkable.”
He turned to look up at her. “I had help.”
Her face was so close to his. She turned toward him and his tongue darted out, teasing the corner of her mouth. Her left hand tightened on his shoulder, while the right squeezed the one that helped him hold the brush. Edward brought their joined hand down and forced her to ease up so he could release the sable brush.
Twisting more toward her, his left hand slid against the small of her back and brought her forward. She landed in his lap, her eyes going wide a moment before his mouth crashed down on hers.
It had been over a week since he had kissed her. It seemed like an eternity. Edward didn’t know how he had lived so long without sampling her sweetness. He shifted till she was firmly in his lap and he had both arms around her. Her arms looped about his neck. Rosalyne leaned in and opened her mouth to him.
He plundered it ruthlessly, roughly, demandingly. She responded in kind, taking as much as she gave, matching him kiss for kiss. Edward moved to the sweetness of her cheek and down along her jawline. His lips trailed to her throat, nipping playfully, enjoying the sighs and moans that escaped from her.
One hand against the small of her back held her steady as the other came around to the front and cupped her breast, kneading it. He dragged a fingernail across the nipple, feeling it come to attention through the cloth of her gown. Slowly, he circled it again and again and raked his nail across it, feeling her shiver in his lap. His lips moved lower as his hand tugged on the cotehardie and smock she wore, easing them downward, freeing her breast.
His mouth encompassed the round globe, his tongue encircling her nipple, teasing her unmercifully. Rosalyne squirmed in his lap, causing his manhood to begin to swell. He lathed the peak, taunting her until her nails dug into his shoulders and she gasped for breath. Gradually, he slowed his tongue and moved his mouth upward till it met hers again, sinking his teeth softly into her full, bottom lip as he pulled her clothing back into place.
Rosalyne pushed against his chest, forcing him away. Edward thought he had done something wrong until he saw the hunger in her eyes.
“More,” she demanded. “I want more. I need more.”
Chapter 14
Rosalyne saw the heat in Edward’s eyes cool, turning to bewilderment. She wondered if any woman had ever said those words to him before.
Clutching his gypon, she yanked him close until their lips almost touched. “Your kisses build a fire within me, Edward. Instead of putting it out, I wish to feed the flame.” She paused and swallowed. “I cannot even put into words what I wish for since no man has kissed me and caused these feelings inside to rage out of control.”
Brushing her lips against his, the contact between them caused the butterflies inside her belly to flap their wings again, bringing about a giddiness and joy that made her want to soar as high as the sun. Rosalyne desired more of this feeling, something that overwhelmed her and excited her and left her breathless.
Her fingers opened and rubbed against the hard wall of his chest. She pushed her tongue inside his mouth, teasing the roof, tickling it. Edward’s arms wrapped her in a tight embrace as their kiss caused her blood to sing. She wanted to crawl inside his gypon and taste him as he had her. Rosalyne slid her hands slowly down his chest to the edge of his gypon, teasing him as he had her. She pulled the cloth away and pushed her fingers up under it, skimming his bare skin.
He felt heavenly. So different from her. Edward was all firm flesh and unyielding muscle. As her fingers traveled upward, she noticed the soft fur that seemed matted there. Gliding her palms against it, she heard his sharp intake of breath and smiled against his mouth, pleased that she could affect him as deeply as he had her.
Edward somehow took hold of her wrists and removed her hands from him. He ent
wined his fingers with hers, his breathing now harsh.
“I refuse to spill your virgin blood, Rosalyne,” he managed to get out. “But I can pleasure you all the same.”
The intensity in his hazel eyes, now a more vibrant green than brown, caused the pounding in her nether regions to slam against her violently.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
She nodded.
He released her fingers and shifted her slightly so that now she rested on his massive left thigh, his left arm wrapped firmly around her.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered, his voice whisper soft.
Rosalyne did as he asked and soon felt feathery kisses along her brow and on her eyelids, his lips warm and reassuring. One hand dropped to her ankle, massaging it with his strong fingers. Soon, the fingers floated up her calf, stroking it lightly. Anticipation built inside her, coiling within, not knowing what to expect.
Edward’s fingers continued their seductive march, reaching her knee, then her thigh, his touch soft and then firm. His lips moved to her mouth, his tongue tracing the outline of her lips, bringing shivers down her spine. Then his hand reached where the throbbing originated. He cupped her, warm and sure, as his kiss became more urgent. Slowly, his fingers parted her, one pushing inside, giving her a jolt.
“Oh!” she managed to say, feeling his smile against her mouth.
He began rubbing, stroking, teasing her. Rosalyne’s heart began beating wildly, its pounding matching the place Edward now touched so intimately. Another finger joined the first and she began to move against them, her hands clutching his shoulders for support. His kiss became deeper, longer, more insistent.
Then he touched something deep within her, something that shattered her into a thousand pieces. She moaned deeply into his mouth, pushing against his hand, crying out.
Edward tore his mouth from hers. “Ride it, Rosalyne. Ride it, hard and fast.”
She did as he told her, holding on for dear life as she moved against the magical storm he created within her. He cupped the nape of her neck, his mouth swallowing her sounds of pleasure as she writhed against him, reeling in the swirling waves that surrounded her. Gradually, the intense feelings began to subside. She grew still against his hand, feeling as if her body had no bones as she limply collapsed against him.
Edward cradled her, murmuring endearments against her ear, sensitive to the warm breath he expelled as he whispered against it. Finally, he grew silent, simply holding her. Rosalyne had never known such peace.
After some time, his hand slipped from under her clothing and smoothed her cotehardie along her leg.
“What did you do to me?” she asked once rational thought returned.
He gave her a crooked grin. “I hope I satisfied you.” He kissed her sweetly, a far cry from the storm of passion his other kisses had held. “’Tis but one thing that occurs between a man and a woman. Among many things,” he added. “And I would like to show them—and share them all—with you.”
His words stunned her. “What do you mean?” she asked, almost reluctant to hear his reply in case she had misread the situation.
Edward looked deeply into her eyes. “I know you have sensed something between us, Rosalyne.”
“Aye.”
“I believe it is a bond that will stand the test of time.”
His tone was so serious. She had never seen this side of him.
“There are things I must share with you, things about myself that you must know.” He smiled at her. “But once I do, I hope you will still want me. Want to be with me. For all time.”
“You … wish for us to … wed?”
“Aye.” His smile widened.
She had no idea what he might reveal to her. Had he been married before and his wife passed away? Did he have children that she would need to mother? Had he done something awful and run away to Canterbury to escape his past? Was he in debt? Had he killed a man?
“Tell me,” she urged.
He cupped her face, his thumbs caressing her cheeks. “My name is not Edward Munn,” he said.
Her heart skipped a beat. “Are you an outlaw? Have you assumed another name to … escape punishment?” Rosalyne prayed that wasn’t the case. Edward seemed like such a good man. She couldn’t imagine him being a criminal.
Edward laughed heartily. “No, my love, I am no thief, much less a murderer.” He kissed her swiftly. “My true name is Sir Edward de Montfort. I am a knight of the realm and a member of the royal guard, here in Canterbury on a mission for King Richard.”
Rosalyne leapt to her feet. “What?”
He rose and closed the distance between them but did not touch her. “It’s true. I want no secrets between us.”
“So … you are not … Edward Munn,” she sputtered, her mind reeling at his news.
“Nay, but I have tried to be truthful with you when I could. I did come to Canterbury to work on the wall. The king wanted to see how the construction fared beyond the official reports he receives, so I have become his eyes and ears as I have labored. And I have told you about my parents and my brothers and sisters, so you know all their names.”
“But not who they truly are. If you are a knight, then they are also of the nobility.”
“Aye. Mother and Alys are healers as I said, though Mother is also the Countess of Kinwick. Alys is married to an earl and lives at Brentwood. She and Kit have three children, twins whom Alys claims might be the devil in disguise and their youngest, who is her angel. Alys is the oldest of the de Montfort children, only a minute or so older than Ancel.”
Rosalyne gave him a pointed look. “Then I suppose Ancel is no farmer as you claimed.”
“Ancel is the Earl of Mauntell. He and his wife Margery lost their first babe but have a son named Cyrus, and Margery is expecting another child in the fall. Ancel does love the land and everything about farming. If he were here, he would talk your ear off about ways to improve crop production and new methods of binding wheat.”
“And how is your brother, Hal, seeking his fortune in London?” she asked boldly.
Edward had the decency to look sheepish. “Hal is in the king’s royal guard with me. He is a favorite with the ladies at court, as he is a marvelous dancer and knows just how to pay the right compliment.”
Panic flooded Rosalyne. “But if you are serving the king and we wed, then I would have to go to court!” She began wringing her hands. “I cannot do that, Edward. I have nothing in common with those ladies. Though I am of the nobility, I have been raised in humble circumstances. I have not the clothes nor the manners required. I wouldn’t know what to say to any of them.”
Even though Edward was being truthful now, Rosalyne still reeled from these revelations. He had come into her home under false pretenses. He had blithely lied to her and Uncle Temp about his identity. Why, he had kissed her!
Suddenly, Rosalyne wondered if he’d spun other lies—and just how much she could trust this new Edward. By the Virgin, even she knew of the de Montfort name and how Geoffrey de Montfort had been one of England’s premier knights in the wars against the French. She found herself shrinking from him.
Edward gripped her shoulders and shook her lightly, forcing her to look at him. “Rosalyne, I have no intention of staying at court. I did not want to go in the first place and had no way of turning down the king’s offer of joining the royal guard when it occurred. I long to return to the country—to Kinwick, my home—and live out my life there.” His palm touched her face. “With you. And our children.”
His words briefly reassured her. Then she thought of what she loved. And how she would miss it.
“But what of my painting, Edward? ’Tis the thing that brings me true happiness.”
“Silly goose,” he chided. “I would not ask you to give up your art once we wed. In fact, I hope you will teach our children how to draw and paint. Surely, one or two of them will receive that special talent out of the dozen or so we will make.”
Rosalyne’s cheeks burned at th
e thought of their children. Of what she and Edward would do together to make those babes.
“You will paint my mother and father, of course. They must be your first portraits. And Alys and Kit will want theirs done, as will Ancel and Margery. Then there are my cousins. Oh, Rosalyne, you have no idea how many cousins I have and the children they’ve birthed. And then there’s Raynor and Beatrice. Uncle Hugh and Aunt Milla.” He paused. “Oh, and Lord Hardwin, the earl I fostered with, will certainly want his likeness and Johamma’s, his wife. And their two boys. You could spend the rest of your life painting de Montforts and our kin, Rosalyne, and never run out of people.”
Edward had thrown so many names at her, she fought the confusion that fogged her brain. He had countless people who loved him, while she only had Uncle Temp. She berated herself for not guessing he was a knight. From his regal bearing and assured manner to his warrior-like build and fine speech, Edward was no commoner. She had turned a blind eye to all of the clues, wanting him to be a simple man.
But he was much more than that. And it frightened her more than anything ever had.
He embraced her, holding her close, trying to reassure her. Lifting her chin with his finger, he said, “I love you, Rosalyne. So very, very much. I thought love might never come to me and if it did, it would be years and years from now.” His eyes grew moist, causing her heart to ache. “But there you were, a woman unlike any I have ever known. Intelligent, fascinating, talented, and beautiful. My heart whispered to me that we are meant to be together.”
Her throat grew thick with unshed tears. “I must ask you something, Edward.”
“Ask anything, my love. I would keep nothing from you now that you know my true identity.”
“Why are you not betrothed? ’Tis the way of the nobility. Did your beloved die?”
Edward tenderly touched his lips to her forehead. “My parents are a love match. They journeyed through Heaven—then Hell—and back again to Paradise in order to be together. Their love is not merely strong. It is the core they have built their lives around. Because of that, they wanted their children to have the same chance, so they did not betroth any of us.”
