Love and Honor (Knights of Honor Book 7)

by Alexa Aston

  “I can do that, your highness. I will need to spend some time speaking with you. As I do so, I will sketch you from several angles. Only then will I return and work on your portrait, away from court.”

  Richard brightened. “So, I do not have to stay frozen for hours upon hours while you paint me?” He laughed heartily. “I already approve of this, my lady. And of you.”

  “Mayhap, the king would like to attend your wedding,” Anne interjected. Her words got her husband’s attention. “I have promised Sir Edward and Lady Rosalyne that I would arrange for them to wed this afternoon. Saint Margaret’s Church is next to the palace. I believe they would be happy to accommodate us on short notice.”

  Richard brushed his lips against his wife’s temple. “If you wish, we will go witness this ceremony, my queen.”

  “Then I have much to do between now and then,” Anne said. “Sir Hal? Call for my ladies-in-waiting to return, then you and Sir Edward go to Saint Margaret’s and speak to a priest there about performing the ceremony. Mid-afternoon will be convenient. Lady Rosalyne will prepare herself here and see the two of you at the church’s door in a few hours.”

  Temp said, “I will find Benedict Bowyar and bring him and Sir Harry to the church to act as your witnesses.”

  Edward saw how his words pleased Rosalyne.

  “What are you men waiting for?” The queen stamped her foot. “Go. Now.”

  Edward leaned in to claim a quick kiss from his bride-to-be before exiting the room. “Till we meet again,” he said before he released her hands and left with Hal.

  As they made their way along the corridors to the outside, Hal said, “Congratulations, little brother. You have gained a bride and your freedom from Richard’s guard all in the same day.”

  He halted in his tracks. “But . . . I forgot. I wanted to obtain your release, too, Hal.” It angered him that he had not thought of his brother and that Hal would be left behind.

  His brother shrugged. “Mayhap, I am meant to stay in London with the king and queen,” he mused.

  “Hal, you yourself told me how the political situation grows more complicated. You need to come with us to Kinwick,” Edward protested.

  “I should be the least of your concerns, Brother. First, let us arrange for your marriage to take place in a few hours. And we must find Lady Rosalyne a ring. Then I believe a trip to the bath house and a shave and trim should be next. Mother would insist that you look your finest for your bride.”

  “I will wear the last gypon she made for me so she will be there with me in spirit.”

  Hal slung an arm around him. “You know she and Father will adore Rosalyne. Temp, too.”

  Edward grinned. “I know.”

  *

  Rosalyne allowed her husband to escort her through the Palace of Westminster, her hand resting on his arm. It gave her a thrill to think of him as her mate for life.

  Yesterday’s wedding had flown by. Rosalyne actually remembered very little about it other than both her uncles beamed at her as she spoke her vows with the man she loved. She glanced down at the ring resting on her finger which proclaimed to the world that she belonged to Edward de Montfort.

  That outward symbol of their love was for the world to see but what had passed between them last night was for them alone. The queen arranged for Edward’s things to be taken to Sir Harry’s, where they would stay until the king’s portrait had been finished. That way, she and Edward could spend private time together. Rosalyne already longed to return to their bedchamber to learn more about the mysteries of love.

  It pleased her beyond measure that both the king and queen had looked on as the priest had Edward and her repeat their pledges to one another so that the marriage was consecrated. Their party, which also included Hal, entered a chapel at Saint Margaret’s and sat through the nuptial mass. When they left the church, she stepped out not as Rosalyne Parry or Rosalyne Bowyar but Rosalyne de Montfort.

  The queen had also arranged a celebratory feast for them inside a small banqueting room in the palace, though she and the king did not attend. Still, their small group enjoyed the delicious food and wines provided for them. Hal told a few tales about Edward and him that had everyone laughing to the point of tears, while Uncle Temp had spoken about his years with Rosalyne and how he looked forward to the children she and Edward would soon produce.

  What moved her most, though, was as they started to depart and Uncle Benedict pulled her aside.

  “You are a more beautiful, more perfect version of Lara,” he told her. “Both she and your father were soul mates. I can see you and your Edward are the same.” He kissed her cheek. “I hope one day you might consider traveling to Shallowheart Castle so you can see the place of your birth and where your parents were together and at their happiest.”

  Rosalyne had promised that she and Edward would visit but she needed to work on the king’s portrait and then go to Kinwick first in order to meet Edward’s parents.

  They arrived at the king’s rooms and gained immediate entrance since they were expected. Rosalyne dipped into the lowest curtsey she could manage in front of the monarch. Edward helped her to rise as she listened to the murmurs from those gathered in the room.

  Richard gleefully rubbed his hands together. “What do we need to do, Lady Rosalyne?”

  She glanced around, disappointed that the room was filled with well over a dozen courtiers and two servants, along with a few royal guardsmen standing at attention along the wall. Edward had already told her how the king was constantly surrounded by others. The queen had taken unusual liberties by dismissing her ladies-in-waiting while Rosalyne sketched her. She would not fare the same in the king’s presence.

  “We will simply converse, your majesty,” Rosalyne said. “I have brought parchment and charcoal and will draw you as we speak.”

  “The queen told me not to ask to see your sketches,” he said.

  “That is correct. No one sketch in particular will be used. Instead, I combine parts of several to create the final portrait.”

  With her words, the men in the chamber began a low rumbling, conversing among themselves. Rosalyne could tell they seemed both offended and perplexed as to why the king would allow a mere woman to paint his portrait.

  “Silence!” the king cried.

  Immediately, the only sound in the room was that of breathing.

  “Come, Lady Rosalyne,” the king said in honeyed tones. “We can sit over here.”

  He led her to two chairs placed near a window wider than any she had ever seen and seated her before he took the one opposite her.

  “My queen tells me that light is important to an artist. Open the window,” he instructed, and a servant raced to do his bidding.

  Edward had followed them and handed over the satchel containing her supplies. Rosalyne removed the pieces of parchment and set them in her lap. She placed several bits of charcoal along the windowsill and kept one to sketch with. Edward moved away from them and went to stand on the other side of the room.

  Rosalyne glanced around and found this was as private as possible. All she needed to do now was draw the king out so that he would reveal to her who he truly was.

  “What did you like to do as a small boy, your majesty?” she asked.

  The king cocked his head and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I enjoyed hunting. And fishing. I was raised in Aquitaine, you know.”

  “I was not aware of that,” Rosalyne replied as she moved the charcoal across the first page, capturing the emotions flitting across the monarch’s face.

  “I was born at the archbishop’s palace in Bordeaux, during the feast of Epiphany. Three kings—from Castile, Navarre, and Portugal—attended my birth.”

  Richard spoke for some time about his early years and his great love for his father, the Black Prince. He grew sad when he recounted memories surrounding his father’s and older brother’s early deaths and how he was brought to England as the heir to the throne. The king laughed as he recounted stories a
bout his grandfather, the old king, and spoke of his great friends, Suffolk and Oxford.

  Rosalyne asked him about his marriage and enjoyed capturing the joy and adoration on his face as he spoke about his queen. He told her they eagerly looked forward to the birth of their future children. After discussing hunting and riding for longer than she thought necessary, she put her charcoal aside and decided to wind down their conversation.

  “You have been so thoughtful and expressive, your majesty,” she complimented. “I will have a difficult time selecting from all the many wonderful drawings I was able to do of you.”

  “And you are certain I’m not to see any of them?” he asked, his tone conveying that he hoped she reconsidered her stance.

  “Nay. They are for my work ahead and not meant to be seen by anyone except myself.” Seeing his obvious disappointment, she added, “But if you like, I will make a gift of them to you once your portrait is completed. That way, you will have something different from the queen and can share those sketches with her.”

  He rewarded her with a wide smile. “I can agree to that, my lady.”

  Rosalyne slipped the parchment into the satchel and rose. By then, Edward had crossed the room and stood next to her.

  “When can I look forward to seeing my portrait?” the king asked.

  “Within the week, your highness. These things cannot be rushed.”

  “Then I will expect you one week from today,” the king said. “Come at midday so you and your new husband can join the queen and me as we dine.”

  Rosalyne curtseyed once more and then allowed Edward to lead her from the room. All eyes watched her as they left. Her heart pounded viciously, knowing that many of these men wanted—even expected—her to fail.

  She would prove every last one of them wrong.

  Chapter 22

  Rosalyne stepped back and carefully eyed her work. After studying the king’s portrait a few moments, she dipped her brush into the tempera paint again and swept a few more strokes onto the wood.

  “Perfect,” she said aloud, a satisfied smile crossing her lips.

  The past week had passed quickly. Edward spent his days finishing up his commitment to the royal guard, returning each night to Sir Harry’s—and their bed.

  Rosalyne learned several ways in which she could please her husband. He, in turn, had pleasured her beyond her wildest dreams. It still amazed her how much a simple, tender touch could move her. Every day, she fell more deeply in love with her handsome, thoughtful husband.

  Now that King Richard’s portrait was completed in the time he had requested, they could take it to the palace tomorrow and finally leave London behind. She thought the country air would be better for Uncle Temp and hoped Lady Merryn’s array of herbs would be able to help his hands and balance.

  Her only regret would be leaving Uncle Benedict behind. They had met daily since her wedding. Rosalyne would paint most of the day and her uncle would arrive to see what she had accomplished. Afterward, they would wander the streets of London for an hour, getting to know one another, before returning to Sir Harry’s.

  Learning about her parents brought deep satisfaction to her. Uncle Benedict told stories of her grandparents and her father as a boy. The two brothers had fostered together and Rosalyne learned more about that custom.

  But most of all, she treasured the stories about her mother. Having grown up without a mother, she had longed for female companionship. Uncle Benedict had loved her mother so much and what he shared with Rosalyne about Lara Parry made her feel as though she understood herself better now, knowing more about the woman who gave birth to her.

  A knock sounded at the door and Rosalyne went to answer it.

  “Am I too early?” Uncle Benedict asked. “I don’t wish to interrupt your time to work.”

  “Nay, Uncle. Come in. I am pleased to tell you that I have finished.”

  His eyes lit up. “May I see it?”

  “Of course.”

  Normally, she and Uncle Temp never shared their art with anyone who was not the subject of the portrait. But this man was part of her family. She enjoyed seeing his reactions and asking his opinion.

  “Simply outstanding, Rosalyne,” declared Uncle Benedict. “I see the king when I am at court, so I am familiar with his looks. You have captured his dignity and strong presence yet at the same time you have given him an approachable air. He is definitely portrayed as a man meant to rule but there is a remarkably human aspect to him.”

  “He warned me that I must make him appear regal, probably because he is still so young. I hope he will not be upset that I also included vulnerability since I did see some in him when we spoke.”

  “King Richard will be astounded. So will the queen.” He paused. “I am eager for you to work on painting me someday.”

  Rosalyne had promised to paint her uncle when she and Edward visited him at Shallowheart in the future.

  “I also look forward to that—and seeing the place of my birth.”

  “I hope it will be soon,” Benedict said. “From what your husband tells me, Shallowheart is but a day and a half’s ride west from Kinwick. You know, I actually met Lord Geoffrey and Lady Merryn here at court, though I have never been a guest at their estate.”

  “Truly?” Her uncle had not reveled this in any of their previous conversations. “What are they like?”

  “Sir Edward is much like his father. He has Lord Geoffrey’s height and build. I have noticed his hair appears dark till he stands in the light and it becomes a burnished red. That comes from his mother, who has long, thick, chestnut hair that many women envy. I would say the de Montforts are very kind people. Both are intelligent and well thought of by others. I know the old king favored them and made several visits to Kinwick during his summer progress over the years.”

  “Aye, Edward told me a bit about that. He said his parents named him in honor of their friendship with the old king.”

  She brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “Would you like to go for our late afternoon stroll? I could use some air and would enjoy stretching my legs.”

  He offered her his arm. “Lead the way, Niece.”

  They left Sir Harry’s house and walked slowly through the streets, reaching a local market where goods and food were peddled. Uncle Benedict had learned of her sweet tooth and bought her a sweetmeat as a treat. She thanked him for it and said she would always think of him when she ate one.

  “I saw Sir Harry when I arrived today. He asked me to dine with you tonight. Harry favors pike, so I told him I would purchase some while we were out.”

  Benedict led her to a stall and said, “The fishmongers’ guild was one of the earliest guilds established in London. They have existed in the city for over a hundred years. Thanks to the guild, prices and sales are watched carefully to ensure freshness and quality.”

  It amazed her how much her uncle seemed to know about many topics.

  While Uncle Benedict looked at the fish on display, Rosalyne glanced around and saw a booth that sold spices. She thought she might bring a gift to Lady Merryn and touched her uncle’s sleeve.

  “I want to look at the spices for sale to take some to Kinwick.”

  He nodded and she wandered over, seeing the woman had everything available from cloves and pepper to mace and cinnamon. She would need to see if Uncle Benedict would buy some for her and have Edward reimburse him tonight.

  Someone brushed against her. Rosalyne glanced to her right and saw a man with a dirty cloth wrapped around his head, dipping low to hide one eye and his cheek. It bothered her that he stood so close and made no effort to take a step away. Since his presence made her uncomfortable, she decided to make her way back to Uncle Benedict.

  As she turned to leave, an arm suddenly went about her and something sharp pressed into her waist.

  “Walk with me, my lady, else you’ll have a hole in your side.”

  Rosalyne chastised herself for being so careless. Edward had warned her to be wary of cutpurses
that stalked the London streets.

  “I have no coin on me,” she informed him, hoping he would release her.

  “Move,” he ordered, his voice low so others would not hear. “Do not speak.”

  “I could give you my wedding ring,” she offered, naming the only thing of value that she wore. Though Rosalyne would hate to part with it, she would rather lose the ring than her life.

  “I said move.” The thief’s fingers dug into her, while the blade pricked her side. “And don’t call out, or you and your uncle will be dead.”

  The man nudged the blade against her again. Rosalyne knew that if she screamed or brought any attention to herself, he would make good on his threat and shove the dagger into her. She would be dead before she hit the ground.

  Reluctantly, she began walking, allowing him to guide her through the crowds. With each step away from Uncle Benedict, fear multiplied within her. She hoped this man would be satisfied to take her ring and set her free without further harm.

  The robber led her down a narrow alleyway. Rosalyne heard the sounds of a wailing babe as rats scurried in front of them. She would meekly submit while he held the weapon against her side and wait till he lowered it to make her escape. As they shuffled along, she looked around for anything she could use to grab and strike him.

  They arrived at a doorway. He opened the door and roughly shoved her inside the dark abode. Rosalyne fell on her hands and knees. A dreadful stench made her gag as she pushed herself from the floor.

  Then pain coupled with a wave of dizziness forced her back onto all fours as the man struck her. The back of her head felt split in two. Vaguely, she was aware of being dragged along the floor and propped against a wall.

  She must have passed out, for when she awakened, she couldn’t move her hands. Glancing down brought a sharp wave of pain, so she raised her head and leaned it against the wall. The hard wall hurt the tender spot on her scalp but having her head upright again lessened the ache.