Midnight Eyes Page 14

  He was silent for a second, then she could hear a chuckle start softly and the rumble grew till he was roaring. “All that because I was looking at you!” he spluttered. “Good God, woman, I’ll always be looking at you, given half a chance.”

  She put her hands on her hips and began to tap her toe, which set him off again. She heard the air rush out of the cushion as he collapsed into a chair and began gasping for air.

  “When you’re finished…” she bit out, her fury rising steadily. He didn’t seem to be that afraid, snaking out a hand and wrapping it around her hips, tumbling her onto his lap in a sprawl.

  “Oh, Imogen,” he breathed, holding her close.

  Slowly she could feel the tension begin to drain from her as her body bent itself around the warmth of his.

  They sat in a silence broken only by the crackle of the fire on the grate.

  “I suppose I was being a bit silly,” she said slowly, and Robert had to smile at the resentful admission.

  “Well, I think throwing cutlery because I’m looking at you might be seen by some as a bit that way, yes.”

  She sighed and absentmindedly nuzzled his neck. “I hate this feeling of helplessness. It’s the knowing you can see me being unable to do things any four-year-old can do that upsets me.” She smiled ruefully. “That is only fitting, I suppose, as it also seems to make me behave a little like a four-year-old. I don’t think I will ever manage to do it.”

  “Of course you will do it.” He covered her mouth with his hand to forestall any protest. “Not instantly, no, but you will have to trust me when I tell you that you will do it.”

  She lifted his hand away with both of hers. “You really think so?”

  “Well it’s either that, or I spend the rest of my life ducking your cutlery.”

  She’d smiled at him, rather enticingly, he thought, but as he went to kiss her, she clambered off his lap and went back over to the table.

  She sat herself regally in the chair and raised her eyebrows at him. “Well, shall we begin again, or will it have to be a knife this time?”

  “No, not the knife!” He spoke in mock horror, but his smile was real.

  They worked on the problems, and in the absence of tension the time flowed easily between them. They laughed and teased, kissed and made love. In the warm glow of their togetherness, Robert felt some of his fears dissipating and he threw everything he had into the project. He longed desperately for Imogen to conquer all of her demons, no matter how small.

  Only after much food had fallen, and the odd piece of cutlery thrown by both parties, did a solution come to Robert. A doubtful look filtered over Imogen’s face as he explained to her what he had superiorly called his stroke of genius.

  “Just put the food on the plate in a certain order?”

  “Yes.” He started heaping things in neat little piles on the plate. “Like the furniture in this room. If you know where the meat is, where the bread is and so forth, and it’s the same every time, then as long as you can locate the plate, you should be able to eat neatly enough.”

  “But I won’t be able to set up my plate like that.”

  He placed the plate precisely in front of her and then sat down in the chair next to hers. “Don’t be slow-witted! I’ll fill it for you. Now, the order could be like this.” He carefully explained how the food was arranged. Giving her the spoon, he sat back and watched.

  She scowled as she began to carefully navigate her way around the plate. He watched with growing pride as a confidence began to appear in her movements. And he had helped give that to her. He could feel that hard, dark place in his soul start to melt a little more.

  When the last morsel of food made it cleanly to her mouth, she put down her spoon carefully beside the plate and sat there primly for a second, then let out a whoop of pure joy. She was laughing and crying at once as she threw herself into Robert’s arms. He was unable to resist kissing her, tasting the sweet laughter on her lips.

  But that elation swiftly changed to anxiety when she had to dress for her first meal in the main hall.

  She fidgeted and fussed over her gown and, no matter how often Robert tried to reassure her that she looked stunning, nerves ate away her confidence. After the third change of clothes he began to seriously doubt whether his sanity would survive this excursion.

  “We don’t have to go down if you don’t want to,” he said in desperation. “I’m more than happy to eat up here with you.”

  “No. I won’t hide, even if you’re willing to hide with me.” She took a large, shuddering breath. “Now, are you sure I look all right?”

  “Imogen you are wonderful and look wonderful.” He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and looped her arm through his. “Now, let’s go and stun my poor, unsuspecting garrison.”

  As they walked into the main hall he found himself running a finger around the suddenly too-tight neck of his tunic, starting to feel almost as nervous as Imogen, but for vastly different reasons. He hadn’t enjoyed his first brush with jealousy and wasn’t looking forward to it rearing its ugly head again.

  A hush fell over the hall as all eyes turned to them.

  Instead of the drowning blackness of earlier however, Robert felt himself standing taller as a glowing pride grew inside him at the open admiration in all the men’s eyes. He felt only pride that this woman, with all the apparent serenity and dignity of a queen, was his. There was no room for jealousy when pride and love filled every available space inside him.

  Every man in the hall was captivated.

  Rumors had, of course, been flying around the Keep about Imogen since her appearance several days earlier, and Gareth had been busy dispelling the myths about Lady Deformed with a vengeance.

  And now finally she stood there, allowing them to satisfy all of their burning curiosity.

  Robert heard the unanimous sigh of satisfaction and could only smile silently in agreement. Imogen always had that effect, whether she knew it or not. They slowly walked up to the main dais and, once seated, the kitchen doors opened and the food and drink flooded in. Soon the silence was filled with the sounds of the knights eating.

  Robert frowned with concentration as he filled Imogen’s dish and carefully placed it in front of her. He started to move away but was stopped by her grabbing hold of his hand with an unerring accuracy.

  She hesitated for a second, then leaned over to him and whispered an earnest “Thank you” before placing a small kiss on his cheek.

  He held her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Imogen, you have nothing to thank me for. I only helped you work things out that you would eventually have worked out for yourself. It’s your own bravery that has got you thus far, nothing more.”

  She blushed and looked about to say something else when another hush fell over the hall. Robert dragged his eyes away from Imogen’s face and a scowl appeared on his face as he caught sight of Gareth standing near the dais, his face split with a satisfied grin.

  Damn the man! When Robert got him alone he’d…Robert mentally pulled his thoughts to an abrupt halt, and then sighed. It would appear that he hadn’t been as miraculously cured of jealousy as he thought.

  “Sir Gareth,” Robert said formally, not willing to give the other man any encouragement. Not that Imogen shared his reserve. Far from it. At the sound of Gareth’s name a look of pure delight filtered over her face.

  “Gareth, are you there?”

  Her evident pleasure at the prospect grated along Robert’s nerves.

  “My lady, wherever you are, I will always be, needing only a glimmer of your smile to sustain me.”

  It was such extravagant flattery that even Robert smiled. A little. And not so that Gareth could see and construe it as approval for his outrageous behavior.

  Imogen arched her eyebrow. “Flirting still, Sir Knight?”

  “Still!” Robert growled darkly, but no one heard it over Gareth’s: “Only with you, my lady.”

  Imogen’s laughter rang out over the hall. “Why
is it I never get the last word when we speak, Sir Knight? Surely giving it to me would be the only chivalrous thing to do?”

  Gareth said nothing for a moment, then exhaled loudly. “Sorry, my lady, I tried, but even for you I can’t keep my mouth shut.”

  “That is no surprise,” Robert said tersely, but Gareth only grinned at him.

  “Lady Imogen, as much as I love being warmed by the glow of your presence, it would seem I’m making your husband restless, so, against my better nature, I’ll get myself to the point.” He went down on one knee with a flourish, and whipped a large bouquet from behind his back. “Whispers of you gracing us with your presence had reached me, and I thought that, as you were giving us such a gift, then perhaps I should gift you with this small”—Robert snorted loudly at the inaccuracy of that appellation—“bouquet in return.”

  Gareth placed the bouquet gently on her lap and, after reaching up for her hand, bowed over it.

  Robert’s eyebrow shot up when he got a closer look at the bouquet. “Gareth, why have you given my lady wife a bunch of leaves?”

  “Because, Robert, I’m good, but not that good. Even I can’t produce flowers out of the snow.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Besides, I thought Imogen would get more pleasure out of richly scented herbs than gaudily colored flowers.”

  Imogen reached out a shaking hand and ran a fingertip over the bouquet. She gently crushed a leaf between her fingers and released the earth-rich smell of apple-scented chamomile into the air. She inhaled deeply, filling her senses with it for a moment, then she carefully placed the bouquet onto the table. The dampness on her cheeks glistened openly in the candlelight.

  “Help me up,” she whispered hoarsely to Robert, who instantly obeyed, as stunned as the rest by her raw emotion.

  “Thank you, Sir Gareth. You were indeed right, they are a beautiful gift and I scarce know how to thank you properly.” She said it all with perfectly acceptable formality, but then, as if unable to help herself, she bent down and placed a single kiss on his cheek.

  Robert didn’t have time for jealousy, not now. One look around the hall was enough for him to realize that he had other, far more pressing things to worry about. Looks of admiration had been replaced with ones of open worship. The sight of a lady being so overwhelmed by such a simple gift had worked its way under years of brutality to the soft place underneath that many of the knights had scarce been aware they had. Robert could barely resist the urge to groan in frustration. Thirty hardened warriors he knew how to deal with. Thirty lovesick grown men, however, might prove to be a problem.

  He was in trouble.

  Gareth’s smile caught his eye. As Robert glared at him ferociously, Gareth just winked at him and as he stood up whispered into Robert’s ear. “With thirty men willing to kill their own mothers to keep her safe, at least you know she will never come to any harm.”

  Robert cast a quick glance around the hall, and grimaced. “I might come to harm, though. I’ll get crushed by their mailed feet as they rush to be by her side.”

  Gareth shrugged his shoulders. “It will keep you on your toes.”

  Robert sighed and reached for the mead.

  The only person who seemed oblivious to the impending chaos was Imogen herself. Entirely unaware of the furor she had inadvertently caused, she set about calmly eating her dinner, pausing from time to time to caress her bouquet of herbs.

  Robert smiled despite himself. Things might not be turning out quite as he had planned, but married life was beginning to suit him. He filled Imogen’s cup and placed it carefully at her hand.

  It was suiting him very well indeed.

  Chapter Nine

  The sound of Imogen’s laughter on the breeze drew Robert to the window. The courtyard below was bathed in sunlight, the snow of the long winter almost a memory, but it wasn’t the joy of the new season that filled Robert with warmth. No, it was the sound of Imogen’s laughter coming from the practice yard that brought a gentle smile to his face.

  He’d organized the space as soon as his men had started arriving on his doorstep, and now most hours of the day the courtyard was filled with the clash of steel on steel. Today, however, instead of the sound of men practicing war, all that could be heard was the murmur of voices and laughter. Yet again, it would seem, Imogen was distracting the men from their serious business. Not that they weren’t easily distracted, Robert thought wryly.

  She had only to appear outdoors and his men willingly laid down their arms just so that they might have a chance to vie for her attention, like now. Robert tried to find her in the scene below his window but he could catch only occasional glimpses of her amongst the half-naked, bronzed, sweating bodies that clustered around her. Despite that, however, her presence seemed to fill the whole courtyard.

  Robert shook his head at the folly of his men, but he was smiling all the same. How could he blame his men for being captured in her flame when he himself was one of her most willing victims? Her growing confidence and delight at the new world she was discovering was a rare jewel in a warrior’s hard life, and Robert was loath to miss a moment of it.

  She was trying to catch up on life after years of waking sleep and she was throwing herself into the small world of the Keep with a will. Sometimes it was exhausting just to watch her human whirlwind. Everything was of interest to her, and she was tireless in the pursuit of anything that caught that interest.

  Robert smiled fondly as he caught the occasional glimpse of her chatting animatedly to his men. Ladies were not normally seen in a practice yard, or even showed any interest in the masculine domains, but when the lady was Imogen, it would have been impossible to keep her out.

  There was nothing conventional about his lady.

  Robert leaned on the window’s edge and watched the men reluctantly return to their work as Gareth entered the yard, their departing bodies revealing fully to his eager gaze a blooming Imogen and a clearly wilting Mary. The old woman was obviously struggling to keep up with the newly revitalized Imogen.

  A part of Robert was more than willing to lift the burden from Mary’s shoulders and in fact he longed to be Imogen’s eyes in the exciting new world she was discovering all around. But he didn’t, his logic ruthlessly reminding him that to do so would be like giving her the last piece of his soul. Pride demanded that he didn’t give her all of himself unless he knew for certain he had all of her in return.

  That he didn’t was like finding a dark corruption in paradise.

  Every time he was near her, he could feel her hidden truths standing like unbreachable walls between them, he thought with a frown as he watched the two women disappear into the walled kitchen garden and out of his view.

  It was only when he was no longer distracted by the beautiful puzzle that was his wife that he spotted a man in the shadows of the wall, watching Imogen as she passed.

  Robert’s frown only deepened when he recognized the watcher as the priest who had married them. Ian. That was what Imogen had called him. Roger’s friend.

  His initial dislike for the man had crystallized into something firmer. He hated the way the man always seemed to be where Imogen was, watching her every move, his pale eyes following her. Robert dearly wanted to get rid of the man, but something stayed his hand.

  He feared how Imogen might react if she realized just how closely Roger was having her watched. He refused to upset the fragile balance they had found, but at the same time he made a small mental note that the second he could get rid of the man without Imogen being aware, he would do so with great pleasure.

  The loud knock on the door drew him from his brooding thoughts with a start. “Come in,” he called, and sat down quickly at his desk, vaguely embarrassed at the thought of being caught staring longingly into the practice yard. It seemed better to pretend to be busy at the Keep’s ledgers than mooning after his own wife. When he looked up from the meaningless numbers, the sight of Sir Edmond holding a protesting lamb gave him pause.

  The young knight lo
oked uncomfortable but also strangely proud at the same time as he held the wriggling bundle with his arms outstretched.

  Robert rested his elbows on the table, steepled his hands and raised his finger to his lips.

  “And just why exactly have you brought me a sheep, Sir Edmond?”

  The young man flushed a deep red and lowered his eyes with patent embarrassment. “It’s not for you,” he mumbled.

  Robert laughed out loud but knew he shouldn’t be amused. After all, this kind of thing had been going on for weeks and surely he shouldn’t be encouraging the lunacy? It was Gareth’s fault, of course. His gift of aromatic herbs had started an unofficial competition amongst the men. Every man jack of them seemed to be battling hard to earn themselves a kiss of their own and there seemed to be no length to which they wouldn’t go in the pursuit of their goal.

  Even the normally sane Matthew had entered into the madness, Robert remembered with a rueful grin as he met the baleful stare of the lamb. Only that morning, the old man had proudly presented Imogen with a soft duck’s feather, his knees cracking outrageously as he had knelt gallantly on the stone floor in front of the main hearth.

  Robert had wanted to laugh at the old man’s foolishness, and he suspected it was a desire shared by all who were witness to the folly, but Matthew’s fierce glare had forestalled any such reaction. Imogen, however, hadn’t noticed the suppressed amusement as she reached out and helped the old man to his feet. She had scolded him harshly for his foolishness. But she had smiled and her cheeks had been clearly flushed with pleasure at the chivalrous gesture from the usually crusty old man.

  She had given him a hug and asked him if he would act as her escort on her inspection of the storeroom, to checked the freshness of the spices.

  The blissfully smug smile on Matthew’s face as he had taken her arm and led her away had killed all amusement, dead. And it had apparently inspired a new wave of creativity in the Pleasing-Imogen Tournament, Robert realized as he dispassionately observed the sheep that Sir Edmond was trying to hold begin to wriggle its way to freedom.