Chapter 15
Edward returned from mass and broke his fast with Rosalyne. Temp Parry had not risen yet, so Edward sat next to her, his hand resting on her thigh and their shoulders touching. Just being next to Rosalyne put a smile on his face. Already, he better understood the looks he’d seen passing between his parents over the years. He couldn’t wait to make Rosalyne his—in every way.
She glowed today, basking in the warmth of praise that had come her uncle’s way once Archbishop Courtenay viewed the triptych two days ago. Though Edward knew she had convinced her uncle that she couldn’t take credit for the painted panel, Rosalyne still heard the effusive compliments heaped upon Temp by the archbishop.
They had also attended mass at the cathedral yesterday and made time to go to Trinity Chapel and see the panel in its place of honor. While they stood nearby, many pilgrims and townsmen passed through the chapel and stopped to view the triptych since Courtenay had mentioned it during mass. Some of them genuflected before it, while others marveled at the three scenes and bold use of color. Rosalyne seemed to float through the air beside Edward when they left the cathedral and returned to the cottage.
“Will you continue to work on the wall?” she asked.
“Nay. I have seen all I need to there. Today, I will meet with various men who supply materials to build the wall and see if any corruption exists in their ranks. If so, and I believe it does, then I will confront Perceval Rawlin.”
She frowned at him. “But look at you, Edward. Though I trust who you say you are, no one will believe you are a representative of the king from the way you dress. Even Rawlin has seen you at work and thinks you are a common laborer.”
His squeezed her leg affectionately. “That is why I will return for my horse and change into my de Montfort clothing. I also carry a missive from the king himself that identifies me as his representative.” He grinned at her. “You may not even recognize me the next time you see me.”
Edward dipped his head and gave her a long, sweet kiss. He broke it before he could be distracted by his need for her.
“Where is this horse?”
“I left Sirius with a blacksmith who lives not far from the city gates. I will set out now and retrieve him. It will save time riding Sirius from place to place rather than walking.”
“Be careful,” she entreated him. “Rawlin is a powerful man in Canterbury.”
He gave her a steady look. “And I am a knight of England who represents our good King Richard. Rawlin should be wary of me.” Edward kissed her once more and left the cottage, his bag containing his clothes to change into in hand.
It took him just over an hour to pass through the city gates and arrive at John’s forge. The smithy pounded away, sweat glistening on his face.
“Good day to you, John,” he called out.
The blacksmith lowered his hammer and smiled. “And a good one to you, Edward.” He stepped from behind the anvil. “I’ll venture you have returned for that fine bit of horseflesh.” He clucked his tongue. “My boy will be disappointed. Will has grown attached to your horse and the beast seems taken with my boy.”
“I know you and Will have cared well for Sirius. I appreciate you looking after him.”
“’Twas no bother. I did ride him as you suggested, with Will in front of me. I’ve never seen a finer horse. But come, I’ll take you to him.”
Edward followed John around the shed and found Will brushing Sirius, talking away as though they were the best of friends. The boy looked up and smiled when he saw Edward, then his face fell.
“Are you here to visit Sirius? Or do you take him with you?”
“I have need of him,” Edward confided, “but I am grateful for how you and your father have watched out for him.”
Will stroked the side of the horse with his hand. “’Twas a real treat having him here.”
Though he had much to do, Edward said, “Mayhap you would like to ride Sirius once more before we must leave.”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “Can I?”
Edward looked to John, who nodded his approval. “Would you like to ride with Will?” he asked John.
“Nay, I have work to do. You may take Will out in my place.”
After greeting his horse and showering attention on him, Edward saddled Sirius. He lifted Will to the saddle and swung up behind him. They took off, Edward giving Sirius his head and allowing the horse to gallop happily. Squeals of joy erupted from Will as the countryside flew by. Edward let them ride for a quarter of an hour before returning to the blacksmith’s forge. He wished he could spend more time with the boy but a full day’s work lay ahead.
Wishing the pair a fond farewell and pressing a few more coins into John’s hand, Edward returned to Canterbury. His first stop was the public bathhouse, where he scrubbed the grime of the past week’s work away before he dressed in his own clothes. Though he now felt more like himself, he would miss being Edward Munn. Mayhap a part of Munn would stay with him. That Edward had been a hard worker but a carefree sort and he was the man Rosalyne had fallen in love with. He only hoped that she would still love the man he now became and would remain.
His first stop of the day was outside Canterbury. He rode to the nearest stone quarry. Though he’d discovered that three different quarries supplied stone for the rebuilding of the wall, this one provided the bulk. If Rawlin cheated here, he would at the others, as well.
Edward rode into the area and saw several workers eyeing the rock before them, some feeling it with their hands and squinting. He knew they were reading the rock face in order to see the lines where the stone would fracture. Others pounded into the corners of holes driven into the rock, causing shock waves to ripple through the stone, breaking it apart. Even more laborers transported the broken boulders to a group of wagons lined up in a row, the drivers waiting to haul them to the masons at the walls.
He dismounted near one of the wagons. “Who is in charge of the quarry?”
“Piers Cassy, my lord,” replied the closest man. He pointed over his shoulder. “You can find him over there.”
Edward thanked the man and led Sirius in the direction the driver indicated. He waited for Cassy to finish speaking with a worker and then asked, “Are you Piers Cassy?”
“I am.” The slender man eyed him cautiously. “And who might you be?”
“Sir Edward de Montfort. King Richard has sent me to speak with you.”
Edward pulled out his missive from the monarch, a rolled parchment with the king’s seal still intact. He handed it to Cassy, whose eyes went wide when he saw the emblem. Cassy pushed the missive back at Edward.
“The seal alone lets me know you are who you say. Save us both time and simply tell me why you are here, Sir Edward.”
Edward appreciated Cassy’s forthright manner and chose not to mince words. “The king has reason to believe that Perceval Rawlin is cheating the royal treasury. What deal has he struck with you regarding the stones you provide for the reconstruction of Canterbury’s walls?”
Cassy braced himself, drawing in a long breath. Within minutes, he explained exactly how much stone his quarry provided and the cost incurred by the Crown. Edward, who’d always had a good head for figures, took it all in and quickly calculated the profit Rawlin earned on each load.
“Will you speak to Rawlin?” Cassy asked. “I’ll tell you now, he will deny the numbers I have given you. All of Canterbury knows how they receive one price for the goods they supply and how Rawlin charges another to the royal treasury.” He turned and spat on the ground. “Though no one is privy to the exact arrangement, ’tis common knowledge that Rawlin splits his earnings with Lord Botulf.”
“I will talk with Rawlin,” Edward promised. “And I venture to say that the king will replace him.”
“Good,” Cassy said.
He thanked Cassy for his time and left the quarry, riding back into Canterbury. Edward called at several shops which supplied goods and materials to the wall workers, from rope to lime. By early afternoon, he had gathered ample proof of Rawlin’s deceitful practices. Instead of riding to confront Rawlin, Edward decided to go straight to Lord Botulf with what he had learned. At this point, Rawlin would be expendable to the nobleman. Edward would do his best to give Botulf a gracious way to explain the irregularities and a chance to recompense the king—and hopefully save the man’s head, though Edward already disliked the nobleman because of his interest in Rosalyne.
It took almost half an hour to weave his way through the busy streets of Canterbury before he arrived at Lord Botulf’s home, which lay near the cathedral. The nobleman’s house easily was the largest in the city, rising three stories high and made from the finest quality of stone. Edward cantered through the gates and was immediately greeted by a servant, who offered to take Sirius and provide the horse water and feed. He thanked the man and thought about how differently Edward Munn would have been treated if he’d approached Lord Botulf’s residence on foot in his mean clothing.
Knocking on the door, a woman answered, her face so full that her eyes seemed mere slits.
“I am Sir Edward de Montfort and need to speak with Lord Botulf at once.”
She ushered him in and said, “Lord Botulf is with others at present, my lord. May I offer you some refreshment while you wait for him?”
“Do you think he will be occupied much longer?”
The servant shrugged. “I couldn’t say, my lord. ’Tis an artist he visits with, an important man in Canterbury who paints portraits. Why, he even painted the most remarkable panel for the chapel in the cathedral. I saw it yesterday after mass. The Holy Mother looked alive, all gentle and with eyes full of love.”
Edward tamped down the uneasy feeling that stirred within him. Rosalyne had not told him that she and Temp would be seeing Lord Botulf today, though Edward remembered that she had promised the nobleman once the triptych had been completed that they would discuss his portrait with him.
“You refer to Master Parry and Lady Rosalyne?”
“You know them?”
“Very well,” replied Edward. “I am certain Lord Botulf would not mind if I spoke with him in their presence.”
She looked uncertain.
“I am on the king’s business and have little time to spare,” he said with authority.
“Very well.”
The woman led him through the hall and up a staircase. They arrived at a door and she indicated for him to enter before scurrying off. Edward did not bother to knock.
As he stepped inside, his eyes swept the room and spied Temp Parry. The artist sat alone, sipping from a pewter cup. Surprise crossed his face.
“Edward? Is that you?” he asked, his features perplexed. “But why are you not working at the wall? And what is this finery you wear?”
“I am not Edward Munn, Temp, but rather Sir Edward de Montfort.”
“De Montfort?” He thought a moment. “Is Geoffrey de Montfort your father? I met him many years ago.”
“He is.”
“A fine man, Lord Geoffrey. But why—”
“I will explain later, Temp. Where is Rosalyne?”
His brows knit together in thought. “They should have returned by now. Lord Botulf was uncertain what he wishes to wear when I paint his portrait. He asked Rosalyne to help him decide.”
Trepidation filled Edward, knowing Rosalyne was alone with the man. “Where did they go?”
“Lord Botulf said he would have his servant show her to his wardrobe.”
Edward fled the room without explanation, knowing no servant would be involved. Botulf planned to seduce Rosalyne.
He only hoped he wasn’t too late.
*
Rosalyne followed Lord Botulf from the room, leaving her uncle behind. She had selected the clothing to be worn in portraits he painted for several years now since she had a good eye for color and could tell what shades would best suit a subject’s coloring. Besides, even though Lord Botulf would never know, she would be the actual painter who captured his image.
Uncle Temp agreed with her on this point. Though his cough had disappeared, the tremor in his painting hand had worsened in the past week and the other hand also did the same. They had discussed it a few days ago, the fact that he would never be able to paint again. For now, he could hide the slight shaking from others. They had planned to carry on the subterfuge as long as possible.
Or would they?
With Edward expressing his desire for them to wed, the need for pretense would come to an end. Rosalyne would finish this commitment to Lord Botulf, which might be the last portrait she painted for coin because, in the future, Edward would provide for her. She longed to meet his large family and become a part of it, bringing Uncle Temp along.
Lord Botulf stopped a servant in the corridor and spoke to her briefly before they continued on their way.
“I asked for Curtis to be sent to my wardrobe. In the meantime, I will show you where it is and you can look at what is available with Curtis. He devotes his time to care for my clothing and dresses me each day.”
As Rosalyne trailed after the nobleman, she couldn’t fathom what it would be like to have a servant do nothing but attend to someone’s clothes and dress them daily. It made no sense.
They arrived at a door and entered the largest bedchamber she’d ever seen. The focal point was a massive bed with curtains of rich burgundy pulled on all sides.
Before she could comment on its splendor, Lord Botulf motioned to her. “This way.” He led her to a second door, which he opened.
Rosalyne followed him inside—and couldn’t understand what she was seeing. An entire chamber, as large as hers and Uncle Temp’s combined, contained shelf after shelf of clothing. Various trunks lined the room and she assumed these also contained more items for Lord Botulf to wear. Pairs of boots, too many to count, sat on the floor. She also saw hats and cloaks in every color of the rainbow.
And all for one man.
She thought this wardrobe might clothe half the citizenry of Canterbury. Even if Lord Botulf donned something new every day, it would take him years to wear each piece a single time. The waste astounded and appalled her.
“I hope you will find something flattering for me to wear in my portrait,” he said, oozing false modesty. He gazed at her longer than she thought he should.
“Frankly, I don’t know where to begin,” she admitted, turning away. “Do you favor a certain color, my lord?”
Before he answered, she thought she heard a noise in the bedchamber. “Is that Curtis?” Rosalyne rushed to the portal and hurried through it. She no longer felt comfortable alone in Lord Botulf’s company and wanted the presence of his servant to act as a buffer between them.
But she found no one in the enormous bedchamber.
Nervously, she paced around the room, reluctant to return to the wardrobe until Curtis arrived.
“Ah, I see they brought the wine for us.”
Rosalyne turned and saw the nobleman standing beside a table. Two silver cups rested on it. He poured a wine of deep red into both and offered her one.
“Nay, I am not thirsty,” she said quickly. “I think I will return to my uncle now that I have seen the array of colors you possess. I will mix various shades that would enhance your appearance and let Uncle choose the one he prefers.”
He gave her a crafty look. “Surely, you have time for one glass of wine, my lady. I purchase it from the best vineyards and promise you ’tis the finest wine in all of Canterbury. I would say it even rivals what the king himself drinks at court.”
“I am not parched,” Rosalyne repeated firmly as she moved toward the door. She reached for the latch and tensed when Lord Botulf placed heavy hands on her shoulders.
Before she could shrug them off, he spun her around and pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the door. She opened her mouth to protest his actions and he forced his tongue inside her mouth. Rosalyne gagged as he attempted to kiss her. Where Edward’s kisses seemed heavenly, only revulsion filled her with this man’s tongue invading her.
Drawing her hands back, she slammed her palms against his chest, knocking him back a step.
Lord Botulf quickly recovered and, instead of anger, Rosalyne saw a glimmer of interest in his dark eyes.
“So, Lady Rosalyne, you like your love play to be rough? I appreciate a partner who tastes mirror my own.” His smile spoke of pure evil.
Rosalyne screamed.