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

she had needed to live by for so long just to survive no longer seemed to apply. She was, fortunately, learning new ones, fast. She was learning that for all the power Robert had over her as her lord and husband, he could be infinitely gentle, he didn’t like harming her, and he actually seemed to care for her.

She was learning that he alone had the ability to melt the hard darkness inside of her.

She nuzzled her face into the horse’s neck, inhaling deeply the nearly forgotten scents of the animal, hoping that in the memories of that long-lost innocence she would find an escape from the tantalizing hope that was beginning to burn into life inside her. She, of all people, should know that hope was a fool’s gold. She should know that gentle people didn’t survive in her world and that hope was only a dangerous weapon that was used against you. Somehow, though, Robert was destroying all of her carefully constructed walls. With him she could almost believe in a world filled with light and hope.

Mind you, judging by the cursing that colored the air, hope alone wasn’t going to get them into the tower, she thought with a small smile.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” she called over to him, but a grunt was all the reply she got.

A momentary silence fell, and suddenly the night was filled with the sharp sound of timbers snapping, followed by a low, masculine whistle of admiration.

In seconds he was by her side, giving her an enthusiastic squeeze of excitement.

“You were bloody right. Under that decrepit trapdoor there is a stone staircase.” Enthusiasm and energy radiated from him. “It’s damn ingenious.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” she said with mock ferocity, trying to ignore the thrilling feel of his arm around her, “or I might find myself thinking that you thought I was lying.”

“Well…” he murmured provocatively, then moaned dramatically as she aimed a blow at his stomach. He easily restrained her fist and gave it a squeeze. “No, not lied, but you could have very easily been misinformed.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow but changed the topic.

“Well, if you’ve managed to open the door, then perhaps we should enter it.” She tried to keep the excitement out of her voice but failed, just as she failed to suppress the fear that was also rising inside her to match the excitement.

I’m here, Roger, she called out silently, her lighthearted mood turning pensive again, I’m finally here at your tower despite all of your threats and taunts.

I’m here, but I am so afraid.

She touched the wall as they walked down the steep steps and into the small passageway, feeling the rough edges of the stone grating along her skin. A shiver ran down her spine as the cold from the stones settled in her bones.

It was almost as if Roger was in every stone.

“I’m here, Roger.” She whispered the words aloud this time, using them like a prayer to ward off evil. “I’m here.”

Robert slanted a curious look down at her tense, pale face, but all emotion seemed to be carefully hidden behind a wall of stiff courage.

His jaw tightened and his hand instinctively reached for his sword hilt. He wanted so badly to ask why all her early confidence had so suddenly evaporated, why she was so afraid. He wanted to ask why just being here made her look suddenly so fragile that the act of holding her hand put him in fear of breaking her into a million pieces.

He wanted to ask, but found himself saying instead, “How old is the tower?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “It was built the second summer after I came here. More building was planned but…” Her voice fell away as visions of those early days of her hell rose up before her. She could almost catch the faint whiff of her past terrors in the stale air of the passageway. The tower had been such a vital part of that hell that she couldn’t stop her hand from flinching away from the cold stones.

Robert had to bite his tongue, knowing that if he pressed her, she might retreat to that place in her mind where he couldn’t reach her, but even knowing that it was for the best, the act of patience sat uncomfortably with him.

He silently pulled her possessively close, as they walked slowly up the stairs.

“Hold this,” Robert said as they reached the top, curling her hand around the torch. He began to feel around the wall, searching for a door. The solid thump of flesh hitting unyielding stone told Imogen of his lack of success.

“To the left of the door there should be an engraving that looks like circles within circles. Press first the inner circle, then the third from the inside, then the fourth and then the second,” she said softly, her face eerily blank.

He threw her a worried glance, but did as she told him. He found the faint circles quickly, pressing them in sequence. He couldn’t stop himself from being fascinated as each dipped ever so slightly under his gentle push. As he pressed the last circle, the passageway echoed with the sound of rusty gears grinding into life.

“Damn me,” he said as the door swung open, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Roger hired a Moor to design it. As I recall, he was quite pleased with the results.” She shivered again. Her stomach clenched. Now just mentioning his name in this place of his creation seemed a little like conjuring a devil.

She thrust the torch toward Robert. “Here, take this thing. I hardly need it,” she said harshly.

He moved back quickly as the flame came a little too close, but not quickly enough, judging by the smell of scorched hair that filled the air, he thought wryly. He carefully took the torch from her trembling hand. He watched her face closely, not able to quash the concern that was now churning though his gut. He could feel