Midnight Eyes (4 page)

She waited for the terrors.

They were almost like old friends, the terrors. They had always been her companion, even when she’d had sight. She had always been afraid of the dark.

Nothing her parents had done could convince her that the dark held nothing that the light didn’t. Each night she would curl herself into a tight ball and wait for the sleep of exhaustion to finally claim her.

Then came the day when a darkness descended that would never end. The terrors had stalked her day and night. At first she had been beyond coping, but time had taught her to keep them at bay, she had learned to shut her mind away from its own phantasms.

Still the fears grew, joined by dark memories of pain and the causing of that pain.

So now she waited alone in her room, waited for the memories to come. She curled up on the rug, feeling the fire on her face, smelling the smoke but remembering a place a lifetime away.

Once more she was sixteen. A beloved child of loving parents. It seemed to be always summer, there seemed to be only laughter. Even fear was not so cold and destructive. Fear was a thing only of the night. She had been too young to see the dark hate in Roger’s face, too young to comprehend his twisted soul. She had danced around her dark sibling and had never noticed the threat: never saw the silent predator waiting in her summer youth.

She hadn’t seen him that day as she had raced up the tower steps. They had been at their estate in Cornwall for weeks and she had barely noticed his brooding presence at all. It was too lovely a time to think about Roger’s bad moods and strange, hard, staring eyes.

She had raced up those steps only to get a better view of the eagles.

He had caught her in the tower room. Trapped her. Suffocated her.

She had at first been too stunned to fight, but soon she had used her claws, used her teeth, to try and get him off her.

He had stepped away enough to allow her air, and she had clung desperately to the cold stone wall. The smell of his blood hung heavily in the air between them as it streaked down his cold, dark face.

“This is not the end, Sister dear,” he had hissed. “This will never end.”

She hadn’t seen the blow before it landed, but she had felt the sickening crunch of her jawbone, felt the rush of air as the stone steps seemed to rise up to meet her, felt the first impact.

Mercifully after that she had felt nothing.

She had awoken to darkness and a fear that echoed with those prophetic words.

It would never be over.

Even now, safely hundreds of miles from him, his dark soul still stalked her. Every visit he came and renewed his vow. He had never yet tried to hurt her like he had in the tower. He was patient. He would wait till she came to him on her knees.

But it would never be over while they both lived.

Sometimes she wished that it would all end. Sometimes just the thought of another day in darkness made her retch into the chamberpot, but tonight her stomach felt strangely calm.

She waited for a dawn that she would never see and tried not to think about the darkness. She found herself not thinking of ends. Instead her mind strayed to the warmth of Robert’s arms around her.

It was the first night since the age of sixteen she didn’t scream.

“Imogen Colebrook!” Mary exclaimed in horror. “Don’t tell me you slept there all night?”

“No, I didn’t sleep at all,” Imogen murmured as she slowly straightened her cold, stiffened body.

“I can tell that by the violet under your eyes.” Mary leaned over, took her face and held it up to the light of her candle, then let out an exasperated sigh. “Not that it makes much difference. You’re still an unearthly beauty, maybe just a might more fragile.”

Imogen smiled slightly. “Don’t sound so disgruntled. You make a compliment sound like an insult.”

“Well, I certainly meant no insult. You don’t insult a bride.”

“Why ever not?” Imogen asked in puzzlement.

“Because it brings bad luck,” she said authoritatively, and then ruined the effect by adding, “though God knows, most things seem to. To my way of thinking, what we be needing are things that bring good luck.”

“Maybe if you’re nice to me, you might get a little bit of good luck.”

Mary raised a brow but helped Imogen to a chair and began getting things ready for Imogen’s bath.

“Did the priest arrive?” Imogen asked nonchalantly but couldn’t stop herself from stiffening.

Mary didn’t answer for a second as she scrabbled to find the hairbrush.

“Oh, yes, almost instantly,” she said finally. “Sir Robert can be a might forceful when he puts his mind to it. He had that lazy beggar Alice cleaning out the place, and setting up an altar table near the main room, and I don’t know what else.”

Imogen froze for a second.

“He plans us to be married downstairs?”

“So it seems.” Mary’s voice was curiously neutral.

“I can’t go down there, Mary.” Imogen’s voice rose in panic. “I’ve never seen down there. I can’t go down there.”

She swung in her seat and made a grab for Mary’s hands. “You’ll have to tell him. Tell him. You must. We can be married here. It makes no real difference. Not to him.”

“I don’t think he’s the sort of man you go telling things to. He’s the sort that seems to do most of the telling himself.”

“Please,” whispered Imogen.

Mary sighed, disengaging her hand. “I’ll give it a try once I’ve got you dressed.” She went to the chest at the end of the bed and began foraging for clothes. “But I don’t be liking my chances of achieving the impossible,” she muttered darkly.

“No. I’m not getting married in some damn bedchamber.”

Robert’s voice sounded calm enough, but Mary could clearly see the fury in his eyes. Still, she tried again.

“I’ve told you that Lady Imogen never leaves her room, and she doesn’t understand why where you get married makes that much difference.”

Robert stared into the black embers of the fireplace. He had spent his night sitting there near the hearth in his room, watching the fire slowly die. It had seemed like too important a night to just lose it to sleep. He had waited, and before the dawn had risen he carefully got dressed in the clothes he had bought especially for a ceremony that he had never thought to go through.

As he had belted his simple black-and-silver-trimmed tunic, he had felt a peace descending. There was a rightness to this day that had been missing from every other, but that rightness also dictated he take Lady Imogen for his wife in front of her people. Their people, now.

He turned to look at Mary.

“The marriage will take place in the hall in one hour,” he said softly. “I will come and collect her just before.”

Mary stared for a second, then bowed her head and left. She knew when a fight was lost. The time left would be better spent preparing Imogen.

Today, it would seem, had been set aside for the conquering of fear.

Robert stood and walked over to the small table. He picked up the leather pouch he had placed there the night before and tipped the contents into his palm.

The single gold ring winked at him. He could well remember the strange, inept feeling that had haunted him as he had looked for the right tokens for a wife he had never met. He had never bought such things before, and had been unable to visualize them on his unseen wife.

Now the image of her was burnt with an acid brilliance onto his mind. He had seen her face dance in the fire all night, yearned to feel the satin of her skin against his own. In the long night he had been haunted, but it was by no malignant spirit. No, he had been haunted by a wonderful future he had never expected to have, haunted by a rightness he felt unworthy to possess.

Lady Imogen. His Imogen. His wife.

The ring seemed to burn into his palm as his fingers closed round it.

“Well, Boy,” Matthew asked gently from the door, “are you ready?”

Robert felt his back straighten, his chin rise.

He turned and saw his old friend and companion standing near the door, the other man’s discomfort clear. His hair was damp and combed back in a scary fashion. He seemed out of place in his good clothes, but Robert could well read the pride in the old man’s face.

“Matthew, I’m more ready than I have ever been for anything in the whole course of my life before.”

“Then let’s go to it, Boy.”

The door to Imogen’s room stood open. Robert stepped in quietly, wanting to assess the situation before deciding how best to deal with his nervous bride.

She sat on the floor; her knees drawn up to her chest and held tightly by her arms. Her face was hidden by her waves of black hair. He felt a strange warmth in his chest as he noticed that she too was specially dressed for the event. Her pale pink dress swept fluidly over her body and was held taut round her waist by a girdle of gold lace.

Robert still felt a little dazzled by such beauty. It was almost beyond his simple human comprehension. He was smiling as he crouched down in front of her, his knees cracking a little.

Her head flew up.

“Who’s there?” Her voice sounded small and defiant. He could now see the trails that tears had left on her face.

Robert mentally castigated himself for not making her aware of his presence before frightening her. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her.

“Sorry.” His voice sounded thick even to his own ears. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

She tried feebly to smile. “Everyone sneaks up on me. I’ve been thinking of giving the servants bells just to stop it.”

“I don’t think I want to wear bells.”

“No, I suppose not.” She seemed to gather her strength for a second. “Please don’t make me go downstairs.”

He looked down at his calloused, scarred hands, trying to sound calm and unconcerned. “Is it that you don’t want to marry me in front of your people?”

She seemed stunned for a moment.

“You think I’m ashamed to marry you?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps.”

She instinctively reached out a hand, trying to find his, but instead she found his knee. It was a warm solidness under her palm.

“No. No, it has nothing to do with you. I don’t know enough about you to be ashamed.” She ducked her head. “You have been kind enough to me.”

“You are easy to be kind to.”

“Well, can’t you do one more kindness?” she asked pleadingly. “I’ve never left this room, not since I came North. I’ve tried, but I can’t. Within two steps, I don’t know where I am. I panic. It’s like…It’s like being alone in Hell.” Her voice broke. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Robert’s vague feelings of rejection evaporated, replaced by a warmth that started in his heart and spread to his whole body, especially the part where her small hand rested. He covered it with his own.

“You won’t be alone. I promise to never leave your side for a second.” He cupped her face with his other hand, running his thumb soothingly over the damp softness of her cheek. “Let me be your eyes.”

“And you won’t leave me alone in the dark?” she asked, thinking of that day alone.

“Never,” he whispered, thinking of tomorrows stretching into eternity.

She heard the gathering long before they reached the hall.

The low murmur of many voices sounded like the roar of a multitude in her mind. She had lived in her isolation for so long that the sound of the people from the Keep and the nearby villages gathered to see her was terrifying. The noise clouded her senses and dislocated her from the world. She moved as if in a dream.

And the only real thing in her dream world was the man beside her. The warmth from his body seemed to calm the panic that was trying to form a cold knot in her stomach.

He held her close to his side as if she was made of the finest crystal.

This gentleness was perhaps the most surprising thing about her warrior. Instead of the exasperation and anger at her panic that she had expected, he had simply lifted her from the floor and looped her arm through his, placing his other warm hand reassuringly over hers.

She was enclosed entirely in the strength of his almost-embrace.

He had led her slowly from her sanctuary. It had been only the calm in his deep voice as he had talked softly to her that had given her the courage to take the first step. And the next. But now, in the face of so many others, it wasn’t enough.

“We are at the door of the main hall now. You’re doing well,” he murmured encouragingly, but even his calmness could no longer still the chaos that suddenly swarmed to life inside her. The strength that had got her to the doors of the hall now fled.

She felt rooted to the spot with panic.

“I can hear people. How many people?” Her voice squeaked in rising terror. “There are too many people.”

He let her hand drop and wrapped his arm around her trembling shoulders, drawing her more tightly into the cocoon of his warmth.

She lacked the strength to deny the comfort he offered.

She leaned into his warmth, barely resisting the urge to bury her face in his side. He was strong enough to fight off the world, and for the first time in longer than she cared to remember, momentarily she let someone else’s strength be her own.

For this one moment, it didn’t seem to matter that he had been sent by her brother or that she scarcely knew him. Instead, she concentrated on the peace that radiated from him. The only thing that mattered was that she could feel the long, muscled length of him as he held her securely. The smell of man and sandalwood that filled her mind was at once calming but also oddly exciting.

“It’s just the household,” he said soothingly, “and people from the villages near Shadowsend.”

“It sounds like more.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “I’ve been alone too long.”

For a second his arm tightened around her, subtly forcing her to shift her balance into him more completely or risk falling over. She felt him take a steadying breath of his own.

“Well, you are no longer alone.”

He couldn’t explain, even to himself, the tightness he suddenly felt in his chest at her words. The sensation was so strange that he didn’t even try to identify it.

What was easier to understand was the raw anger that accompanied the tightness. It was a wrath being fed by questions that circled his mind, questions whose answers he already knew he wasn’t going to like.

Why had this woman been carelessly dumped in an obscure corner of this remote island? Why had she been abandoned to the protection of this motley group of women and old men? Why had she been left so isolated that she was frightened by her own wedding gathering?

It was past all understanding, but a feral smile lit his eyes as he envisioned trying to get some understanding out of the guilty party. Robert quickly tried to dampen down his anger.

The righteous rage that was boiling in his belly was explosive and he didn’t want this fragile woman to sense the depths of that anger, didn’t want her to be frightened by its intensity.

God knows, he was a little frightened by it himself.

“What is it?” she asked nervously. “You’ve gone all tense. Has something gone wrong?”

He carefully eased his rigid muscles, kicking himself mentally for not being more careful. She might be blind, but his soon-to-be bride was far from stupid. Of course she could sense the anger that he had let momentarily take hold of him and although the focus of his anger was her enemies, he had fought alone too long to let another know all that he thought.

Besides, there was nothing to be done now about the past. There would be time enough for retribution later. For now he didn’t want Imogen to know just how violent a man she was committing her life to.

“It’s nothing,” he said soothingly. “I just couldn’t see the priest, and I’m anxious for the deed to be done.”

She nodded, her sightless eyes instinctively trying to scan the room.

If she felt some small disappointment at the coldness of his statement, well, she had no right to, she told herself sternly. After all, this was only an arrangement of necessity. Just because being held in the arms of this man felt right to her, didn’t mean she could expect him to pretend a sentiment he was far from feeling.

“Now you wouldn’t be looking for me by any chance?” spoke a voice suddenly behind them.

Robert turned and narrowed his eyes at the priest, who simply smiled benignly in return.

“Sorry for the delay,” the man said breezily, straightening already neat vestments, “but I was…uh…elsewhere when your messenger arrived.”

He smiled engagingly up at Robert, who struggled to hide his immediate and intense dislike of the slick little man.

His temper wasn’t improved when the man’s eyes fairly glowed as they rested on Imogen. “And might I say that I have rarely seen a bride looking as radiant as our fair Lady Imogen?” He lifted one of her hands and grazed his lips along the knuckles.

Robert struggled not to growl his disapproval. He would have dearly loved to hit the man. Instead he settled for a good, all-purpose glare that had been known to set even hardened veterans to flight. The priest ignored it.

The priest’s lips lingered over her skin for a moment, but Robert’s displeasure must have registered, because he let go of her hand with a sigh. Robert only just stopped himself from grabbing hold of Imogen’s hand and wiping it clean.

“It’s time to get started, I think.” The priest clapped his hands together with some evident relish. “Give me a small head start and I’ll have the crowd worked up to a fever pitch of prewedding ecstasy for you.”

Robert watched as the little man walked confidently into the room, commanding an instant silence. Robert grimaced a little. It seemed that the priest had everyone in the room already in his thrall.

“Idiot,” he growled darkly to no one in particular.

“Always was,” Imogen said with a small smile.

Robert raised a brow. “You know that pompous idiot?”

“I remember him,” she corrected. “Ian was apprenticed to be my father’s squire. He was a real ladies’ man till he, uh, got ‘his calling.’ I didn’t realize he was the priest of this parish, though.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Roger must have had him installed. Those two were always close.”

Robert’s brows lowered in puzzlement. He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “How do you know it’s Ian without…you know…”

“Without being able to see him, you mean?” she asked, and Robert grunted in reply, more than a little embarrassed by his own awkwardness.

“I just can,” she said slowly, for the first time struggling to explain her dark world. “We are more than just our faces and body. A human is made up of so many other little signals that if you wait for them, it’s easy enough to recognize them. I knew Ian so well as a child, I suppose. The sound of his voice, the top of his finger missing on his right hand.” She smiled her first real smile that morning. “The smooth, arrant nonsense that seems to come out of his mouth every time he opens it. It’s all very distinctive.”

Robert couldn’t help but smile, and some of the irritation he had felt at the sight of Imogen’s hands in Ian’s eased a little. “Arrant nonsense or not he’s going to be the one who marries us.”

Marry. The word was like a cold weight in Imogen’s stomach.

She turned and placed her hand high on Robert’s chest for support. “Are you sure you want to do this? I know you’re only doing it to get the land, but there might be some other way, some other arrangement…” She could hear the panic in her own voice but wasn’t entirely sure whether the panic was because he might say yes or because he might say no.

Robert covered her small hand with his own, trying not to be uncomfortably aware of the callouses and brute strength in his own hands compared to the small softness of hers. “Are you trying to say that you don’t want to marry me?” he asked, as if whatever her answer, it would mean nothing to him.

She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head decisively. There would be no escape. If it wasn’t Robert Beaumont, then it would be someone else. Roger would never allow her to escape this game and she must never forget that. Nor should she forget that Robert was first and foremost Roger’s choice.

Instead of being distracted by the muscles on his chest that she could feel beneath his tunic, she should be thinking of tactics, of survival.

Robert allowed himself only a moment of relief before gathering up his thoughts.

“Good!” he said briskly but couldn’t seem to stop himself from dropping a gentle kiss on her forehead, enjoying the feel of her soft skin under his. “Then let’s go get married, Little One.”

The ceremony passed in a blur.

Afterward, Imogen couldn’t seem to recall anything except the moment when Robert’s strong, clear voice pledged himself to her forever. For a moment she had felt a quickening in her soul, a sense of rightness.

At that moment she had to really struggle to remember that her brother had sent this man. Caught up in that struggle, she barely noticed the cheers as Robert bent to kiss her.

He had hesitated above her for a second, bathing her lips in the warmth from his mouth. The tingle of sensation caused her to let out a small gasp of surprise. Robert swooped on the movement, and claimed her parted lips as his own.

Every nerve ending seemed to come alive in the radiance of that kiss. Fire spread through her body, teasing and titillating every part of her.

That kiss was so entirely beyond her realm of experience that her instincts took control. When she felt his tongue trace her lips demandingly, she opened them wider without question. The only voluntary response she seemed to have left was the one that demanded she lean farther into him, opening herself up completely.

His tongue moved questioningly along her teeth in a slow, teasing movement before withdrawing.

Though the touch had been brief, its sudden absence left her feeling bereft. There had been a long moment when she had managed to forget their audience entirely, but as he moved away from her, their voices could be heard once more, penetrating the fog Robert had spun round her. She had been left momentarily stunned by the knowledge that she had forgotten them all and, more than that, she had actually felt safe. In Robert’s arms, she suspected, anything could seem safe.

She was still reeling from this shock when Robert had calmly announced that he wanted everyone present to pay their respects to the new master of Shadowsend Keep and to his wife. Robert then led her to a chair near the fire without a word and through everything that had followed he had remained standing stiffly at her side. Mary had stationed herself at Imogen’s other side like a silent sentry, but Imogen had felt her trying to give her comfort and strength.

What followed was a hideous confusion. Each person came forward, bowed respectfully, then left the room. There were so many people that Imogen very quickly became confused, but pride wouldn’t let her show it.

Through it all she felt their eyes upon her, felt each of them trying to see her fabled deformity. Some of them knew, and soon they all would. Instead of an easily dismissed mystery, she would become a part of their known world, the Blind Lady of the Keep. It would be the death of the little false dignity anonymity had left her.

When Mary softly told her that the last of them had gone by, Imogen could have cried with relief. Instead she had stood briskly and imperiously, and demanded to be taken back to her bedroom. Robert immediately stepped forward.

She felt his warm hand on her arm and was almost seduced by it but her fear was too raw. She refused to be fooled by the comfort he offered. She shook off his hand.

“No. I want Mary.” Her voice wavered, but she lifted her chin defiantly.

She clearly heard Robert’s breath whistle between his teeth in shock, but he quickly hid his irritation at her public rejection. “Of course,” he said quietly, but it seemed to roar through the silent room.

Imogen pretended not to notice and regally walked from the room as she had been taught all those years ago, but once in her chamber she dismissed Mary as soon as she could. She needed more than anything to be alone with the chaos that now filled her.

She collapsed into a chair, covering her face with her hands, feeling more afraid than she had ever before in a life filled with fears. She now had fear about what was real and what was false in this world turned strange.

She had almost believed in that kiss.

For a moment she had almost believed that it wasn’t all an elaborate game. She had almost lost herself in the man. Almost.

It was pitiful, really, that she had been so easily absorbed into a dream world of his making. She should be grateful for the prying stares of the guests she had felt pulling away the layers of her skin. They had forced her to return to the harsh light of her reality.

And the reality was that they had all wanted to see Lady Deformed, wanted to feel that vague, tantalizing thrill that came with touching her corruption. Perhaps they had even been a little disappointed that her disfigurement hadn’t been more apparent, that they couldn’t actually see her ugly darkness. She could never let herself forget that, no matter how tempting it was to do so.

Her deformity was the darkness that only she could see but for a moment Robert had blinded her even to that and she couldn’t allow him to have that power over her. She could never allow herself to lose sight of what she had become, of who had made her that way.