Passion's Twins (4 page)

“Another slipping neckline.” Gerard dodged his brother’s
fist. “Rowena’s birthmark is on her right shoulder.” When Edgar sat on his
heels, obviously shocked, Gerard added, “What’s more, she does not like the way
I kiss.”

“Edina pleaded a headache when I kissed her.”

“Rowena said I kissed like a fish.”

They shared a hearty laugh but soon sobered.

“Unless we undress them—” Edgar muttered.

“Or get them to kiss us…”

“Or hear them laugh.”

“We’re no farther along than we were yesterday.”

“We still cannot tell them apart.”

“Saint Christopher on a crutch!”

“Bartholomew’s balls!”

A Sennight Later

Lounging back against pillows, Edina stared openly at
Gerard’s magnificent chest. Sunlight glittered off his dark gold chest hair.
His powerful pectoral muscles flexed every time he poled their punt forward.
She wanted to kiss his flat nipples until they puckered. Lick each drop of
sweat or—better still—follow the arrow his chest curls formed from his nipples
to under his trunk hose.

Since the onset of her flux, Edina had had time—perhaps too
much time—to think about what she and Gerard had done. Had they been at
Beaufort, they would not have been left completely alone together. When not
under the watchful eyes of her parents or her lady-in-waiting, some servant or
other would have followed them. Sometimes, since courting couples required a
modicum of privacy, the servant would follow at a discreet distance, other
times at their heels.

But here at Marchonland, no one seemed to care about
propriety.
No, ‘tis simply more relaxed here.
As if the very air held
dreams of longing and fulfillment. As if…if a woman allowed herself to drift as
she and Gerard drifted now, anything was possible. Love, especially.
Contentment and happiness. And joy in being young and healthy and…rutting like
rabbits.

At Beaufort, had her parents discovered what she’d done with
Gerard, they’d be married—never mind that they might or mightn’t love each
other. Here, it seemed everyone—from Yvonne and Gareth to the lowliest
peasant—expected couples to find each other and do what healthy young animals
do. Even elders like Aida and Gaspar seemed to expect it.

Glancing up at Gerard, she saw that his attention was
focused on the slow-moving river. When he made love with her, he gave her that
same fierce scrutiny, making her feel as if she were the most important person
in his world. But was that love or only a courtesy? Being fair and ensuring she
gained equal pleasure in their mating?

He’d read to her this past sennight. Brought her roses and
hyacinths from Willa’s gardens. Ordered tea to ease her aching belly. Asked her
dozens—perhaps hundreds of questions about Beaufort and her childhood there. He
certainly behaved as if he were courting her.

Did his behavior mean he loved her? Did she love him?
I
must. Otherwise I would not have done…what I did.
Or was she a wanton whose
only interest lay in what rested between his powerful thighs?

“If you continue to stare at my shaft, Edina, I’ll swive you
here and now.”

“Over this past week you’ve had ample opportunity, Gerard.
Yet you have not bedded me since our first time.”

“I would not have minded the mess. You, however…”

“You knew?”

“I fostered in a castle full of female cousins. ‘Tis
impossible to ignore when a woman has her monthly.”

“Oh,” she moaned, her face heating. “I thought… That is, the
pain in my belly lessened after the first day.”

“The day you spent in bed. But until today you still looked
pale and seemed to have lost all sense of adventure.”

“You think I have a sense of adventure?” Delighted, she
raised her gaze to his face.

“I am counting on it, Edina.” With that cryptic remark he
poled the punt under the drooping limbs of a weeping willow. Jumping into water
to his knees, he tied the square prow to a limb then reached out. “Hand me the
blanket and the basket. While I attend them, fill your arms with pillows.”

He ducked beneath a low limb, leaving her to wonder what he
had planned. Shivering with anticipation, she gathered up pillows so soft she
wanted to sink into them. So bright with gemlike colors she wanted to gaze at
them forever.

Well
, she amended when Gerard reappeared,
not
forever
. Gerard she could stare at for hours at a time.

“Do you want your lute, Gerard?”

His shrug brought her gaze to his wide shoulders. When? When
would he hold her against his muscled chest? Pillow her head against those wide
shoulders? Let her feel his skin, his flesh—all of him—sliding over her? In
her?
Wanton, aye.
Wanting his bedding above anything else. Except his
love.

“Hand me the pillows, sweeting. I’ll come back for the lute.
And you,” he added, his voice husky. His blue eyes darkened and she felt her
juices seep between her nether lips.

“Hurry.” He seemed deaf to her pleas. Grateful he had
ignored her needs for the moment, she picked up the long-necked instrument.
Holding its belly against her own, imagining Rowena holding her own lute, Edina
ran her left hand up the strings and wished she knew how to play it. Or could
at least match its beautiful tones with her voice. She hadn’t lied about her
singing voice. Despite Rowena’s assurances, Edina thought she sounded awful
when she sang and hoped Gerard would refrain from asking her to prove it.

“Edgar is the singer in our family. Got his voice from his
mother. On the other hand, my mother played the harp like an angel. She taught
me how to play the lute. Come here, Edina. I’ll lift you out.”

Still a little afraid the flat-bottomed boat would tip, she
cautiously stepped to the prow.

“You have different mothers? You and Edgar?”

“Aye. Gareth too. As Yvonne, Willa and Pippa had different
sires, we all had different dams.”

Not knowing what to say, Edina simply reached out to Gerard.

“Kindly refrain from bashing my lute over my head,” he chided
gently when it banged his back.

“Sorry.”

“You are a lovely armful.”

“You need not carry me, Gerard.”

“And you need not apologize. Though light, my lute is
strong.” He set her on her feet. Taking the instrument from her hand, he
carefully leaned it against the tree trunk.

“Will you play for me now, Gerard?”

Turning, his hot gaze swept over her. He wanted her! She
could see it in his eyes, the need written clearly on his clenched jaw and
heated skin. Her knees trembled so, she feared she would faint at his feet.

“I’ll bargain with you, Edina. A bawdy tune—a short one
only—for each shoe you remove. A longer ballad for your smock.”

“And m-my kirtle, m’lord? What will you play for it?”

Grinning, he simply waggled his eyebrows.

She sank to her knees on a pillow. He’d strewn them over the
blanket he’d spread on the ground. A surprisingly soft ground. When she could
think clearly, she would ask what lay beneath the blanket and pillows. Just
now—watching him pluck his lute strings and tune them to their proper tones—she
could think of nothing but those clever fingers plucking her nipples.

“Well, m’lady? Will you remove your shoe or shall I remove
it for you?”

“I’ll manage.” She held up both clogs.

Gerard laughed. His gaze locked with hers, he strummed a
lively tune. A moment later he flowed smoothly into another melody even faster
than the first. And shorter yet. She barely had caught the beat before he
finished with a quick flourish.

A breathless giggle escaped her lips. “I believe you wish to
hurry, m’lord.”

“’Twas you who removed both shoes at once, Edina. What am I
to think but that you wish to hurry as well?”

She fiddled with the ends of the ribbon that held her neckline
firmly on her shoulders. Could she brazenly bare her breasts to him? Knowing
just his eyes on her nipples would make them pucker?

His knuckles beat a soft tattoo on the lute’s belly.
Inhaling deeply, she unfastened the ribbon, eased the neckline open and watched
the material slide down her left shoulder.

Gerard’s breath caught. He thought he would die before the
fabric slid off her pink-tipped breasts. Lowering his lashes to half-mast, he
watched as Edina shrugged her right shoulder. The smock pooled at her waist.
She looked both shocked and embarrassed. Her cheeks reddened as she looked down
at her naked breasts.

“Beautiful,” he said, praying she did not discern he missed
several notes. “Take it off. No! Don’t hide from me, Edina.”

“B-But…when I move, they jiggle.” Holding her hands over
them, she giggled.

“Aye.” He licked his lips, moved her hands to her sides.
Amazing.
Her nipples harden with only my gaze on them.
“Hurry.” Had his shaft said
that? Did she imagine his tongue on her pert nipples or his fingers plucking
one while he suckled the other? “Hurry,” he repeated, using the lute to conceal
his swollen shaft.

Pushing at the material, she shot him an imploring glance.
When he simply stared at her, she pulled the fabric over her flaxen curls. Her
shoulders hunched and her lashes drifted to her cheeks. And remained there
until he lapped one tender peak.

“Oh Gerard,” she moaned, arching into his questing mouth.

“Raise your hips, Edina.” His fingers fumbled with her belt.
His hands slid down her torso, her thighs, her feet. He threw her skirts over
his shoulder and gazed at her naked form.

Her entire body blushed pink, yet she remained perfectly
still. One arm supported her head. The other rested at her side, palm up. Her
curved fingers seemed to beckon him. He ignored the summons, content for the
moment to gaze at her.

“Gerard.” Her soft voice pleaded. His rigid shaft begged to
be inside her.

“Not yet. My eyes have yet to learn all your lines.” His
chuckle sounded more like a growl. “Can you imagine how much it excites me to
see your nipples rise when I look at them?”

“A-Aye. Yet I could imagine your excitement far better if
you would remove your hose.”

“Not yet. The butterfly on your shoulder enchants me. When
you breathe its wings seem to flutter. As if it wants to fly away. Take you
away. Would you fly away, Edina? Leave me?”

“Never.”

“Good.” His gaze lingered briefly on her breasts. He heard
her draw in a deep breath. Saw her arm move as if to shield herself. He shook
his head. She stilled. “Your waist is slender. Yet I see no marks. Nothing
artificial gained you this narrow waist.”

“Have you seen so many naked women, m’lord, that you can
easily judge artifice from nature?”

The hint of jealousy in her voice made him grin. “Enough to
know perfection when I see it.” He continued his perusal. “Good hips. Slim
enough for a man’s hands to hold comfortably. Wide enough to shelter a babe.”

Her startled gaze told him she had yet to consider the
consequences of their swiving. Wishing he had kept that particular appraisal to
himself, he went on, soothing her with his voice. “For such a tiny creature
your legs are remarkably long. Delicate yet strong. Especially strong when they
wrap around me and hold me deep inside you.”

She moaned and restlessly shifted those delicate appendages.

“Do you want me deep inside you, Edina?”

“You know I do, Gerard.” Longing tinted her voice.

“Then spread your legs for me. Yes, like that. Your curls
are damp. I can see your dew on them.”

She tried to close her legs, but he was already between
them.

“Your scent tells me how much you want me. ‘Tis the most
exciting odor in a man’s world. It tells me you are almost ready for me.”

“Al-Almost?” Her voice squeaked.

He ran his tongue from her opening to her pleasure bud. She
tried to jerk away, but the ground and his weight kept her bound.

“Shhh,” he soothed. “Your juices are like honey on my
tongue. The gift of life to a dying man parched by the desert sun. Fill my
mouth with your juices, Edina. Give me life.”

He stroked, licked, lapped until her juices flowed over his
tongue and she sobbed his name.

He stripped off his hose. His gaze on her expressive face,
he filled her. Her easing spasms nearly drove him over the edge. Only her
eyes—filled with wonder and delight with the gift he had just given her—kept
him from plunging to his own release. He wanted—needed—to see her eyes when she
came this time.

Without his urging, she wrapped her legs around his waist.
Her arms wreathed about his back. As they matched thrust and parry, her hands
told him much about her need. Flat on his back at first, they traced his
muscles from his shoulders to his buttocks. Lazy. Dreamy. Then her fingers
pressed hard. Curled. Her nails dug into his butt muscles. He could hear his
balls slapping against her hot, wet nether lips.

“Gerard!” She screamed his name. Her eyes widened. Darkened.
Glazed. Climaxing, she took him with her.

Seconds, minutes, hours later, she murmured, “Oh my! I
forgot the soap.”

* * * * *

Marchon Orchards

Flummoxed, Edgar watched Rowena carefully open the blanket
she had refused to let him carry. From its folds she took a lute then carefully
cradled it to her.

Her blue eyes alight with pride, she smiled up at him.
“Beautiful, isn’t she? And her voice is so sweet and pure the angels weep to
hear her.” Sitting on the spread blanket, Rowena hugged the instrument as she
would a lover.

As
, Edgar hoped,
she will soon hold me
.

“I hope you do not mind my bringing her. I thought I could
play while you sing. If you will?”

“Happily. Although I doubt my voice will match hers. Even
Gerard’s lute is not so beautiful.”

“His is beautiful enough to have earned an equally beautiful
case. I saw Gerard’s squire return the lute to it and nearly wept at the
sight.” With care, she laid the lute beside her.

“He’s not supposed to touch her.”

“How sad. Gerard’s squire seems to possess a
chanteur
’s
soul—if the
chanteur
is fortunate enough to own such a magnificent
instrument.”

“How do you know about the squire’s soul?”

“The reverence on his face.”

“Is that all? A look? You might have mistaken greed—she
is
valuable—”

“Only to another singer or lute player.”

“For reverence.”

Rowena huffed. “He sang to her when he returned her to her
case. I sing to my lute Ariel when I must leave her.”