Knights of Honor Books 1-10: A Medieval Romance Series Bundle

by Alexa Aston

  Edward’s curiosity about the process grew. “But what do you mix with the yolk? What pigments give color to the paint itself?”

  Her rich laugh drew him in. “I am sorry I didn’t make myself clear. Working with pigments so often, I forget that others are not as familiar with them. They come from nature—plants, animals, and even minerals within the soil itself. Shades of siennas, ochres, and umbers can be dug from the earth, often from iron, clay, or silica. Those pigments are the most inexpensive to use and so the most common colors in a painting draw from these earth tones.”

  “I see. You dig them up and then what? Grind them?”

  “Aye, to a very fine powder.” She shrugged and indicated her arm in its sling. “That is why I was upset about losing the use of my arm and hand with this injured wrist. You already see how much physical labor goes into preparing the wood.”

  “You usually do all of what I have done today by yourself?”

  Rosalyne’s dark blue eyes sparkled. “Of course. I watched Uncle do it for years and he now allows me to do all of the preparation. I saw and sand and glue and grind.”

  His respect for her talents grew.

  “Other pigments can be bought,” she continued, “but at a much higher cost. You rarely see blue in a painting and if you do? ’Tis reserved for the most special person who is the focus of the work because lapis lazuli and azurite are outrageously expensive.”

  “Ah, that is why the Madonna is always pictured wearing blue.”

  “You are quick to understand, Edward.” She gave him an admiring smile. “Also, the precious metal of gold is used in small amounts within paintings. Uncle melts the gold and applies it directly to the wood, shaping it quickly. After it dries he possesses tools, including a soft brush, which can remove the excess.”

  “Which will then be put to use in a different painting or portrait, I gather.”

  She beamed at him. “You have the mind of an artist, Edward. I wonder if you possess the skill to actually paint something.”

  He laughed. “I doubt it. I have never picked up a brush in my life and have no intention of doing so.”

  Rosalyne studied him. “Mayhap I will give you a lesson or two and you can see for yourself if you possess any talent.” She paused. “But for now, we have more work ahead of us.”

  They returned to her uncle’s workshop. Rosalyne inspected the wood to see if the glue held and gave him an approving nod.

  “Our next step will be to cover the panel with a thin linen cloth. I am afraid it will be up to you to glue this cloth to the front of the wood. I can help hold it in place with my good hand but the majority of the work will be left up to you.”

  “May I ask why we do this?” Edward asked. “The wood has already been smoothed. Surely, your uncle can paint on the surface now.”

  “The cloth helps to conceal where you joined the various planks together.”

  He frowned. “I don’t see how that will hide it.”

  She grinned. “Because you will cover this linen with many, many layers of gesso and then rub it smooth between each coat. By the end, the surface will be flat and stable and incredibly easy to paint upon.”

  “And how many layers of this gesso must I apply?”

  “Usually ten and five,” she replied. “And they must dry between each layer being swept across the linen. But the layers are thin and dry quickly. By the end, the surface is a brilliant white.”

  He sighed in mock exasperation. “Who knew wood preparation would prove to be so complicated?”

  “Come, Edward. I will instruct you on mixing the gesso. It’s a simple formula of combining chalk and glue.”

  “But in just the right amounts,” he added, his lips twitching in amusement.

  “You learn quickly,” she complimented him, though a wisp of a smile played about the corners of her mouth and he thought she might be teasing him.

  They spent a few hours cutting the cloth and gluing it to the surface of the wood. Rosalyne used her right hand to hold it tightly in place as Edward smoothed the linen against the planks. Gradually, the seam between the planks started to disappear. She assured him once the numerous layers of gesso were applied, the many planks of poplar would seem as a single piece.

  “That is enough for one day,” Rosalyne proclaimed. “I like for the linen to dry overnight before beginning the next step.”

  “Who knew I could build such an appetite with simple wood preparation?” he remarked. “I think I could eat an entire roasted chicken by myself.”

  “I am afraid I haven’t got that,” she apologized. “We have been so caught up in work for Uncle Temp that I neglected to prepare anything for our evening meal. ’Twill be stale bread and cheese for us.”

  “Nay, I will go out and purchase some meat pies,” Edward said. “I had one yesterday when I arrived in Canterbury. It was absolutely delicious and I promised myself I would eat many of them in the coming weeks.”

  “Oh, I cannot let you do that. You are our guest.”

  “Nay, I am your paying tenant.”

  “But I promised to provide meals for you. Already, I am neglecting my duty.” She sighed. “We have never had someone rent out our spare bedchamber. I fear I have much to learn about managing my time now that you are in our household.”

  “Why don’t you prepare a little of the mixture I gave Temp this morning? While you do that, I will see to purchasing those meat pies.”

  “I will repay you, Edward,” Rosalyne promised.

  He winked at her and exited the cottage, heading in the direction of the cathedral since all of the stalls and vendors seem to lie that way.

  The day had proven to be interesting and educational. Edward already had much more respect for the painted panels he’d viewed in various churches. Knowing what he did now about how much work went into them, he could appreciate the time and effort spent to produce one.

  It felt good to be out and about, stretching his limbs, though he had enjoyed the labor put in today. Edward realized how quickly the day had passed in Rosalyne’s company. It surprised him at how physical this portion was and how strong she had to be to organize and complete the steps leading up to her uncle working with the wood. Though a woman, she must be very sturdy to do everything he had done today.

  Edward imagined her strong, callused hands taking his. No court beauty could have done a tenth of the kind of work Rosalyne did for her uncle every day. They never lifted a comb to their own hair, much less bathed or dressed themselves. And their conversations revolved around only what they saw and heard at court. He had tired of the gossip and empty chatter almost immediately after his arrival to serve in the royal guard.

  He thought of the women he had coupled with during his time in London and Windsor and all of the other palaces the king frequented. Suddenly, each of them paled against the liveliness and intelligence of Rosalyne Parry.

  In that moment, Edward knew he had to find a way to gracefully leave the king’s guard because he wanted a life apart from all the shallowness that had surrounded him for the past year. He wanted a life away from serving the king.

  One with Rosalyne.

  Chapter 10

  As Rosalyne gathered eggs from her hens, she looked forward to another day in Edward’s presence. Though part of her felt guilty that he would remain again to help her in her uncle’s workshop, she enjoyed his company too much to insist he leave her on her own. Besides, after today, her wrist would be sufficiently healed so that he could seek work in the city. She only needed both hands when readying the wood and all of those stages would be completed today. Her right hand did all the work when it came to sketching and painting.

  And this would be the most important piece she had ever worked on.

  She fed the chickens once her basket was filled and entered the house, surprised to hear voices. She realized both Edward and her uncle had risen. Coming into the main room, she saw them seated at the table with food in front of them.

  “Good morning, Rosalyne,
” Uncle Temp called out cheerfully. “Come join us and break your fast.”

  She took a seat and marveled, “When did you ever wake up in such jovial spirits?”

  He gave her a sheepish smile. “Mayhap Edward’s concoction has something to do with it.”

  “Good morning,” Edward said to her. “I have already mixed some of the herbs to suppress your uncle’s cough and he partook of it.”

  “I feel like a new man,” Uncle Temp proclaimed. “Younger certainly, though my sides and chest still ache from coughing so much.”

  “Alas, I have no cure for that,” Edward lamented. “Still, under Rosalyne’s supervision, your panel will be ready for your brush to touch it later today.”

  “You had Edward’s help?” Uncle Temp asked her.

  “Aye. He served as my hands and did quite well. I will have him apply the layers of gesso today, so by early afternoon the panel will be ready for you to start.” Rosalyne gave him a pointed look and saw that he understood what to say next.

  “Then I will try my best today to sketch out on it what I will paint later.”

  “Only if you feel up to it,” Edward said.

  They ate in companionable silence and then her uncle said, “I have missed the sunshine while lying abed.”

  Rosalyne told Edward, “Uncle Temp enjoys walking the streets of Canterbury as much as he does painting.”

  “Instead of walking, how about sitting in the sunshine?” Edward suggested. “The fresh air might do you some good and you can enjoy it and still conserve your strength for your drawing. I could place a chair outside the door for you.”

  “I would appreciate that, Edward. Thank you.”

  “I’ll do it now.” He rose and picked up a chair to carry outside.

  The moment he stepped through the door, Rosalyne said, “Remember, Edward has helped me prepare the panel and knows I always do that for you.”

  “But we must keep the secret that you will be the one who produces the final work for the chapel,” Uncle Temp added. “Once it is in place and has the archbishop’s approval, I will let Courtenay know you were responsible. Only then can Edward—and the rest of the world—know what you are capable of.”

  Edward rejoined them. “Would you like me to assist you, Temp? I have found the perfect spot where you can soak up the sunshine and speak to passing neighbors.”

  “That is very thoughtful of you, Edward.” He allowed Edward to help him to his feet.

  “I will clear the table,” Edward said to her. “Your wrist still needs a last day of rest in its sling with no straining.”

  Rosalyne nodded in agreement and sat until he returned and took everything into the kitchen for her. She heard him rinsing the cups and putting away things. He was a kind, thoughtful man, handsome and well-spoken.

  And his kisses stirred something unnamed within her.

  She wondered if he would ever kiss her again and thought not. She would not encourage him to do so. He seemed too polite to try again without her permission. Rosalyne supposed their brief encounter had been one of curiosity on his part. He had not attempted to touch her since. His tone had been light and friendly. She hoped they would become—and remain—friends.

  Though a hidden part of her desired much more.

  “I am ready for mixing the gesso,” he said. “And proud that I remembered such an unusual name.”

  She had been lost in thought and had not realized he stood beside her. Rosalyne rose and accompanied him to her uncle’s workshop, where the panel awaited them. Checking to see that the linen had dried completely, she found it to her satisfaction.

  “Time to create our gesso,” she said, showing him where the chalk and glue were located.

  Edward ground the chalk to a fine powder. “Is this also how you would grind pigment for the tempera paints?”

  “Aye.”

  It took him time to perfect the gesso mixture but once he did, the process went quickly. Edward would apply a thin layer across the linen-covered poplar and then they would talk for a few minutes before he stroked another coat onto the wood.

  Several hours passed until Rosalyne decided he could stop.

  Edward studied it a few minutes. “This was a laborious process but I see now how hard and smooth the surface truly is. The layers of gesso have turned it opaque and a brilliant white.”

  “Aye. The treated surface will actually help reflect the light of the paints.”

  He gave her a smile. “This has been most interesting, Rosalyne. I know I will never enter a church and view a painted panel in the same way.”

  She laughed. “And this was the easy part.”

  “So what will Temp do now?”

  “Uncle will use the sketches Archbishop Courtenay approved as his guide and replicate them in charcoal directly onto the panel before he ever applies the paint. The most difficult aspect is to take his smaller drawings and transfer them to a much larger scale.”

  “I can see how that might be complicated,” Edward said. “Has he ever had to start over? Add more layers of gesso to cover a mistake?”

  Rosalyne shrugged. “Not that I know of. Mayhap in his early days but Uncle Temp is skilled and has much experience. He says besides getting the sketch to his liking, the most difficult aspect is mixing the paints correctly.”

  “And you also do that for him?”

  “He has given me that task for the last four years. In my youth, I would watch him as he tinkered with amounts of pigment and yolk. Later, he supervised me in mixing them, much as I have done with you these past two days.”

  “Will you be able to grind the pigments? Has your wrist healed enough to do so?”

  She saw the concern in his eyes. “I think by tomorrow I will be fine, Edward.”

  “May I examine it?”

  Her gaze met his. Rosalyne swallowed at the intensity in it. She didn’t trust herself to speak and simply nodded.

  Edward moved toward her. His unique masculine scent invaded the space between them, causing her to grow lightheaded. She stiffened her knees, willing them not to buckle beneath her.

  Leaning into her, he reached behind her neck and untied the sling, bringing the ends over her shoulders and drawing them away. Rosalyne kept from throwing her arms about his neck and pulling his mouth down to hers.

  Barely.

  He tossed one end of the cloth over his shoulder and lifted her arm by the elbow. Bracing her arm, he placed it against his own forearm to steady it and then used his free hand to touch her wrist. The callused fingertips glided against her skin, gently prodding it, encircling it. Rosalyne couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.

  Then Edward released it and guided her arm down to her side. He stepped behind her and reached around, using the material to recreate the makeshift sling once more. As he tied the two ends together, she could feel his warm breath on the nape of her neck. Her belly flip-flopped wildly. She began to turn toward him, only to realize he moved away.

  “That should hold. You aren’t feeling any more pain, are you?”

  “Nay.” It surprised Rosalyne that she was able to get the word out.

  “I think by tomorrow, you will be as good as new. If not, I can remain and grind your pigments for you.” He thought a moment. “In fact, could I do so this afternoon? That way, you would only have to mix in the egg yolk and stir. You could do that with your right hand.”

  “All right.” She swallowed hard, willing herself to regain the power of speech. “I will show you what can be ground. Mixing paints can sometimes be a slow process. Or Uncle will use one color in part of the painting and then I add more pigment if he needs a deeper shade for shadowing or another section of the painting.” She sighed, trying to regain control of her emotions. “But having the pigment already ground will definitely save me time.”

  They spent another hour together, Edward grinding various pigments as she enjoyed watching the muscles in his forearms and his long, lean fingers at work. Finally, she decided he could stop, kn
owing she had more than enough pigment at this point to mix and paint large sections of the triptych.

  “I don’t mind fetching the eggs for you and mixing the paints,” he said.

  “Uncle Temp needs to be here for that. We won’t need to begin that process until he has transferred the ideas from his sketches onto the wood.”

  Edward propped one elbow on the table and asked, “So why tempera paints? What is so special about them?”

  “Egg tempera is incredible durable. Generally, it is unaffected by either temperature or humidity and it is long-lasting. When a painting is completed with egg tempera paints, nothing can match the satin sheen of its finish or how vivid the colors are.”

  “It sounds almost too good to be true. Are there any drawbacks to using it?”

  Rosalyne laughed. “Tempera is thin when applied.”

  “Like the gesso?”

  “Even thinner, which means is dries rapidly. An artist must truly commit when using it and use quick, deliberate brushstrokes in a crosshatching pattern. That helps add depth to the composition of the piece. When finished, the surface is a smooth matte.”

  He frowned. “That sounds complicated.”

  “Artists have used egg tempera paints for over a thousand years.”

  “Then ’twill probably be used for a thousand more.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Unless you or your uncle can invent something new.”

  Being in Edward’s presence had caused all thoughts of her uncle to flee. “Oh, I should go check on Uncle. I wonder if he is still sitting outside after so long a time.”

  Rosalyne found the chair moved back inside and Uncle Temp snoring softly in his bed. She returned and told Edward, “He is resting now but I know he enjoyed being in the sunlight.”

  “I used the last of the horehound this morning when I mixed the tonic for him. If we are through for the day, I would like to return to the market and purchase a bit more to have on hand in case his cough returns. Could I bring back anything for you?”