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

“Do you know where we are?” Roger asked as he drew the horse to a halt.

Imogen could barely hold up her head. She had been slipping in and out of consciousness for days, but Roger’s voice always seemed to effortlessly penetrate the fog that surrounded her and bring her ruthlessly back to his world.

“The tower,” she managed to get out around the swollen pain in her throat. It was still unbearably bruised from were Roger had throttled her the night before. Or perhaps it had been the night before that. Time had blurred and now shifted fluidly around her.

“Very good,” he murmured approvingly, effortlessly swinging off his horse. Once on the ground he crossed his arms over his chest and waited. This was a new ritual. He didn’t assist her, gaining a perverse pleasure from watching her helplessness.

Imogen half-climbed, half-fell off the horse, holding tightly on to the pommel till she was certain she wouldn’t fall over. She stood unflinching as Roger slipped the rope back round her waist, tying it firmly in place. He gave the lead a sharp tug, and Imogen stumbled forward.

Roger didn’t slow his pace as he went down the steps that led to the tower. Imogen barely managed to stay upright as Roger navigated the cool underground passageway and into the ground room of the tower.

“There seems to be some things missing, Little Sister. What have you been up to?” he asked politely as he tugged her along after him.

“Robert…” she managed to say before Roger pulled her up to his side and closed his hand around her throat, his fingers covering the bruises neatly as he began to casually squeeze the air out of her.

“Of course, the late, unlamented Beaumont.” He shook his head as he said smoothly, “The man was a fool.”

He dragged her up the stairs, his hand held tightly around her throat, intent now only on ending the game and destroying the last of his uncertainty as to its outcome.

It seemed to Imogen that in no time Roger was opening the door to the topmost room.

“Damn,” he muttered, “something’s blocking the window.” He dropped his hand from her throat, but still held on to the rope as he carefully walked into the room, feeling for a lamp and flint. Finding them on a small table in the center of the room Roger quickly lit the lamp.

The light revealed a large, menacing figure standing with lethal casualness by the blanket-covered window.

In the candlelight, Robert’s face looked like an avenging angel and he smiled evilly at Roger as he reached for his sword.

“Good God,” Roger gasped in shock.

“No, Colebrook. Not God, but justice,” Robert said, his smile broadening as he struck out with the flat of his sword, sending the other man reeling.

The blow jolted Roger out of his shock and he tried instinctively to back out of the room, but he ran into Imogen, who was standing behind him. He impatiently shoved her out of his way, smiling slightly as she stumbled backward.

She barely had time to comprehend the unbelievable fact that Robert was here. Her feet caught in her skirts as she lurched from the tower room and slammed into a cold stone wall. Confused, she pushed herself off the wall, and her heart stopped when suddenly all she felt under her left foot was air. She had stumbled to the top of the stairs, and suddenly her mind flashed back to the other tower in Cornwall, to those other stairs that had claimed her sight. The tower Roger had replicated at Shadowsend to torment her. She panicked and tried desperately to find her balance in the swirling darkness that surrounded her.

She flailed out her hand, but couldn’t find anything to grab hold of. She tried to step away from the sickeningly long fall she knew was in front of her, but Roger’s reversing body blocked any retreat. As she stumbled she realized with a sinking certainty that the only thing between her and an endless fall to the bottom of the stairs was the rope that dug painfully into her waist.

A rope that was in Roger’s hands.

She was unable to stifle the scream that tore through her throat as she felt Roger jerk the rope sharply, deliberately keeping her off balance.

Roger held on to the wall of the passageway for support, his head still ringing from the stunning blow. Robert stood in front of the lamp, his body casting Roger into shadow. Roger pulled the rope tightly and Imogen stumbled again with a terrified squeak. “I had hoped you would be dead by now, bastard. I can’t help but find it inconvenient that you aren’t,” Roger said through clenched teeth, wiping the blood from his lip with his sleeve.

Robert pointed his sword at Roger’s throat, smiling broadly as it nicked the skin. “You’re not that lucky, Colebrook, and I’m not that easy to kill. Not when William has turned against you.” Robert smiled. “He has even given me permission to kill you.”

Roger pulled suggestively on the rope, enjoying Imogen’s moan of fear as she stumbled blindly down a step. Robert narrowed his eyes angrily but kept his attention focused on Roger.

“Kill me, Beaumont,” Roger said with relish. “And I’ll take your whore to Hell with me.”

“You dare threaten her?” Robert asked incredulously. “When I hold a sword at your throat?”

“Oh, I dare anything, Beaumont. That’s why I always win.”

Robert was so fast that Roger didn’t even see the thrust that pushed the sword deeply into his belly, not stopping till the blade cut through to the other side.

Roger looked down in amazement at the hilt that protruded from him, his hand reaching instinctively to pull it out even as he knew it was too late. He looked up at Robert and smiled. “But I still win bas—” He was cut off by the gurgle of blood that trickled from his lips. He let go of the rope and, with his last burst