The fool returned to Bethan’s side. “What else may I do for you, my queen?” He took her hand and kissed it.
“Enough!” He’d had no intention of growling, but the sight of the scoundrel’s lips on her skin… “Reggie, don’t you have a song to sing?” Before he knew it, he was nose-to-nose with him.
Reggie backed away. “What ails you, man?”
Bethan put her hand over her mouth. Minx!
She glanced at his fisted hands. “He means no harm, Henry.”
He forced himself to walk away and busy himself behind the counter. Could Bethan be so shallow as to really care for the lout? Was Reggie’s occupation more…palatable? Perhaps she did find him loathsome after all; although he thought she’d overcome her revulsion of his job, mayhap it still bothered her.
For the first time since George was a baby, he let himself think of the positive aspects of his other life. In another life, he had dressed like an aristocrat, stood in ballrooms, received visitors, done what every man in his position would do to maintain his standing in society.
He would say something charming, stay by her side and hand her a glass of champagne, watch her eyes light up at the bubbles. Later, he would take the champagne glass from her hands, and sweep her away in a dance. How surprised she would be to see him in that light. But he was no longer that man.
“Why the scowl, old friend?” Zounds, how did Ian manage to sneak up on him, even in the wheeled chair?
He’d not realized he still stared at Bethan, who attended a table of very drunken seaman.
“Ah,” Ian rumbled.
“Never mind,” Henry snapped.
“Oh ho.”
Henry turned, put his hand on the wheelchair’s handle. He bent toward Ian’s ear. “I don’t know where I stand with her.”
“Are you daft, man? Do you not see how she looks at you?”
“I fear she may carry a torch for yon Reggie.”
“Don’t be a fool, Henry. He is like marzipan, attractive, but insubstantial. A woman can’t survive on marzipan. Can you blame her for wanting some levity, with the weight of her sister always on her shoulders? She is much like my Maggie, hard-working, always putting the needs of others before her own. Mayhap you should provide Bethan with some amusement?”
His friend had a point. The conversation appeared to be at an end, for Ian stared at Maggie, who had waddled in ahead of him and sunk into a chair at a table, quickly attended to by Bethan.
“It’s awfully late for you to be out, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but she was hungry, and she’s eaten all the food in the house. She is magnificent, my queen of fecundity, tender and fierce by turns. I never know these days which she will be. Invigorating!” Without further ado, he wheeled his way to her, greeting Bethan heartily.
Bethan’s shiny chestnut hair had come out of her cap again. If he could, he would trace the slender lines of her neck, tuck the hair into her cap so he could kiss the back of her neck, skim his lips over her downy skin to see her goosebumps rise. He would kiss each bare shoulder, trail his lips down one slender arm, revel in her shiver. Watch the landscape of her smooth skin change to bumps of arousal.
Bethan suddenly turned to gaze at him, a shocked look on her face. Mayhap his face had revealed his passion? He grinned, rewarded when she grinned back. Yes, he would plan to show Bethan another side of him, make sure she knew she was his, and his alone.
****
Later, Henry left the inn through the back door opening to the garden and an alleyway. In the far corner, a woman stood against the wall, the man leaning in to kiss her, arms bracing either side of her. Not an uncommon sight this time of night. The man, or boy, as it turned out, pulled his head away and put his hands upon her breasts, whereupon she giggled. Wasn’t that Freddy? And he’d know that giggle anywhere—Isadora.
He shook his head. The girl was no concern of his, but he would not have her innocence sullied by such a lout. He whistled, stared pointedly in their direction. They broke apart.
“What do you want, man?” Freddy said.
“Isadora, get ye home before I take you home myself. You have no business with the likes of him.”
She scowled at him, the little chit.
“I’ll escort you home.” Did she not have a bit of sense?
She blew a kiss at Freddy and stomped ahead of Henry. When he saw her safely home, he set off toward the Landgate. George had been sleeping soundly when he left, would hopefully sleep his ague away. Nevertheless, he quickened his pace; he didn’t like to leave him alone when he was sick.
Life was like the clouds over the Channel. They could blow away with the wind or gather in anger for a storm. One day he put his arm around his wife, looked upon his newborn son, counting the perfect toes and perfect fingers, and in the blink of an eye, he stood over her grave. Memories swept over him. Though the marriage had been arranged, he had loved her in his fashion and missed her still. But he would not waste time in living now he had found his Bethan.
He crept into the cottage, relieved to find George sprawled above the covers in front of the fire, one arm above his head, his sturdy legs akimbo. He’d gotten so big, his boy. He was eleven now, a well-built lad. Though he could not yet read, he could read people better than most adults, and had a way with animals and troubled souls like Elunid.
As always, his thoughts returned to Bethan, the look upon her face when she’d awakened in his arms to see his nakedness: shock, wonder, arousal. He hardened at the memory. There was a time when no woman could have distracted him from the care of his son. He laid his hand on the boy’s forehead. His cheeks were flushed and warm, but nothing to be concerned about.
He stretched his back, feeling the pull of sore muscles. It had been a busy night. How tired Bethan must be, after barely sleeping the night before, then working all night at the inn. He dressed for bed, imagining her slender fingers pulling the linen shirt over his head, fingertips grazing his sides. His stomach muscles tensed, sending pulsing beats to his member.
She would slowly unlace his breeches, her lips upturned with mischief. Oh God. She would pull his breeches down, hands skimming his leg to cup one calf muscle in her hand, her silken hair brushing against his hard member. He’d lift her to her feet, carry her to the bed, and say with his body what he could not articulate in words. Then, when they had reached their joy, he’d watch her sleep with pride of possession.
What manner of torture was this? How could he convince her he would protect her, care for her and her sister both? For suddenly, life as it was, was not enough.
Chapter Twenty
Dear Lord, her feet ached. Bethan sat slumped at the table with a mug of ale in her hands, and eyed the filthy floor. She’d told Lena and Sabine to go to bed. Only one customer, old man Wyeth, remained, and he was so far in his cups he’d sleep until noon.
What a night. First, the joy of holding a real conversation with her sister, then the appearance of the skin-crawling “Parson,” Elunid’s foolish antagonizing of the man, and Henry’s fierce defense. What would it be like to let down her guard, let Henry take care of her, love her?
A bitter laugh escaped her lips, causing old Wyeth to roll over. As if any man would chain himself to her and her sister both. He didn’t know what he was getting into, what she and Elunid had endured. She could not bear it if he abandoned her, as her mother did. And her father, through no fault of his own.
Still…denying her feelings for him was like holding back high tide. She allowed herself the momentary luxury of thinking about her needs, what she yearned for: the feel of his strong arms against her, his warmth, protection, and passion. Why torture herself with what couldn’t be? For no one who’d loved her had stayed.
She stood, besieged by a restlessness she’d not experienced before, a longing for something she didn’t understand. Mayhap a bit more hard labor would calm her.
By the time she finished cleaning, she was good and tired and stepped outside for some air. She let the cool mist of
the sea bathe her work-warm face. Footsteps echoed down Siren Street, and in the distance by the docks, the bright moon revealed a figure running with a bundle, bee skep over its head.
She’d heard about smugglers using the manmade bee hives to disguise their identity while in the act of transporting goods, but had never seen it. The moon reflected on something shiny. She’d seen that belt buckle before. Freddy.
She stepped inside before she was seen, heart pounding. Elunid had already endangered them all with her behavior, but she was no doubt right about the wool smuggling.
A wave of darkness suddenly enveloped her, like being swept into a dark storm cloud. She shivered. Elunid. She rushed down the hallway to her sister’s room. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light as she approached the bed.
Elunid lay stiff as a corpse, the bedcovers pulled up to her eyes. Her long white arms lay outside the covers at her sides, fists clenched.
“Elunid?”
The covers lowered to her chin. “Sister?”
“How are you?” She had given her a double dose of Ian’s medicine. It had not lasted long this time.
“Awake.” Elunid’s voice sounded disembodied, empty.
“Yes, evidently. Why do you not get up? Here, I’ll help you.” Her muscles ached with fatigue, but she forced herself to move.
“I cannot.”
“What do you mean, you cannot?” She swallowed down her irritation.
Elunid’s voice was hoarse, as if she’d been screaming all night. “They won’t let me rise.”
“Who won’t?”
“Shit wit. The same, as I’ve told you more times than a whore beds a sailor.”
“I’m trying to help you, but I’m very tired.” Her needs didn’t matter, of course. She couldn’t help the surge of anger and then the guilt passing over her.
“They are punishing me for enjoying the pleasures of this earthly world, and not toiling on their behalf, sewing, sewing, bleeding for them.”
Bethan sat on the bed and covered Elunid’s clenched fist with her hand. “You’re freezing.”
“Better to freeze than burn in hell.”
No sense trying to talk her out of her darkness. She’d learned it was fruitless a long time ago. She tried to lift Elunid’s fist, but it was stiff and unyielding.
“They said they were kind,” Elunid rasped. “They would give me two more days, so I might finish my needlework before the sun came up. But if the sun goes down upon my imperfection, it will not rise again.” The despair in her voice chilled Bethan to the bone.
She brushed Elunid’s hair away from her eyes. “The sun will rise again, Ellie. It always does, always will.”
There was nothing she could do about her twin’s condition, and since it appeared she wasn’t moving anywhere, at least mayhap she could get a few hours’ sleep in her bed. Her legs threatened to give out on her as she fetched another blanket to put over Elunid’s stiff form.
Elunid’s dark blue eyes stood stark against the white sheets. “They are kind to let me have two more days. I can bide here awhile, think on how I could please them most.”
“Elunid, you have only to fetch me when you are ready to get up. Perhaps after you work awhile tomorrow, I’ll take you to the Shipwreck Hotel for tea in the afternoon. I’ve heard their dessert cart is outstanding. It won’t take all day, just an hour.”
The glimmer of interest in her eyes did much to buoy Bethan’s spirit.
“They have all manner of treats. I’ll use the coin I earned delivering the baby.”
“No, I cannot risk it,” Elunid said, her eyes resuming their glazed look.
Once in her sleeping quarters, Bethan undressed and slipped into the clean, smooth sheets. At least for a few hours she could escape into oblivious slumber, and if she happened to dream about a muscular man with warm brown eyes, it was certainly not of her doing.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bethan awoke in the early afternoon, feeling refreshed. She dressed, made a cup of tea, and went to Elunid’s room.
Her twin sat in the straight-backed chair by the window, dark hair loose and falling over one shoulder. Her long fingers danced upon the fabric as she pulled a needle in and out of the cloth.
“You’re up,” Bethan said.
“I can still rise from bed on my own,” Elunid said without lifting her head from her work. “I could not very well remain there, with Them nattering on about the day wasting away.”
Bethan wasn’t inclined to ask her to elaborate, so she perched on the bed and sipped her tea.
“Ellie, do you remember when we used to dress alike and confuse Mother and the townspeople?”
She glanced up from her work and smiled. Bethan caught her breath, for she was so beautiful when she smiled. Is it how she herself looked?
“Sister, what do you say we create a little mayhem today?”
“I have accomplished much, and they are pleased,” Elunid said. “Mayhem? Oh yes, let’s!” She carefully placed her needlework in a basket and rose to open the armoire. “Do you still have the peacock dress we made a few years ago? This one?” She pulled out a brilliant blue dress made of silk.
“Of course I do. It’s a work of genius, Elunid. I still cannot believe you were able to sew it.”
A dimple appeared in Elunid’s cheek. She held the dress up to herself. On the bodice, two peacock heads nestled together, entwined, with many shades of blue and green. Their feathers continued on the overskirt, replete with eyes: an outer ring of mint grass green, bronze, then a robin egg blue, and in the center, a watchful indigo blue.
“We shall wear them, and the town will never be the same,” Elunid declared.
“So beautiful,” Bethan said. “A bit dressy, though.”
Elunid put one slender arm on her hip. “When else will we get to wear them? We will never be as beautiful as we are now.”
Bethan laughed. “Speak for yourself.”
Excitement coursed through her, and she hurried to her room to dress, taking care with her hair, sweeping her heavy locks up on one side of her head, twisting it into a knot, letting tendrils fall on her neck.
Elunid arrived, and just like old times, had unknowingly fixed her hair the same way, except that she had twisted it on the opposite side of her head. They stood in front of the mirror. Elunid’s eyes were clear as a brook and alight with mischief.
Bethan had forgotten the joy of dressing in something beautiful. The dress fit perfectly, the skirt flaring out at the bottom. The peacock blue brought out the color of her eyes, and the low-cut bodice displayed the smooth rounded swells of her breasts.
“Chwaer, even I can’t tell us apart,” Bethan murmured.
When they walked into the empty main room, Lena rose to her feet, eyes round as dinner plates. “Look at the two of you!”
The two women glanced at each other, and simultaneously said, “Hello, Lena. How do we look?”
“You are breathtaking. I cannot tell you apart.” They giggled at Lena’s perplexed face.
“Let’s go,” they said in unison and laughed.
She kissed both on the cheek and waved them off. “Go now, and tell me all about it when you return.”
Before Bethan could push the door open, a lad of ten or so entered. Upon seeing them, he croaked, “oddzooks,” and staggered backward, blushing a bright red.
“Good afternoon, sir,” they chorused.
He opened his mouth wide enough to sail a clipper ship through.
They made their way carefully over the cobblestones. A fair amount of people strolled about in the fine weather, and greeted their appearance with a stunned silence, then excited conversations and pointing. The twins held hands and greeted the neighbors in unison.
Ed the butcher dropped the mutton leg he’d been wrapping. “Of all that’s holy, I’ve never seen such a sight. Such beauties you are!”
“Thank you, kind sir.” They curtsied.
“It’s sorry I feel for all the young lads in town today. They’ll neve
r be the same.”
“We’ll see.” They waved and continued on their way.
“It’s like when we were children, isn’t it?” Bethan hooked her arm with Elunid’s. “When all we had to worry about was what we were having for tea.”
Elunid nodded.
Martha, the baker’s wife stood outside, fanning her face. “Bethan, Elunid!” She giggled. “Whichever one you are, don’t you look lovely.” She approached them and fingered the embroidery on Bethan’s bodice. “Who did this lovely work?”
“I did.” Bethan said.
“Elunid?”
“Is it?” They both said.
Martha shook her head. “Aye, it’s double trouble you are. Your eyes sparkle with it.” She turned at the sound of her daughter exiting the bakery. “Isadora!” She shook her head. “I haven’t gotten a lick of work out of her today. She’s so tired. I hope she isn’t ill. “
“Maybe I am, Mother. Sick of you,” she said under her breath.
“What did you say, chit? Where do you think you’re going?”
Isadora turned for the first time, gave the girls a blank stare. “Hello,” she muttered. Her gaze bounced between the two. “Why are you dressed up?”
“We’re going to the Shipwreck Hotel for tea,” Bethan said. “Care to join us?”
“Some of us have to work.” Isadora scowled at her mother.
“You may go for a stroll with them after you get those tea cakes finished. Mayhap a walk will put some color in your cheeks.”
Isadora nodded and returned to the shoppe without saying goodbye.
They said their goodbyes and continued downhill toward the Shipwreck Hotel.
“It would be good to have a friend our own age, wouldn’t it? Mayhap Isadora was just out of sorts today.”
“She’s always out of sorts.”
She was about to lecture her twin on the merits of kindness but decided otherwise.
A group of bedraggled seamen staggered up the hill. Upon seeing the two women, the one in front stopped short, causing his followers to run into his back. Over the chorus of cursing, he bellowed, “Neptune’s ballocks, was I hit on the head and now I see double?”
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