by Alexa Aston
Uncle Temp followed her into the kitchen. He never questioned her as he helped retrieve a small round of cheese, a few apples, and the ale. Rosalyne knew she would not have been able to manage with a single hand but she hadn’t wanted to leave everything to her uncle with his shaking hand. Glancing at him, though, the tremors seemed to be absent at the moment.
“Are you able to carry the tray in?” she asked.
“For now. The quivering comes and goes. Right now, I have no shaking, nor do I sense any coming on.”
He scooped up the tray and they returned to where their guest patiently waited. Rosalyne distributed the cups of ale with her right hand, feeling odd to only use it. Edward pulled out his dirk and sliced cheese for them while Uncle Temp made sure each of them had an apple.
“So, how did you rescue my niece?” he asked, curiosity written on his face.
Edward explained to him about the runaway team of horses that crashed down the street and that he had made sure Rosalyne hadn’t been struck by them.
“You are far too modest in telling this tale, Edward,” she chided. “The wild horses came perilously close to trampling me. If not for this man’s swift actions, I might have been crushed under their hooves and the cart’s wheels. At best, I would be battered and have numerous broken bones. At worst, I would not be sitting here talking with you, for I would have been killed.”
Uncle Temp’s eyes glistened with tears. “Thank you, Edward. My niece means the world to me.” He squeezed Edward’s shoulder briefly and then turned his attention to his ale.
Rosalyne saw he struggled to get his feelings under control and wanted to take the focus from him. “In the commotion, I let go of the sketches. The wind picked them up and scattered them along the thoroughfare. Though I gave chase, Edward was the one who gathered all of them up and returned them to me.”
Uncle Temp had regained his composure. “Then we are in your debt, Edward. The drawings are the result of many conversations Rosalyne and I shared. Archbishop Courtenay gave his approval today after viewing them. One, in particular, will be used to create a new panel to hang inside Trinity Chapel. In fact, ’twill be right where you and I stood today when we spoke.”
“You’ve met?” Rosalyne asked, looking from one to the other.
“Only briefly,” Edward murmured.
“I am afraid I scared young Edward off,” her uncle admitted.
“What did you say?” Rosalyne knew Uncle Temp could be free with his opinion at times.
He shrugged. “’Tis neither here nor there.” He brightened. “But I am glad to make your acquaintance, Edward Munn.”
“And I am pleased to meet you. And your niece,” Edward added. He bit into the apple and then drank some of his ale.
Uncle Temp asked Edward what he did for a living and where he lived in Canterbury.
“I have only arrived this very day and will seek work tomorrow. I plan to speak to the men who are in charge of rebuilding Canterbury’s walls. Hopefully, they have need of another laborer.”
“Have you a place to stay?” Rosalyne asked. She thought about her plan of how they could add to their coin and saw this as a golden opportunity—in more than one way.
“Nay. I suppose I will look for an inn to stay the night and then seek something more permanent in nature tomorrow. If I am hired, that is.”
Though she had not discussed her idea with her uncle, Rosalyne said, “Uncle Temp and I have a spare bedchamber. It has sat empty for far too long, so I have thought recently that we might rent it out.” She glanced at her uncle to gauge his reaction. He didn’t seem to object, so she pushed on. “Mayhap you would be interested in staying here with us. We are not far from where a bulk of the current construction takes place. It would be convenient for you and you would not have to look elsewhere.”
Hope fluttered inside her as she saw him consider the option.
Then Edward beamed at her. “I would be happy to reside here during my time in Canterbury,” he declared. “I will pay you a fair price for use of your bedchamber and extra coin if you will provide me with two meals a day, one before I begin my day’s work and one at the end.”
She named a price and he agreed to it without hesitation. She raised her cup and said, “Then here’s to our new resident—and new friend.”
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 clut
ched 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.