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

“But Mama,” she always protested, “my hands are ever so big. They must be your size by now.” She would hold up her small dirty hand as proof of its enormity. Her mother would place her own elegant hand against it and murmur, “Soon enough, Genny. Soon enough. Until then, I will wear it to keep it safe for you.”

And she had. Her mother had been wearing it that day when she and father had ridden out for the last time.

It had taken all of Imogen’s persuasion to convince them to go. It had been months since Imogen’s accident and her parents hadn’t left her side for a moment, frightened to leave her alone in the dark. It had taken her hours to persuade them that she would be okay, that she was getting used to the world without colors, that she really would be fine for just one afternoon by herself.

Eventually they had agreed, but her mother still hadn’t been able to stop herself from fussing around Imogen, issuing an endless stream of last-minute instructions to anyone who would listen.

In the end Imogen had clumsily reached out her hands to grab for her mother’s fluttering ones. She had felt the cold presence of the ring and been reassured even as she had said forcefully, “Mama, I’ll be fine. There are plenty of people here to look after me. You and Papa just go and enjoy yourselves for an afternoon.”

It had been a lie. She hadn’t been fine, had hated being alone, but Imogen had felt a small easing in her guilt as she had listened to the two horses galloping out of the courtyard and receding into the distance.

It had taken two days for their bodies to be found. They had been thrown into a ditch beside the stream, seemingly the victims of bandits as their bodies had been stripped of everything of value.

The ring had been stolen along with everything else, but that had hardly seemed to matter.

As Imogen had sat in vigil in the small chapel between her parents, she had been so numb with her grief that she had been able to do no more than sit there holding their hands in the darkness. She hadn’t cried. She had wept so much and so bitterly after the accident had robbed her of sight that there seemed to be no tears left for the beloved parents that she had blithely sent to their deaths.

But the numbness hadn’t lasted forever. The pain had then become almost beyond enduring.

In her dark agony she might have found some comfort in the ring and the love it represented, but it had seemed to be lost to her forever.

Her hand clenched tightly around the ring again. It should be lost forever. Roger shouldn’t have had it all these years. He hadn’t even been there when their parents had died. When Imogen had been found unconscious at the bottom of the stairs, it hadn’t taken her parents long to put together what had happened. Their father had been so furious, he had flogged Roger to within an inch of his life, then banished him forever from the family estates. Roger had slunk off to London willingly enough.

He was able to return only after the death of their parents, when he was master of all.

He shouldn’t have even known that the ring was missing. The cold reality of the ring in her hand killed the smallest part of her, that part that had been foolish enough to have hope.

There was no hope for her now, not when her parent’s murderer had now set his sights on her. Giving her the ring, Roger had known that he was giving her evidence of his darkest deed, but he had also been declaring that she would never be able to use it against him. He would make sure of that.

Imogen clamped down on her sudden need to expel the bile from her stomach. Her fingers loosened around the ring till it rested gently in her shaking hands as she fought the desire to hurl it as far away from her as she could.

Instead, she lifted it to her chest protectively.

She would keep it, just as Roger had known she would. The game had changed, had become deadly, and that was what Roger wanted her to remember every time she felt the ring. He wanted her to know that she was in mortal danger, and there was not a thing she could do to save herself.

A cold sweat beaded on her back and slid down her spine. She clenched her teeth to break off the scream that rose in her throat. It would do no good, she realized bleakly.

She heard Robert’s strangely hesitant “Imogen?” behind her and her spine straightened instantly, as if pulled up by an invisible string.

She quickly slipped the ring onto her finger, not once questioning her instinct to hide it from Robert. She barely noticed that it fitted perfectly as she stuffed the parchment into her girdle and ran a trembling hand over her cheeks. She dreaded the thought of finding them wet with memories. She would hate to give that weapon to yet another enemy.

She need not have worried. They were as dry as her heart was cold.

“Imogen?” Robert repeated softly. “Is all well?”

She could hear his annoyance, but he quickly got himself back under control. What a clever man, she thought wildly, able to stop being the king’s butcher at will.

She turned to him and her smile was as bright as it was brittle. “Yes, why wouldn’t all be well? Did you really think that the poor little messenger might harm my person?”

“What exactly did your brother want?” he asked calmly enough.

He wanted to tell me he now had a partner, Imogen thought cynically. She shrugged her shoulders with a careful negligence. “Not much, really. I’m surprised he wasted the good parchment on such frivolities.” She couldn’t seem to find control