Midnight Eyes (21 page)

“Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you,” William grumbled, but drew Roger into his arms nonetheless.

“Because no one can make you feel like I do,” Roger murmured huskily and then pressed a passionate kiss on William’s lips.

As the kiss deepened and lusts flared in William, Roger’s mind detached itself and began coolly considering his situation.

He needed to destroy the least bit of suspicion about his motives for desiring Robert’s death. William’s compliance was vital if he was going to succeed. He had to succeed. There was no room for failure now.

Imogen was his.

Consciousness returned to Robert all at once. One second he was sinking weightlessly in the painless dark, the next every cell of his being was screaming in pain.

Obviously, the guards had gone about their job enthusiastically, he thought wryly with a sharp, painful intake of breath. He lay as still as possible in the straw that scarcely covered the cold stone and began to rationally calculate the damage, trying to stop himself from passing out again with the pain.

Judging by the fire that engulfed him with every breath, they had fractured a few of his ribs, so they must have kicked him; and the relentless pounding of his head no doubt came from its violent encounter with that sword hilt. The other pains were only minor in comparison. He glanced down at himself, stripped bare but for a cloth to cover his loins, and grimaced at the sight of the bruises and cuts that now decorated his body.

Nothing fatal.

All in all, he supposed he should be grateful that it was only superficial damage. He felt only a little worse than the time he had been run over by a herd of stampeding warhorses, he thought with a dark smile, then winced as the cut on his lip reopened.

He struggled into a sitting position, then, with a deep, steadying breath, tried to stand up. He was quickly forced back to his knees with a thump by the chains on his wrists. The bastards had deliberately shortened them. It was impossible for him to stand to his full height.

He clenched his jaw tightly and waited for the pain to pass.

Brilliant, he thought bitterly, William really was determined to keep him on his knees. He eased his legs out and tried to settle down in the straw. He wrapped his arms tightly around his ribs to hold them still, and then leaned his head back against the cold walls.

He closed his eyes to see if he could find some comfort in sleep, but the taste of failure was still too bitter on his tongue. Despite all his best efforts he had delivered Imogen directly into the hands of her enemy. He allowed himself only a few short minutes to dwell on self-pity, guilt and regret, letting them consume him, then he carefully shook himself free.

It did Imogen no good, and her safety was the only thing he would allow his mind to dwell on. That was all that mattered now.

Matthew might even now be free and heading north to mobilize Gareth and the other knights. Imogen could be safely out of the country before Roger could do her any more harm. Gareth would see to that. He would get her out of this country, hide her away so that she could be safe. He would look after her, would make sure that she was free.

Perhaps he would even marry her. He would, of course, wait politely for her to forget her husband of such a brief time.

Robert gritted his teeth as jealousy consumed him, but he couldn’t let that emotion deceive him. He had seen a little of his own love for Imogen burning in the other man’s eyes. It made sense that if they were brought together, then love would have to declare itself eventually, and Imogen would be a fool to deny herself a chance of happiness.

It was only natural.

Jealousies burned bright and clear in his chest at the thought of any other man claiming Imogen for his own; of any other man but himself guiding her through her days; of any other man holding her at night as she gave in to the passion that burned in her soul.

He longed to cry out. Don’t touch her, she’s mine! She’s the other half of my soul, my reason for living, my love and my life. Mine.

But it was a cry in the wilderness.

“Imogen,” he sighed, and knew it was an unachievable prayer. The only place where she was unquestionably his was in his heart and mind. He closed his eyes and conjured her from his memories, re-creating what he needed most.

He proved to be too good at imagining. He had to clench his hand to stop himself reaching out and trying to touch the vision of her that his mind had produced to torment him. If he did that, she would disappear and he needed her like he had never needed anything before in his life.

He saw her as he liked to see her best.

She stood naked and happy, her face glowing with peace. Her hands rested pertly on her hips, her head held at a saucy angle as she seemed to regard him. She was so achingly real that Robert could have almost sworn that the scent of her perfumed hair drifted through the cell to tantalize his senses.

He watched transfixed as her lips soundlessly whispered the words his heart longed to hear.

“I love you.”

He smiled gently and murmured aloud, “I love you too.”

This time, when he slipped from consciousness he was surrounded by memories of Imogen and dreams of the life that they might have built together at Shadowsend. His last conscious thought was that the mad must truly be happy men, if they were all greeted by such visions once their sanity had been dismissed.

Then he thought no more.

Matthew sighed and lowered the wine jug to the floor, more than a little reluctant to actually sober up, but Robert needed him. That meant Matthew would do everything in his power to help.

Well, try to, anyway.

He stared at the ceiling and had to smile wryly as he acknowledged the folly he had committed himself to. Of course he would do what Robert had asked of him, just as soon as he worked out how the hell it was to be done. Sure, Robert had made it sound easy enough. Escape and warn Imogen. What could be simpler?

Pulling your bottom lip over the top of your head for one, Matthew thought with a derisive snort that echoed in the silently empty room. No, it was no simple thing the boy asked, and Matthew had years of painful experience to compare it with.

But difficult or not, he still had to do it.

Slowly he moved his legs over the edge of the cot and eased his feet onto the floor. A raspy groan escaped him as he sat up, his stiff legs protesting his sudden desire to move. He narrowed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. At least the room remained stationary. That meant he wasn’t drunk, despite all of the cheap liquor he had ingested over the past days, which was only fair at his age.

He deserved to have a hard head. It compensated for the rheumatic pain that seemed to fill every joint in his body as he tried to lever himself out of the sagging cot. Now, however, wasn’t the time to indulge his pain, not if he was to drag his sorry carcass across England again. He just couldn’t afford to let the aches and pains of an old man stop him.

No, that wasn’t quite right. He would have to drag his sorry carcass across England not once but twice. He buried his face in his hands as he remembered that Robert also wanted him to get Imogen out of England. He shuddered. Out of England meant a ship. He hated ships. He had traveled only once on an accursed sea devil, and had sworn then that if he got off the damn thing alive, then he would never again defy the laws of nature. As far as he was concerned, if the Almighty had wanted men to travel the oceans he would have given them gills.

He shuddered again, then lifted his head resolutely. Boats were in the future. His more immediate problem was getting out of the castle and, really, the boy had been damnably vague as to how he thought that feat was going to be accomplished.

Matthew might be too lowly to have as many guards placed on him as Robert had, but that was hardly the point when one guard prevented him leaving the castle just as effectively as ten. Getting out of the castle was the linchpin to any plan he may have to rescue Imogen as Robert wanted.

The boy was an idealistic dreamer despite his rough edges, Matthew realized with a rueful smile. For all his training as a warrior, Robert was still a wide-eyed boy in so many ways. Oh, he might hide it well enough beneath the bluster of knighthood and few guessed that it was so, but Matthew had known the boy too long to be fooled.

It was the idealism and hidden vulnerability that had called him to Robert’s service in the first place. And how he had paid for that sentimental folly! He had spent years trying to make sure Robert wasn’t killed by one of his own chivalrous gestures, those self-same gestures that Robert denied existed, and now here he was, at his advanced age, about to commit one of his own. Until now it had always suited Matthew to deal with the practical side of things while Robert dashed around doing knightly things, and he did it well.

Too damn well, it would seem, if Robert thought he could single-handedly save the beauty from the circling beasts. He snorted in self-disgust as his mind began sifting through his situation, trying to find a way to do just that. He smiled with satisfaction as a solution began to formulate.

Certainly, the plan he devised was crude and lacking in a certain finesse, but for all that, it would work perfectly. That was one of the joys of being low-born, you didn’t have to muck around with such frivolities as style. If a thing worked, it worked.

And this would work, he hoped, as he finally found his feet.

He waited patiently beside the door for the guard to bring in his usual bowl of slop for supper. When the man finally arrived Matthew took full advantage of his surprise at finding the cot empty to bring the chamberpot down on his head, hard.

The guard grunted very satisfactorily as he fell to the floor with a muted thud. Matthew quickly dragged the dead weight of the man farther into the room. He closed the door and began to remove the guard’s clothes. Once the man was naked, bound and gagged, Matthew hauled him onto the cot and threw a blanket over him. In the ill-lit room one drunk man covered with a blanket looked very much like another, Matthew thought with a smile of satisfaction as he began to remove his own clothes.

That fact would hopefully buy him the time he needed.

Matthew couldn’t help a grimace of distaste escaping as he began slipping on the other man’s sweaty clothes and leather armor. Obviously the guard in the cot didn’t value personal cleanliness, Matthew thought with a fastidious shiver, but dressed quickly anyway.

He gave himself a once-over and nodded with satisfaction. He would pass easily as a member of the King’s Guard and the smell that lingered in the unconscious man’s clothes would surely prevent any closer inspections.

He left the chamber calmly, locking the door with his stolen keys. If he was in luck, it would probably be several hours before anyone thought to check on the drunken old man, and the guard he had knocked out wouldn’t be coming to any time soon to raise the alarm. That should give him the extra time he needed to not only get out of the castle but also to find out exactly what kind of trouble the boy had got himself into this time.

He slipped the keys into one of his pockets, straightened his shoulders instinctively after a quick check of the corridor. Several guards loitered down at the far end but none of them was paying him any attention.

He headed straight for them. These were the very men who would best know what had happened to Robert.

Fortunately for him, the King’s Guards were the same as bored men everywhere, they loved to gamble and gossip in equal measure. It took him no time to find someone willing to answer all his questions in return for a few rolls of the dice and soon he was crouched down in a dark niche with a guard, the younger man’s face filled with chagrined wonder.

“Damn your eyes, Old Man. You can’t have won again!” he muttered as he picked up the dice suspiciously. A close inspection revealed nothing amiss and reluctantly he began counting out the coins he had just lost. “I’ve never seen luck such as yours,” he growled darkly.

Matthew shrugged his shoulders and rolled the dice from one hand to the other. “If I was truly lucky, my boy, do you think I’d be guarding empty rooms in this half-built castle?”

The younger man snorted in companionable agreement. “These days, there are very few lucky men wearing the king’s livery.” He stood and leaned up against the wall next to his pike, looking broodingly out over the deserted corridor. Matthew quickly stashed away the money in his pocket, knowing that reminding the man of his recent fleecing might not make him all that forthcoming with the information he needed. He stood up stiffly and grabbed his stolen pike to lean on, shaking his head in commiseration.

“Aye, things have certainly changed. This used to be a fine enough life, but now…” He shook his head again and sighed, for good measure.

The guard took the bait and leaned forward conspiratorially.

“You know how the king has become obsessed about his security?” He dropped his voice. “Well, they are saying that he isn’t all that wrong to be. I’ve heard whisperings that there are important people trying to make certain that he doesn’t live all that much longer. One of these days, mark my words, he’s going to wake up with a knife wedged between his ribs.”

Matthew nodded his head, his agile mind quickly adding the new facts to the old. “And that prophesied dagger belongs to Robert Beaumont, right?”

The guard grinned. “Not now it won’t. He won’t live long enough to be anyone’s assassin.”

Matthew joined the boy’s laughter, but his stomach clenched tightly. Robert had finally managed to get himself into a situation that even Matthew didn’t know how to get him out of.

Trying to sound only mildly interested, Matthew scratched his thumbnail over his nose. “I fought with the man once on the Welsh borders. I find it hard to imagine he would have anything to do with treason.”

“Ah, but that was before they forced him to marry Lady Deformed. Marrying that one would be enough to change anyone, to my way of thinking. I mean I’ve heard that she is missing her nose and at least one arm…”

Matthew had to grit his teeth and hold on to his pike very tightly to stop himself from planting his fist right in the middle of the boy’s face. The thought of breaking his nose became strangely satisfying as he listened to the seemingly endless litany of Imogen’s imagined defects. He didn’t bother to remember that five months ago he had thought much the same thing himself. What mattered now was that he knew different. He knew her, liked and admired her. It was a hideous barbarity that one small detail had taken on such grotesque proportions.

When he couldn’t bear to hear anymore he cut the boy short. “But surely marrying Roger Colebrook’s sister couldn’t be all bad, regardless of how, uh, ugly the lady might be. I mean, it almost puts you in bed with the king himself.”

The man chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth.” He sighed and shook his head before adding, “I don’t think those two men want to be in bed together, not in any sense. There ain’t much love lost between them. After all, they say it was Colebrook himself who denounced his brother-in-law.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Beaumont probably said too much in front of his ugly wife and she passed it on to her brother. Families can be such queer things. I mean, I knew this one man who…”

Realizing that they were straying from the point, probably forever, Matthew said something vague about needing to be elsewhere and walked quickly down the hall. As soon as he was out of sight he set about finding the most discreet way to leave the castle.

Once in the courtyard he strode toward the stables as if he had every right to do so.

Amongst the king’s vast selection of horseflesh, it took him some time to locate Dagger’s stall. The horse whinnied in greeting when he recognized this new intruder.

“Shut up, you idiot, or you can explain to the groom just what the hell I’m doing saddling a traitor’s horse. That’ll be just before they turn you into so much hound’s meat,” Matthew growled darkly but gave the horse an affectionate pat on the neck all the same.

He saddled the horse quickly and swung stiffly up into the saddle. Back in the courtyard Matthew continued his show of bravado, reckoning it would be all that would get him out of this hornet’s nest. Not that the sentry on the gate seemed all that interested in checking the credentials of an old man on an elderly horse. They waved him on as soon as he claimed to be on an important mission for the king.

They might have been more questioning if they had seen the speed that Matthew took off with when he was far enough away from the noisy wooden drawbridge. He didn’t waste time questioning his luck. He leaned over Dagger’s neck and coerced him into a faster gallop. He had to get Imogen on that boat out of England as quickly as possible. There was no time to waste, because after he had achieved that, he was going to have to come back here.

He might have promised Robert that he would make sure Imogen was safe, but to Matthew’s way of thinking that wouldn’t be at Robert’s own expense. It was becoming sickeningly clear that Robert desperately needed his help.

His mouth settled into a grim line as he rode away from the castle. It didn’t sit well with him that he was leaving the boy, especially not when he was up to his neck in trouble. He didn’t like it at all, but there was sod all he could do about it until he had fulfilled his other obligations. Once they were completed, then he could try to help Robert.

Not that he had any idea how he could help, but maybe, after he had got the wife out of the country he could come back and do what could be done for the husband.

Even if it was only to see he got a decent Christian burial.

Imogen turned her face full into the sun, but she couldn’t seem to feel it. She had a solid core of ice wedged inside of her and even the intense rays of the sun could not melt it. She doubted she would ever be truly warm again.

Not that it mattered. All sensation and feeling were frozen inside her and there was nothing she could do to shake off the numbness. She felt as if she had ceased to exist, but her body hadn’t been informed and mindlessly it continued with the automatic business of living even when there was nothing alive left inside.

The strange sensation was only compounded by the fact that everyone surrounded her with a conspiracy of concern, hemming her in from all sides, acting as a suffocating buffer between her and the real world. They all did it. They tiptoed around her as if she might break if they dared to raise their voices.

And she didn’t have the strength to stop it.

There just seemed no reason to. Let them make all the decisions just so long as they left her to her numbness. Nothing mattered anymore.

When Mary had suggested Imogen might feel a little more like herself if she sat outside for a spell, Imogen had agreed, although she had no desire to sit outside in a chair like an invalid. But Mary was wrong. She didn’t feel better. Her hollowness was entirely portable and had joined her in the cold sunshine.

She sat on a hard chair borrowed from the main hall in sunshine she couldn’t feel, looking at things she couldn’t see.

Her hands clenched tightly together in her lap, her fingernails driving into the soft flesh of her palms, but she didn’t feel the pain. All sensation had stopped from the moment Robert had ridden away.

Strange, but even as she had come to fear him, he had still taken with him the last vestige of hope. She couldn’t understand it. How could she have given him so much of herself when she didn’t trust him? How could it be that without him she ceased to exist, that she could no longer even feel her own pain?