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

Ladies were not normally seen in a practice yard, or even showed any interest in the masculine domains, but when the lady was Imogen, it would have been impossible to keep her out.

There was nothing conventional about his lady.

Robert leaned on the window’s edge and watched the men reluctantly return to their work as Gareth entered the yard, their departing bodies revealing fully to his eager gaze a blooming Imogen and a clearly wilting Mary. The old woman was obviously struggling to keep up with the newly revitalized Imogen.

A part of Robert was more than willing to lift the burden from Mary’s shoulders and in fact he longed to be Imogen’s eyes in the exciting new world she was discovering all around. But he didn’t, his logic ruthlessly reminding him that to do so would be like giving her the last piece of his soul. Pride demanded that he didn’t give her all of himself unless he knew for certain he had all of her in return.

That he didn’t was like finding a dark corruption in paradise.

Every time he was near her, he could feel her hidden truths standing like unbreachable walls between them, he thought with a frown as he watched the two women disappear into the walled kitchen garden and out of his view.

It was only when he was no longer distracted by the beautiful puzzle that was his wife that he spotted a man in the shadows of the wall, watching Imogen as she passed.

Robert’s frown only deepened when he recognized the watcher as the priest who had married them. Ian. That was what Imogen had called him. Roger’s friend.

His initial dislike for the man had crystallized into something firmer. He hated the way the man always seemed to be where Imogen was, watching her every move, his pale eyes following her. Robert dearly wanted to get rid of the man, but something stayed his hand.

He feared how Imogen might react if she realized just how closely Roger was having her watched. He refused to upset the fragile balance they had found, but at the same time he made a small mental note that the second he could get rid of the man without Imogen being aware, he would do so with great pleasure.

The loud knock on the door drew him from his brooding thoughts with a start. “Come in,” he called, and sat down quickly at his desk, vaguely embarrassed at the thought of being caught staring longingly into the practice yard. It seemed better to pretend to be busy at the Keep’s ledgers than mooning after his own wife. When he looked up from the meaningless numbers, the sight of Sir Edmond holding a protesting lamb gave him pause.

The young knight looked uncomfortable but also strangely proud at the same time as he held the wriggling bundle with his arms outstretched.

Robert rested his elbows on the table, steepled his hands and raised his finger to his lips.

“And just why exactly have you brought me a sheep, Sir Edmond?”

The young man flushed a deep red and lowered his eyes with patent embarrassment. “It’s not for you,” he mumbled.

Robert laughed out loud but knew he shouldn’t be amused. After all, this kind of thing had been going on for weeks and surely he shouldn’t be encouraging the lunacy? It was Gareth’s fault, of course. His gift of aromatic herbs had started an unofficial competition amongst the men. Every man jack of them seemed to be battling hard to earn themselves a kiss of their own and there seemed to be no length to which they wouldn’t go in the pursuit of their goal.

Even the normally sane Matthew had entered into the madness, Robert remembered with a rueful grin as he met the baleful stare of the lamb. Only that morning, the old man had proudly presented Imogen with a soft duck’s feather, his knees cracking outrageously as he had knelt gallantly on the stone floor in front of the main hearth.

Robert had wanted to laugh at the old man’s foolishness, and he suspected it was a desire shared by all who were witness to the folly, but Matthew’s fierce glare had forestalled any such reaction. Imogen, however, hadn’t noticed the suppressed amusement as she reached out and helped the old man to his feet. She had scolded him harshly for his foolishness. But she had smiled and her cheeks had been clearly flushed with pleasure at the chivalrous gesture from the usually crusty old man.

She had given him a hug and asked him if he would act as her escort on her inspection of the storeroom, to checked the freshness of the spices.

The blissfully smug smile on Matthew’s face as he had taken her arm and led her away had killed all amusement, dead. And it had apparently inspired a new wave of creativity in the Pleasing-Imogen Tournament, Robert realized as he dispassionately observed the sheep that Sir Edmond was trying to hold begin to wriggle its way to freedom.

He didn’t blame the men entirely. Robert himself had been more than a little inspired by the sight of Imogen caressing her cheek absentmindedly with the feather as she had walked away.

Robert’s body heated as he imagined presenting her with a feather of his own.

Of course, he would give it to her in the privacy of their chamber. They would both be naked and lying on the rug before the fire. He would then run the feather over the gentle swell of her breasts, over the hollow of her navel, over the moist silk of her inner thigh and, reaching ever higher…

Robert closed his eyes for a moment and tried to breathe deeply. His fevered imaginings were having an instantaneous, and painful, effect on him. His groin was now full and aching and he was grateful that the table was hiding his erection from Sir Edmond’s gaze, as the young man looked like he was suffering enough trying to control the sheep, without being confronted with his leader’s