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

with all these Norman brutes wandering about attacking innocent folk.” She stared openmouthed for a second, flushed scarlet, and then slammed the door shut.

“Would you like us to storm the door, Sir Knight, or just burn it down?” Matthew asked with an unholy amusement in his voice.

Robert crossed his arms over his chest, exasperation beginning to tell on his nerves.

“Don’t tempt me, Old Man.” He took a deep breath, preparing to bellow his way to Hades, when the door flew open once more, this time wide enough for them to actually enter.

Neither he nor Matthew hesitated, afraid that this offer of warmth might suddenly disappear again.

They found themselves in the main hall with the doors being shut quickly behind them. It took a second for Robert’s eyes to adapt to the gloom. The room had no windows and light came from the guttering candles and the fire that burned sluggishly in the hearth. The enormous stone fireplace took up one entire wall and Matthew let out a groan of ecstasy as he rushed over to it, releasing the smell of stale rushes with every step. He thrust his hands to the small blaze and closed his eyes blissfully. Robert remained near the door, taking full stock of his new home.

It took Robert a moment to locate the person in the shadows who had finally allowed them in.

She stood so that the candles illuminated only one side of her face, leaving the rest in shadow. It was a harsh effect, seeming to magnify the lines on her face and the steel in her gray hair.

By her dress it was clear that she was a servant, but she held her back straight and met his gaze squarely as if they were equals.

Robert had spent years relying on his instincts, and wasn’t entirely surprised when his body eased automatically out of its wariness. It was clear that this woman wasn’t a threat, for all her apparent severity.

He gave her a small smile, which she didn’t return.

“Greetings, m lord, and welcome to Shadowsend,” the woman said stiffly. “I apologize for Alice, but you did startle her, although we have been expecting you. At the moment, the Keep is only being served by nigh on ten women, but if you ask for me, I’m sure that we will manage to serve most of your needs, Sir Knight.”

“What is your name, and what exactly are your duties here?”

“My name is Mary. I’m principally my lady’s companion, but I also function as a chatelaine in the absence of someone else more suitable.”

Robert nodded, only a little wiser than before. What he knew about the running of a castle, keep or cottage was insignificant, and he had only the vaguest of notions as to the function of a chatelaine. Hopefully it meant that she could run everything without any help from him.

“You may go about your duties,” Robert said in what he hoped was a confident manner, feeling large and clumsy in a domestic setting. Give him a meadow and twenty unseasoned soldiers and he moved with confidence. Present him with one self-assured servant and he was almost ready to eat the rushes. He tried to hide that uncertainty by turning his back in dismissal, but changed his mind abruptly, catching the woman midcurtsy.

It was a clumsy return to standing, and Robert felt a little more at ease in the face of this small imperfection.

“Wait. Why isn’t Lady Imogen greeting her guests?” Even he was aware that the basic rules of hospitality demanded that the lady of the house see to her guests’ comfort.

For a moment Mary looked disconcerted. “My lady, uh…sleeps and I was asked not to disturb her.”

Matthew snorted, stopping for the first time his fire worship. “They have found you the perfect wife. One who can manage to sleep through your battle bellow.”

The woman had the grace to blush at the too-obvious lie and for the first time lowered her gaze.

“We have much to discuss,” Robert said gently, “the lady and I, and I think we should start now. If you can go and wake her and tell her that Sir Robert desires very much for her to present herself in the hall.”

The woman seemed dumbstruck for a moment before her natural confidence returned. “I’m sorry, Sir Robert, but Lady Imogen never leaves her chamber.”

Robert was momentarily nonplussed. Perhaps Lady Deformed was unable to manage the stairs? Perhaps her legendary deformity prevented her moving altogether?

A nauseous feeling rose up in his throat. He had never been squeamish before. How could he, when the battlefield offered so many kinds of death and none of them were pretty? He had seen men ripped to shreds, splattered so far that they were unidentifiable. He had seen retribution, that cold, mechanical murder of the enemy. He might never have relished it; but he had accepted it. It seemed natural to him after so many years and he had learned to live with it, learnt that it was part of his days and, occasionally, a part of his nightmares.

But never before had he seen a female so scarred by her injuries that she couldn’t leave her room, so badly damaged that she hid from the world. Warriors wore their scars as a badge of pride, a symbol of their survival. This new kind of pain didn’t sit well with him. He longed for escape, longed to leave the lady buried in her living grave, but his newly defined honor demanded more.

He set his shoulders. “Well then, it is only fitting that I go to the lady if she is unable to greet us. Lead the way.”

Mary bowed her head and grabbed the candlestick from the great table, using a burning stick from the fireplace to light it. Robert raised his brows. The sun had risen two hours ago. Did none of the Keep open to the natural light? As if she read his mind, Mary shrugged her shoulders, a little apologetic.

“The light on the upper floor is not the best,