by Dee Brice
“And twenty December.” Edgar laughed. “Are you jealous that Gerard fancied another?”
“At so young an age? No.” She looked down at the lute. Raising her clear blue gaze to his face, she asked, “Did you form such an attachment at that tender age?”
“No. I was a year or two younger when I first fell in love. She was ten, with sable hair and big brown eyes. And the longest tongue I had ever seen.”
Rowena cocked a brow and grinned. “Horse or dog?”
“You are too quick-witted, Rowena. A horse. Gerard’s horse, as a matter of fact.”
“So you began your rivalry at an early age.” She looked down once more.
“What of you, Rowena? Have you ever fancied yourself in love?”
“Once I thought I was in love.”
“Tell me.”
She glanced up sharply, her expression grim. “He served as my father’s ambassador to the Outerford court. ‘Twould have been an advantageous union for him but he could not tell us apart— That is, I came to dislike him and my father deemed it better that Roland marry another.”
Edgar stored her slip of the tongue away. With care he said lightly, “Banan and Vinn had difficulty telling Pippa and Willa apart. When they first met, my cousins saw each woman in dim light. ‘Twas only when they saw them together…” Edgar chuckled. “One day I shall tell you the entire story. For now let us focus on Gerard’s tune.”
“Are there words as well?”
“Aye. Once you have mastered the tune, I’ll sing them for you.” He hummed the entire melody. It began gaily with the hopeful exuberance of new love. The middle reflected love unrequited. The ending exposed the callowness of youth—caught by a different pair of eyes, a more winsome smile.
As she had warned, it took several attempts for Rowena to play it through correctly. When she had, she looked at Edgar. “Sing it.”
He took the lute from her hands. Leaning it against the mother tree’s trunk, he said, “Later. Your fingers must ache from playing.” His gaze on her face, he kissed each fingertip and watched her eyes darken.
“They do hurt a little,” she confessed in a breathy voice that had his cock stirring and his balls aching.
Would she let him make love to her? Here? Now?
A shout, a burst of childish laughter gave him an unwanted answer. Her fingers curling over his palm added a silent no.
Tomorrow, by damn, would bring a different response. Tomorrow he would take Rowena to the willows.
* * * * *
Perched on a cloud, Kerrie smiled, pleased at the lack of progress between Edgar and this twin. Poor prince, he must suffer abstinence a while longer. But—oh!—when he finally achieved his goal!
Unable to quell it, she laughed. Two puzzled faces looked up sharply. Seeing nothing, they smiled sheepishly at one another then headed reluctantly toward Marchon Castle.
Chapter Four
Gazing down at the lovely woman lounging in the bow of his punt, Edgar wondered at her sullen expression. When he’d first seen her rushing down the embankment toward the small boat, she’d seemed a picture of anticipation. When she saw him, her smile faded and her eyes revealed disappointment. Since they’d set out upriver, she hadn’t looked at him once. ‘Twas as if the sight of his naked chest—his hairless chest—now repulsed her.
“Rowena.” He said her name softly then repeated it. “Rowena, have I done something to offend you?”
“No.”
“If there is someplace else you would rather go, I can take you. We can ride or walk if you would prefer.”
Sighing, she sat up and looked boldly into his eyes. “’Tis only that I sense a difference in you, Edgar. A purpose in you I have not seen before.”
“Perhaps you seek to blame me for your own…differences.” Have I developed a sixth sense? Or am I simply so attuned to Rowena I recognize her twin without being told? Dismissing the idea as an old woman’s fancy, he continued to hold his companion’s gaze. But he wondered if she sensed his disappointment, his wanting Rowena and not wanting her sister.
She opened her mouth as if to deliver a scathing retort, but closed it, her thoughts hidden behind her teeth. She shrugged. Her left sleeve slipped. A tiny butterfly fluttered on her shoulder as she inhaled deeply. “I thought I might paint today.”
“So this case you brought contains your paints, not your lute.”
“’Tis too small a case for Ariel.” She looked away.
“I noticed.”
“Yet you said nothing.”
“I supposed you would tell me when you wanted me to know,” he said mildly. What he really wanted to know was why Edina had taken her sister’s place. Why today—of all days—had Rowena deserted him? “Would you rather be with Gerard, Rowena?”
Her startled gaze flew to his face. How much longer, he wondered, could she maintain the ruse? How much longer could he pretend he believed she was Rowena?
“No,” she said at last. “In truth I…I simply want to paint. In truth, I need to think and have no wish for conversation.”
“Ah. A kind way of telling me to keep quiet.”
She giggled. “I would enjoy hearing you sing. If you can sing—”
“Softly? I think I can manage that, m’lady.”
“Thank you…m’lord.”
So, he thought, she understands the subtlety of using a title in lieu of a name. Good. But does she recognize why I did not use her name? And when might she reveal the truth—if not to him then to Gerard? More important to Edgar—when would Rowena tell him the truth?
It seemed as though the women considered Gerard and him complete fools. That they were so blinded by lust they could not discern the tiniest differences in the women. Which, he admitted, he still found difficult. He depended more on the woman’s reaction to him than on his own eyesight.
Still, he disliked the twins continuing their attempts to dupe him and Gerard. ‘Twas almost as if—despite all logic—the women were unable to stop their games. Somehow, he and Gerard must force a confrontation amongst all four. That should bring an end to this silliness once and for all.
As he had in the orchard, he thought he heard chiming laughter.
* * * * *
“His Royal Highness, Prince Gerard,” Rowena’s lady-in-waiting announced in disapproving tones. As if her displeasure could keep the prince from doing exactly as he pleased.
Rowena moaned and pressed her hand to her belly. The first day of her monthly had never hurt so much. Now this…this invasion by the only man—other than Edgar—she did not wish to see.
“I have brought my lute to ease your pain, Edina.”
St. Christopher on a crutch! A bellyache and now I must pretend to be Edina too? If only Edina and I shared our cycles as we share our looks! How can I maintain the ruse when Gerard must realize a woman’s cycle does not happen this often?
“Joan told me you have spent too much time outside. Hence you suffer megrims now.”
Rowena seized the excuse as a drowning sailor would clutch an outstretched hand. “Aye.” She dismissed Joan with a wave of her hand.
“Does the sunlight hurt your eyes, Edina? I can pull a tapestry over the window and—”
“No!” Edina would kill her if she spent even a minute with Gerard in a darkened room. “I shall close my eyes against the light.”
“Let me prop your pillows behind your back then.” Doing so, he went on. “This window seat cannot be comfortable, Edina. I could carry you to bed.”
“No!” She licked her suddenly dry lips, saying, “I am truly comfortable here, Gerard.”
He chuckled. Not knowing the cause of his merriment, she squinted up at him as he drew a chair to her side. Settled in it, lute in hand, he strummed a sweet melody that soothed her rattled nerves. Small wonder Edina had succumbed to Gerard’s charm. If he played Edina’s body—
No! She refused to think about Edina and Gerard bedding. Refused to imagine Edina lying with Edgar. Although Edina had not said the words, R
owena knew her sister had fallen—neck or nothing—in love with Gerard. Edina surely would not betray either Gerard or Rowena by joining with Edgar. Would she?
“Does my playing make your headache worse?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Your frown deepened. Perhaps this will soothe.” He played the tune Edgar had taught her yesterday.
The pain in her head and belly eased.
He muttered the words. So relaxed she felt as if she soared, she sang them.
When he strummed the final chord, she opened her heavy-lidded eyes. Smiling at him, she sighed. “Beautiful.”
“Liar.”
* * * * *
Gareth’s Encampment
Gerard, ensconced in a chair in the tent he shared with Edgar, looked up as Edgar entered.
“Your Edina paints. Landscapes at the moment. Although she has promised me a self-portrait. Most likely that will be of my Rowena.”
“Whose singing voice can charm birds from trees. Despite being in pain—her flux, I suspect—she sang the song I composed for Cousin… What was her name?”
“Blanche.” Edgar poured ale for himself and Gerard. Flinging himself into a chair, he offered, “I believe we are wearing them down. Edina—playing at being Rowena—clearly expected to meet you. She sulked the entire trip upriver. When she claimed she only wanted to paint, I sang to her.”
“Trying to charm your way between her legs?”
“But she wanted me to remain silent.”
Feeling a grin replace his scowl, Gerard said, “Did you?”
“Aye. I had the impression she would drown me if I said or sang another word.” Edgar quirked his eyebrows—a silent demand for Gerard to share information about Rowena.
“You should have seen her face when I called her a liar. She looked as if she would welcome any hole to hide in. After I explained she had lied about her singing voice, she made up some cockamamie tale about disliking to sing in public. That her parents insist she sing to any would-be suitor.”
Edgar chuckled. “I’d wager a goodly sum that Edina replaces her on those occasions.”
“So would I.” Gerard frowned into his tankard then looked up at Edgar’s morose expression.
“I cannot take much more of this,” Edgar muttered. “I had planned to seduce Rowena today. Now…Bartholomew’s balls!”
“You’ll have to wait a week. Or more,” Gerard added, a taunt in his tone.
“While you and Edina swive like rabbits.”
“It hardly seems fair, does it?” Gerard stood. Pacing the circumference of the spacious tent, he mused aloud, “I think, despite the game she plays, I am in love with Edina.”
“How do you know which twin you love when we cannot tell them apart? And remember how you thought you were in love with Blanche.”
“As to knowing which twin I love…there is something in Edina’s eyes when we’re together that I don’t see in Rowena’s. As for Blanche, she was a boy’s infatuation, Edgar. One you seem to have avoided.”
“Not entirely,” Edgar mumbled. “I too composed a song. Kate laughed at it and me. And you are avoiding the question. How do you know you love Edina?”
Smiling wryly, Gerard said, “I want to give her babies. Lots and lots of babies.”
“Bartholomew’s balls!”
“We need to take matters into our own hands. Force them to tell us the truth.”
Nodding, Edgar said, “I agree. But I can’t imagine how to bring them to the same conclusion.”
“I can.”
* * * * *
Aida’s Tower Guest Quarters
Rowena stared at the empty field below the solar window. The weather had turned beastly hot and even Yvonne had quit training her men. Perhaps she and Edina should do the same. Just…quit. Her tongue poking her cheek, Rowena shook her head. No matter how much she wanted to tell Edgar the truth, she couldn’t. She and Edina had promised each other they’d see the game to the very end.
But at what cost? How could Edgar forgive her duplicity? Even if he did forgive her, could he—would he ever forgive Edina? Rowena could endure Edina’s snits, but could she survive if Edgar forbade her seeing her twin ever again?
Why? Why had she dismissed Edina’s earlier concerns about their game, refused to see the wisdom in them? Why, when the truth would free her to be herself, had she demanded they continue their game?
Why, why, why?
For the first time in her life, Rowena admitted she had no answers to her own questions. Neither, she suspected, did Edina.
Yesterday Edina had ridden out with Edgar while Rowena and Gerard had punted upriver to the willows. But instead of sheltering beneath the branches, Gerard had anchored them in a shady spot and taught her to fish. Fish! As if he remembered she’d compared kissing him to kissing a fish.
And today, she and Edgar had punted to the same spot. Anchored in the same spot. Probably caught the same damn fish—the same ones Gerard had thrown back yesterday.
Sighing, she retrieved Ariel from the corner. When Edgar finally moved the punt under the willows, every nerve in her body quickened. Now. At last. We’ll make love. He put Ariel in her hands, gazing at her with such intense tenderness, she ached to be naked in his arms. But he only looked at her, longing in his golden-brown eyes that seemed to mirror her own. But he hadn’t touched her except to support her getting into the punt and out again when they returned to Marchon Castle.
A carefree ne’er-do-well surely would have taken advantage of their intimate solitude. Not Edgar—wretched man! He’d behaved as if he, not Gerard, were next in line for Gareth’s throne. As if he intended to ensure no bastard of his would threaten Puttupon’s peace. While Gerard—king in training—seemed not to care if he populated Marchonland, Puttupon and Beaufort with his get, be he married to their mothers or not.
If only she were brave enough, bold enough to seduce Edgar. If only he would give way to the desire she could see in his golden-brown eyes. If only…
She could tell him the truth.
* * * * *
Edina slammed the solar door behind her. Glaring at Rowena, she strode to her sister. Snatching the ivory comb from her hand, she flung it across the room.
“What?” Rowena demanded when Edina simply glared down at her.
Chest heaving, arms akimbo, Edina hissed. “What have you told Gerard? I thought we’d agreed not to tell either of them the truth until we reached the altar.”
“We said we’d carry the ruse as far as we dared!” she corrected. “I also told you that Gerard lulled me into singing. I could not help myself—any more than you could leave your pots and paints alone for only a few weeks.” Sighing, Rowena went to retrieve her comb. “Why are you so upset?”
Edina buried her face in her hands as she sank onto the window seat Rowena had vacated. “We—Gerard and I—have not bedded since before your flux began. Wh‑When I kiss him, he demurs. Says my condition—your flux—means I am too delicate for bedding. No matter how much he wants me. Hah! He wants me not.” Or am I suffering a guilty conscience for deceiving him? Of course not! I intend to tell him, just…not now.
“If ‘tis any consolation…” Rowena began.
Edina’s murderous expression stopped her. “I suppose—monthly or no—you and Edgar are swiving your brains out.” She blushed at using the crude word but didn’t apologize for it.
“We aren’t! Not that I don’t want to but… If Edgar touches me at all, he… Just when I most want him to go on, he stops. If he kisses me at all, ‘tis only a brotherly peck on my brow or cheek or lips. I can feel how much he wants me—can see his cock tent his breeches. But…he also demurs.”
“I cannot bear much more! Abstinence suits me not at all.”
Rowena patted Edina’s shoulder. “And I wish I had not taken the cautious path. I want Edgar to make love to me. I want what…what you and Gerard have.”
Edina swiped at unwanted tears. “Just now Gerard and I have nothing. I…I thought he loved me. W
hen he looks at me…there is such tenderness in his eyes. But now it seems he cannot bear the sight of me. ‘Tis obvious he only wanted to bed me. He will cast me aside, I know it. He’ll seek you out, Rowena. Make love to you. Perhaps he’ll marry you and not abandon you. You, after all, will be Beaufort’s queen.”
Rowena chuckled. “How absurd. If Gerard cannot tell us apart, why would he pursue me—think me a future queen? Besides, I shan’t have him, Edina. My heart has belonged to Edgar since I first saw him.” She sighed. “When I pretend to be you, Edgar treats me differently. He does not kiss me or touch me as he does when I am myself. At least, he used to. Now…”
“When I am with Gerard and pretending to be you, he seems diffident. As if he does not know me well.”
“Do you think they know?”
“No. Maybe.” Edina giggled, sounding uncertain even to herself. “If those who’ve known us all our lives cannot tell us apart,” she shrugged, “how can they?”
Rowena shrugged, but looked hopefully at Edina. “Perhaps—in their hearts—they see us as different from one another.”
Comforted, Edina nodded. “Perhaps their hearts do recognize our differences. ‘Tis their cocks I worry about.”
“I wish I knew enough about Edgar’s cock to know the difference between him and Gerard.”
“You’ve never touched him? His shaft?”
“Well…I have, but only through his breeches.”
“What does he—it—feel like?”
“Edina!”
“We expect them to tell us apart. Why shouldn’t we be able to tell them apart? After all, it is possible they will mistake their beds and try to make love to the wrong twin. In the dark—”
“All cats are black.” Rowena sighed. “Very well, I shall tell you. When Edgar is fully aroused, his cock curves. It lies almost flat along his belly and—” Hearing Edina’s gasp, she stopped. “No. No, no, no! Tell me Gerard’s cock is different! Please, Edina.”
“I cannot. Gerard’s shaft also lies nearly flat against his belly. Its head almost reaches his bellybutton. It curves. It is thick and long. His balls are hairy. Perhaps, given Edgar’s bare chest, that is a difference—a way of telling them apart in the dark. If we chance to touch their cocks before touching their chests.”