Passion's Twins

by Dee Brice

  “Their games are intended to mislead,” Gerard defended.

  Gareth nodded. “While yours are intended to seduce them. Yet I suspect that from the very beginning they insisted you call them by their rightful names.”

  Both brothers stopped staring at the floor and met Gareth’s steady gaze.

  “Oh,” said Gerard.

  “Ah-ha,” Edgar muttered, grinning.

  “They did insist. As we suspected they would,” Gerard said. As the older of the two, it seemed he wanted the last word.

  As the eldest, Gareth had the very last. “Did you? Did you indeed?”

  * * * * *

  Yvonne’s Solar

  From the shadow of her bedchamber door, Yvonne watched the twins grow more and more pale. She almost laughed. Once more, her bloodthirsty tapestries were serving a noble purpose—frightening the lovely hellions to the point they knew not where to look. The rush-strewn floor captured their attention for a moment. Then their horrified gazes returned to the training fields below Yvonne’s window seat. There real warriors’ swords clashed, maces pounded against helm and shields, voices groaned and grunted and cursed—bringing the tapestries to terrifying life. Only the sight of real blood and its coppery stench were missing.

  Which was probably for the best. Otherwise the twins might scream down the tower walls—killing themselves and Yvonne before they could escape.

  Deciding the girls had suffered enough of this subliminal torture, Yvonne picked up her sword and strode into her solar. She wasn’t ready to let them off with only make-believe battles. The twins’ eyes swept up Yvonne’s body to her face then fell to her gleaming weapon. With one voice they gasped. Staring at the floor, their hands reached out and their shaking fingers entwined.

  “Look at me,” Yvonne commanded.

  Two pairs of crystal blue eyes looked up at her. Trepidation shone in one pair, defiance in the other.

  “Edina.” Yvonne addressed the defiant girl and inwardly celebrated choosing the right name. The girl had gasped then quickly looked down at her hands.

  “I am—”

  “Say nothing more, Rowena,” Yvonne warned. “In Marchonland we throw liars into the oubliette. I’ll not allow an infant’s lies to make Edgar hate me for supporting your games.” Ignoring their indignant gasps, she paced away, needing time to consider the differences in the twins.

  Edina had freckles across her nose and cheeks—probably camouflaged with powder when time permitted. Rowena had a faint scar under her lower lip, which she also probably concealed with powder. Confronted with an order to appear in Yvonne’s tower, they’d had little time to hide these tiny flaws. They had barely enough time to don robes.

  “Ladies,” Yvonne said at last as she turned to face them, “these games must stop. My brothers are aware that there are two of you. They knew even before your arrival at Marchon Castle.”

  “Oh!” Edina gasped.

  “Oh dear,” Rowena sighed.

  “I suppose you think me a traitor for telling you this but…Aida and Gaspar used a similar ruse on my sisters and me. Everything worked out in the end, but ‘twas painful for a time. I would have none of you—Gerard and Edgar included—suffer as we did.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “Yvonne,” she corrected with a smile for each young woman. “I also know that while Gerard and Edgar are by nature kinder than most men, they are men.”

  “Pardon?” Edina said.

  “Yvonne?” Rowena added.

  “Meaning they will have their own games to play—to pay you back for every second of uncertainty you’ve put them through.”

  “How can they—?” Rowena began.

  “If they’ve known all this time?” Edina finished.

  “I know it isn’t fair. Yet—having conspired against them—are you unable to see why they might want revenge?”

  Shamefaced, they shook their heads.

  “On the other hand—since they knew all along that you are twins—I see no reason why you should make their revenge easy.”

  “Yesterday, Gerard put a hood over my face,” Edina said, looking angry.

  “While Edgar blindfolded me!” Rowena sounded equally indignant.

  “But the outcome was…enjoyable.”

  “Oh yes,” the twins said as one.

  Rowena narrowed her eyes and said, “Do you know what they are planning, Yvonne?”

  “No. Were I you, however, I would expect more blindfolds.”

  Seeing their quick exchange of glances, Yvonne suspected the games had yet to conclude. She could only pray for a happy cessation of these tiresome battles.

  * * * * *

  Not too soon, Kerrie corrected. Feeling Alexandre stir, she returned to his arms.

  * * * * *

  Aida’s Tower Guest Quarters

  “We need to stop our games, Rowena. If we truly love them, we must quit trying to deceive them.”

  “Yvonne warned us that Edgar and Gerard will try to punish us. That alone is reason to continue.” When Edina started to protest, Rowena’s glare silenced her. “We must at least prepare for them trying to get back at us.”

  “Wouldn’t it be simpler to admit the truth? Apologize and—”

  “Apologize? When they’ve known all along we’re twins? ‘Tis they who should apologize to us!”

  “They won’t.”

  “They should.”

  “They are men,” Edina reasoned. “Their sex decries them incapable of apologies.”

  “Then I wish I too were a man,” Rowena grumbled, sitting on the window seat, staring glumly into space.

  Sighing, Edina sat beside her sister. “I would miss making love.”

  “Not if we were men. As men we could swive whomever we wished. Whenever and wherever.” Rowena gritted her teeth. “We have so few advantages, Edina. Why shouldn’t we use them where and when we can. They most assuredly will.”

  “I wish we’d forgone the game.”

  “So do I.”

  “Then why not end it? Now.”

  “’Twould be best, I agree. Still…if they seek revenge, should we let them go unpunished?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Then we shall continue.”

  “Only if they do seek revenge. Agreed?”

  Looking as if Edina had asked her to swive in public, Rowena held out her hand. “Agreed.”

  * * * * *

  At the Marchon River

  Gerard, hoping he appeared solemn, looked down at the woman sitting in the punt’s prow. Since she appeared more nervous than she had on their previous trip upriver, he suspected Rowena was playing at being her sister. But, he supposed, her rigid posture could be due to her more formal attire. He suspected that beneath her woolen cotehardie sweat trickled between her breasts and down her back. ‘Twas too hot a day for such attire. He had dressed accordingly in a lightweight rochet and trunk hose, clogs instead of boots.

  After yesterday’s satisfying outcome, he’d thought the twins would cease their games. Now, however, he would wager his best horse that ‘twas Rowena’s company he shared. Why had the twins switched places today? Thinking the games were over, he and Edgar hadn’t considered having yet again to convince the women to stop. Still, familiar with changing needs during battle, Gerard could and would improvise.

  “You are very quiet, Edina.”

  Her startled gaze flew to his face. Grimacing, she shrugged. “I thought you preferred silence, m’lord. Gerard.”

  “I find myself missing your merry chatter.”

  She quirked a brow and seemed to force a flirtatious smile to her lips. “Chatter, my—Gerard? I consider my words…pearls of wisdom.”

  “Oh? What wisdom is there in constantly complaining that I should be more like Edgar?”

  “H-How do I complain, Gerard?” Her tone as much as her scowl more than hinted at disgust.

  “Well, Edina,” her scowl deepened, leaving him certain Rowena began to hate her sister’s name, “for one thing,
you tell me I should laugh more often.”

  “You should.” Looking smug, she sat impossibly straighter.

  “You often urge me to forget my responsibilities to Gareth and our people.”

  “Not to forget them, merely to set them aside more frequently than you do.” She chewed her lower lip then smiled up at him. “Since I find your voice so enchanting, Gerard, remind me of those responsibilities I chatter on about.”

  Sly creature, he thought. Smothering the urge to laugh out loud, he coughed as he poled the punt forward. “I sometimes serve as Gareth’s exchequer.”

  “No doubt wishing as you count his gold that it was yours.”

  He nodded sadly. “Aye, Edina. I stroke the stacks of coins as lovingly as I stroke your luscious breasts.”

  She looked as if she wanted to box his ears. Instead, she said coolly, “What else weights your shoulders so mightily?”

  “I sit on Gareth’s Advisory Council. I advise him on such weighty matters as treaties and advantageous marriages.”

  “Such as his marriage to Yvonne?”

  “They were betrothed when Yvonne was born. But yes, on his marriage to her.”

  “’Tis said you all bedded…” Blushing, she fell silent.

  Embarrassed, his own skin heated. “She chose him.”

  “Who would you choose, Gerard? Who do you lo—fancy more?”

  “More than I fancy you, Edina?” He rubbed his chin. “When the time is right, I shall consider that question with as much thought as I give…”

  “As you give?” she repeated, urgency in her voice.

  “As I give to swiving you.”

  Ignoring his flagrant flirting, she said, “What else do you do for Gareth?”

  “I lead patrols to ensure Puttupon’s borders remain secure. I inspect our crofters’ cottages to ensure they remain in good repair. Like any other knight, I train to ensure my skills—”

  “Remain skillful,” she supplied in a snooty tone that set his teeth on edge.

  “What do you do at Beaufort, Edina?”

  She looked down at her hands then quickly up once more. Giggling, she said, “I am busy from dawn to dusk.”

  “Doing what?” he pressed.

  “Counting sheets,” she replied, laughing.

  Almost poling himself into the water, Gerard guffawed, thinking perhaps the women changed places simply because they thought they could. Feeling he’d held his own today, he let go of any thoughts of retribution. For the moment.

  “That’s better,” she said as she grinned up at him.

  “Aye, it is. Edina.”

  * * * * *

  Thumbs hooked in his hemp belt, Edgar resisted taking Rowena’s hand as they strolled toward the apple orchard. For one thing, he suspected the woman who trudged reluctantly at his side was Edina rather than his gay Rowena. Not only was she overdressed for such a hot day, she hadn’t said two words since they crossed the drawbridge. Silence was not a virtue he associated with Rowena.

  Not that he minded her near-constant chatter. To him it mattered little what she said. He enjoyed the sound of her voice, the sly bits of humor she interjected into their conversation—mostly to gauge if he was paying attention, he suspected. As if walking in a freezing wind, this woman clutched her amisse tighter to her neck.

  “I can think of better ways to warm you, Rowena. We could find a private place and continue our game—our more than pleasant activities of yesterday.”

  She looked as if he had asked her to strip naked in the crowded bailey. Her voice curt, she said, “I’m sure you would like that. But for now I prefer we talk of other matters.”

  He spread the blanket he carried under the mother tree then held out his hand. Ignoring it—and him—she sat on the edge farthest away from him.

  “What other matters, Rowena?” Sitting, he leaned against the tree’s massive trunk. That, apparently, was too close—she scooted a few inches farther away.

  “Do you still live at The Eyrie?”

  “No.” Her scowl made him want to laugh. If Edina wanted to cross-examine him, he intended to make her think it akin to pulling hens’ teeth.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Puttupon, Rowena.”

  “With your brothers?”

  “Aye, Rowena.”

  “What do you do there?”

  “Do, Rowena?” he repeated as if the very thought confounded him.

  “Yes, do.” She sighed, wiggling until she apparently found a more comfortable position. “For example, Row—I often practice playing Ariel. That is when other duties at Beaufort do not demand my attention.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well? What duties keep you busy?”

  “Riding, Rowena.”

  Huffing, she prompted, “And?”

  “Practicing, Rowena.”

  “With what?”

  Covering a grin, he scratched his chin. “Singing, Rowena.”

  “Don’t you train with your men?”

  “Oh,” he said as if she’d put the idea in his mind. “Aye, Rowena.”

  “What else?”

  “Huh?”

  As if talking to a dunce, obviously frustrated, she inched closer. “Do you hear tenants’ grievances, settle their disputes, plan which fields to plant and which to leave fallow? Collect taxes?”

  “Aye, Rowena.” Sensing she hovered at the edge of giving him a vicious tongue-lashing, he looked up at the mother tree’s canopy. “Not taxes.”

  “Why not? Does Gareth think you’d steal from him?”

  “No, Rowena.”

  “Then why don’t you collect taxes?”

  “’Tis Gareth’s steward’s responsibly, Rowena.”

  “More than two words! At last!”

  He slanted a look from beneath his lashes. She seemed disgusted by his repeatedly calling her by her sister’s name.

  “I thought you and Row—that is you and I have more to talk about, Edgar.” Sarcasm laced his name. Or maybe she wished he would swallow hemlock.

  Good! Let her grow to hate her sister’s name. He grew tired of saying it—to this Rowena, at least.

  “We do talk, Rowena.”

  “About what, Edgar? I seem unable to recall a conversation when you offered more than a few words at a time.”

  “Well,” he began then stopped. He scooted toward her. She scooted away then seemed to will herself to go no farther.

  “Well?” she said, her teeth clenched. “What do you—we—talk about? Pray remind me.”

  Looking soulfully into her eyes, stroking her cheek, he said, “Swiving, Rowena. Surely you remember talking about swiving.”

  As if he’d poured scalding oil over her head, she sprang to her feet. “I remember no such thing!”

  “I’ll wager you don’t. Rowena,” he called to her back as she fled.

  * * * * *

  Kerrie laughed, rousing Alexandre.

  “What plot are you hatching now, my love?”

  “Plot?”

  “Oui. I know you cannot resist meddling, Kerrie. How much more torture have you planned for our young lovers?”

  “Only a tiny bit more.” Seeing his doubting look, she kissed him. “Shall I awaken you when I’m finished?”

  “Non. I shall watch with you. Since you are so amused, surely something will make me laugh as well.”

  Not liking this decision, she kissed him again. “I can think of more pleasant ways to pass the time.”

  “Later, my love. After all, we have eternity.”

  * * * * *

  Aida’s Tower Guest Quarters

  Praying for an hour’s solitude, Edina burst through the solar door. Finding Rowena ensconced on the window seat, Ariel on her lap, Edina slammed the door then flung herself into a chair. Fuming silently, she tore the amisse from her throat and tossed it to the floor.

  “You look cool, Rowena,” she growled.

  Not pretending to misunderstand Edina’s anger, Rowena glanced at her sister, saying, “What did Edgar
say that has made you so angry?”

  “Angry? I am beyond anger. I am—”

  “Furious? Wishing you were brave enough to geld him?”

  Edina closed her gaping mouth and heard her teeth click. Drawing a calming breath, she pulled open her gown to fan her flushed chest and face with her hands.

  “Before we air our grievances,” Rowena soothed, “let me help you disrobe. Trust me, you’ll feel cooler once you’ve removed your clothes.”

  Huffing out a sigh, Edina turned her back. Moments later, she expelled a full and grateful breath. “Did Gerard help you undress? Did he help you don your chemise before he left you?”

  “Something more than Gerard’s bedding me—which he did not—is stuck in your throat. Not that he lacked trying to seduce me. You,” she said quietly, noting her sister’s renewed fury. “Did Edgar try to seduce you?”

  “He seemed as if he wanted to,” Edina reluctantly admitted. Her sister’s feelings for Edgar mattered to her. “Did Gerard…seem as if he wished to seduce you?”

  “Only by innuendo.” Rowena retreated to the window seat, retrieving Ariel before she sat.

  “Then why do you want to geld him?” Edina slipped her chemise over her head, anxiously peering at Rowena’s profile.

  “Gelding is not precisely what I meant.”

  Groaning, dismayed at the thought of pulling hens’ teeth yet again, Edina sank into her chair. “What did you mean then?”

  “I wanted to cut out his tongue! I swear, Edina, if Gerard had said your name one more time…I would have used his own dagger and sliced his tongue in half!”

  Surprising herself, Edina giggled. “I wish I had thought of that. Edgar finished every sentence with your name. If you could call two words haltingly strung together a sentence,” she added, remembering Edgar’s slow responses.

  “What did you talk about?” Rowena asked nonchalantly.

  “His responsibilities. Such as they are. He rides. When prodded, he remembers he trains with his men, has a hand in Puttupon’s agriculture. Oh…he also sings. But he does not collect taxes. Not taxes were the only words he volunteered.”

  “Does Gareth mistrust him?”

  “No! It seems tax collection falls as usual to Gareth’s steward.”