Midnight Eyes Read online

  In his eagerness to get away from her, he had all but run from the room. Why he bothered at all remained something of a mystery to her.

  That the visit was to prove to be something of a record wasn’t improving her temper any.

  That evening she had eaten in splendid isolation and the food had tasted like sawdust. Somehow, the sound of raucous male laughter had soured her appreciation of the food that night and every night since.

  Each night the laughter was only getting louder as slowly more and more of Robert’s men trickled up North to be with their glorious leader, but her isolation remained just as absolute. Loneliness was becoming such a part of her days that sometimes she could almost choke on it, and it was a loneliness that followed her each night into her dreams. She had been alone for years, had lived as if in sleep, but then so had everything around her. Now the Keep was waking up. Robert was quickening it, drawing it into the living world. It was she alone who remained in the dark world of sleep.

  She leaned her head wearily against the casement.

  For one who had been alone so long, loneliness was suddenly becoming an impossibly heavy burden to bear. In bed at night Imogen could feel inertia laying like a heavy blanket on her, suffocating her, and each night she went to sleep with her cheeks wet with tears.

  Strangely, though, she no longer met the familiar demons in her dream.

  No, a new torment had arisen from her mind to plague her.

  Her sleep was now haunted with half memories of being held close in Robert’s arms. As she slept, her skin was tortured by butterfly kisses, by slow, sensuous caresses from warm hands. She would struggle to wake, wanting to know if what felt so real was only a sad, unfulfilling dream. A part of her was even traitorous enough to want to believe that Robert came to her each night under the cover of dreams.

  She tried to wake but failed. Her mind slumbered while her body burned, and each morning she woke alone. Only the scent of him on her skin gave her a small hope that she did more than dream her nights away, but perhaps that was nothing more than a desire that it was so.

  Hope, she was fast discovering, was as much a torment as anything Roger had devised.

  Imogen could feel resentment building inside her. The more he stayed away, the tighter he seemed to hold her mind. She longed for him yet, perversely, when he was with her, she found herself withdrawing into herself, treating him ever more coldly. She was unable to reach out to him. She lived each day with the fear that if she didn’t try something soon he, and the fire he brought to her body and mind, might slip through her fingers.

  It really was enough to drive a person mad!

  And that would serve him right, Imogen thought darkly. See how he liked being married to Lady Deformed when she was also known as Lady Deranged. At least then he couldn’t ignore her.

  Strangely it wasn’t only the ignoring that irritated her. No, what really made her want to scream was the fact that he dared as well to make decisions and plans about her Keep. She would be damned before she would allow that anymore, she suddenly decided.

  She turned quickly from the window. “Mary I’ll need some stout walking shoes.”

  “My lady…”

  “And a warm cloak too, I suspect. Do I possess such things?”

  “I’m sure I’ve seen some in the south chamber, my lady, but…”

  “Good,” Imogen spoke over Mary ruthlessly. “Well, please go and get them. I have an overwhelming desire to go to Roger’s tower.”

  Mary’s jaw dropped. “But, Imogen, that is well over three hours’ walk from here.”

  Imogen raised a brow imperiously. “What are you trying to say exactly?”

  “What I am trying to say, Imogen Colebrook, is that for the last God knows how long, you haven’t moved farther than these four walls. One trip downstairs and you think you’re up to a stroll across unforgiving country, knee-deep in snow. It’s complete madness.”

  As you would expect from Lady Deranged, Imogen thought with a small smile.

  “Possibly,” Imogen said aloud, “but if I am mad, I think it would be best if you humored me. A madwoman might not like having accusations of laziness thrown about.” Her face suddenly went very serious. “And that’s Imogen Beaumont now, I’d thank you to remember.”

  Mary had the grace to blush a little. In her horror at the suggestion she had momentarily forgotten both the change of name and the rights of nobility. She supposed she should be grateful that Imogen had seen fit only to reprimand her on the former, when the latter was seen by many as the more serious crime.

  “Now don’t you go changing the subject,” Mary said, blustering a little to hide her discomfort. “We were talking about you walking miles in the snow, not what your name might be.”

  “This fear of me walking isn’t just your polite way of saying that I have got fat, is it?” Imogen teased, feeling surprisingly lighthearted for the first time in years.

  “You know I mean nothing of the sort. Any extra weight you might carry has always managed to land in all the right places.” Mary huffed with evident disgust.

  Imogen couldn’t stop a blush of pleasure at the old woman’s words.

  “Do you really think so?” Imogen asked, unable to keep the eagerness out of her voice. She ran unsure hands over her gently rounded hips to try and feel if there was any truth to the words.

  Mary’s anger evaporated in the glow of Imogen’s pleasure. That such a small compliment meant so much to an awe-inspiringly beautiful woman was a travesty. The older woman sighed silently. Sometimes she was apt to forget just how much Imogen had been cheated in life.

  “Aye, I really think so,” Mary said gruffly. “I’ll just go and get all that you’ll need for this expedition.”

  The glow of happiness on Imogen’s face went up a notch. She could momentarily block the whys and wherefores of her “expedition,” and just enjoy the pleasure and anticipation of going outside again. Every fiber of her being hummed with excitement and she couldn’t stop herself from clapping her hands together and doing a small, excited jig.

  It didn’t even seem to matter that she would be heading toward the dark tower Roger had built and told her tauntingly so much about. How could that matter when she would be entering the land of the living again after all these years? It was almost too good to be true.

  She hugged her arms around herself more tightly, trying to hold in her excitement.

  “All right, my lady, I’ve got some sturdy shoes and a cloak that might vaguely fit. I have also found a hat, gloves and young Lucas,” Mary said briskly, dumping everything but Lucas, who stood impatiently near the door, into Imogen’s waiting arms.

  “Why Lucas?” Imogen asked, sitting down to put on her shoes.

  “Why Lucas? Because one of us has to use her brains and it would seem that the honor is all mine,” she said dryly. “You clearly can’t go out by yourself and, as much as I would dearly love to be the one continually picking your sorry hide out of the snow all day, it will be one pleasure I will be forced to forgo. You might consider yourself able to walk for hours in snow up to your knees, but I’m not. Your husband has managed to thaw most of me out with his excellent fires, and I’m damned if I’ll let you freeze me up again.” She paused before adding, “Besides, Lucas was all I could find in the kitchens.”

  Imogen smiled as she stood, trying to get a feel for the boots. They pinched a bit, but other than that they seemed just fine. “Cheer up, Mary,” Imogen said playfully, “and I might even bring you back a snowball.”

  Mary humphed and grabbed the cloak from off the floor where Imogen had dumped it and thrust it into her hands. Imogen twirled it around herself with a small flourish, then spread her arms wide. “How do I look?”

  “Like a beggar with stolen clothes,” Lucas said round a mouthful of apple as he wandered farther into the room.

  Imogen was momentarily taken aback, then a slow smile lit her face.

  Mary scowled and gave Lucas a good-natured cuff round the ear. �
��Now, don’t you be giving Lady Imogen any of your cheek.”

  He nodded vigorously and gave her a mischievous salute as he stuffed the core of the apple into his mouth and started crunching his way merrily through the seeds. Before he had even finished it he was reaching a hand for more into the food basket he carried. It was only a second stinging slap from Mary that stopped him.

  She scowled down at him severely. “And don’t you go eating that basket clean of food. That’s meant for Lady Imogen’s and Sir Robert’s lunch.” The mere mention of Robert’s name miraculously produced the result that any number of cuffs round the ear would never do.

  “Now that my noble guide has been given all of his vital last-minute instructions, may we be on our way? Please?” Imogen couldn’t stop herself from rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

  Mary hesitated a moment. It was a dangerous world beyond the Keep’s walls, and Imogen was more vulnerable than most. She might have longed for the day when Imogen started to live again, but it now seemed to have arrived all too soon.

  “Aye, be gone with you, then,” she said gruffly. She thrust Lucas’s hand through Imogen’s crooked arm and gave them a shove out the door.

  Imogen had to stoop to try and match herself to Lucas’s slight stature and even then she stumbled. With a shake of her head she stopped after a few yards. She gently put Lucas’s hand down and stepped a half pace behind him and firmly placed her hand on his shoulder.

  As Mary watched the mismatched pair disappear down the stairs without any further problems, she reached her hand into her apron pocket and grabbed for a handkerchief. She let out a loud sniff before allowing herself a moment of noisy grief. She then shoved the handkerchief back into the pocket from whence it came and resolutely straightened her spine. Perhaps if she kept telling herself that this was a good thing, then maybe it would be easier to get through.

  It didn’t seem to work.

  Her brows dropped a little as she thought of consoling herself by spending her time blaming Robert for this wonderful misfortune. After all, till he came here, there had been no talk of walks. It helped only for a moment.

  Pity, as she had kind of liked the idea of having someone to curse. Instead she marched back into Imogen’s bedroom and over to the fireplace. She sat down heavily and began stoking the flames with a will. If she was going to wait and worry for hours, she thought with a self-righteous sniff, then there was no way in hell she was going to freeze while doing it.

  Lucas walked Imogen slowly down the last of the stairs and guided her toward the main door. The burden of his new responsibility showed in the seriousness of his expression.

  The Keep seemed oddly still after the past weeks of noisy activity.

  With Robert gone to the tower for at least the rest of the day, the servants had taken a much-needed chance to rest. After years of near inertia, to be suddenly working for a human whirlwind, even one as respected as Robert had become with everyone in the Keep, was something of a shock. The chance to breathe normally again was too good to ignore.

  Imogen smiled broadly, feeling better than she had in weeks—no, in years, she realized with wonder. A bubble of happiness rose inside her and she was gripped by a desire to run, to skip, to dance; just to see if she still could after all this time.

  “Can we go a little faster?” she whispered to Lucas, wheedlingly.

  “Only if you want us to fall on our faces, m’lady,” he whispered back.

  She thought about it for a moment. “We mightn’t, you know.”

  “Yes, but if we do, Sir Robert will have me torn into little bits.”

  “Coward,” she said severely, but smiled. It seemed impossible to stop smiling on such a day.

  She could feel his head nodding vigorously. “You bet I am. I intend to live to see my eighth year.”

  Imogen was just about to add something when Lucas came to an abrupt halt. Imogen collided with his small body, causing him to stumble a bit.

  “Why did you do that?” she exploded in shock. “If you don’t say something when you plan to stop, then falling on our faces becomes an inevitability.”

  “Sor-sorry, my lady,” he stammered.

  “It was my fault,” came a deep, velvet-sounding voice in front of them. “I stepped away from the wall rather abruptly while you were both whispering.”

  The sudden arrival of a third person, one she hadn’t even sensed, stopped her heart for a second. She could feel the shock lodging in her hands, causing them to shake a little, but she lifted her chin in defiance. This had to be one of Robert’s men whose laughter had haunted her for weeks, she thought darkly.

  “Well, sir, you are obstructing our path,” she said imperiously, “so please remove yourself so we can continue on our way.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that until you tell me what you are about. Sir Robert has left me in charge of the Keep, so, Lucas, if we start with who exactly your delightful companion is, I might be able to decide whether either of you represent a threat or not.”

  “Sir Gareth…” Lucas stammered clumsily, but Imogen’s alarm was quickly turning to white-hot anger.

  “You mean to tell me that you intend to prevent me from leaving the Keep if I don’t answer your impertinent questions?” she asked coldly.

  The man paused thoughtfully for a moment. “Yes, that would about sum it up. Now, your name—”

  “Why, you nasty little toad,” Imogen exploded. “Come, Lucas, step around this worm and we will be on our way.”

  Lucas hesitated for a moment. In the fortnight since Robert had taken possession of the Keep, Lucas had quickly learned to treat both him and his knights with careful respect. The first time one of them had clapped him encouragingly on the back, he had been sent reeling. They just didn’t seem to know their own strength, and Lucas didn’t want Sir Gareth to feel he had to physically stop them. His innate common sense warned him that it would hurt.

  This respect for their raw power was also mixed with a large dose of awe. Until now the only male Lucas had been in regular contact with was Duncan, the old groom. These massive warriors had suddenly invaded his world like a whirlwind, each of them as impressive as the last, and Lucas was thriving in this masculine world. They were all gruffly kind to the small boy who hung around with such obvious devotion. They tried to answer his nearly endless questions, and one of them had even let Lucus try to pick up his prodigious sword. He worshipped both the knights themselves and the world they came from and would rather die than upset one of his new heroes.

  He also knew that it was simply daft to just ignore a direct order when it was given with such calm authority.

  “Ah, I’m sorry, my lady, I don’t think so—”

  “I didn’t ask you to think, Lucas,” she snapped. “I asked you to do.” She could feel him hesitate and she gritted her teeth impatiently. “Very well, I will go on myself.”

  She dropped her hand from his shoulder and without allowing herself time to consider the wisdom of her actions, she moved to step round where she judged the rude man to be standing. She misjudged this by a good couple of inches and ran straight into him instead and at that moment, she had an almost overwhelming desire to stamp her feet with sheer frustration.

  “If you would just go away, then…” She was stopped by the squeal that escaped her as her world shifted.

  The knight had easily picked her up and gently threw her over one shoulder. Lucas’s eyes went totally round at the sight of Lady Imogen being carried like a sack of washing. It took a few seconds for him to collect his scattered wits enough to drop the food basket and scurry after the spluttering lady and the amused knight.

  Gareth placed her carefully down near the fire in the main hall, then stepped back. He crossed his arms over his massive chest and intently considered the outraged woman in front of him.

  “So, may I have your name?” he asked quietly, his deep voice rumbling impressively through the hall.

  “You dolt, I’m Lady Imogen Beaumont,
owner of this damn, blasted Keep.” She stepped forward to just in front of where she had heard his voice coming from, waving her finger wildly. “And you had better grab hold of anything on your person that you might value, because by the time I’m through with you, you will end up being just so many pounds of useless meat for the dogs.”

  He couldn’t quite prevent the small smile that toyed with his lips.

  It was just too delicious. So this was Robert’s bride. This was Lady Deformed.

  Robert hadn’t married a gargoyle but a termagant instead, Gareth realized with relish. He smiled with anticipation at the fun that would soon follow as his friend tried to keep control of his life now that this woman had stormed into it.

  “I’m sorry for any offence, my lady, but I was just following my orders.”

  “Your orders were to waylay defenseless woman and children and then manhandle them? How bravely my Keep is to be protected,” she sneered.

  “No, my orders were to monitor the Keep and its occupants and to maintain security till Sir Robert returned. The ‘manhandling’ I consider just a momentary inspiration, or perhaps even a personal pleasure.”

  “A personal pleasure!” she exploded, spots of red flagging her cheek. “You have the impertinence to touch my person at all, then you have the audacity to call it personal pleasure? A momentary inspiration in the line of duty?”

  “No, my lady, it had nothing to do with my duty,” he said precisely. “Manhandling beautiful women such as yourself is no duty, more one of life’s little rewards.”

  Imogen glared at him dangerously. “Are you daring to flirt with me?” she asked slowly.

  Gareth considered this for a moment. “Yes, my lady, I believe I am,” he said with a beatific smile. It was the kind of smile that had landed many a woman’s heart at his feet. She simply tossed her head and placed her hands on her hips.

  “And what would your precious Sir Robert have to say if he found out that you openly confessed to flirting with his new bride?”

  “I would hope, my lady, that I’d have the good sense not to mention it to him,” Gareth said with all seriousness.