Midnight Eyes. Sarah Brophy
behind her that she could feel the heat of him making her skin crawl and he had told her calmly that he was nearly finished playing games with her. His victory was now in plain sight. He had wanted her to know that, wanted her to know the man he had chosen to destroy her, wanted her to know that she had no way to save herself.
Knowledge, as she had learned through hard experience, was in itself a frustratingly inadequate weapon. After all, she had known his dark, twisted jealousies and brooding hatreds all of her life, but she had not been able to stop them from claiming her sight.
And now he was after her body and soul.
She had to stop thinking, knowing that in those memories lay a strange kind of madness. She turned toward the window, feeling the pale glow of the winter sun on her skin. God, how she wanted to live!
She sighed and raised her hand to her aching forehead. “I can’t stop him, Mary. I know what he plans, but I can’t see anyway that I can stop him.”
“Perhaps this is really the king’s plan, like Roger says.” Mary’s voice rang with a conviction that Imogen didn’t dare let herself believe. “Maybe it really is all about the cruel joke the king wanted to play on Beaumont.”
“I don’t know if I like being thought of as a cruel joke,” Imogen said dryly. She heard Mary’s embarrassed fluster and allowed herself a small, tight smile. She groped for her dear friends hands and when she found them, she also found comfort in their work-roughened familiarity. She took a deep, steadying breath.
“Mary, you must believe that the threat is real. I can hear the triumph in Roger’s letter. He is now a step closer to his goal of annihilating me and he has chosen Beaumont and the king to bring it about. They are ways and means only but never doubt that the threat is real, the outcome uncertain, and I will ask you once again to leave this accursed Keep.”
Mary gave Imogen’s hand a reassuring squeeze, silently communicating her loyalty and support, but Imogen refused to let herself give in to that offered strength.
“Roger’s hatred might not be appeased by merely tormenting me and, if not, it will spread, destroying all it touches. I couldn’t bear for you to be caught up in this. It is enough for you to have shared so many dark hours with me. I can’t let you end them with me.” Imogen drew another deep, shuddering breath. “Mary, please go.”
“I’m here because I want to be here and here I will stay. You can’t tell me to leave, my girl, because you never invited me to be here in the first place,” Mary said gruffly. “Besides, just where do you think I’m going to drag these old bones? No, I’m happy enough here by this piddling fire, thank you very much.”
“But Mary…”
“No buts. You won’t be rid of me that easily.”
Imogen smiled, tremulous with tears. “I know it’s selfish, I know it’s wrong, but I’m so relieved that you will stay. I fear the dark alone.”
“I think a little selfishness never hurt anyone much, and remember I’m being selfish too. I love you like a daughter, and I can think of nowhere I’d rather be and no one I’d rather be with.”
Imogen bowed and buried her head in the old woman’s coarse skirts. A warm hand covered her hair. For a moment neither of them needed to speak, and then Mary cleared her throat, trying to remove the huskiness.
“So, Imogen, what do we do now?”
Imogen rolled her head to the side but let it remain on Mary’s knee. “Now, Mary, we wait.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And we pray.”
Chapter One
“You don’t mean to tell me that you have dragged me halfway across this frozen wasteland of a country to farm rocks amongst starving peasants? Because, if you have, Boy…”
Robert smiled absently, his mind concentrating on the deceptively repetitive horizon, but about two days ago he had stopped listening to Matthew’s constant whining.
Ideally, he should have left the old man and his endless steam of complaints back in the London inn that they had been calling home, but he had no idea how such a thing could have been achieved. After all, as he hadn’t invited him to come along in the first place, there was no way he could really have invited him to stay behind.
From many years of hard experience Robert had learnt that nothing in the mortal realm moved Matthew one inch unless the cantankerous old man wanted to be moved. Just because the man called himself squire didn’t mean that he actually took orders at any point.
Which was also only logical, Robert thought with a wry smile, considering that the position itself was entirely self-appointed.
It had happened in Robert’s first battle as a knight when he had been forcefully removed from his horse. He was hacking his way to a certain doom when he had heard a yell from the skies. Matthew had jumped from a nearby tree and cut down the man who had been about to fatally attack Robert from the rear. For the rest of the bloodbath they had fought back-to-back till their retreat had been called.
When they were safe, Robert had tried, clumsily, to thank the man for his timely intervention. Matthew had just looked him in the eye and said, “God may look after the stupid, but obviously he’s handed you over to me for a little closer attention.”
And so Matthew had become his squire and had stayed with him ever since. Robert couldn’t help but view the association as something of a mixed blessing. While he knew that there was no more loyal and trustworthy squire to be found in all of England, that sometimes couldn’t make up for the fact that more often than not Matthew treated Robert as a wayward, slightly backward son. Time had taught Robert when to listen to the old man and when not to. As Matthew didn’t do anything he didn’t want to, Robert felt he could safely ignore his complaining now as an exercise in contrary-mindedness only.
Besides, he had far more important things to dwell on right at this moment.
Absentmindedly he reached down and ran a hand over Dagger’s graying mane. He had worried how the old stallion would withstand such a long journey over indifferent roads in the middle of winter, but all in all he was holding up very well. Still, Robert would be pleased to see journey’s end even if just for his old friend’s sake.
Journey’s end—Robert knew he should be looking forward to it. After all, it was the fulfillment of all his dreams, his reward for years of hard labor. If only it was all that simple, he thought, and let out a disgusted sigh.
It had seemed simple enough when he had been making his plans. All he had wanted was land, something that the changing fortunes of war couldn’t take away from him. He may have come into this world with nothing, but he would be damned before he left it the same way.
Well, he had that land now, but to claim it, he had to marry Lady Imogen. Robert clenched his teeth as he tried to quash the anger that rose every time he recalled how the king and his lover had manipulated him. Now that the deal had been struck there was nothing to be done about it. He would be married by sunset tomorrow and the very land beneath Dagger’s hooves would be his.
The winter snows lay over everything like a blanket and the trees were bare of leaves. It was a spectacle of seasonal desolation, but strangely Robert could feel his soul expanding as he took it all in. The closer they got to their destination, the more entranced he had become with this alien world.
Indeed, everything would be perfect if only Matthew would stop moaning and see the beauty that surrounded him. But Robert knew there was no more chance of that than there was of Dagger taking flight.
The old man sat slumped in his saddle, burying himself deeply into the enormous pile of furs he had procured from one of the towns they had passed. It left visible only his wizened hands, blue with cold, and his condemning eyes. From a distance, he looked like a heap of rags that had been dumped randomly on a horse.
If only he would be as silent as a pile of rags, Robert thought wistfully. However, the old man showed no sign of stopping his steady