Passion's Twins (2 page)

With that, they went to bed.

* * * * *

The Next Morning

Kneeling on the window seat in the solar she shared with her
sister, Edina called, “Rowena, come look. Quickly, you slugabed, or you’ll miss
the excitement.”

Rowena grumbled but got out of bed. She padded to the window
seat. Yawning, she sat, hugging a velvet pillow in her arms.

“See there? I believe that is Pippa astride her magnificent destrier.”

“Uh-huh,” Rowena said through another yawn. She shivered. “I
cannot imagine why Aida lets Pippa dress like a man.”

“’Tis said Pippa’s mother dressed and rode like a man.”

Rowena sniggered. “Aye. ‘Tis also said Queen Kerrie
rode
more than horses.”

Edina shot her sister a quelling look. Turning back to the
window, she continued to describe the scene below. “How romantic. Lord Vinn
rides with Willa in his arms.”

“Perhaps her skirts hide what he is doing beneath them.”

Giggling, Edina commanded, “Duck!”

“Why?” But she did as Edina bade.

“Edgar and Gerard are looking at our window. Do you want
them to see us together? With you looking like a harridan?”

“Are they leaving too?” Rowena surged upward but subsided
under Edina’s firm hand on her head.

“They
are
mounted. But they seem to be coming here
from the king’s encampment.”

Rowena expelled a sigh of relief. “How do you know ‘tis
Edgar?”

Edina snorted. “’Tis difficult to ignore all that red
hair—especially with the sun blazing off it.” She gave a wistful sigh. “The sun
on Gerard’s hair is like…a golden halo.”

Rowena ran her fingers through her unbound braid. “You duck.
I would see Edgar’s hair glowing like molten copper.”

“Too late. He has donned his cap. Gareth and Yvonne are
joining Aida and Gaspar—I suppose to wish the others a safe journey.”

“I imagine Willa and Vinn are off to his estate. The Eerie?
Who would want to live in a place so strangely named?”

“It’s The Eyrie, silly. As in an eagle’s nest.”

Rowena shivered. “That’s even worse than eerie. All that
bird—”

“I wonder where Pippa and Banan are headed.”

“To his Ravenskeep, I suppose.”

“Why? I heard one of Pippa’s grooms tell Papa that Pippa
ordered—
ordered!
—Lord Banan off Marchonland. Told him never to return.”

“Well, she obviously changed her mind,” Rowena said. She
scooted free of Edina’s restraining hand, popping up to peer out the window. “Oh
my! They’ve disappeared.”

“Come inside have they,” the twins’ lady-in-waiting
announced, coming in without knocking. As usual. “Breaking their fast. Which,
if you don’t hurry, you’ll miss altogether. Row… Edina… One of you is not
dressed at all.”

Rowena rubbed her stomach. “I ate too much of the spiced
lamb at the wedding feast. Bring me a tray, Joan. I may feel better after I’ve
had a small meal and have slept a little longer.”

Grumbling about the steep stairs, Joan departed.

“Quick thinking,” Edina said. She flung a sheer blue veil
over her hair, topping it with a golden mitre.

“Find out if Edgar has a schedule he follows. This afternoon
you
will ail.”

“We cannot take turns at playing sick, Rowena. Joan will
suspect. Mother will descend upon us and insist we go home as soon as possible.
Never mind she and Father promised us a year of fostering here at Marchonland.”

Grimacing, Rowena said, “It falls to you to determine when
Edgar and Gerard are not in each other’s company. Surely they spend some time
apart?”

“If they do not now, they soon will.” Edina fluttered her
lashes.

“See if you can arrange an assignation for this afternoon.”

Edina’s grin faded. “Are we agreed to meet first with the
man of our choice? You with Edgar, I with Gerard?”

“I believe that is the fairest way.”

“For us at any rate,” Edina said, assured Rowena would not
poach on Edina’s man. Giggling, she left her sister with a slight scowl marring
her lovely brow.

* * * * *

Kerrie, having heard her name delivered in a disrespectful
tone, awakened. Except for Doran, she had only ridden her three husbands. Of
course, she’d tupped both Alexandre and Brecc before they wed but… That was of
no concern now. She needed to focus her concerns on Gerard and Edgar. Healthy
young men, they would be more than willing to seduce the princesses. And if
seduction led to love…so much the better. Kerrie had no desire to ruin the
twins. But she did want them to learn the dangers of playing games—especially
with her family.

Not having seen which twin spoke, she narrowed her eyes on
the remaining twin and conjured suitable punishments for each. She knew one
twin rushed at life. The other seemed apt to tiptoe through, unwilling to risk.
So…

Ah yes. Kerrie smiled at the perfect retribution.

Bold to timid, timid to bold.

‘Tis how this story shall unfold.

* * * * *

Marchon Castle Great Hall

“Ahh,” Gerard muttered to Edgar. “The game begins.”

“Which one do you think honors us with her presence?”

“I have no idea. I think we need to pay close attention. See
if there are discernable difference—physical or in their manners.”

“’Twill take time.”

“Aida says the twins will foster here for a year. If we
cannot make them want us by then—”

“We are failures as men of wit and charm,” Edgar said.

He and Gerard stood as the lovely young woman ascended the
dais. A vision in blue, she moved with regal bearing to their sides.

“Good morn,” she greeted, looking at each man in turn before
lowering her lashes demurely.

“I do not believe we have been introduced. This puny
specimen of manhood is my brother Edgar. I am—”

“I know who you are, Prince Gerard. Who you both are, Prince
Edgar. I am Edina.”

“A lovely name for a beautiful lady,” Edgar said, raising
her hand to his lips.

Not to be outdone, Gerard took her free hand and caressed
her palm.

Startled blue eyes flew to his face.
Ah, a good
beginning. She likes my touch.

They sat, each man plying her with morsels from his trencher
until she giggled. “Stop, please. If I eat any more, your cooks will proclaim
me a fatted goose and spit me.”

“I shall—”

“Protect you,” Gerard proclaimed as he again captured her
hand. Her fingertips bore faint calluses. “Do you play an instrument, Edina?”

Blushing, she withdrew her hand. “Oh no. My sis— That is, my
sewing… I find embroidery work tedious and too often prick my own fingers.” She
sighed.

Gerard found his gaze focused on the swell of her breasts
above her modest square-cut neckline. His palms itched, longing to cup that
sweet roundness beneath her sheer chemise.

“Do
you
play, Prince Gerard?”

“Just Gerard.”

“I sing,” Edgar interjected. At his irritated tone, he
shrugged an apology. “Gerard plays the lute.”

“I envy you both. My fingers are too clumsy for music and my
voice… Suffice it to say I sound like a frog with a frog in its throat when I
try to sing.”

“Yet your speaking voice—” Gerard began.

“Is melodious,” Edgar finished.

Scowling at his younger brother, Gerard said, “What do you
do when your delicate fingers grow too numb to continue sewing?”

“I enjoy paint—” She blushed as if she’d unintentionally
given something away. Gerard and Edgar exchanged a satisfied look over her
bowed head. Looking up, she continued. “I enjoy walking. I especially like to
see new places.”

“I’ll gladly show you the weeping willows by the river.”

“Edgar has forgotten his appointment with the farrier,”
Gerard said easily. “My brother
always
oversees his horses being shod.
I, on the other had, am free this very afternoon. May I suggest a light nuncheon
by the river?”

“I would enjoy that very much, Prin—Gerard.” Raising her
gaze to Edgar’s frowning face, she added, “Perhaps tomorrow you can take me
riding. I would like to see the village.”

“’Twill be my greatest pleasure, Edina,” Edgar said
graciously. But over Edina’s head he bared his teeth at Gerard.

Laughing, Gerard said, “I shall meet you here in an hour,
Edina. If that allows you sufficient time to change into something less
formal?”

“Oh! Is the path rough?”

“Nay. But you may find it easier going in sturdier shoes.
And I would not like to see your gown damaged by brambles. Should we encounter
any.”

“’Tis very thoughtful of you, Gerard. I shall see you in an
hour.”

With a graceful curtsy she left them.

“Neatly done, brother,” Edgar growled. “Cut me out without
as much as a
by your leave
.”

Gerard thumped Edgar’s back. “I wouldn’t worry. I suspect
Rowena will grace you with her presence this very afternoon.”

“Do you?” Edgar brightened then frowned once more. “
If
in fact ‘twas Edina who just left.”

“Aye,
if
. But whichever twin it was, she left us with
a few clues. Does not sing. Has calloused fingertips.”

“Likes to paint.”

“Caught that, did you?”

“Aye. So how do we tell them apart if Rowena is identical in
every way?”

Waggling his eyebrows, Gerard said, “I’m sure we’ll think of
something.”

The Blacksmith’s Shop

Two hours later, when Rowena strolled into the blacksmith
shop, she immediately saw Edgar. Edina had told her Edgar oversaw his horses
being shod, but laboring as a farrier himself was over the top, especially for
a prince. Not that she objected to the sight of him working away. His hairless
chest glistening with sweat, he pounded a piece of heated metal. It glowed
red-gold like the heart of a priceless gem. Like his hair.

Edina also had told her Gerard called his brother “puny”.
Rowena thought Edgar’s musculature perfect. True, he was more slender than
either of his brothers. But his biceps bulged with strength and his forearms
seemed corded with that same power. And his chest!

How would it feel to press her naked breasts against that
hairless breadth? To lie with her head on it? To hear his heart beat in her
ear?

“Ye’ve pounded that shoe too thin, lad,” the farrier
bellowed. “Gimme that.” He grabbed the hammer from his inept apprentice.

Edgar took a rag from his waistband then swiped it over his
sweaty face. Frowning into the shadows, he seemed to notice Rowena for the
first time.

“Edina? I thought…I thought you’d still be with Gerard.”

“It seems your brother forgot an appointment with…”
Remembering Gerard’s fancy doublet and curled-toe poulaines at the wedding
feast, she said, “With his clothier.”

Edgar, retrieving his shirt from a peg and quickly donning
it, credited her with nimble thinking. It seemed the lady sighed. Regret that
she could no longer see his chest? He could but hope. He’d borne too many
hidden laughs to feel completely comfortable without his shirt. Yet Rowena—if
this was Rowena—apparently appreciated his body.

As he appreciated hers. Whether this vision was Edina or
Rowena, she’d shed her elegant gown in favor of a chainse of fine yellow linen,
the long sleeves tied at her narrow wrists. A gold-linked belt accented her
slender hips. As she moved from shadow into light, he noted her legs were long.
He found himself hardening at the thought of them wrapped around his waist as
she screamed his name, taking them both to completion.

“If you wish to ride, m’lady, you must allow for a delay. I
stink and shan’t permit you to think I always smell thus.”

“Would a quick washing from this bucket meet your needs, m’lord?
I believe the village near enough for a leisurely stroll.”

“An excellent suggestion. But, since the farrier needs this
water, I shall use the bucket at the well. ‘Tis just a few steps outside.”

He bowed her out. Lingering in the doorway, he admired the
gentle sway of her hips, the swell of her rounded buttocks. Could he…? Dare he
insist she allow him to call her by her rightful name? Use the same ruse Yvonne
and Pippa had used on Gareth and Banan?

While he considered the ploy’s possibilities, he strode to
the well. Rowena turned and slanted a playful look at him. Were her eyes bluer
than Edina’s? Did her smile hint at dimples?

“Shall I hold your shirt, m’lord?”

“So formal, Edina. Can you not pronounce my name? Or does
the thought of my naked chest excite you?”

“Edgar!” she protested. A blush stained her high cheekbones.
Yet she continued to stare at him as he removed his shirt. And she seemed
fascinated by his arms and chest when he ladled water over his head and
shoulders.

Shaking his head like one of Marchon’s water-loving hounds,
he reached for his shirt.

“You’ll catch a chill. Putting on a wet shirt may cause a
chill,” she amended, turning pinker. “That is, putting your shirt on while you
are wet will… I give up. Your physique pleases me. I enjoy looking at you.”

“As I enjoy looking at you. We must, however, conform to the
rules of propriety.” Reaching for his shirt, he caught her right hand and
caressed her fingertips. Small calluses, damn it! Was she in truth Edina? He
donned his shirt and—despite his surprising hurt at her deception—smiled at
her.

She placed her dainty hand on his arm. Together they crossed
the busy bailey to stroll over the drawbridge toward the village. A faint
breeze ruffled her flaxen curls. She stopped. Slanting him an apologetic smile,
she gathered her tresses into a thick mass then looped them into a knot.

“I should have done that before I sought you out. I admit to
being vain about my hair, Edgar. I wanted you to see it unbound.”

“You honor me, m’lady. Moreover, you have every right to
vanity. Your hair is beautiful. As are you.”

“I was not fishing for compliments, m’lord.”

“Of course you were—as you’ve every right to do. Especially
when your escort is too addlepated to provide them easily.”

“Do I addle you, Edgar? Or are you always thus?”

“There, you see? You
are
fishing.”

She laughed. A full-throated scale of merriment as lovely
and tuneful as a nightingale’s song.

He foreswore commenting on her laughter—so very different
from her giggles earlier in the day, when Gerard was around. Edgar would
remember to ask his brother about Edina’s laugh. Perhaps telling the twins
apart was as simple as their laughter differing.

“Ah, apple trees,” his companion said now. “We have a small
orchard at home. ‘Tis not nearly so fine as this, but it meets our needs.”

“You should see this orchard in April. The blossoms are like
your cheeks when you blush. As you are blushing now. Your skin flushes pink and
white. And the scent of the blossoms is glorious. If I could…”

“If you could what?”

“When Willa returns I must ask her to consider making soaps
and perfumes scented like her apples.”

“Will she return, Edgar? I understand she has inherited her
late father’s lands and wishes to restore them.”

“Serenity. Aye, between Serenity and The Eyrie, she’ll stay
busy for a long while. Yet somehow I cannot imagine her anywhere but here. She
is like the mother tree of this orchard—rooted in Marchon soil.”

His lovely companion sighed. “You have the soul of a poet.”

Embarrassed, Edgar raked his fingers through his damp hair.
“If you like poetry, m’lady, you should have remained with Gerard.”

As if he had slapped her, she spun away.

He caught her arm then forced her to look up at him. Her
blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Her full lower lip quivered.

“I wish…I wish I had remained with Gerard. I wish—”

Edgar kissed her. Rough and without finesse, he crushed her
lips with his, forced his tongue into her mouth and drank its sweetness. She
yielded. Fastening her fingers in his hair, she pressed him closer until it
seemed she would melt into him.

“Edina. My sweet Edina,” he muttered against her ear.

She shoved him away. Breasts rising and falling rapidly, her
nipples hard beneath her bodice, she glared up at him. Then—to his utter
amazement—she smiled shyly.

“I would have a boon from you, Edgar.”

“If ‘tis in my power I shall grant it. Gladly.”

She gazed down at his burgeoning cock. He found himself
praying she would beg him to swive her. Here. Now. With naught but their clothes
for a cushion.

“When we are alone…” She met his gaze, her lovely face
suffused with color. “When we are alone I want you to call me Rowena.”

* * * * *

The Willows

“This is lovely, Gerard. So quiet and secluded.”

“And cool. Summers at The Eyrie were never this hot.” Gerard
spread a blanket on the ground, holding Edina’s hand while she settled upon it.

“The Eyrie? I assumed you lived with your brother King
Gareth at Puttupon Castle. As my—as I live with my parents at Beaufort.”

“Now we live there. When we were boys, Gareth fostered with
our uncle at Ravenskeep. Edgar and I were sent to The Eyrie.” Fumbling in the
basket of food the Marchon cooks had provided, he asked, “Would you like
something to eat?”

“Not now, Gerard. I would…I would like to dangle my naked
feet in this lovely river.”

“The air may be warm, Edina, but the water is cold. This
river flows down from the highest mountains and even in June is frigid.”

“Oh! I had hoped for a refreshing swim.” She gazed boldly
into his eyes for a long moment. Looking down, she plucked at the ends of a
hemp belt tied around her slender waist. Her brunette kirtle, borrowed perhaps
from one of Yvonne’s maids—the dark brown fabric was too finely woven to belong
to a crofter—was topped by a loose, over- large rochet. The neckline drooped
down her left arm, revealing a butterfly beauty mark on her pale shoulder.

“Do you swim often when you are at home?” he asked,
wondering where she had gotten the clothing, but liking the way she looked in
the simple clothes.

“Oh no. The ocean is always too cold for swimming. Row and—I
do, however, wade in the confluence. Unless of course Mother is near.” Edina
stretched her arms over her head. “Being out of her sight—even for a short
time—is a precious gift, Gerard. Thank you.” She lowered her arms.

Damn
, he thought. When she’d stretched, he’d hoped
she was reaching up for him. That she would tug on his swelling shaft until he
sat beside her. That she would press him down then lie atop him until…until
nature took its natural course.

I am a gentleman
, he reminded himself.
A prince. And
Edina is a lady, not a lightskirt to be taken on this hard ground. I barely
know her—or even if she is who she says she is. I should not want her this
soon.

But want her he did. Badly.

“I enjoy solitude. Having your company increases my
pleasure. Ergo, I must thank
you
,” he said, his tone surprisingly
carefree. He meant the words, no matter how indifferent he’d tried to sound.

“Perhaps… Never mind.” She sighed again and shifted her
sagging neckline to her shoulder. Her right sleeve slid down her arm.

“I heard that your father and mother will leave tomorrow.
‘Tis true?”

“Aye.” Glancing up at him, she added, “Castle gossip here is
even faster than at Beaufort.”

“Will you stay?”

“Yvonne has asked us—asked me to stay. She claims she misses
her sisters already and believes my presence will ease her loneliness.”

“You don’t believe her?” Gerard slid her blouse up her arm
only to watch the other sleeve slide down again.

“If I had a handsome man in
my
bed I would miss no
one,” she said. A blush crept up her slender neck to pinken her cheeks.

Caught between mirth and jealousy of his married brother,
Gerard stroked his fingertips down her soft cheek, gently tracing the butterfly
on her left shoulder. “You think Gareth handsome?”

“Both he and Edgar are handsome men, Gerard. Yet of the
three of you, I think you the most handsome.”

Preening, he said, “Aye? What is it about me you find
appealing?”

She punched his shoulder. “Your modesty,” she replied with a
giggle. Tracing his eyebrows, she continued. “I like the sound of your voice.
The way your eyes twinkle just before you laugh. I admire your warrior’s
hands.”

“They are rough. Calloused.”

“So are mine.”

“From needlework. I remember.”

She giggled again. “I am forever losing my thimbles.” She
took his hand. Holding it to her cheek, she said, “I like feeling this
roughness on my skin. I would like— Oh, I am too bold. You’ll think me a
wanton.”

“Never.” Scooping her into his arms, he settled her on his
lap, her back to his chest. “Perhaps you’ll find telling me your thoughts
easier if you cannot see me.”

She wiggled her bottom against his swelling shaft.

He stifled a groan. “Tell me,” he whispered against her
shell-like ear.

“I…I want to feel your hands on my body. All over my body.”

Sliding his hands over her breasts, he cupped them. Her
nipples pebbled against his palms. “Like this?” He plucked their hardness and
savored her soft moan.

“Y-Yes.” Her head sagged back against his shoulder. Lambent
blue eyes peered up at him before her dark lashes drifted down. “Would you kiss
me, Gerard?”

“Later. Just now I want to focus on your breasts.” He
stroked her areola, gently pinching her nipples. Could he bring her to bliss just
caressing her responsive breasts?

“Ohhh Gerard. The m-maids whisper about pleasure…but I had
no… Gerard, what is happening to me?”

“Tell me, Edina. Tell me what you feel.”

“I am soaring. My body wants to fly apart. I am hot and wet
between my thighs. I-I ahh—want your hands between my legs. Your
rough…wonderfully calloused…fingers inside me.” Her fingers clenched around his
wrists. Her back arched as if she wanted his hands inside her skin. Her bottom
shifted restlessly on his thickening, lengthening shaft.

Easing his hands beneath her rochet, he rolled her nipples
between his thumbs and forefingers. Her hands tightened even more around his
wrists and she writhed, her lush bottom rubbing, rubbing, rubbing his aching
shaft. He could feel her heat, feel her juices begin to seep through her
lightweight kirtle, but he was determined not to give way to his own passion.
Her pleasure was his primary goal—for now at least. Her skin was so soft, her
breasts so firm he wanted his hands on her for as long as she would allow.

When she looked up at him, desire and confusion in her eyes,
he could no longer resist. He had to taste her. “Tilt your chin up, sweeting.
Perfect.” He brushed her lips with his, back and forth, lingering a little
longer each time. His tongue darted out, swept her mouth from corner to corner
until, sighing, she parted her lips. He eased between her teeth to explore
every curve and flavor.

Whimpering, she arched her back, pressing her breasts into
his stroking hands, opening her mouth wider and kissing him as avidly as he
kissed her.

“Your skin feels soft as rose petals. Your voice the
sweetest flute. I want to keep touching you, sweet. Keep kissing you. Keep
stroking your nipples until you…”