Chapter 19
Rosalyne placed several pieces of parchment and charcoal inside a bag. She smoothed her rose-colored cotehardie again, hoping to calm her nerves. Meeting the queen today would be difficult enough. Painting a portrait that would please both her and the king became more arduous. But to eventually reveal that she—and not Uncle Temp—was the true artist?
It terrified her.
She had imagined every reaction from the monarch while trying to fall asleep last night. King Richard might laugh off her assertion, not believing a woman could produce such a work. Or he could express his delight in finding a unique artist. Then again, he might attack the wood and destroy it in anger at having been lied to. Or even the unimaginable. He might call for her head—and Uncle Temp’s.
And even Edward’s, for betraying him.
Nerves danced through Rosalyne at all of these possibilities. She wondered why she had ever agreed to go along with Edward’s scheme. But she knew he hoped the king would reward him with his freedom, for both his thorough investigation in Canterbury and for bringing a talented artist that would produce the royal duo’s likeness. She only hoped their gamble would pay off.
Rosalyne went downstairs and collected the eggs her hens had laid. She’d brought three of them along. Edward had told her they would have easy access to eggs in London but she knew the size and consistency of those her favorites laid and how to work them into her pigments. Better to stay with what she knew than to experiment with such a burdensome commission before her.
Returning to her bedchamber, she collected her bag and then stopped by Uncle Temp’s room to escort him downstairs. She assessed his color and balance and found both better today, the best since they’d left Canterbury. Still, she noticed the slight tremors in his hands and wondered if others would, as well.
Edward awaited them at the foot of the staircase, looking handsome and vibrant. It took everything in her power not to fling herself at him and kiss the very life from him. This man continued to stir strong feelings within her. Seeing him, Rosalyne knew she would do anything he asked of her.
Anything.
She only wished he would ask for more. His every kiss set her skin afire. Though she knew it to be wicked since they were not yet husband and wife, Rosalyne still wanted to lie with him. Explore every inch of his bare skin. Rub against him. Satisfy the burning need inside of her.
“Ready to travel to the Palace of Westminster?” Edward asked, his eyes telling Rosalyne how much he loved her. She hoped hers did the same.
Temp snorted. “I never thought I would see this day. Me, Templeton Parry, meeting the Queen of England.”
Edward unfolded the cloth in his hands. “I have brought you a present, Temp. This is a short cloak. I had it cut so that you can hide your hands more easily. And since it’s not as long or thick as a usual cloak, you shouldn’t overheat wearing it inside the palace.”
He wrapped it around her uncle. “Very thoughtful of you, Edward,” Temp said.
“We can walk to the palace from Sir Harry’s. I think you will enjoy getting to see some of the city that way and it’s not far away.”
They placed Temp between them in order to keep him steady. Less than ten minutes later, they arrived. Temp drew the light brown cloak about him. She was pleased to see that it did as Edward said. By looking at her uncle, no one would be privy to his secret.
The gatekeeper admitted them and Rosalyne couldn’t help but admire the architecture outside and the grandeur within once they stepped inside. She had trouble understanding how many people were inside the palace. Servants scurried down hallways and everywhere else, while nobility teemed in groups large and small. She also heard other languages spoken as they passed by and assumed those men acted as foreign ambassadors to England from various countries.
By the time they reached the queen’s rooms, Rosalyne felt overwhelmed. She tried to collect her thoughts and stand tall as they entered and went through a series of rooms before reaching a chamber containing close to a dozen women. Some sat sewing. One woman plucked on a lute as another sang softly. Two royal guards, one of whom was Hal, stood nearby.
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.”