Chapter 6
Rosalyne scrambled after her drawings. She had spent far too long on them only to lose them because of an unexpected accident. If she could save the single one the archbishop approved of, all would be well.
The trouble was, she didn’t know which one that was—and didn’t have time to inspect a page when she retrieved it.
The man who’d saved her from what most likely could have been death raced by her. His long legs covered twice the ground that she could in half the time. He grabbed one of the parchments and kept running. She tried to keep up with him as he dodged between people and carts and behind stalls. Finally, Rosalyne gave up, out of breath. She moved from the middle of the road and watched as he collected every one of her sketches.
Without breaking stride, he hurried back to her, hitching the bag he carried back up on his shoulder. As he approached, she admired his tall, muscular frame and handsome looks. His hair seemed dark at first but glints of burnished auburn shone through in the bright sunlight. A strong jaw and sensual lips drew her in. She had been mesmerized by his hazel eyes, seeing both greens and browns within them in the short time they had spoken together.
“I think I have them all,” he said as he reached her. “Were there five total?”
“Aye.” Rosalyne watched as he placed one atop another, resting them on his knee so they didn’t touch the ground. He rolled them up as a group and handed them over to her.
“Much thanks, Edward Munn,” she said gratefully and winced as she reached out to collect the drawings from him. Her left wrist throbbed painfully. It hadn’t bothered her during all of the excitement but now that she had her artwork in hand, she realized she must have injured it in the fall when Edward pushed her from the path of danger.
He shrugged. “They seemed important to you. And ’twas partly my fault that you lost them.” He paused. “May I ask what they are for?”
“Why don’t you come home with me and I’ll tell you? I feel I owe you something. At least a cup of ale.” She slipped the parchments under her left arm and tried to keep the wrist of that hand still.
Edward grinned. “I have never been a man to turn down a cup of ale, least of all if offered to me by a charming woman.” He offered her his arm and she slipped her good right hand into the crook.
“Why don’t I carry them for you?” he asked. When she didn’t speak, he added, “I promise nothing will happen to them. If any more wild horses come our way, I’ll run like the wind with your drawings—even if I must leave you behind to fend for yourself against the runaway beasts.”
She chuckled. “All right.”
Taking the group of parchments, he secured them under his arm. “Which way?”
Rosalyne led him down the street, enjoying the nearness of him. His arm seemed hewn from rock where she gripped it. He smelled wonderful, a mix of something masculine that gave her a heady feeling. Never had she reacted to a man in such a way. She seemed almost lightheaded as her heart pounded fiercely in her chest. A swirl of something ran inside her, something she couldn’t put a name to.
But it felt splendid, all the same.
They strolled at a leisurely pace as Rosalyne asked, “What do you do in Canterbury, Edward?”
“Nothing, so far. I only arrived in the city a few minutes ago. I hope to join the workers who toil on the wall.”
“You should have no problem in being hired. You are young and strong. They are always looking for new men.”
“’Tis good to hear this. I am only a score and I have the strength of two men or more.”
“And you are so modest,” she teased.
Edward laughed. “Should I hide what few talents I possess? I have a hardy back and can lift whatever stones need to be moved. I could easily lift you, Rosalyne, and move you wherever you needed to go.”
She sensed the blush spilling across her cheeks. “My own two feet will get us back to my home, Edward. No need for you to carry me anywhere.”
He gave her a lazy smile, making her heart skip a beat.
“Do you live far?”
“Nay, our cottage is up ahead on the left.” She pointed it out. “The large one on the end, with the enclosed yard.”
They reached the front door and entered. Edward had to duck his head since he was taller than the door’s frame. He placed the rolled drawings on the table. Reluctantly, Rosalyne released his arm.
“This is a large abode,” he noted. “Do you live here with your husband? Your children?”
“Nay, I have no husband. ’Tis my uncle’s place. I have lived with him since I was a babe. My parents both died of fever and Uncle Temp took me in and has cared for me ever since.”
“Was he the man you stood with in Trinity Chapel?” Edward asked.
“You were there?”
“Aye. Visiting the great cathedral was the first thing I did when I arrived in Canterbury. I saw you in the chapel but you stared at the blank wall and saw nothing around you.”
“I was there with Uncle Temp. He is a painter and I assist him in his work.”
“A painter? Why would someone paint the stone walls of a chapel?’
Rosalyne laughed. “Nay, he paints people and panels. Noblemen hire him to paint their portraits. It is becoming a practice within the nobility, to capture your likeness in a picture to pass on to your descendants. Uncle Temp paints several portraits each year. I accompany him to the great houses and prepare the surface of the wood and mix his paints.”
“You do?” He gave her an appreciative glance. “That is most unusual. I would enjoy hearing you tell me about this process.” He thought a moment. “But the sketches I saw were not for portraits, were they?”
“Nay. Archbishop Courtenay commissioned Uncle to create a new panel for Trinity Chapel. He and I had come from a meeting where the archbishop approved the final sketch to use in the project. Uncle Temp showed me where the panel would rest inside the chapel today. I wanted to see the space so I could envision where the triptych would be displayed.”
“And your uncle needs to view his sketch while he paints this panel?”
“Of course. Some artists refer constantly to the sketch they’ve made while they paint. Others actually duplicate the sketch faintly on the wood itself and then use it as a guide while their brush strokes over it.”
“Hmm. Which does your uncle do?”
“Actually, he has used both methods in the past.”
But Rosalyne preferred drawing what she would paint directly onto the wood. That was why having the exact sketch she had labored on for hours proved critical. She wanted to use it to include every detail before she ever picked up her brushes. It would aid her immensely as she painted since tempera paint dried at a fast rate. An artist had to commit quickly and be assertive with the brush when working with this paint.
“Please, have a seat, Edward,” she told him. “I have been remiss. I promised to offer you ale. I will return shortly.”
Rosalyne went to their kitchen and tried to pour the ale but her wrist had now begun to swell. She found it difficult to do anything with one hand and groaned in frustration.
“Do you need help?” Edward stood in the doorway, his large frame filling it.
She frowned. “I seem to have injured my wrist when I fell. It is troubling me some.”
But what really troubled her was that she needed both hands to begin work on the panel. Rosalyne drew and painted with her right hand but she needed both of them to attach the wood planks together and sand them down, as well as glue the linen atop the wood and apply multiple layers of gesso. She feared the injured wrist would stall the process and knew her uncle’s unsteady hand could not replace hers. She had yet to begin the panel and she was already far behind.
Tears welled in her eyes as frustration built within her.
“You are distressed. In pain,” Edward said. “Let me help you.”
Rosalyne angrily brushed a falling tear away with her good hand. “What can you do?”
He smiled. “More than you think. My sister, Alys, is a healer and she practiced on my two brothers and me while we were growing up. Mother would give us different complaints to act out and it was up to Alys to determine what ailment we had and work to bring us back to good health.”
“There were four of you?” she asked wistfully. “I always longed for a brother or sister.”
“Not four but six of us. I also have two younger sisters.”
“Where are all of them now?”
She watched him frown a moment and wondered why he was reluctant to share information about his siblings.
Finally, he spoke. “Alys married and has children of her own. Her twin, Ancel, works the land with his wife, Margery. My brother, Hal, has gone to London to try and earn his fortune. Nan and Jessimond are still at home with our parents.”
“And you left to come to Canterbury, to do the same as Hal?”
“Aye. I did not want to farm. I would rather use my hands. Canterbury seemed to be a place of opportunity. But enough talk about my family. Let me examine your wrist and see if I can bring you some relief.”
Rosalyne offered it to him. It amazed her that a man with hands so large could be so gentle as he ran his fingers around her wrist and probed it. A sensation of butterflies flapping their wings erupted in her belly and she swallowed, trying to tamp down the giddy feeling.
As Edward manipulated her wrist, he said, “I actually learned quite a bit from Alys. For instance, I know to rub the slime of a live snail against a burn. If you do, ’twill heal quickly.”
Rosalyne shuddered. “Then I am glad I don’t suffer from a burn. I cannot imagine allowing a wriggling snail to rub against my skin.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust.
“The good news is that it is not broken, only sprained. Tell me how your wrist feels now,” Edward said. “I can see it’s slightly swollen when compared to your other wrist.”
“It is somewhat tender. I feel mild pain but nothing severe.”
“Even better. I wouldn’t begin to guess what type of poultice you should put on it. It may bruise some but you haven’t injured it greatly. It should be good as new in two to three days but that means you must rest it until then. I know Alys would wrap it tightly and have you keep it elevated.” He thought a moment. “I can also make you a sling. That way ’twill be cradled against you and you won’t be tempted to use it. Do you have some cloth that I can use to fashion one?”
“Aye. I will retrieve it for you.” Rosalyne went to her bedchamber and found a long length of material that would work. She paused and took a deep breath before re-entering the room. The effect this stranger had on her confused to her no end.
But his company proved fascinating.
“Will this work?” she asked.
Edward nodded and took the cloth from her, using his teeth to split it before he yanked hard to tear it apart. He wrapped the smaller piece around her wrist several times, binding it firmly and tucking in the end carefully to keep it in place. Then he stepped behind her and reached around, placing her wrist against the material. His chest brushed against her back, causing frissons of electricity to skirt through her. He brought the ends up and tied them behind her head, his fingers brushing against her neck. The blood pounded in Rosalyne’s ears.
Edward turned her around by her shoulders so that she faced him. They stood so close that she feared he would see her cotehardie jump from her heart bumping fiercely against it. Rosalyne stared into Edward’s dreamy, hazel eyes, bewitched by them. She fought going up on tiptoe to place her lips against his. Never had she kissed a man before—and never had she longed to do so.
Until now.
“That should hold it in place,” Edward said, his voice like a silken caress.
They stood gazing into one another’s eyes until the sound of the front door creaking open startled her. Rosalyne stepped back guiltily, feeling her face flame.
Uncle Temp entered the room and stopped in his tracks, a puzzled look pinching his brows together. “What’s this?” he asked. “Why, ’tis the stranger from Trinity Chapel. What are you doing here?”
She quickly said, “This is Edward Munn, Uncle. Edward, my uncle, Templeton Parry. This man saved my life today and the sketches you drew for the archbishop.”
Her uncle closed the door behind him and faced them. “How so?” Then he studied her more closely. “What has happened to you, Rosalyne? Why is your arm in a sling?”
“I am fine, Uncle, but I promised Edward a generous cup of ale for coming to my rescue. I’m also famished. Would you help me bring in food and drink and we shall tell you the story?” She looked at their guest. “Please, have a seat, Edward. We will return shortly.”
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.