Midnight Eyes by Brophy, Sarah (well read books .TXT) 📕

his mind to it. He had that lazy beggar Alice cleaning out the place, and setting up an altar table near the main room, and I don’t know what else.”

Imogen froze for a second.

“He plans us to be married downstairs?”

“So it seems.” Mary’s voice was curiously neutral.

“I can’t go down there, Mary.” Imogen’s voice rose in panic. “I’ve never seen down there. I can’t go down there.”

She swung in her seat and made a grab for Mary’s hands. “You’ll have to tell him. Tell him. You must. We can be married here. It makes no real difference. Not to him.”

“I don’t think he’s the sort of man you go telling things to. He’s the sort that seems to do most of the telling himself.”

“Please,” whispered Imogen.

Mary sighed, disengaging her hand. “I’ll give it a try once I’ve got you dressed.” She went to the chest at the end of the bed and began foraging for clothes. “But I don’t be liking my chances of achieving the impossible,” she muttered darkly.

“No. I’m not getting married in some damn bedchamber.”

Robert’s voice sounded calm enough, but Mary could clearly see the fury in his eyes. Still, she tried again.

“I’ve told you that Lady Imogen never leaves her room, and she doesn’t understand why where you get married makes that much difference.”

Robert stared into the black embers of the fireplace. He had spent his night sitting there near the hearth in his room, watching the fire slowly die. It had seemed like too important a night to just lose it to sleep. He had waited, and before the dawn had risen he carefully got dressed in the clothes he had bought especially for a ceremony that he had never thought to go through.

As he had belted his simple black-and-silver-trimmed tunic, he had felt a peace descending. There was a rightness to this day that had been missing from every other, but that rightness also dictated he take Lady Imogen for his wife in front of her people. Their people, now.

He turned to look at Mary.

“The marriage will take place in the hall in one hour,” he said softly. “I will come and collect her just before.”

Mary stared for a second, then bowed her head and left. She knew when a fight was lost. The time left would be better spent preparing Imogen.

Today, it would seem, had been set aside for the conquering of fear.

Robert stood and walked over to the small table. He picked up the leather pouch he had placed there the night before and tipped the contents into his palm.

The single gold ring winked at him. He could well remember the strange, inept feeling that had haunted him as he had looked for the right tokens for a wife he had never met. He had never bought such things before, and had been unable to visualize them on his unseen wife.

Now the image of her was burnt with an acid brilliance onto his mind. He had seen her face dance in the fire all night, yearned to feel the satin of her skin against his own. In the long night he had been haunted, but it was by no malignant spirit. No, he had been haunted by a wonderful future he had never expected to have, haunted by a rightness he felt unworthy to possess.

Lady Imogen. His Imogen. His wife.

The ring seemed to burn into his palm as his fingers closed round it.

“Well, Boy,” Matthew asked gently from the door, “are you ready?”

Robert felt his back straighten, his chin rise.

He turned and saw his old friend and companion standing near the door, the other man’s discomfort clear. His hair was damp and combed back in a scary fashion. He seemed out of place in his good clothes, but Robert could well read the pride in the old man’s face.

“Matthew, I’m more ready than I have ever been for anything in the whole course of my life before.”

“Then let’s go to it, Boy.”

The door to Imogen’s room stood open. Robert stepped in quietly, wanting to assess the situation before deciding how best to deal with his nervous bride.

She sat on the floor; her knees drawn up to her chest and held tightly by her arms. Her face was hidden by her waves of black hair. He felt a strange warmth in his chest as he noticed that she too was specially dressed for the event. Her pale pink dress swept fluidly over her body and was held taut round her waist by a girdle of gold lace.

Robert still felt a little dazzled by such beauty. It was almost beyond his simple human comprehension. He was smiling as he crouched down in front of her, his knees cracking a little.

Her head flew up.

“Who’s there?” Her voice sounded small and defiant. He could now see the trails that tears had left on her face.

Robert mentally castigated himself for not making her aware of his presence before frightening her. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her.

“Sorry.” His voice sounded thick even to his own ears. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

She tried feebly to smile. “Everyone sneaks up on me. I’ve been thinking of giving the servants bells just to stop it.”

“I don’t think I want to wear bells.”

“No, I suppose not.” She seemed to gather her strength for a second. “Please don’t make me go downstairs.”

He looked down at his calloused, scarred hands, trying to sound calm and unconcerned. “Is it that you don’t want to marry me in front of your people?”

She seemed stunned for a moment.

“You think I’m ashamed to marry you?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps.”

She instinctively reached out a hand, trying to find his, but instead she found his knee. It was a warm solidness under her palm.

“No. No, it has nothing to do with you. I don’t know enough about you to be ashamed.” She ducked her head. “You have been kind enough to me.”

“You are easy to be kind to.”

“Well, can’t you do one more