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

court. He was one of the pack of mindless animals that now surrounded the king. As a group they were noxious and prone to all the vices that money could buy, but Roger’s particular perversions could only be surmised.

Robert narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to feed his rage. Roger Colebrook. That such a man could even think of using him for his private warfare was abhorrent, and Robert never doubted for a moment that it was indeed a war, for all their calling it a game. Anything that claimed real victims was a war as far as Robert was concerned.

Robert smiled savagely as he spotted Roger’s first mistake. Roger had faulted badly if he thought to use Robert in the collecting of Imogen’s defeat. Robert was not a man to be used by one of the court parasites, not against something he had taken for his own.

And that was the one truth that shone, even through the haze of his anger: Imogen was his, body and soul.

“You’ve given me much to think on,” Robert said slowly. “Thank you for taking me into your confidence. I won’t see that trust abused.”

Mary let out a long sigh of relief. “I’m glad you didn’t see it as an impertinence. I was so afraid that you would, but you needed to understand, needed to see a little of what Lady Imogen sees.”

Robert sat and steepled his hands. “Oh, I see a little now, but I intend to see a lot more. Soon.”

Robert’s easy shouldering of leadership had inspired everyone in the Keep to new heights.

By evening the main hall had been scrubbed till it glistened. Fresh rushes had been gathered hastily and laid, their meadow fragrance quickly masking the mustiness. Enough tables had been located to seat all of the guests, each festooned with holly and ribbons, creating something of a festive air. Over the central dais a canopy of red cloth had been hung and the two chairs that had been placed on it had been decorated with matching ribbon.

The men of the nearby village had spent the morning at the hunt, killing two boars, a young deer and other smaller game, which were given to the cook and some women from the village to dress. The cook had complained bitterly about people expecting miracles, but had still managed to produce any number of mouthwatering dishes with only the most basic of assistance.

Robert felt congenially pleased with the preparations. He should have felt every inch the expansive host as he watched everyone eat, drink and be merry. Everyone, except Imogen beside him, was enjoying themselves mightily, but that omission was the thing that irritated him the most. Imogen was silently fighting him and, damn it, she may even be winning.

Aware of her fear of crowds, Robert had intended to behave the chivalric knight and escort her, also intending to reassure her as best he could, just as Mary had wanted him to.

Imogen, however, had easily forestalled the small gallantry. As the first guests arrived, Imogen had floated regally into the hall, with Mary discreetly leading her. Even as he felt the heat of irritation flare on his face, the vision she presented nearly brought him to his knees. All rational thought dissolved, leaving Robert with nothing to do but stare like an idiot at a queen.

She had changed from her angelic pink into a red velvet robe, but it wasn’t the sultry color that Robert found himself objecting to. No, it was the way the tight lacing made the fabric almost lovingly cling to the curves of her body, and the neckline, which seemed scandalously low to Robert’s suddenly puritanical eyes. They had narrowed when he noticed that every male in the hall had focused his attention on the flimsy lace inset that covered the pale skin at the top of her breasts. She had carefully bound her hair with gold thread, and eschewed the mantle worn by the women of the court, leaving the line of her vulnerable throat naked and, for a moment, Robert was struck dumb with awe. It seemed almost impossible that such a being existed outside of heaven.

He had watched as she walked with a calm dignity toward the dais, obviously trying to hide that it was actually tearing her into small pieces. Only when she got closer did Robert become aware of the whiteness of her knuckles on Mary’s arm.

When the old woman carefully removed those fingers, Imogen dropped into a very correct curtsy in front of him. He, with ill-disguised eagerness, had got up and helped her up the steps of the dais.

Then she ignored him; ignored them all.

She now sat stiffly in her chair, her hands held tightly in her lap, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. She had remained unmoving when the sumptuous food had been brought into the hall. When the grunts and murmurs of satisfaction filled the large chambers she seemed to draw into herself more tightly.

Robert could almost physically feel the strength of will radiating from the woman, as she deliberately made no attempt to sample the aromatic food just in front of her, but to look at her she seemed entirely unmoved. It was as though she had been turned into a very beautiful statue, as if she was denying herself out of existence—and that was what angered Robert so much.

Robert didn’t want a lady made of stone and willpower; he wanted the blood-hot woman he had kissed that morning. He needed her to be real. He would make her real, he thought with a small, grim smile of determination. Casually he leaned toward her.

“You do know that the food tastes even better than it smells, don’t you?” he asked with a lip-smacking, satisfied noise. “In fact the food is amongst the best I have ever tasted.”

“I’m sure it is,” she said stiffly.

“Then why don’t you try some? You might surprise yourself and actually enjoy it.” He lifted a fragrant morsel from his plate and placed