Midnight Eyes Read online

  Chapter Ten

  When the first messenger arrived weeks later, Imogen hadn’t even realized that she had been waiting for it, waiting for Roger to stop biding his time and start playing the game in earnest. He timed his little drop of poison well, filling her with it just when she had started to forget how much pain he could inflict. Not that it wasn’t easy enough to forget his darkness when she was surrounded by Robert’s gentle, cleansing light. It seemed that in no time at all, he had changed her world.

  Under his care the Keep had slowly settled into a comfortable rhythm, everyone easily picking up the strands of their new lives. Imogen found herself intoxicated by the simple new life that now enclosed her.

  Tonight she could hear the murmur of women sewing and gossiping by the main hearth, hear the men cleaning their weapons or leathers, their deeper voices a bass note in the gentle, soothing hum that now filled the Keep. To Imogen there was no sweeter sound. She absorbed it as she sat opposite Robert at the main table; a chessboard set up between them and the lamb dozing peacefully at their feet.

  She smiled contentedly as she waited for Robert to make his next move.

  “You’re going to beat me, aren’t you?” he asked incredulously.

  “Of course,” she murmured, her serenity tinged with more than a little satisfaction.

  He looked up and grinned. “No ‘of course’ about it, Little One. Until I decided to teach you this accursed game, I rarely lost.” His brows dropped suspiciously. “But I didn’t teach you the game at all, did I? You already knew how to play before I stumbled on the idea, didn’t you?”

  Her face dimpled. “As much as I’d like to deny it and let you believe that you have been repeatedly beaten by a complete novice I have to confess that my father and I used to play.” She reached out a hand and consolingly patted his. “It has been a while between games, though.”

  She grinned at his loud grunt of disgust and couldn’t help adding smugly, “Pity, really, as I seem to still be good at it.”

  Robert ignored her gloating, turning his attention back to the board. “It’s not the losing I really mind,” he muttered, “so much as the fact that I have only to tell you my move once and you remember it. You seem to hold the whole game in your head and I don’t care what you say, that can’t be natural.”

  She shrugged her shoulders delicately. “Maybe it isn’t natural, but you have to admit that it’s very effective.”

  “Witch!” he growled, and her delighted laughter brought more than one masculine head up. Even the lamb lifted his own head for a moment. Curious, he eyed his humans with a mild interest before returning to the more important business of sleeping on his mistress’s foot.

  Robert continued to scowl as he made the only move she had effectively left him and read out the coordinates for her grudgingly. He leaned back in the great chair and watched as her brilliant little brain analyzed the move, her thoughts scarcely discernible on her face. It took a depressingly few seconds for her to come up with her countermove, Robert thought dourly, as she rattled off the coordinates with all the confidence of a woman who knew she had won, and won decisively. Her “Checkmate, I believe,” was almost endearingly smug.

  Almost.

  Robert moved the piece as ordered and knocked over his king in surrender.

  He narrowed his eyes and looked intensely at the game, trying to understand his abject defeat, trying to work out where exactly the game had gotten away from him. He didn’t lift his eyes from the board when one of the men from the first watch whispered in his ear but his face darkened ominously. He noisily dragged back his chair, disturbing the lamb once more, who let out a small bleat of protest and slowly stood.

  “Excuse me for a moment, Little One,” he said as he stood, “but I must attend to a small matter.”

  “Running from your defeat, Sir Husband?” she asked, smiling up at him with deliberately sweet innocence.

  “No, that would be far too cowardly for a brave warrior such as I. Think of it more as a strategic retreat. Set up the pieces while I’m gone but, beware, this time I won’t let you win.”

  “Let!” she spluttered and her delighted laughter followed him from the hall. He knew she was laughing at the feebleness of his game compared to hers, but strangely he didn’t mind. He didn’t even really mind, all that much, being so soundly trounced, just as long as she was laughing. The sound had become the food of his heart and he’d willingly be her fool if that was what she required.

  She smiled broadly as she listened to the sound of his footsteps disappearing into the general hum of the hall. Her hands automatically began returning all of the pieces to their correct position, leaving her mind free to luxuriate in the strange new world Robert had somehow brought into being all around her.

  It was a world that was filled with so many unexpected and addictive joys. Who would have thought that a simple game of chess could create within her such wonderful feelings of contentment and well-being? Imogen smiled as her hand gently righted Robert’s king, remembering his endearingly comical surprise at his defeat.

  She wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t told Robert, when he had first suggested the game, that she already knew how to play. It might have had something to do with the charmed warmth she had felt when she thought of spending time with him while he explained to her the intricacies of the game. She did feel slightly bad about her dishonesty, but she also didn’t regret it for a moment. How could she, when her small fraud had opened up for her a world she had never expected existed, showed her a man that she had thought lived only in her daydreams?

  Robert had been all that was patient. He had taken such pains teaching her that she had found herself being drawn ever further under his spell. Her body had already burned for his, but now she was also coming to know him as a man of thought and feeling, and that combination was proving to be devastatingly intoxicating and addictive.

  He had become as integral to her being as breathing. It seemed his every action made her fall for him that little bit more.

  She couldn’t help but smile as she remembered the way he’d even insisted on giving her a constant commentary on the play during the first couple of games, not wanting any unfair advantages because she couldn’t see the board. It had played absolute hell with her concentration, but she had loved the sound of his voice so much that she had put up with it. For a while. In the end she had been forced to beg him to stop it or else she would run mad.

  Not once throughout the whole process had he shown any irritation, no matter how confused she pretended to be by the complex rules. It was that gentleness of spirit that had managed to burn its way into her heart. Her smile broadened as she returned the last pawn to its square, her finger moving caressingly over the knick in the ivory Robert had put in all of the white pieces so that she would know which was which.

  He was so thoughtful and kind, but of course that hadn’t stopped him from having his suspicions about her assumed ignorance. Even then he hadn’t really been angry, not as she had feared he might be when he realized what a trick she had played. It amazed her. She was bewildered by how he could calmly accept that she had been, to all intents and purposes, lying to him.

  He really had to be the most surprising and amazing man she had ever known.

  “Come,” Robert said tersely, his voice suddenly coming from nowhere, startling her out of her reflections.

  He reached for her hand, engulfing it with his calloused strength, and lifted her from her chair without ceremony. The lamb made a bleat of distress at losing Imogen’s feet and fled to the hearth, where Matthew greeted it soothingly as he watched Robert all but drag Imogen from the hall, his eyes turning thoughtful.

  Robert marched briskly from the main hall and Imogen had to trot to keep up with his longer stride and when he stopped suddenly, she catapulted into his back.

  “Okay, now you can give her the goddamn message and then you can get the hell out of my sight,” he ground out.

  Imogen’s brow furrowed i
n confusion, not sure what he meant. She flinched when someone else answered.

  “Ah, my, um, instructions are that only the lady is to hear the message I am to impart,” said a voice, squeaky with youth.

  Imogen didn’t recognize it, she realized with increasing bewilderment.

  “Well, as that isn’t going to happen, you had better just get on with it.”

  Robert’s voice was filled with barely suppressed aggression and Imogen felt a shiver down her spine. Gone was the gentleman who took time to teach his wife chess and in his place stood a cold, professional warrior that she scarce knew.

  “What’s going on, Robert? Who is this?” she asked quietly, trying to hide her confusion. Robert had moved so quickly that her startled mind hadn’t been able to keep up. She had only the vaguest idea as to where they were and absolutely no idea as to whom they were talking to.

  “Sorry, Little One, I wasn’t thinking. My anger carried me away a little,” he admitted ruefully. “It would seem that your brother has sent you a message, but he seems to fail to understand that I’m your husband now and he cannot hide anything from me.”

  “Roger,” she whispered, frightening visions and memories flooding her mind.

  She had pushed Roger to the back of her mind and, by doing so, she had found more than a small measure of peace.

  Now that peace was shattered utterly with that one simple word: Roger.

  She struggled to suppress the nausea that filled her, tried to stop herself from disappearing into a million pieces. She should have expected it. Roger would never let her escape, she had always known that, and she should never have allowed herself to forget it. Not that she wouldn’t be suitably punished for that lapse. Far from it. That small lapse into hope would now suffocate her.

  Well, she couldn’t allow herself any further lapses into futile emotions. The fact was that Roger alone was in control and she must never allow herself to lose sight of that again.

  She cleared her throat and tried desperately to hide her panic, but even to her own ears her voice sounded unnaturally high, a bad pantomime of calm. “And what is the message?”

  The messenger took a deep breath, then plunged on with a rush. “My lady, your noble brother was most insistent that I give your message to your hearing alone.”

  “He can insist all he bloody likes,” Robert exploded. “It’s my damn Keep and if I want to listen to my wife’s message, then I bloody well will. Roger Colebrook certainly isn’t going to stop me.”

  “I would prefer it if you left me to hear my message alone,” Imogen said quietly.

  “Well, I’m not.” The steely resolution was clear in his voice, but Imogen knew she had to ignore that.

  “Please leave, Robert. It’s for the best, I’m sure.” She could have almost touched the frustrated anger that radiated from him, and the part of her that still believed in hope felt sorry for it, but the wiser part of her cynically wondered what part he played in the game, why he felt he needed to hear this message. She didn’t know which to believe. She could almost feel the questions that burned in him, but they were questions to which she had no answers. It didn’t matter. In her silence he seemed to hear his own answers.

  “Fine. I’ll wait outside the door,” he finally said. He glared with frustration at the now terrified messenger before slamming out of the room.

  She flinched at the loud bang of the door and contrarily longed to call him back to her side. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, trying desperately to provide herself with the comfort her heart doggedly kept insisting Robert would provide if she were to call him back.

  “The message, if you please,” she asked tensely instead, desperate now to get this over with.

  She heard the boy fidget, heard the crackle of new parchment as he unrolled the scroll.

  “Your Brother writes:

  Baby Sister,

  Greetings to my divine little sibling. I know my messenger will find you well. The news of your joy has reached me, giving me all the pleasure you can well imagine. I have also heard that your husband suits you well. Excellent. I’d hate you to be frightened by the king’s butcher. Not after I sent him to you specially. I will eagerly await more news of you, but you should always remember that I am with you, even though you cannot see me. I am always a little closer than you think, sister, and would hate you to forget that.

  “And he has signed himself ‘Your devoted brother, Roger.’”

  The messenger began searching through his pockets once more.

  “He also told me to give you this small token and to tell you to, ‘Wear it all the days of your life in memory of those who have gone before you.’”

  She slowly held out her hand but couldn’t stop herself from recoiling a little at the feel of the cold ring he dropped into it.

  “Do you have any message in return for your brother, my lady?” the boy asked politely as he handed over the parchment also. Imogen could only dumbly shake her head. The messenger sketched her a quick bow. “Well then, I must return to my master. Farewell.”

  She stood numbly in the center of the room, her mind twisting through all that Roger had said and, more importantly, all of the things he had left unsaid.

  That he had spies in the Keep was obvious, but then she had always known that, known she was surrounded by people more than willing to do his dirty work, no matter what that might be.

  No, that wasn’t the real corrupting poison in the message.

  The real reason that the message made her feel sick to her soul was Roger’s sly insinuation that Robert wasn’t all he seemed to be. Roger had hit with an unerring accuracy, ruthlessly drawing to the surface the cold fear that she still somehow carried despite all of Robert’s apparent kindness. It was his knowledge on just how to destroy her fledgling trust that made Roger’s poison all that more deadly, and even now she could feel it spreading through her.

  He was an expert at destroying a person from within, Imogen thought bitterly, admiring his skill even as it slowly chilled her. Her mind could logically see the game he played but there seemed to be nothing she could do to stop it. Doubt was eating her up, destroying the whole structure of her fragile new life and Roger had only to lift a pen to do it. A part of her despised herself for making it so easy for him, but then, Roger, the man who had destroyed all of her trust along with her sight, had known that it would take no more than a pinprick to destroy her burgeoning faith in Robert.

  It was as simple as it was deadly. She saw what he did but couldn’t stop it. She had been waiting for it, knowing even while she was enjoying it that hope was only an illusion.

  And that was why Roger would always win, Imogen thought bitterly. He always seemed to know his enemies better than they knew themselves. He exploited their every weakness and no matter how clever they were, there was nothing they could do to save themselves.

  Her hands clenched impotently by her sides and the metal of the ring seemed to burn its way into the flesh of her palm, branding her with memories.

  She carefully loosened her grip and let the finger of her other hand run over the cut stones. She could almost see it in her mind’s eye, see the deep red of rubies and the green fire of the emeralds. She could feel the engraved words on the inside, and knew with her heart the words that were burned there: Love without measure.

  Despite the bitter-cold pain that had lodged itself inside her, she smiled sadly. Love without measure, her family motto. A bittersweet feeling of painful joy filled her. It was strange to finally be reunited with this small part of her past. There was an undeniable joy in a memory being returned to her from so long ago, but at the same time she knew that it wasn’t for old time’s sake that Roger had given her the ring.

  It was a message.

  Roger knew that she would identify it instantly even though she couldn’t see it. He knew exactly what memories it brought with it. Memories of youth, happiness and love. She gave a brittle laugh that ended in a sob. That was what the ring had always meant to h
er. Love without measure.

  As a child she had often begged her mother to be allowed to hold it and then, when that small liberty had been allowed, she would beg to be allowed to actually wear it.

  Her mother would sit with her as she played with the sunlight in the stones, holding it first this way, then that, entranced by the colors and determined to wear the small fires on her own finger but, despite Imogen’s pleadings, her mother had remained firm.

  “It’s too large for you to wear yet, Genny dear”—her mother would smile as she gave her a hug as a consolation—“but when your hands are as large as mine, then, I promise you, you will wear it.”

  “But Mama,” she always protested, “my hands are ever so big. They must be your size by now.” She would hold up her small dirty hand as proof of its enormity. Her mother would place her own elegant hand against it and murmur, “Soon enough, Genny. Soon enough. Until then, I will wear it to keep it safe for you.”

  And she had. Her mother had been wearing it that day when she and father had ridden out for the last time.

  It had taken all of Imogen’s persuasion to convince them to go. It had been months since Imogen’s accident and her parents hadn’t left her side for a moment, frightened to leave her alone in the dark. It had taken her hours to persuade them that she would be okay, that she was getting used to the world without colors, that she really would be fine for just one afternoon by herself.

  Eventually they had agreed, but her mother still hadn’t been able to stop herself from fussing around Imogen, issuing an endless stream of last-minute instructions to anyone who would listen.

  In the end Imogen had clumsily reached out her hands to grab for her mother’s fluttering ones. She had felt the cold presence of the ring and been reassured even as she had said forcefully, “Mama, I’ll be fine. There are plenty of people here to look after me. You and Papa just go and enjoy yourselves for an afternoon.”

  It had been a lie. She hadn’t been fine, had hated being alone, but Imogen had felt a small easing in her guilt as she had listened to the two horses galloping out of the courtyard and receding into the distance.