by Alexa Aston
But it was the queen who drew Rosalyne’s eyes.
Anne of Bohemia had arrived in England four years earlier and married the king when she was ten and six. Richard had been a year younger. Though many disliked her upon her arrival, simply because the marriage brought no advantages to England, this young woman had won over the English people with her kindness. She begged for pardons for many who had participated in the peasants’ uprising and Anne even fought to save the life of London’s former mayor, John Northampton, two years ago, after his arrest.
Rosalyne studied her from across the room and saw the serenity that blanketed Anne. Small in size, she was attractive without being a great beauty.
The queen’s gaze met hers. In it, Rosalyne saw immense kindness. No wonder it was rumored that the king truly loved this woman, despite the fact no heirs had arrived since their marriage.
They made their way toward the queen. Rosalyne curtseyed deeply, as Edward and Uncle Temp bowed.
“Master Parry. Lady Rosalyne. ’Tis good, indeed, to meet you,” the queen said, her voice lilting, almost musical in tone.
“Likewise, your majesty,” Temp replied gallantly. “I look forward to capturing your likeness.” He glanced around at all of the ladies-in-waiting who openly stared at them. “This will never do.”
“Too many pretty women would distract you, Master Parry?” the queen teased.
Her uncle grew flustered, so Rosalyne smoothly interjected, “My uncle likes to get to know his subject while he sketches him or her, your majesty. He likes their full attention. Having all of your ladies-in-waiting present would disturb his concentration.”
Anne nodded. “Then they must go.” She motioned to one woman and instructed her to clear the room. Though the woman looked aghast, the queen said, “I will be perfectly fine. Lady Rosalyne will be here.” She glanced around. “And I will have Sir Edward to protect me. And Sir Hal may also remain. Now go.”
The woman, who obviously served as the head over the others, removed all of the noblewomen and the unfamiliar knight. She was the last one who exited and left reluctantly, after giving Temp a disapproving look.
Now the room only contained the five of them.
“I assume Sir Hal is aware of the unusual circumstances since you are brothers,” the queen began.
“He is, your highness,” Edward replied.
She looked to Hal. “Then stand guard at the door, Sir Hal. Admit no one while my portrait session occurs.”
“Aye, my queen.” Hal retreated to the door, his broad frame blocking the portal.
Anne smiled graciously. “I am eager to begin. Tell me what to do. Am I to sit a certain way? Do you like what I wear, or should I change my gown?”
“You only need to sit and converse, your majesty,” Rosalyne shared. “A large part of creating a portrait is simply speaking to a subject. Today, we will only talk. Both Uncle Temp and I will draw various sketches of you while we converse.”
“No painting will occur?” the queen asked, her disappointment obvious.
“Nay. And when it does, ’twill occur away from you. Uncle and I always work from our sketches. It is much easier to grind our pigments and prepare our paints and have them close at hand. Light is also very important and your rooms are too dark to be conducive to painting.”
Anne relaxed. “Then tell me about this process, Lady Rosalyne. I agree for you to draw me as we speak.”
Rosalyne engaged the queen in conversation about what the process involved, explaining to her much as she had Edward about how she prepared the wood and mixed the paints. The queen asked intelligent questions and seemed truly interested. Then Rosalyne began to ask the queen about her life as a young girl in Bohemia before she came to England, wanting to know more of her personality and the qualities she possessed.
“My family is quite large. I have four brothers and a younger sister, Margaret, but I also have five half-siblings from Father’s previous marriages. Upon my father’s death, my brother, Sigismund, became the Holy Roman Emperor. It was Sigismund who planned my marriage and our alliance with England.”
After they talked about the queen’s family and her childhood, Rosalyne encouraged her to speak of the king. She noted how Anne’s face softened and her eyes went dreamy while she discussed her husband. It touched Rosalyne how this political marriage arranged between heads of state had become a great love match.
Two hours later, she knew she had everything needed. Rosalyne had sketches of the queen from every direction and with a smattering of emotions on her face. She could not wait to paint this animated, cultured woman.
*
The past week had both sped by and seemed like an eternity. Rosalyne knew some of the hours dragged because of Edward’s absence. He had gone to Canterbury with three officials from the royal treasury after the men had drawn up documents for Lord Botulf to sign. Edward had told her how the king thought he was clever in making the arrangement with Botulf but that Richard demanded two more years of payment than Botulf had bargained for. Rosalyne hoped the nobleman would agree to the change and not dispute it so that Edward could return to her sooner.
Having him gone the past seven days was as if she had lost the very hand she painted with. Life would be unbearable if she could not paint. Missing Edward was like missing that hand. She would have no purpose otherwise.
Yet, when she wasn’t pining for the man she loved, her art filled the empty hours. Rosalyne had continued to sketch the queen from different angles, trying out different expressions that she had seen flit across Anne’s face. Once she decided on her course of action, Rosalyne had prepared not one, but two pieces of poplar. Creating two portraits might be risky but her heart led her to do so and Rosalyne had learned to trust her artistic instincts over the years.
Preparing the wood took a full day. Fortunately, Edward had already cut, shaped, and sanded several pieces for her before they left Canterbury. He told her it would be his small contribution to the royal portraits. It also allowed them to leave behind the saws and planes and not have to explain to anyone why Uncle Temp wasn’t shaping the wood that he would use.
After multiple layers of gesso coated the wood until it gleamed to perfection, Rosalyne had begun. Fortunately, Sir Harry had a room at the top of his house that had a large window. She set up her wood and paints there and opened the window every day to bring in as much natural light as possible. Her uncle accompanied her each day to keep up the ruse and everyone from servants to Sir Harry had been banned from entering and disturbing their work. Rosalyne could tell curiosity ate away at Sir Harry but she tried to stave it off as best as possible by telling him that his portrait would be next. He seemed mollified by that and had respected their privacy.
She stepped back and glanced from the portrait on the left to the one on the right and found both pleased her in very different ways.
“Come tell me what you think, Uncle.”
Temp rose from his chair in the corner of the room and came to stand next to her. He hadn’t seen her work till now. She stared straight ahead, afraid to witness his reaction.
When the silence drew out, Rosalyne finally looked at him. Tears streamed down his cheeks. She threw her arms around him, relief filling her.
He drew her back and smiled. “This is your best work, my dear. Far and above anything you have ever produced.” His eyes cut from one portrait to the other. “I cannot say which one I prefer.”
“I was hesitant on what I should do but somehow I believed both versions needed to be painted.”
“You were right.”
A knock at the door sounded. Rosalyne rushed over to answer it. She opened the door and found Sir Harry on the other side.
“I know I am to give Temp his privacy but I was hoping he might be finished for the day. This is usually the time he stops.”
“He just completed work,” Rosalyne assured the nobleman. “The portrait is done.”
Sir Harry’s eyes lit up. “May I see it?”
�
�Nay,” Temp called out. “The queen should be the first to do so.”
“But I may never see it,” Harry complained.
“Then I will make it up to you, my lord.”
Rosalyne suppressed a smile. Her uncle and Sir Harry had become thick as thieves since they had been in London.
“You may start now,” Harry replied. “My daughter has asked us to dine with her. She is excited to meet the man who is the talk of London.”
“I am?” Temp asked, a perplexed look on his face.
The nobleman chuckled. “Everyone is curious about the man who is painting the queen’s portrait.”
His words caused Rosalyne’s stomach to twist.
“You, too, are invited, Lady Rosalyne.”
“Thank you, my lord, but I must graciously decline.” She waved a hand about. “I have brushes to clean and paints to dispose of. And I find I am tired and would like to get some rest.”
Sir Harry inclined his head to her. “As you wish, my lady.” He looked to Temp. “Will you accompany me to dinner, my friend?”
“I would be delighted. Let me wash my hands and change my clothes. I wouldn’t want to come to your daughter’s table with paint staining me.” He grinned at her. Having him wear a tunic smeared with paint furthered their story.
“Remember your cloak, Uncle,” Rosalyne gently reminded, wanting him to keep his hands out of sight as much as possible.
“Of course.”
The two men left. She cleaned the brushes and then went to the open window. Looking at the sun’s position, she assumed it to be near six in the evening. As she glanced down at the street below full of people moving, she caught sight of a couple. The man’s arm rested snuggly against the woman’s waist. It made her long for Edward’s return.
She didn’t know how much time passed as she stood watching the scene but something changed in the room behind her. The air became charged. Then a familiar scent surrounded her. Before Rosalyne could turn, Edward’s strong arms snaked around her, yanking her into his muscled chest. His left arm held her snug against him as his right hand slipped up to caress her breast.
Rosalyne sighed in contentment as the familiar tingling enveloped her. His lips brushed along the nape of her neck.
“Sweet Jesu, I have missed you,” he said hoarsely, his thumb now lazily circling her nipple.
“Not a tenth as much as I have longed for your touch. For your kiss.”
Suddenly, he spun her about. “You missed my kiss?”
“More than words can say,” Rosalyne told him.
“Not a minute passed since we parted that I did not wish to be with you, my love.”
Edward sought her mouth but before his lips touched hers, Rosalyne placed two fingers against them.
“I want more than your kiss, Edward,” she said huskily.
“More?” he echoed, frowning.
“I want—no, I need—all of you. I want you here, now, inside me,” she demanded.
“But sweetheart—”
“Do you love me?” she asked.
“More than life itself,” he replied.
“Then show me, Edward. Show me how to love you. What to do. Make me yours, now and forever.”
Chapter 20
Rosalyne took Edward’s hand and led him from the sunny room. They encountered no servants as they descended the staircase to the next floor and went to her bedchamber.
She opened the door and pulled him inside, her heart beating wildly as she closed the door and latched it so no one else could enter. Turning to face him, she took his other hand.
He laced his fingers through hers, wordlessly gazing at her. Rosalyne knew he searched inside her heart and hoped her face told him what he needed to know.
“You are the most beautiful woman who walks this earth, Rosalyne. I feel blessed by the angels above to have earned your trust.” He squeezed her hands gently. “What we do now, I do not take lightly. Know that I am committed to you, heart and soul. Today. Tomorrow. For all eternity.”
With that, he drew her to him and kissed her deeply.
Time stood still as they drank in one another. One kiss blended into the next until Rosalyne found herself dizzy. Just when she thought her legs would no longer hold her up, Edward swept her off her feet and carried her to the bed. Drawing the curtain aside, he lowered her to the mattress, his mouth still on hers. She entwined her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He responded by stretching out beside her.
Rosalyne turned to her side so they now faced one another. She stroked his cheek, almost moved to tears by the love she saw shining in his eyes.
“I love you,” she said. “I need you.”
“I am here, my sweetest Rosalyne, ready to love and be loved by you.”
Edward kissed her and then rose from the bed. Before she could protest, he slowly began undressing. Bit by bit, he removed every stitch of clothing till he stood before her in naked magnificence. His shoulders seemed broader. His legs and arms longer.
And she was fascinated by his member, which stood at attention.
He caught her looking at it. “This is for you, sweetheart,” he said. “You move me in ways I cannot begin to express.”
“I want to touch you,” she said. “I want to touch . . . it.”
He settled next to her, his bare skin feverish to her touch. Rosalyne ran her hands across his chest, playing with the fine, dark hair, smoothing it down. The more she played with it, the larger his member grew. Finally, she skimmed her hand down his flat belly and reached out for his manhood.
It surprised her how smooth it was, especially the head. She gripped it and began to stroke it. A low moan escaped his lips, causing her to smile.
“You like that?” she asked innocently.
Edward gritted his teeth. “Aye. I like it fine.”
Suddenly, Rosalyne knew she needed her skin against his. She began tossing her clothing aside. Edward joined in and quickly helped her shed the layers she wore. Once gone, she snuggled against him, rubbing her breasts against his chest as they nestled together. His hand cupped her buttocks as he lowered his mouth and took her breast into it.
Instant heat filled her. Her hands grasped his shoulders, the nails digging in, as he feasted on her with tongue and teeth. Need undulated inside her. She pushed against him and threw one leg over him, using it to pull him even closer.
His fingers parted her as before. Already, her body knew them and hungered for his intimate touch. As he kissed her mouth, his fingers kissed her insides, the strokes building something deeply within her. Then an explosion occurred and Rosalyne rode against his hand as wild currents zipped through her, the frenzy reeling out of control as she almost shouted into his mouth. It finally began to subside.
Edward withdrew his fingers and whispered, “You are ready for me.”
Before she could reply, he nudged her onto her back and hovered over her as he slipped his manhood against her. With one thrust, he plunged inside.
His mouth covered hers, muffling the shriek that erupted from the sudden pain. Rosalyne lay there confused, wondering why he had hurt her.
But he did not move. She now felt him filling her, stretching her, yet the pain had passed. He kissed her softly a few times and then said, “It will never hurt again, my love. I had to breach your maidenhead. Only pleasure will happen between us from now on. Trust me.”
She did—and what happened next was nothing she could have imagined. Rosalyne swore she was flying, Edward by her side, as they came together in a dizzying array of physical pleasure. Both reached a peak of pleasure at the same moment, shuddering in unison, their mouths and bodies melded together as one.
Edward collapsed atop her, driving her into the mattress. Rosalyne welcomed his weight, bringing her legs around him and keeping him tightly against her. Their sweat-slickened bodies now knew one another as intimately as a man and woman could.
Then he rolled, bringing her with him, until she was on top. She finally broke their kiss and smiled a
t him. This man was hers. Hers alone, for all time.
“You are a gift to me, Rosalyne. I promise to cherish you always.”
“Even when my hair turns to gray?” she teased, tracing his brows with her thumbs.
“Aye. For it will have done that from the many sons and daughters you give me. Mother says giving birth is the easy part. It is raising children that she claims puts the gray into a woman’s hair.”
She ran her fingers through his hair. “Your mother sounds like a very wise woman.”
He smiled. “She has to be to manage my father, six children, and all of Kinwick. Most people give Father the credit for how well Kinwick is run but he says Mother is the power behind it all.”
Rosalyne kissed him. “Then your father sounds as wise as your mother. I look forward to the day I can meet them.”
Edward smoothed a stray curl from her face. “You will need to do so as my wedded wife,” he informed her. “I had thought we might wait and marry at Kinwick but now we will need to make our vows in London.”
“Why?” she asked. “Your parents will be disappointed if they cannot be with us to celebrate that day.”
“But you could be with child, my love. Because of that, I plan to wed you tomorrow.”
*
Edward knew that he had to arrange his marriage to Rosalyne immediately. He did not regret making her his last night. Nothing he had ever experienced could compare to making love to the woman who had become everything to him. To think she would soon spend every night in his bed thrilled him.
But that couldn’t occur in the barracks where the king’s guard slept.
Mayhap, the queen would be willing to help them. Already, she had been amenable to his suggestion of having Rosalyne paint her portrait. He had confided in her, a woman he’d never spoken with, not only about Rosalyne’s talents as a painter but how great his love was for her. Knowing the queen was a romantic at heart, Edward had risked all—and so far, it had paid off.
Rosalyne wanted to bring the two portraits to the palace today. If they pleased Queen Anne, then she might be more willing to help them find a way to wed quickly and allow him to return to Kinwick with his bride.