by Dee Brice
“As I want Edgar to do as well. To make sure they can, we must play the game—at least for a little while.”
“I suppose so,” Edina reluctantly admitted.
“What troubles you, Edina? You usually are the first to suggest we pretend to be each other.”
“I suppose Gerard could be a brute despite his handsome countenance.”
“An even better reason to play our game,” Rowena said, sounding impatient.
Smiling, weakly, Edina said, “For the first time in my life, it truly matters not to be mistaken for you.”
“To make sure, we must play one more time,” Rowena insisted.
“I suppose we must.”
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.”
Chapter Two
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.”
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.”