Passion's Twins (8 page)

“You…you are very large, Edgar.”

“And my size frightens you.”

“A little. I…I have heard my mother and her ladies tell of
the pain. The serving girls and maids speak only of the pleasure of lying with
a man.”

“I believe your mother and her ladies—gentlewomen and of
noble birth?—have been deprived of the joy swiving can bring. They
tolerate
it because they must. They must bear an heir or two—that is their purpose.
Pleasure is beyond their duty.”

As he would calm a skittish horse, Edgar smoothed his hand
from Rowena’s neck to her hip. Sighing, she relaxed. Her legs opened,
permitting him to touch her. Her curls were damp with her own juices. His cock
proclaimed her ready to have it in her.

“And the other women? Those not…ahh, that feels good.” She
raised her hips and spread her legs wider. He stroked her pleasure nub while he
slowly eased one finger inside her canal. “Sweet heavens, Edgar. What is
happening to me?”

“’Tis but a prelude to joy, Rowena. Relax and let it come.
Tell me what you feel.”

A blush flooded her entire body. Her hips rose and fell with
the rhythm his hand set for her.

“Everything…is there. Between my legs. But ‘tis very
different from when…I touch myself.” She bit her lip. “Edgar!”

Her fingers dug into his thigh. Her voice rose until she
sang his name and release shook her slender frame.

When her spasms ceased, Edgar stroked damp curls off her
face then removed her blindfold. Lambent blue eyes blinked up at him. A small
smile curved her lips.

He kissed her gently then said, “Did I hurt you?”

“No. That was very…pleasant.”

“Pleasant? I’ll show you pleasant.” Laughing, he tickled her
ribs until she pleaded for him to stop.

Lying atop her, his cock throbbed against her nether lips.
Her eyes widened and darkened. Her breath puffed his cheeks. He slid his hand
between their bodies to rub his cock head over her nub. Their combined juices
dampened her curls.

“This will hurt, Rowena. Only for a moment, I promise. You
are so very tight and I am large.”

“I trust you, Edgar. I…I want you in me.”

He needed no other encouragement. He plunged deep. Felt her
body recoil against the pain and try to escape it. He kissed away her tears and
felt her accepting sigh against his cheek. Some of the tension in her body
eased.

“Better?”

“If one enjoys having a battleaxe up one’s innards,” she
said, frowning up at him.

“’Tis the wealthy spear for which I am named. Long and
thick, but blunted to give you the most pleasure.”

“Braggart!”

“You will sing my name again, Rowena. Scream it and beg me
to swive you again and again.”

“Shan’t.”

“Shall.” He eased out. Slid deep. Felt her queynte draw him
deeper still. Repeated the thrust and parry until their bodies flowed in
perfect rhythm. And all the while they gazed into each other’s eyes. He saw her
struggle against her own pleasure. Felt her writhe despite her resolve not to
give way to passion. Fought his own urgent need for release until—finally—her
spasms began and she surrendered completely.

“Sweet…ahh…Edgar. Yes. Yes. Yessss! Swive me, Edgar.
Ed-gar!”

Her eyes widened, the blue deepening to an impossible hue
that ensnared his heart. Her voice, her climax, brought him to his own release.
Collapsing against her, he rolled to his back with her in his arms.

“I told you ‘twould be so,” he said, grinning up at her.

“You did,” she grudgingly admitted. “But can you do it
again?”

“Right now?”

“Aye. Right now, Sir Soft and Small.”

His cock twitched. Hardened. Lengthened.

Her eyes widened. A grin curving her lips, she slid up and
down his growing cock.

“Still think me soft and small?”

She moaned and posted harder. Faster. “I think you…perfect.”

* * * * *

Under the limbs of a willow, Yvonne leaned against Gareth’s
chest and sighed. Their punt rocked gently as the tide began to ebb.

His lips soft, Gareth laved the shell of his wife’s ear and
felt her shiver.

“Well, my queen, are you ready now for that large, soft
bed?”

“I cannot wait so long, my king.” Turning in his arms, she
grasped his cock. “Neither, it seems, can you.”

“I want what my brothers are having,” Gareth admitted, laughter
in his deep voice.

“You will settle for me,” she retorted. His black eyes—so
often shadowed with the weight of responsibility—filled with mirth.

“I shared you with them. ‘Tis only fair they share with me.”

“The twins may think otherwise. Although,” she snaked her
hand into his breeches then squeezed his balls, “were they to see your
magnificent shaft, they might reconsider. And you, sirrah, would like nothing
better than having three women make love to you.”

“True. That is, before I met you… Never mind. ‘Tis all
behind me now.” His wide chest rose and fell with his dramatic sigh.

“If you wish to keep this succulent cock, those days will
remain behind you.” Pulling his laces, she freed his shaft.

“Succulent, eh?”

“Aye, m’lord. Succulent.” She ran her tongue around his cock
head, licked his dew from it. “Sweet enough to eat.” With that she took him
into her mouth.

His breath hissed out. “Enough! I will be in you, Yvonne.
Now.”

“Aye, m’lord? And if I will not take you in me? What then?”

“I can smell your need, m’lady. I’ll taste you first then
play in your hot, wet quim until you beg me to swive you.”

“Why is it men demand women beg?”

“To prove a woman’s need is as great as his. Other than your
nipples, I have no visual clue that you want me.” Rubbing her chemise over her
nipples, he watched them rise to even more rigid peaks.

“But you can smell my need?” She helped him remove her
clothes. Sliding his breeches down his powerful thighs, lowering her head, she
sniffed the curls around his needy shaft. “I can smell your need as well.”

“Aye. When you are close enough to swallow me. On the other
hand,” he laid her on the pillows in the punt’s flat bottom, “I have a more
discerning nose. I can smell your desire on your cheeks.” He kissed them. “On
your breasts.” He suckled each in turn. “And most especially here.” He laved
her pearl then buried his nose between her nether folds.

“Bartholomew’s balls,” she murmured as she arched her hips
to press him deeper.

“Say it, Yvonne.”

“I would have you…”

“What?”

“Drink me. Ahh, Gareth… Love… Yessss!”

Tasting her cream, feeling her very core clench at his
tongue nearly drove him over the edge. He knew he could make her say the words
he wanted to hear. He slid his finger into her, found the little nub hidden
inside, rubbing it as he suckled her breasts. It gave him such pleasure to know
her moans, her sighs, her screams were because of him. And he took pride in
wresting the crudest words from her prim lips.

“St. Chris-to-pher…!”

“Say the words, Yvonne.”

“Swive. Swive me, Gareth.” Panting, her green eyes as dark
as a pine forest, she gazed up at him. “Swive me so hard your balls slap my
quim. Swive me so fast, your lungs may burst. Swive me with all the love I see
in your eyes.”

He did. And her eyes—those remarkable emerald eyes—gave him
back the love she had seen in his.

Gareth’s Encampment

Gareth, sitting on a throne-like chair in the middle of his
luxurious tent, flicked a contemptuous glare at his younger brothers.

“Well, Gerard? Edgar? Have you discovered how to tell them
apart?”

His censorious tone made his siblings cast nervous sidelong
glances at each other. Gerard, apparently feeling the pressure of being older,
spoke first.

“There are subtle differences. Edina walks more cautiously
than Rowena.”

“Rowena is left-handed,” Edgar contributed.

So, Edgar, you wish to seem as discerning as Gerard.

“Edina’s birthmark is on her left shoulder while—”

“Rowena’s is on her right. And she plays the lute and…” At
Gareth’s glower, Edgar’s voice failed him.

I’ll wager, little brother, you wish you’d been excluded
from this upbraiding
, Gareth thought. “Am I to assume, Edgar, that you will
insist your bride play you to sleep? What will you do if she refuses?”

“I shall ask her to sing instead,” Edgar muttered, his tone
mulish. “She has a glorious voice.”

“As does Edina,” Gareth countered. “Ahh. You didn’t know
that, did you, Gerard?”

“She said she cannot sing.”

Gareth surged to his feet, kingly outrage in his posture.
Yet his voice was calm when he said, “You both seem to have forgotten that
these women have played these games all their lives. It is as natural as
breathing for them to…let us say
pretend
rather than
lie
.” He
strode to stand before his brothers. “I expected better of you.”

“
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.”