Midnight Eyes

by Brophy, Sarah

  “Sir Gareth, why am I waiting? We have declared ourselves, surely that is enough,” she asked imperiously, deliberately pitching her voice well over the rumble of the crowd. A hush fell, no one wanting to miss one moment of this surprise entertainment.

  “I’m not sure, my lady,” Gareth said respectfully, but Imogen could hear the smile in his voice as he too began to play to their audience. “Perhaps you have stunned the poor guards with your beauty.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, as if such extravagant flattery was only her due. “Surely they can be just as rapt when I’m inside the castle as when I’m outside in all of these draughts.” She knew by the sigh of satisfaction that rose around her that she was playing her part well.

  If only she could believe the part, but it was all bravado and went only skin-deep. She was terrified that someone would shake themselves free of their surprise and recall that she was the wife of a would-be assassin.

  Fear was becoming an all-too-frequent companion, she thought abstractly, her every sense straining to try and gauge if their bluff was working. When she heard the clank and rasp of the guards stepping aside to let them pass, Imogen thought she might actually faint from the relief that flooded through her.

  She allowed her muscles to sag with it instead, but only for a moment. She quickly straightened in her saddle. They had overcome only the first obstacle and there were many more still to come.

  Gareth brought the horses to a halt near the large oak doors of the main entrance, slid swiftly from the saddle and walked to Imogen’s side. He reached steadying hands around her waist and gently lifted her to the ground. Taking her arm, he nodded stiffly to the groom taking their horses to the stables, while trying to hide the sinking feeling in his gut as he watched their means of escape disappear around the corner.

  His attention was brought back to Imogen as a shiver went through her body. He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “You are doing well, Imogen, you acted just like a princess,” he whispered admiringly, then added with a sad smile, “Robert will be proud of you.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  Matthew slowly walked over to join them, looking around the courtyard in disgust. “And to think I had to work so hard to get out of here! I should have saved myself the bother if I was only going to throw myself back into the Devil’s teeth.”

  Gareth flashed a grin at Matthew. “I’m glad you didn’t see fit to mention your recent adventures to the guards. If they recognized you as an escaped prisoner, all the hauteur in the world wouldn’t have got us in.”

  “We would probably still be trying to explain it as they walked us to the scaffold,” Imogen murmured.

  Matthew snorted derisively. “No chance of that. These idiots wouldn’t recognize the end of their own nose, much less the reappearance of an escaped prisoner.” He shook his head. “They are a rabble of ill-disciplined old women. Give me a month and I might just be able to whip them into a vaguely capable group of scullery maids, but only if the hard work didn’t kill them all first. It would take a lifetime to turn them into soldiers.”

  “Should you be complaining about their lack of discipline when it was that self-same lack that let you escape in the first place?” Gareth asked with a raised brow.

  “It is the principle of the thing,” Matthew said loftily and Gareth laughed out loud.

  Imogen’s smile was tight and preoccupied, her mind working at a furious rate as she tried to decide how to proceed. “Attack and surprise,” she said quietly, and for a moment it almost seemed as if she was once more in front of the Keep’s hearth, listening to Robert explain to her the intricacies of chess.

  Gareth only just caught the softly spoken words, but he understood what she meant. He slipped his arm through hers and began to guide her up the main steps. Matthew followed behind more slowly, glaring at the gathering crowd in what he knew was a satisfyingly threatening manner.

  Imogen flinched as the main doors closed behind them, but she continued to walk beside Gareth with the appearance of calm confidence. She knew only too well that if they were to succeed, they had to move so fast that no one noticed that they were, to all intents and purposes, laying siege to the king and his fortress.

  Any hesitation on her part and it would mean doom for them all.

  Their luck held, with the guards too stunned to challenge them. They were all shocked at finally seeing for themselves the infamous Lady Deformed. Word of their arrival had spread quickly, and the halls were already filling with people eager to catch a glimpse.

  Gareth cast a concerned glance down at the small form walking close to his side. The serenity of her face didn’t fool him for a moment, not when he could feel the death grip she had on his arm. He would have done everything in his power to shield her from these cruel, prying eyes, but there was nothing he could do.

  It didn’t help his temper any that he knew the curiosity of the crowd was being fed by their need to see Imogen’s infamous deformities for themselves.

  Even unseen, Lady Deformed—the misbegotten sibling of Roger the Angel Courtier—had titillated the court’s jaded curiosity, but this was just too good an opportunity to be passed up. That there was no damage to be seen on the proud figure that walked with such graceful dignity excited them even more.

  Excited, titillated and aroused, Gareth thought grimly.

  He felt his brows draw tightly together as he noticed the lust that flared to life on more than one man’s face. Their amazement was quickly turning from something a little less innocent, and into something a little more carnal. He tried to glare them all down, but for every man who lowered his eyes at the ferocity of Gareth’s raw anger, there were another ten that became more intrigued by the fragile beauty who managed to inspire such fierce loyalty.

  Loyalty at court was even rarer than innocence.

  His irritation communicated itself to Imogen in the sudden tautness of his body. She gently squeezed his arm, trying to reassure him. “Don’t let it worry you, Gareth; their rude curiosity doesn’t hurt me. It is no less than I had expected.”

  Gareth gritted his teeth, but if she could stand it, then so must he. Tolerance didn’t mean acceptance, however. Payments would be extracted later and he silently began committing each leering face to memory.

  He was so busy at it that they almost ran into the guard who suddenly stepped out from the crowd and halted their progress.

  “The king demands the attendance of Lady Imogen Beaumont in his chambers immediately,” the man said formally, but he also gaped openly at Imogen, not at all deterred by her glaring companions.

  “Excellent,” Imogen said loudly for all to hear, “lead on.”

  “Ah, my lady, I’m sorry but the king has requested only your presence. I’m afraid your retainers will have to wait for you elsewhere.” He gave Matthew and Gareth a pointed look, expecting the men to immediately obey the royal edict, but neither made any move to abandon their lady.

  Imogen’s arm tightened around Gareth’s.

  “I’d hate to appear to be disobedient to my sovereign, but I’m afraid that one of my people will have to come with me. I am unable to see and I need their help. Surely the king does not expect me to abandon my eyes?”

  Imogen’s voice was soft, but everyone in the room heard her simple pronouncement and it created a minor uproar.

  For a moment, the guard’s eyes clouded with confusion, but he recovered quickly. He stepped toward her and bowed gallantly. “It would be an honor, my lady, to act as both your escort and your eyes if you would allow it.”

  She hesitated for a second but knew that there was no other way. A royal command was a royal command. She didn’t dare disobey.

  She slowly removed her arm from Gareth’s.

  “Wait for me,” she murmured.

  “Forever, if need be,” Gareth said fiercely as he bowed respectfully over her hand.

  Matthew moved quickly to do the same, his creaking joints protesting their ill use loudly. It was all the rea
ssurance she could take with her.

  She felt the stranger link his arms through hers, and found herself walking stiffly beside him as she left behind her last link with the familiar.

  The guard walked slowly, careful to guide her around every obstacle, but it seemed to Imogen that in no time at all they were outside the king’s chambers, waiting to be formally announced. She listened intently to the faint sound of her name being spoken, and the curt, rumbling reply it got. An absolute terror settled over her as she gracefully walked into the chamber on the guard’s arm.

  All was silent in the room except for the rhythmic, agitated tapping of a fingernail on wood.

  Imogen loosened the guard’s arm, and dropped into a faultless curtsy. “Sire,” she murmured, her early training returning to her in an instant.

  She remained in a low curtsy and while she couldn’t hear anything over the loud beating of her heart, she managed not to flinch when she felt a meaty finger smooth along her jawline and lift her face to the light.

  King William’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he looked into the face of Lady Deformed for the first time. Courtiers had almost killed themselves in their rush to get to his chambers with the news, each eager to be the first to tell him that Lady Deformed was a beauty without equal. They had all wanted to see his reaction, wanted to be the first to know whether the king would treat this innocent beauty as his lover’s sister or as a traitor’s wife.

  Their descriptions had varied wildly, but the central astonishment had remained true in every telling of the tale. Each of them had said in their own way that Lady Deformed was even more worthy of the title “angel” than was her brother.

  William had gritted his teeth and refused to let them know that he was as genuinely astonished as they were. He couldn’t let it be known that he was as ignorant as everyone else of the truth. He hated the thought of people knowing that Roger had never once seen fit to tell him that the rumors about his sister had been no more than a tissue of lies. Never once had he tried to tell William the truth, not even in the relative privacy of the royal bed.

  In fact, until Roger had unexpectedly suggested the marriage between Imogen and Robert as a vicious joke, he had never once spoken of his sibling, and William had foolishly assumed that the silence was the result of discretion. Now that he could see for himself that there had been no need to hide this lady, however, he had to also admit the unpleasant truth that he had never really known what deep game Roger had been playing.

  He dreaded finding out, but this woman was going to make it impossible for him to hide from the truths that would tear apart his life.

  He dropped her chin suddenly and moved over to look out the window. “So, why exactly have you decided to invade my fortress, Lady Imogen?” He paused, then added bitingly, “I doubt your brother requested your presence after all this time.”

  “Like any other dutiful wife, Your Majesty, I have come to be with my husband.” As she said the dangerous words she kept her face carefully lowered. “I have also come to prove him innocent of the gross accusations that have been leveled against him.”

  William turned toward her and leaned against the windowsill, crossing his arms over his stocky chest. “You would dare plead for the life of my would-be assassin? It is a very dangerous thing to do in the circumstances,” he said coldly, but was unable to hide a faint flicker of admiration. He watched her lift her chin slightly when most men he knew would be cowering at such a display of royal disdain.

  “Robert is innocent,” she said simply, her voice clear and strong with her conviction.

  “There are many who would say otherwise,” William muttered darkly.

  “Like my…brother?” She spat out the last word as if it was poison.

  William narrowed his eyes and couldn’t help but recall that it was on Roger’s insistence that Robert had been held prisoner.

  “Perhaps,” he murmured cagily, dark suspicions already starting to find a home in his mind.

  “Well, Your Majesty, I hope you won’t be offended if I tell you that you are a fool if you believe Roger over Robert.”

  “It is not normally considered entirely intelligent to call your king a fool,” William said with a faint smile.

  “I’m sure a king needs to be told the truth just as much as any other man,” she said before she realized what she was doing. “Sorry, I forgot myself,” she said stiffly.

  William tut-tutted. “I’ll have none of that now, my dear. I like it much better when you spit fire. It’s more honest, if not entirely pleasant.” He contemplated her for a moment and then reached a decision. He gently raised her to her feet and guided her over to a chair. “Now, I think it is time for you to tell me all the…uh…truths that you know.”

  With her hands clenched tightly in her lap she began. She stammered as she started her story, but slowly her voice strengthened. She told him of Roger’s strange obsession, told him of his act of violence that had led to her blindness, told him of the isolation and fear that had held her all but captive. The king’s strangely understanding silence gave her the confidence to tell of her dark fears concerning the truth about her parents’ death, of Robert’s arrival in her prison, of his kindness. Her voice rang with certainty as she pledged his total innocence in any of Roger’s schemes, but when her story finished she found herself holding her breath. She could hardly expect to unravel Roger’s coils in a mere hour and she couldn’t help but fear that somehow, by coming here, by telling all she knew, she had managed only to play into his hands.

  “And you have the messages that prove this?” William asked slowly.

  She nodded and pulled the small bundle out from the hidden pocket in her cloak.

  She waited silently as William carefully looked over each and every one, her nerves stretching steadily thinner.

  “I knew that there had to be more to this than there seemed,” he murmured absentmindedly to himself. “And you still have in your possession the ring that belonged to your mother?”

  She ran a light finger over the cold metal, then slid it slowly off her hand, glad to be rid of its sad weight. William took it and placed it carefully on top of the letters, his face turning grim when he recognized it as the ring Roger had often worn on a chain round his neck.

  “Well, Lady Imogen, you have given me much to think on. I thank you for your bravery and for daring to tell the king about these truths.”

  She could hear cold anger in those words, and couldn’t help but shiver, realizing too late the extent of what it was she had dared to do.

  Unexpectedly he changed the topic, asking her what her immediate plans were. It took her mind a moment to put together a coherent reply, answering numbly that she hadn’t made any plans beyond this interview.

  “Excellent,” he said smoothly. “I will have chambers put at you and your people’s disposal till I have sorted this matter out to my satisfaction.” He placed a heavy hand on her slight shoulder. “It shouldn’t take long.”

  She had to swallow past the lump of cold fear in her throat before she could speak.

  “May I…May I ask where exactly my husband is?” she stammered.

  William smiled sardonically. “It will no doubt relieve you to know that Robert is languishing rather romantically in the dungeons, awaiting my pleasure.”

  The rush of relief that washed over Imogen left her feeling so light-headed that she barely noticed as William helped her from the chair and handed her over to the guard he had summoned.

  “Rest,” he suggested awkwardly. “It will help the time of waiting to pass.”

  “Thank you,” she said huskily.

  William cleared his throat uncomfortably, signaling frantically for the guard to get this weeping woman out of his presence, and he let out a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her. He hated women who cried. Not that he saw them doing it all that often; he made sure of that.

  He turned from the door and couldn’t stop himself from walking over to the table and picking up the ring.
It was only a simple piece but beautiful in its own way.

  He hated it.

  The cold metal seemed to yell for the entire world to hear that King William, son of the great Conqueror, had been taken for a lovesick fool. His hand tightened compulsively around it, pressing the ring’s smooth edges deeply into the flesh of his palm. But, even hidden, he couldn’t seem to stop its cold weight from whispering that the man he loved didn’t love him, and never had. Roger had been attracted only to the power inherent in being the king’s lover, not the person beneath the crown. It was a truth that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  Not that it was completely a revelation.

  He had always been a little skeptical about the depths of Roger’s passion, had always known that kings were rarely loved for themselves alone. Despite that, he had actually dared to hope that Roger felt something beyond lust for power when he surrendered his body intimately to the demands of his monarch. He had even believed that it hadn’t been self-interest alone that had led Roger into the royal bed.

  William snorted derisively as he threw the ring carelessly back on the table. He had been deluding himself and it was time for him to stop acting like a fool in love.

  He reached for the tankard of ale that was never far from his side and drained the contents in one long swallow and called for another. While he waited he stared broodingly at the letters, letters that were clearly written in Roger’s own hand. They were damning. In them Roger actually dared to gloat about his power over the king. Their very existence mocked him and he longed to consign them to the fires of deepest Hell.

  When the second tankard arrived he drank it more slowly, all the while staring at Roger’s damnation.