by Alexa Aston
Rosalyne drew a long drink from cup as she considered how she could manage to steal a kiss from the handsome man seated across from her.
Chapter 7
Rosalyne rose after a night of fitful tossing and turning. Normally, the moment her head hit the pillow, she fell fast asleep and did not wake until morning.
Not last night.
Images of the very handsome Edward Munn constantly invaded her thoughts. His ready smile and hazel eyes. The sensuous lips that she wished would touch hers. The dark hair that shone with auburn highlights in the bright sunlight. She had laid first on one side, then the other, trying to urge sleep to come. She shifted to her back and then her belly, only to return to her side again, yet sleep had eluded her. Somehow, she must have drifted off at some point but her eyes now felt grainy and dry.
She dressed in light blue, which Metylda pointed out made Rosalyne’s eyes seem an even deeper shade of blue. Though she had never dressed for a man before, Rosalyne wanted to draw Edward’s attention. Why it was important to her to do so puzzled her. She had met many men in her one and twenty years but none of them had drawn a second glance or a lasting thought. A few had flirted with her, including two different noblemen’s sons. Uncle Temp had painted the portrait of one of them for the man’s grandfather. The other had come and watched his own father’s image being captured, constantly asking Rosalyne questions and then following her about like an eager puppy.
But neither man interested—much less fascinated—her the way Edward did.
She couldn’t say why he stood out from others of her acquaintance, only that she couldn’t wait to see him again. Talk with him. Laugh with him. Share something about herself and learn more about him and his large family.
Rosalyne went to his bedchamber’s door and knocked softly upon it with her good hand. Her wrist still proved tender, so she would ask if he could help her put their morning meal together. He had offered to pay for it and another one when he returned from work each night. Mayhap she would tell him to save his coin until she could prepare the food and drink on her own.
After waiting a few moments, Rosalyne knocked again, this time more loudly. Edward might be a heavy sleeper. When he still did not respond, she decided to be brave and push the door open in order to call out to him. If he snored as Uncle Temp did, he might not have heard her summoning him. Since he was eager to find work today, she did not want him to oversleep.
She scanned the darkened chamber and saw with the light streaming from behind her that the bed did not look slept in. The bedclothes remained in place and Edward was nowhere to be found. Rosalyne blinked back unexpected tears that sprang to her eyes.
Why had he agreed to stay with them, only to sneak out after she and Uncle Temp had gone to bed last night?
Disappointment flooded her. She had started the day eager to see Edward—and now she probably never would again.
Had he regretted his hasty decision to stay with her and Uncle Temp? Or did he already grow homesick and leave Canterbury to return to his country home?
Rosalyne chided herself for trusting a stranger. She had admitted him to their home, hoping for his coin and company. Now she would have neither. A wave of sadness overcame her, thickening her throat with unshed tears.
As she started to close the door, she glanced down and saw Edward’s satchel sitting on the ground next to the door. Hope sprang within her. If his things were still here, surely he was, too. She didn’t know where he might be at the moment but she believed he would return.
She had to. For if she didn’t, she would have to admit how empty her life seemed before he entered it.
True, that seemed a foolish thought. Rosalyne had an uncle who loved her and was lucky enough to live in a roomy cottage. She helped her uncle with interesting work and traveled with him whenever he went to paint portraits. She had a steadfast friend in Metylda and cared for her chickens.
But beyond that? Nothing.
Edward’s appearance had sparked something within Rosalyne. It made her think that there might be more to the life she was living—if he were in it.
“I am being irrational,” she said aloud.
She had only spent a few hours in the man’s company and knew very little about him. Why, all of a sudden, did she have such wild ideas and unexplained longings where Edward Munn was concerned?
Rosalyne closed the door and went to awaken Uncle Temp. As usual, his loud snores rattled the bed. Bending over to touch his shoulder, she paused.
His hands, crossed over his chest, shook. Both of them. Not just his drawing hand but the other, as well. And in his sleep. She pushed aside the panic that loomed within her. For now, she would ignore it. She needed to focus on the panel for Trinity Chapel and making it her best possible work.
Then she would confront her fears regarding the future.
“Uncle Temp? Time to rise.”
He started. “Oh, ’tis you, Rosalyne.” Pushing himself upright, he coughed. The coughing continued until she tapped him on the back. It sounded as if it came from deep within his chest and that worried her.
“Dress yourself and come to break your fast,” she said gently before leaving the room.
In the kitchen, she struggled to place bread she’d baked onto a tray. She would have to get her uncle to slice it. The same with the chicken she’d roasted yesterday. Trying to cut it without being able to steady it with her left hand proved impossible, so she set it on the tray with the bread. She retrieved a pitcher of ale and took it into the other room, where she placed it on the table.
“Where is Edward?” Uncle Temp asked.
“I know not, Uncle. I went to be sure he was awake and ready to eat but he was not in his chamber.”
“He left without filling his belly? I know he is young and eager to find work but ’tis foolish to try and put in a hard day of labor on an empty stomach.”
She shrugged, not sure how to answer him. Before she could return to the kitchen and figure out how to get the tray from there to here, Edward suddenly appeared in the doorway.
Rosalyne sucked in a quick breath. “You startled me!” she proclaimed.
He blushed as he walked in and took a seat at the table. “Mother always called me her ghost. She said of all six of her children, I was the one who came and went silently. I am sorry if I surprised you.”
“I did not think you were here,” she said.
“I wasn’t. I went to mass.”
“Oh! We thought you might have gone to the wall.”
“Nay. I always start my day at mass as my parents taught me to do. I was pleased when I stumbled across a chapel about half a mile from here. Though I long to hear mass said in the cathedral by the archbishop, this nearby chapel will be much more convenient on a daily basis.”
It impressed her that he was so devout. She and her uncle attended mass each Sunday and on holy days but they did not make an effort to go every day.
“Would you help bring in our morning meal?” she asked. “My wrist is still a bit tender.”
Edward rose. “You shouldn’t lift anything for a couple of days. It needs time to heal. Please sit, Rosalyne. I will get everything.”
She took her seat at the table and waited. He brought out what she had placed on the tray and had added a small round of cheese to it.
“Let me slice everything,” he said. He did so and distributed the food among the three of them.
As he finished, Uncle Temp began coughing again. He quickly downed the ale Edward had poured but still continued hacking. Edward pounded him steadily on the back. Finally, the coughing ceased.
“You do not sound well at all, Master Parry.”
“Call me Temp, Edward. Everyone does.” Her uncle wiped his watering eyes on his sleeve.
“Once you break your fast, you should go back to bed and rest,” Edward advised. “I know you feel you must work on your panel but Rosalyne told me she is the one who prepares the wood and the tempera paints for you. With her wrist ailing her, she
won’t be able to do so. That means you cannot work until she does, so getting extra rest would be good for you.”
“Mayhap you are right,” Uncle Temp said.
Rosalyne couldn’t believe he had given in to Edward’s advice so quickly. That alarmed her even more than the shaking in both hands had.
They finished their meal before Edward accompanied her uncle back to bed. He had continued to cough off and on while they ate. She cleared the table, bracing the tray against her waist and holding it there firmly with her good hand, returning to make additional trips to bring their cups and the jug of ale back to the kitchen.
“Rosalyne, can we speak frankly?”
She looked up and saw Edward standing in doorway to the kitchen. He seemed larger than life, full of vitality and energy but she saw the concern on his face.
“Is this about Uncle Temp?” she asked.
He nodded. “The cough is a deep one, buried within his chest. He did not have it yesterday. For it to come on so quickly is distressing, especially for one his age.”
“I know. He is never sick, much less so fast.”
“What about the tremors in his hands?”
So Edward had noticed those. She hesitated.
“Has he had them long?”
Rosalyne saw nothing but kindness and sympathy in Edward’s eyes and decided to speak freely.
“It started a few months ago. ’Tis the right hand which he draws and paints with that has been affected. Until now.”
“So whatever is wrong will affect his livelihood. And you.”
“Aye.” Her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes.
Then she found herself wrapped in Edward’s strong arms, her face pressed against his worn gypon. Rosalyne gave in to the tears, crying against the soft wool, her fingers clutching the gypon as desperation filled her. His large hands stroked her back as he murmured comforting words. A sense of peace filled her. Despite all the worries about what the future would bring, this moment gave her a sense of relief as Edward consoled her. She gave in to it, savoring the feel of his embrace.
As her tears subsided, a new sensation rippled through her. This time, instead of comfort, Rosalyne’s heart began to beat furiously as butterflies danced in her belly. She became aware of Edward as a man. His height and broad shoulders. The hardened chest her cheek rested against. The hands splayed against her back. Her breath quickened as she drew her head back and stared up at him.
She saw he was also conscious of the change between them. His brow furrowed as the brown in his hazel eyes receded and more of the green and gray came out. The mischief that usually shone in them changed now to that of desire. He was as aware of her being a woman as she was of him being a man. A very handsome, physical man.
And one that she burned to kiss. Now.
Rosalyne didn’t know which of them moved first toward the other or if it occurred at the same time but suddenly his mouth was on hers, warm and inviting. She leaned into him, her fingers tightening on his gypon as he brushed his lips against hers. A mellow feeling poured through her, making her bones turn to liquid.
Then his tongue outlined her lips with a sensual slowness that drove her to the point of madness before it glided along the seam of her mouth. She opened to him, not knowing what to expect.
And found paradise.
His tongue teased, playfully dueling with hers. She joined in the battle wholeheartedly, her body heating up as he drew her closer. When his tongue grazed the roof of her mouth, she shivered. They continued a game of cat and mouse as his kisses became deeper and more demanding. The soft gentleness turned into a flaming passion as his kisses became harder. Faster. More possessive. Her good hand moved up and clutched his shoulder, holding on for dear life as she seemed to rocket skyward, though her feet remained on the ground. Never had such sensations occurred within her.
Rosalyne heard a low moan and realized it came from her. A throbbing at the apex where her legs joined began as Edward’s hands dropped lower and cupped her buttocks. The feel of his long, lean fingers gripping her caused the throbbing to pound harder. She desperately wanted something—but she had no idea what that something entailed.
His hands went to her waist and encircled it, then he broke their kiss and eased her away from him, holding her in place as he gazed down at her. Her body felt as if a fever had struck her from out of nowhere. She blinked, dazed as she looked at him, confused by what had just occurred.
“Rosalyne?” His voice was husky and she realized that came from need—need for her.
“Aye?” It surprised her that she could find her voice.
“I am going to release you. Do you think you can stand on your own?” he asked softly.
“I . . . I am not sure,” she admitted.
“Let me try.”
She locked her knees, bracing for the moment his hands left her waist. He loosened his grasp on her, allowing his hands to hover next to her, in case she wavered. She swallowed and took a huge breath.
“I think I am fine,” she told him, hoping that was the case.
“All right.”
Edward stepped away from her. She missed the immense heat that had come from him. Her own body started to cool.
Rosalyne found she wanted to be back in his arms. She moved toward him but he held up a hand to stop her forward progress.
“Nay. I should not have kissed you as I did.”
“Why not?” she asked.
He remained silent.
Rosalyne didn’t know if he knew the answer or not.
Chapter 8
Why had he kissed her?
Edward never acted on impulse. He always weighed his decisions and came to the proper answer.
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.”
&nb
sp; 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.