The Emerald Swan

Epilogue

"You know what you have to do?" "Brazen it out," Miranda said. "Lie," Maude said.

Gareth accepted the sisters' responses with a wry smile. "Words to that effect," he agreed.

"But will it work?" Imogen demanded from the doorway, plying her fan with vigor.

"If it's brazened out, as Miranda said, I don't see how it can fail to work, madam." Her husband bobbed up from behind her. "Let me look at you, my dears." He came into the chamber and Gareth stepped aside, giving way to the expert.

"Oh, what a stir you will cause," Miles declared, rubbing his hands with glee as he walked around the sisters. "It was a brilliant conception to dress you so alike and yet so different."

The idea had been his, but his delight was so unaffected that no one could accuse him of self-congratulation.

"Cor, you don't 'alf look like a princess, M'randa," Robbie observed in awe from the window seat where he was perched with Chip. A very different Robbie: a rounder, shinier, merrier Robbie altogether. "Can I come wi you?

"No, you have to stay and look after Chip," Miranda said. "But I'll tell you all about it when I get home." Robbie appeared satisfied with this and returned his attention to the dish of raisins he was sharing with Chip.

"Let us take a look at ourselves, Maude." Miranda reached for her twin's hand and stepped up to the mirror. The two stood side by side examining their wavery reflections. Despite the imperfections of the reflection, the effect was stunning. The gowns were of identical design, but Miranda's was of emerald green velvet stitched with gold thread and encrusted with diamonds, while Maude wore turquoise velvet, silver thread, and sapphires. The neckline of the gowns plunged to the bosom, and rose behind the head in a small jeweled ruff. The only other significant difference lay in their hair. Each wore her hair loose, bound with a fillet, silver in Maude's case, gold in Miranda's. No attempt had been made to hide Miranda's short, glowing bob that curved behind her ears and clung to her neck. Maude's rippling auburn-tinted locks curled on her shoulders.

"They won't suspect," Miranda stated. Then she turned to Gareth, her eyes filled with doubt. "Are you sure they won't, milord?"

"Why should they?" he said, smiling. He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips." The missing d'Albard twin has been miraculously restored to her birthright."

"But if they do suspect," she persisted. "If the queen should… or Henry should… then you'll be ruined."

"And as I've already told you more times than I can count, love, it wouldn't matter."

Imogen mewed softly, but no words emerged from her tightly compressed lips.

"We should go," Miles said. "The barge awaits and Henry will be impatient."

"Aye, I daresay he's pacing the halls of Greenwich already," Gareth agreed with a chuckle. "Come, my wards, let us enter the lion's den."

Maude cast Miranda a look that was both nervous and excited before they left the bedchamber. Miranda squeezed her hand.

Chip chittered from Robbie's lap as they went out, then before the boy could react, he leaped onto the sill and dropped through the window.

"Oh, Chip! Come back!" Robbie leaned out after him but the monkey was already clambering down the ivy and merely raised a scrawny arm in farewell. Robbie, who knew his limitations where Chip was concerned, withdrew his head and began to contemplate what new delights he could explore in this palace. The kitchen was as good a place as any to start, and had proved fruitful already. The cook and one of the housekeepers had taken a fancy to him and they were baking apple tarts this afternoon…

"Don't forget that you're not supposed to know the duke is really Henry," Imogen murmured in a harsh, urgent whisper as they stepped into the barge.

Maude and Miranda merely exchanged a look and Imogen said no more. Something had happened to change the Lady Imogen during the sisters' absence. No one said anything about it and the earl had dismissed all Miranda's tentative probing in such fashion that she'd lost interest in the exercise.

As the barge pulled into midstream, a small creature in a red jacket sprang from the bank to land amidships with a gleeful cry. "Oh, Chip!" Miranda exclaimed. "You're not supposed to come. I told you to stay with

Robbie… no, don't jump on me, you'll make me all dirty!"

Chip ignored this and wrapped his arms around her neck, disarranging her ruff. His bright eyes darted around the circle of faces, looking for possible objections to his presence. Gareth sighed and held up a hand to silence Imogen's embryonic protests.

"He'll have to stay on the barge at Greenwich, Miranda. Can you convince him of that?"

"I'll try," she said a shade doubtfully, disentangling Chip's arms from her neck. She held him up away from her and he put his head on one side, such a picture of supplication that she burst out laughing, quite unable to scold him. Chip grinned in response and jumped down. Solemnly, he went around the group, holding out his hand to be shaken. But he didn't attempt to approach Imogen, who had retreated to the rail with an air of resigned disgust.

Henry of Navarre was not waiting in the halls of Greenwich but anxiously pacing the quayside at the palace water steps. He had been staying as a guest of the queen since his betrothed's illness had coincided with his host's absence on urgent family business. Now he eagerly awaited the Lady Maude, newly restored to health and once again able to take her place at court.

And he'd been told to expect a surprise.

When the two young women stepped from the barge flying the Harcourt standard, Henry stared, dumbstruck for the first time in a very eventful life. Which one of them was his? Then he saw the serpent bracelet on the wrist of the girl in turquoise. His eyes flew to the earl of Harcourt, who smiled, took Maude by the hand, and drew her forward.

"You see that the Lady Maude is fully restored to health, sir…oh, and pray allow me to present the reason for my absence-Maude's twin sister, the Lady Miranda d'Albard."

Miranda curtsied with a demure smile and Henry, still stupefied, bowed over her hand.

"You must be quite astonished, my lord duke," Imogen declared, her voice strong, her smile confident. "As are we all. My brother discovered that Elena's other daughter has been living in a convent since that dreadful night when nuns found her, a poor abandoned babe and-"

"Indeed, Duke, it is an amazing story," Gareth interrupted smoothly before Imogen could become en-mired in detail. "I had news of Miranda's whereabouts some weeks ago, but since I wasn't sure how I would find her, it seemed best to investigate the situation before making the details public."

"Indeed," Henry said, still quite unable to grasp the reality of this glowing pair of young women who had the identical gleam of mischief in their identical blue eyes. "Her Majesty is unaware of this… this surprise?"

"For the moment," Gareth said with something approaching a grin. "If you will escort Maude, Duke, 1 shall escort her sister. The queen is expecting us."

Maude slipped her hand into Henry's arm and smiled up at him, her long lashes fluttering. "I have missed you, my lord," she murmured.

"Not near as much as I have missed you, ma chere," Henry responded, his eyes sparkling with pleasure at her admission. "You're quite recovered?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, sir," Maude said blithely. "I've never felt better in my life."

"Curiously, I don't think I've ever seen you looking better," Henry observed, with a slight frown. "You seem to have caught the sun… across the bridge of your nose… here." He lightly brushed the feature in question. "I do believe you have a dusting of freckles there. Now, how did you acquire those on a sickbed?"

"I sat in the window, my lord," Maude replied demurely. "I found the sun good for my spirits. I trust you don't find the freckles distasteful?"

"No… no… not in the least," he said hastily. "Quite delightful… just a little surprising," he added in an undertone.

Maude smiled.

The party continued up the tiled pathway to the sweep of lawn in front of the palace. The scene was now familiar to Miranda and held none of the terrors of her first appearance at court, but on this occasion there were other worries. Henry appeared to have accepted the earl's "surprise" but how would others react? The answer came swiftly.

The Rossiter brothers were the first to see them. Brian was rendered mute, his mouth opening and closing, his eyes on stalks, darting between the two identical visions. Kip's smile was that of a man who has been proved right. He bowed over Miranda's hand and cast a quick complicit glance at Gareth, who merely returned it with a bland smile of his own.

"Her Majesty will receive the earl of Harcourt." Gareth nodded to the chamberlain. "My wards…" He offered an arm to each. Henry relinquished Maude with clear reluctance, and his eyes continued to follow them with frowning speculation.

They progressed through the series of antechambers to the queen's privy chamber, apparently oblivious of the stares and whispers that accompanied them. But Gareth was aware of the sisters' tension because he was so aware of his own. This was the acid test. If the queen accepted the story then no one would ever question it. And for all his protestations, it did matter to him. His ambition was as powerful and driving as ever. It had simply taken on another dimension. Miranda.

Elizabeth was rarely startled but when the earl of Harcourt presented the Lady Miranda d'Albard she simply stared in silence for what seemed an eternity. Then she rose from her chair and demanded, "Explain, my lord. I do not understand this."

"I have been trying for many years to discover what had happened to Maude's twin sister, madam," Gareth said smoothly. "I've had people asking the length and breadth of France and I've followed various reports, but until a few months ago they all proved fruitless. But then I received news of a young woman living with the Cistercian nuns in Languedoc. I took the opportunity to follow up the report on my recent sojourn in France. You can imagine my delight when I found Miranda." He drew Miranda forward. "You can see, madam, that there can be no doubt that she is the missing d'Albard twin."

The queen examined Miranda closely. She walked all around her as Miranda remained in a deep curtsy, praying that this «time she'd be able to recover without awkwardness. "Well, I must congratulate you, Lord Harcourt," Her Majesty pronounced eventually. "The resemblance is quite extraordinary. But you must have been amazingly vigilant in your pursuit of the mystery. I wonder why I had no idea that the girl existed?" Her plucked eyebrows rose and her vibrant eyes flashed. Her Majesty was not best pleased. She didn't like surprises.

Gareth bowed and humbly apologized. "An oversight, madam. The search was something of a hobby of mine. I never expected it to succeed. I assumed as did her father that Miranda had been murdered with her mother and her body had somehow disappeared."

"I see." Her Majesty continued to examine Miranda with a frown. Maude stood silent and unregarded. Miranda wondered desperately how long she would have to remain in a curtsy. The position was growing increasingly uncomfortable, even for an acrobat. Finally, the queen turned away from her and she was able to rise. She glanced sideways at Maude, who grimaced sympathetically. The queen had not acknowledged Miranda's presentation; she might just as well have been inanimate.

"So you'll be making another advantageous connection for the d'Albards," the queen said. "Do you have an alliance in mind, my lord?"

"Not as yet, madam. Lady Miranda is still very new to the world outside the convent. I had thought to give her some time to become accustomed to her new life before looking for a suitable husband."

"I see." Elizabeth's mouth was very small, her eyes still flashing displeasure. "And on that subject, I understand from Lady Mary Abernathy that your engagement is broken."

Gareth bowed again. "To my regret, madam. But Lady Mary felt that we would not suit."

"I see," Elizabeth said again. "I find that passing strange, my lord. Such an advantageous connection will not come her way again."

Gareth said nothing. Miranda held her breath, aware that Maude was doing the same. Then the queen said, "Well, I'll have to see if I can't find someone for her. She's been languishing at court for too long." She waved a hand in irritable dismissal and Gareth backed to the door. Miranda and Maude needed no encouragement to follow suit and finally they were safely on the far side of the door.

Gareth exhaled slowly. "Christ and his saints! May I never go through anything like that again."

"But it was all right?" Miranda asked. "She did accept the story."

Gareth smiled down at her and brushed the curve of her cheek with his knuckles. "Yes, she did, love. But what she will do when she hears that you and I are to be wed, I daren't imagine."

"I doubt it'll be as bad as when she discovers that the duke of Roissy is really Henry of France," Maude said.

"Oh, she'll get over that," Gareth said definitely. "Her Majesty is a very pragmatic sovereign. The advantages to herself in such a connection will soon outweigh any annoyance she may feel at being deceived. And you may be assured she'll understand absolutely why Henry felt it necessary to disguise his presence in England… Come, let's return to the garden, I find this atmosphere a trifle oppressive." He laughed and he didn't sound in the least oppressed as he swept them ahead of him back outside to where Henry was waiting for them.

"You seem a trifle abstracted, my lord duke," Miranda observed as they rejoined Henry.

He shook his head in disclaimer, but his eyes were still speculative as he looked between the two sisters. "I am just wondering," he said slowly, "if I have ever met you before, Lady Miranda."

This king of France was far too sharp for anyone's good, Miranda thought, even as she smiled and said, "I assure you, sir, that if you have, it was without my knowledge."

"Mmm." He sounded unconvinced. "Maude, let us take a walk." He took her hand abruptly and marched away with her, Maude having to skip to keep up with his long stride.

In the seclusion of a quiet arbor, dominated by an ancient oak tree, Henry stopped. He turned Maude to face him and looked gravely into her eyes. "Now, tell me the truth. Has it always been you?"

Maude's cerulean blue gaze met his steadily. "Always, my lord. How could you doubt it?"

"I require convincing," Henry said, and pinpricks of light began to flicker behind the gravity in his black eyes.

"In this fashion, my lord duke?" Maude inquired as she reached up to hold his face between her hands and then stood on tiptoe to kiss him. She had intended a light, brushing kiss but Henry gathered her to him, crushing her against his broad chest, his tongue against her lips demanding entrance, and Maude opened her mouth to him with a little sigh of pleasure. This kiss was like none that had gone before. Henry was demanding something from her, a commitment, a promise, a declaration of her own passion. For a fleeting moment, Maude thought of the Benedictine convent. It was the last time she ever gave the religious life a second thought.

Henry drew her down onto a stone bench, pulling her onto his lap with hands both rough and yet curiously tender. Maude nuzzled his beard, inhaling the earthy scent of his hair and skin. She thought of Miranda-Miranda who knew all about this business of loving and clearly found it good. With a little sigh, she yielded to arousal, moving her body against Henry's, aware of the hard ridge of flesh growing beneath her thighs, aware of the heat of his skin, the urgency of his touch, as his hands slipped inside her bodice. Her breasts tingled with delight at the caress of his warm palms, her nipples hardening beneath his fingers. Maude's last coherent thought was that her sister had been keeping these delights to herself for all too long, Henry made a valiant effort to rein himself in, but Maude's passionate response was too much for control. She fitted her body to his as easily and readily as if it was meant to be, thrusting aside her skirts with careless haste. Amid the heated tangle of limbs and skirts and petticoats their bodies fused and Maude's initial cry was more of surprise than pain. Neither of them noticed when the clasp on the serpentine bracelet broke open, as Maude rose and fell with the wondrous rhythm of loving.

"Do you think Henry knows?" Miranda asked as her sister was borne off by the king of France toward the seclusion of the arbor.

"Maybe," Gareth replied. "But at the moment, I couldn't give a damn. Come, we're going home."

"Just leaving, milord!" Miranda exclaimed in mock horror. "Just like that!"

"Just like that," Gareth said firmly. "We'll take a wherry and leave-the barge for the others."

"But what of Chip? He's waiting in the barge."

"You don't really believe he won't find us?" Gareth's eyebrows rose in mock astonishment. "As it happens, I'm perfectly resigned to his company." He took her hand and taking a leaf from Henry's book began to walk swiftly toward the river.

"Fortunately, Chip seems perfectly resigned to you, milord," Miranda said sweetly, hanging back with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

"Oh, believe me, I'm aware of how fortunate that is. Now, march! I grow impatient." Miranda chuckled and marched.

A shaft of moonlight piercing the interwoven leaves of the ancient oak in the now-deserted arbor caught the glow of pearl, the glitter of gold, the luster of emerald, amid the oak's moss-encrusted roots.

In the Beginning…

The alchemist watched the liquefied gold swirl like mercury in the flat iron skillet. He tilted the pan over the flames of the hearth and the precious metal rolled in on itself to form a tube. He drew the pan off the fire and plunged it into the tub of water beside his stool. The water hissed and boiled as if it would spit out the thing that it had engulfed. When the alchemist raised the pan the gold was solidifying.

He took the pan to the table and dropped the gold onto its surface. A ray of sunlight fell through the chimney hole in the roof of the wattle-and-daub hut and the gold glittered. The alchemist took up his tools: the fine needle, sharp as a dagger point, the flat file. He began to shape the gold, using his fingers to begin with, and the serpentine coils appeared in rough form. Then with needle and file he created the serpent. Within each sinuous curve he embedded a pearl and the living gold, "took the gem into itself, hardening around it, enclosing it with its shape.

The serpent's head, its mouth, took form beneath the alchemist's tools. He worked deftly but quickly, before the gold could harden. And when the head was formed to his satisfaction, he took the one pearl that was left… a great, glowing, translucent, living gem… and inserted it into the serpent's mouth.

Then the alchemist surveyed his work. Day had given way to night and the light of the evening star now filled the chimney hole. He held the bracelet in the palm of his hand. It was a gift of love. A gift worthy of Eve. A gift to bind a woman for eternity.

So enraptured was he, he didn't hear the shouts from beyond the hut, the screams from the beach. He was aware of nothing until the first burning brands were thrown through the doorway. He ran from the conflagration. The Norsemen surrounded the village, their longboats pulled up on the sand. Flames leaped into the sky. The screams of women, the weeping of babies, the moans of the dying, filled his ears before the ax brought his own death.

The Norsemen left the village at daybreak, taking with them the spoils of their raid. Women, a few children, what material goods they had found in this isolated village in Anglia. As they rowed away from devastation, the flames subsided, the village smoldered. Nothing lived in the ashes but the dull glimmer of gold, the glow of pearl.

The serpentine bracelet emerged untouched from the flames of destruction.