Midnight Eyes Read online

Now, Imogen, Lady Deformed, was something that he didn’t want to discuss with anyone, not even faithful Matthew.

  Lady Deformed. How he had come to hate that name. To hear it sent a shaft of pure rage through his body and created a creature in him that he barely recognized. A creature comprised solely of pride and honor.

  As a bastard and a mercenary, what could he claim to know of personal honor? He had spent the last five years killing for a man he despised. He had always lived his life to his own code and had never cared that the rest of the world couldn’t understand that code. And had never felt the need to justify his actions to anyone but himself.

  But right now, even he didn’t understand himself. He was jumping to the defense of a woman he had never met. More than that, he became a rabid beast, and could only be amazed at his anger, at his protectiveness.

  It was the protectiveness that was the most perplexing. He had never considered himself callous, but the life he led never left room for such sentiment, and he couldn’t honestly say that he had missed it. Now, strange, dark emotions were raising their heads, emotions he didn’t even recognize, and they seemed to have a single focus: the poor creature that was trapped in these cold lands so far from her warm southern sun. To hear her insulted in any way started a battle rage deep inside him.

  “I hate to bring you back to the real world, but I think that pile of stones up ahead might be yours.”

  Robert’s mind instantly shifted.

  Home.

  It stood tall and bleak against the winter sky. It did indeed look a little like a pile of stones thrown together by chance. Robert raised his brows, their earlier conversation forgotten.

  “I didn’t know that the Conqueror’s building program had stretched so far north, but surely the Saxons never used stone.”

  “I don’t think they did,” Matthew said thoughtfully. “No, that pile of stones looks new, but also totally uninhabitable.”

  “Are you calling my new home uninhabitable?” Robert asked with a smile.

  “No, Boy, I’m calling that pile of stones uninhabitable. I’m sure your home will be a habitation fit for a great warrior.”

  Robert threw back his head and laughed. “Don’t snivel, Old Man. It doesn’t become you.”

  “Who’s sniveling?” Matthew asked derisively. “This is just basic survival. If I compliment you a little, stroke that formidable ego of yours, I just might be able to get out of this blasted cold at some point.”

  “Then there is no time to waste. Yah!” Robert spurred on his horse and streaked out ahead at a full gallop. Matthew sighed and muttered something about being young again and, with a creak of leather and old bones, tried to catch Robert.

  The closer they got, the stranger the lone tower seemed. It jutted out of the forest in a harsh, unnaturally straight line. New, but already it seemed to be falling apart, littering the land with silent, gray stone corpses.

  Robert frowned. “This can’t be Shadowsend Keep, Old Man.”

  “No, Boy,” Matthew yelled back as he drew even with Robert, “but I can see smoke from those trees. Looks like a fair-sized chimney.”

  Robert squinted in the direction Matthew had indicated, only just making out the thin wisps of smoke rising slowly and disappearing into the patchy gray winter sky.

  “Let’s go and talk to more unfriendly peasants, Old Man,” Robert bellowed, trying to be heard above the wind in his ears and galloped toward the smoke.

  As he maneuvered his horse expertly into the small courtyard of a wooden Keep and swung down in one fluid movement, his eyes quickly scanned the clutter of buildings, trying to take in everything at once. A thick blanket of snow covered everything except where the fires warmed the roof sufficiently to keep it clear. The buildings themselves were dilapidated, but at least they looked lived in.

  “Ah, now, this is better. This looks like it just may have one warm corner to rest these cold bones,” Matthew murmured appreciatively as he slowly dismounted his horse.

  Everywhere he looked, Robert could see where things were in urgent need of repair, where things had been incompetently repaired and where things had been repaired just enough to barely keep them useable. But it wasn’t all bad. Three or four brave chickens scratched hopefully through the snow and the smell of wood smoke gave the insubstantial Keep a surprisingly warm air of welcome.

  Home.

  “It would be impossible to defend, of course,” Robert said as he walked briskly to the double doors, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

  “And whom are you envisioning defending it against?”

  “The world,” Robert said to himself as he rapped his gauntlet-covered knuckles against the timbers. The two men heard the scurry of feet, but the door remained resolutely shut. Robert tried again, rapping his knuckles harder.

  “We’ve nothing left to give. Clear off!” The screeching voice carried well into the courtyard.

  Robert looked at Matthew. The older man’s face split into a grin. “Not so badly defended at all, it would seem. Your hallowed portals would seem to be protected by a savage crone.”

  “Behave,” Robert murmured, then lifted his voice to what Matthew called his combat roar. “It’s Robert Beaumont out here, freezing on his own doorstep, and he has no intention of clearing off from what is rightfully his.”

  A satisfyingly comic volley of noise followed the stunned silence inside the Keep.

  Within seconds the door flew open to reveal an old woman. She was surprisingly small, considering the amount of noise she had been making. Her hair was scraped back into a kerchief, giving her face a stretched look.

  “Sor-sorry, my lord, but we weren’t expecting you, and…and you can’t be too careful nowadays, not with all these Norman brutes wandering about attacking innocent folk.” She stared openmouthed for a second, flushed scarlet, and then slammed the door shut.

  “Would you like us to storm the door, Sir Knight, or just burn it down?” Matthew asked with an unholy amusement in his voice.

  Robert crossed his arms over his chest, exasperation beginning to tell on his nerves.

  “Don’t tempt me, Old Man.” He took a deep breath, preparing to bellow his way to Hades, when the door flew open once more, this time wide enough for them to actually enter.

  Neither he nor Matthew hesitated, afraid that this offer of warmth might suddenly disappear again.

  They found themselves in the main hall with the doors being shut quickly behind them. It took a second for Robert’s eyes to adapt to the gloom. The room had no windows and light came from the guttering candles and the fire that burned sluggishly in the hearth. The enormous stone fireplace took up one entire wall and Matthew let out a groan of ecstasy as he rushed over to it, releasing the smell of stale rushes with every step. He thrust his hands to the small blaze and closed his eyes blissfully. Robert remained near the door, taking full stock of his new home.

  It took Robert a moment to locate the person in the shadows who had finally allowed them in.

  She stood so that the candles illuminated only one side of her face, leaving the rest in shadow. It was a harsh effect, seeming to magnify the lines on her face and the steel in her gray hair.

  By her dress it was clear that she was a servant, but she held her back straight and met his gaze squarely as if they were equals.

  Robert had spent years relying on his instincts, and wasn’t entirely surprised when his body eased automatically out of its wariness. It was clear that this woman wasn’t a threat, for all her apparent severity.

  He gave her a small smile, which she didn’t return.

  “Greetings, m lord, and welcome to Shadowsend,” the woman said stiffly. “I apologize for Alice, but you did startle her, although we have been expecting you. At the moment, the Keep is only being served by nigh on ten women, but if you ask for me, I’m sure that we will manage to serve most of your needs, Sir Knight.”

  “What is your name, and what exactly are your duties here?”

  “My
name is Mary. I’m principally my lady’s companion, but I also function as a chatelaine in the absence of someone else more suitable.”

  Robert nodded, only a little wiser than before. What he knew about the running of a castle, keep or cottage was insignificant, and he had only the vaguest of notions as to the function of a chatelaine. Hopefully it meant that she could run everything without any help from him.

  “You may go about your duties,” Robert said in what he hoped was a confident manner, feeling large and clumsy in a domestic setting. Give him a meadow and twenty unseasoned soldiers and he moved with confidence. Present him with one self-assured servant and he was almost ready to eat the rushes. He tried to hide that uncertainty by turning his back in dismissal, but changed his mind abruptly, catching the woman midcurtsy.

  It was a clumsy return to standing, and Robert felt a little more at ease in the face of this small imperfection.

  “Wait. Why isn’t Lady Imogen greeting her guests?” Even he was aware that the basic rules of hospitality demanded that the lady of the house see to her guests’ comfort.

  For a moment Mary looked disconcerted. “My lady, uh…sleeps and I was asked not to disturb her.”

  Matthew snorted, stopping for the first time his fire worship. “They have found you the perfect wife. One who can manage to sleep through your battle bellow.”

  The woman had the grace to blush at the too-obvious lie and for the first time lowered her gaze.

  “We have much to discuss,” Robert said gently, “the lady and I, and I think we should start now. If you can go and wake her and tell her that Sir Robert desires very much for her to present herself in the hall.”

  The woman seemed dumbstruck for a moment before her natural confidence returned. “I’m sorry, Sir Robert, but Lady Imogen never leaves her chamber.”

  Robert was momentarily nonplussed. Perhaps Lady Deformed was unable to manage the stairs? Perhaps her legendary deformity prevented her moving altogether?

  A nauseous feeling rose up in his throat. He had never been squeamish before. How could he, when the battlefield offered so many kinds of death and none of them were pretty? He had seen men ripped to shreds, splattered so far that they were unidentifiable. He had seen retribution, that cold, mechanical murder of the enemy. He might never have relished it; but he had accepted it. It seemed natural to him after so many years and he had learned to live with it, learnt that it was part of his days and, occasionally, a part of his nightmares.

  But never before had he seen a female so scarred by her injuries that she couldn’t leave her room, so badly damaged that she hid from the world. Warriors wore their scars as a badge of pride, a symbol of their survival. This new kind of pain didn’t sit well with him. He longed for escape, longed to leave the lady buried in her living grave, but his newly defined honor demanded more.

  He set his shoulders. “Well then, it is only fitting that I go to the lady if she is unable to greet us. Lead the way.”

  Mary bowed her head and grabbed the candlestick from the great table, using a burning stick from the fireplace to light it. Robert raised his brows. The sun had risen two hours ago. Did none of the Keep open to the natural light? As if she read his mind, Mary shrugged her shoulders, a little apologetic.

  “The light on the upper floor is not the best, Sir Knight, and the steps are not entirely sound. After a few nasty falls, you will learn the wisdom of these candles.”

  She smiled and left the room. Robert paused for a moment but knew the time for delay was passed. It was time to face the lady herself.

  The wooden stairs groaned ominously under Robert’s foot. He grimaced, and tried to pick a quiet way through the cacophony of noise. It would seem that before he was able to husband the land back into some fruitfulness, he needed to rebuild the Keep first! Even in the dim light cast by Mary’s candle up ahead he could see the rising damp and decay.

  Mary stopped in front of one of the doors and turned to him. For a moment, her clear eyes looked deep into his, as if trying to find the very source of his being. Robert shifted uneasily but refused to break contact, refused to be the first to give in.

  It seemed she reached some conclusion as she nodded. “I think you might be a good thing after all,” she muttered enigmatically. She nodded again and went to brush past him, leaving him increasingly confused. She paused for a moment, and then suddenly reached out a hand to touch his leather-covered forearm. “She awaits you within, Sir Knight. She has passed the last weeks in much fear. Please be kind.”

  He stared bemused for a second as she and her light quickly retraced their steps, leaving him alone in the darkness.

  Fear. He supposed his was a reputation to invoke fear and he was disconcerted by the guilt that flared to life inside him. Perhaps he should have tried some other contact first, allayed the lady’s fears somewhat before presenting her with a warrior husband. He should have found some way to woo her.

  Woo. The word was strange to his mind.

  Although, he added defensively to himself, hers wasn’t exactly a reputation designed to calm a suitor’s fears either. For a brief second he felt some mild justification, but then he flushed as he realized just how clumsy he would appear to his gently bred, soon-to-be wife.

  Hells blood! What did he know of home, hearth and wooing? How was he going to manage not terrifying his poor, deformed virgin wife? he thought with despair. He might manage for a while, say an hour or so, but his own nature would find him out in the end.

  Bracing himself he knocked on the door, only to be greeted with silence. For a second he hesitated, but impatience won out in the end. His need to get this first meeting over with was too great to dally in a cold hall on a lady’s whim.

  He pushed open the door.

  After the dimness of the hall he was blinded by the brightness of the full sun in the chamber. It was seconds before he could make out the figure on the other side of the room.

  When his eyes adjusted, his heart almost stopped. She had stepped forward, and unknowingly revealed to him every exquisite detail. It was like an angel had stepped down from heaven.

  Her long black hair hung in waves around her, glowing in the sunlight like an aura. It framed her gracefully, outlining her tiny waist, the gentle flair of her hips, the lushness of her breasts.

  Her skin shone a pale ivory, splashed with the redness of her perfectly formed lips and the deep glow from her brown eyes. They were eyes that a man could drown in and never regret the demise.

  She stood straight and proud, but still she would reach only his chin. He felt suddenly large and clumsy before her, felt unworthy to see such ethereal, unworldly beauty. A beauty that produced a very earthy reaction through his body. He could feel that reaction in the tightening of his loins, in the pounding of his heart, in the air that suddenly rushed into his deflated lungs, making him almost light-headed.

  For the first time in his life he was totally struck dumb and when his mind finally kicked back in, all he could manage was to hoarsely say, “My God, you’re perfect!”

  Chapter Two

  She let out a shrill peal of laughter. The hollow sound hung heavy in the air.

  She instinctively closed her eyes, wishing the laughter away. She wished she hadn’t given vent to the hysteria she could feel rising from her stomach, but somehow it was a force that could not be denied. The absurdity was just too great.

  He saw perfection. She couldn’t see at all.

  His deep, strong voice created pictures for her, but she could not see him, couldn’t tell what kind of man he was, whether he came to her dressed for war or wooing. She couldn’t even see to run away from him.

  A shiver ran down her spine. It was a creeping disadvantage. She longed to hide, and felt vulnerable when she knew she couldn’t.

  Roger’s dark whispers rose up to taunt her. Robert had both the strength and the determination to devote his life to one goal. He was here to claim his reward from the king, and she doubted that he would allow her to hide, but it
wasn’t the king that she was afraid of. No, this was all Roger’s dark game, for all it had a royal disguise.

  If Robert Beaumont was part of Roger’s plans, then he must be her enemy, and an enemy that you couldn’t see was a very dangerous foe indeed.

  Fear squeezed her throat. She wanted to scream, to yell freedom, to fight and claw her way out of the dark, out of this man-filled room, out of her life.

  She wished wildly for a moment that she was indeed so hideously deformed that the dismembered voice would run screaming from her, and leave her to her fears.

  It wasn’t going to be that simple, Imogen realized sinkingly. This was Roger’s game. It had to be played out, and she could only hope that when the time for the ending came she had the strength to fight.

  She walked stiffly to the chair two paces in front of her and sat down on the edge, clasping her hands tightly. For a second the man seemed to pause indecisively, and then he pulled back the other chair gratingly and sat down heavily.

  A big man, Imogen mused. A man whose knees didn’t fit in the space she had left between the chair and the footstool, a man who made her solidly built furniture groan.

  She had never really thought about his physical proportions, but a knight would have to be big, strong. Small men did not kill easily. Roger had never had the body mass to be a true knight. He couldn’t bring down a man with one swing of a sword, couldn’t physically control those around him. No, he had to use the more subtle method of fear and isolation. This man he had sent to her won through sheer bulk.

  It was hard to say which she found the most horrifying at the moment. Perhaps that was why Roger had chosen him. Robert was a physical threat that he couldn’t make himself. Roger could torture her with his little games, but this man could crush her with one hand.

  She mentally shook herself. There were smaller things to be concerned about here, like returning the chair to its spot if she wanted to avoid yet another bruise.

  “I’m sorry for my rude silence, Lady Imogen,” Robert said slowly, “but you aren’t quite what I had been led to expect.”