Page 88 of A Queen's Match
“Should we head back to the house?” May suggested gently. “We could go visit Eddy together?”
George shook his head. “Actually, I’d like to pray for a while. Would you stay with me?”
“Of course.” May shifted back onto the kneeler and dipped her head, her earrings swaying with the movement. She folded her hands and closed her eyes.
She did not pray for Eddy’s swift recovery. She prayed for him to forgive her, for him to end their engagement without harming her, and for some miracle that might allow her to be with George, despite the mess she had made. All her choices had seemed like the right thing at the time, but May saw now how mistake had built on mistake, until she was tangled insuch a knot of hurt and betrayal that she couldn’t break outof it.
That was what she prayed for now—a way out.
As long as Eddy’s fate hung in the balance, then so didMay’s.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Eddy
“We need to tell Grannie,”George was saying. “Hasn’tanyone told her? Is she coming?”
Tell her what?Eddy tried to ask his brother, but the words felt clunky in his mouth. And he was so cold. He must be at Balmoral; it was the draftiest, coldest castle. There were never enough fires there, and if you did try to start one, the wood would hiss in angry protest….
“Grannie is going to be so angry.” George glanced nervously over his shoulder at the door. “We really shouldn’t.”
“Don’t you want to feel how heavy it is? I’ve never held a real sword. Have you?” Eddy asked, well aware that George had not.
A flicker of longing darted over his little brother’s face. “Fine. But let’s hurry.”
It was almost too easy, convincing George to do something illicit. And really, what else were they meant to do on a rainy day at Balmoral if not explore these dusty old sitting rooms? Eddy and George had wandered through the familiar spaces, rapidly deciding that this one—with its assortment of traditional Scottish weaponry and clan insignia on the walls—was their favorite. Then their eyes had caught on Grandpapa Albert’s old sword.
Eddy stood on tiptoe, straining his fingers toward the sword, but he wasn’t tall enough.
“I’ll have to lift you,” he muttered, kneeling down. “Get on my shoulders, all right?”
It wasn’t the first time Eddy had carried George in the name of a prank, like when Eddy had convinced George—draped in an oversized bedsheet—to ride piggyback into the kitchens on All Hallows’ Eve, moaning like the dead. Chef was so startled he’d dropped an apple turnover onto the floor.
George obediently climbed onto Eddy’s shoulders. Eddy stood with a groan, and George grabbed the sword by the hilt. “Got it!”
Eddy winced as he knelt back down. “You’re getting heavier.”
“Iamsix,” George said defensively. He clambered down from Eddy’s shoulders, holding tight to the sword. “Do you think Grandpapa ever used this?”
Eddy reached for the weapon, and George handed it over without protest. “No. It was probably just a ceremonial gift. But that doesn’t meanwecan’t use it,” he added, adopting a fencing stance. “Get back, you evil knight!”
George didn’t jump into a fighting stance the way Louise would have. He gave a very put-upon sigh. “Why do I always have to be the villain?”
“Because I’m older,” Eddy replied, stating the obvious. “Grab one of the pokers from the fire; that can be your sword.”
George looked annoyed but did as Eddy asked, brandishing the poker like a weapon. “Get back, knight! I will destroyyou!”
Eddy and George moved about the sitting room, their weapons colliding in various jabs and ripostes. They jumpedover sofas, climbed up onto ottomans as they fenced and parried their way around the room, which had become their own personal battlefield. The sword was heavy, and Eddy’s arm was starting to get tired, but he refused to trade with George. This had been his idea; he should get the better weapon. And besides, he was the big brother. The stronger one.
But George must have gotten stronger than he realized, because he landed a particularly solid blow, and Eddy dropped the sword.
The impact of the metal hitting the wooden floor echoed through the whole house.
He and George exchanged a worried glance, then dropped to the floor, both reaching for the sword. George got there first—
“What onearthis going on here?”
The brothers shot back up, both bowing at the waist. “Sorry, Grandmother,” they chorused.
