Midnight Eyes (26 page)

“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.

By the fifth he had to close his eyes, no longer able to bear it. He leaned back his head against the chair and smiled sullenly at his own folly. Tonight he would get drunk and tomorrow he would face harsh realities. Tomorrow he would have to be king.

“Leave the jug and bring me another,” he said harshly to the servant who waited patiently near the door. “Then, after that, I don’t want to be disturbed.” He opened his eyes and pinned the man with a steely stare. “Not by anyone, is that understood?”

The man nodded frantically, anxious to get out of the king’s explosive presence.

William smiled savagely at the sight of the man scuttling off in fear. Tonight he would grieve in private. Tomorrow he would face the laughing eyes of his court.

Tomorrow, and for the rest of his life.

“What the hell do you mean you can’t let me in?” Roger roared. “I always have access to the king’s person.”

“I’m sorry, my lord, but the king’s instructions are clear. He was not to be disturbed.” The guard’s eyes didn’t quite meet Roger’s. “By anyone.”

Roger glared in frustrated anger, but knew that he was temporarily beaten. He turned on his heel and marched back to his chamber, struggling to ignore the gloating stares that followed his progress, but unable to stop the dull flush that flared on his pale face.

He dismissed his attendants and sat down on the bed.

It was all that bitch’s fault, he thought angrily. Ian had warned him, of course, but he had failed to comprehend just how much damage his sister could do in such little time.

Perhaps he should have listened to Ian. He’d said that her marriage had changed her, but Roger hadn’t taken the priest seriously. He had been confident that he had the king, body and soul, and nothing his little sister could say would change that.

It was a mistake. In just a matter of hours, Imogen had managed to turn the king’s mind against him. What else could explain the king’s unprecedented refusal to see him? When he had his hands on his little sister, nothing would save her, he thought savagely.

He tried to feed his anger, tried to let it consume him, but it couldn’t disguise the panic that was eating into the pit of his stomach. Somehow, everything was going terribly wrong. For the first time in his adult life, he was losing control of a situation. It left him with the overwhelming desire to break things.

Like Imogen’s sweet little neck.

His eyes narrowed as a vision of her filled his mind. His palms itched to break her, to sully her perfection, to make her his alone. The bitch! This was her fault. She had somehow managed to insinuate herself into the king’s confidences, and undermine all of Roger’s perfect schemes, but even while his mind was screaming with the bile of his hate, he couldn’t stop his body’s arousal.

To know that she was within reach ate into him, like a cancer in his brain. She had actually come, actually dared to confront him. It was beyond comprehension. It was not supposed to happen this way! This wasn’t part of his plan.

She was supposed to have been so frightened that she could scarcely breathe. She was supposed to be still hiding under the covers of her bed, waiting for him to come and claim her. She was supposed to be so without resources that she had no other choice but to accept her fate.

And her fate was to become his absolutely. There was to be no escape for her. The victory would be all his. That was the plan.

Instead, she had managed to leave her secure prison and come to the king like some avenging angel. All that courage and strength just to save some bastard who had been forced into her bed. Roger clenched his teeth.

No, Little Sister, he thought darkly as he stood up and instinctively began to straighten his clothes. you might yet manage to save your husband, but there will be nothing you can do to save yourself. I will win.

He always did. He would crush her completely and no one and nothing would stand in his way this time.

She was his.

Gareth stepped quietly into Imogen’s chamber only after he had made sure no one had seen him skulking in the corridor outside her room. He gently closed the door, making no sound. He turned slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the dark room.

He found Imogen standing by the open window, her profile bathed in moonlight. The dark waves of her hair hung like raw silk in the silvery light, lifting gently in the warm spring breeze, filling the chamber with its perfume. Gareth closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“I see you not only managed to give your own guards the slip, but have also got past mine,” Imogen said softly. Startled, Gareth opened his eyes and responded to the slight smile on her face with one of his own.

“And here I was thinking I was sneaking about most discreetly,” he said with a chuckle.

She shrugged her shoulders elegantly. “Men who spend their days in heavy armor aren’t able to achieve the level of discretion required for a good sneak.” She smiled gently at him. “Their rather forthright odor tends to do all their announcing for them, I find.”

“My lady, are you trying to, very politely, of course…”

“Of course…”

“…to say I need a bath?” He tried to sound offended, but Imogen could hear the grin in his voice.

“I would never dare to question a gentleman about his bathing habits. I’m far too well brought up for that, but you have to admit that it wouldn’t exactly hurt if you splashed some water and soap around at the end of the day.” She spoke lightly, but already the smile was fading from her face. Her expression became pensive as her mind returned once more to the maze of intrigues they now had to pick their way through.

Looking at Imogen, Gareth felt his own face turning grim.

“What did William say about Robert?” he asked quietly.

“A whole lot of nothing.” She sighed and folded her arms tightly around her middle. “He very politely told me that Robert is alive for now, but would give me no assurances beyond that. He listened to all I had to say, took the letters and dismissed me, telling me to get some rest, like some concerned host.” She snorted. “He doesn’t seem to realize that it’s not very good manners to put guards on your guest’s door. All I know for sure is that we now await the king’s pleasure.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them fall.

“While Robert is still alive, there is hope, Imogen, don’t forget that,” Gareth said quietly. “That William is at least considering our evidence is the best we could have hoped for.”

“But if the king decides to side with Roger, by morning we could all be dead.”

Gareth scowled. He racked his brains to find something to say that could be at once both a denial and the truth, but there was nothing he could say. Well he had never let that stop him before, he decided. “Imogen…” he began, but she cut him off.

“I want to see him. I want to be with Robert.”

Gareth’s eyes widened in shock and he let out a long, low whistle. “And just how the hell do you think we are going to achieve that?”

“It can’t be all that difficult. If you can manage to get past your guards and mine, surely you can get me into the dungeons. It couldn’t be all that much more challengeing, surely.” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Don’t tell him I said so, but Matthew was right. The guards here are less than impressive, as you have already found out tonight.”

Gareth paced to the window and scowled out into the night. “I suppose, with a few well-placed bribes and a lot of skulking, it could be done. Possibly,” he admitted reluctantly. “But to do so is madness! If we get caught by anyone with half a brain, all of the goodwill you have managed to foster with William will evaporate in an instant.”

Even as he gave the warning, he knew he was wasting his time. The determined look on Imogen’s face told him that her mind was already made up. She was going to do it whether Gareth liked it or not.

He grimaced as he all too easily foresaw how Robert would react to Imogen materializing in his cell. Robert would strangle her for even contemplating such a thing. He would then strangle Gareth for going along with her insanity. And he was going to go along with it, he realized morosely. He had only to see the radiant smile that bloomed on Imogen’s face to know he was already committed to this folly.

He would never be able to fight her when she bestowed one of those beautiful smiles on him.

“Grab your cloak,” he said coldly as he walked briskly to the door and stood there tapping his foot.

As soon as this unholy mess is sorted out, he vowed silently to himself, he would get as far away from Imogen and her siren’s call as the size of their frighteningly small planet allowed. Perhaps he could go on a crusade. Surely Jerusalem would be far enough away from her for him to reclaim his soul from her gentle hands.

While he was reclaiming his soul he should try to find out exactly where it was he had lost his backbone, he thought with a dark oath.

Imogen walked carefully forward, and linked her arm through his. She leaned up and whispered, “Thank you” in his ear, and Gareth began to worry that he would never get Imogen out of his soul, not even when he was six feet under.

He turned to her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It would be very easy to love you,” he said softly, a self-deprecating grimace passing over his face as hers filled with confusion and concern.

“But Gareth, I love…”

He placed a finger over her lips. “I know. You love Robert.” Wondering at his own masochism, he added gruffly, “And I also know that the mad behemoth loves you in return. No, Imogen, I know that your love is otherwise engaged and I wouldn’t try to change that. I just wanted you to know that no matter what happens here, I…” His voice faded, mere words seeming entirely inadequate to express all he felt.

She raised a shaky hand to his cheek, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “That is not love, Gareth. You don’t love me.” She quickly shook her head to still his protestations. “You care for me, as I care for you, but love doesn’t grow with only one person tending it. Not true love. Love cannot exist in the misery of unrequited feelings. True love is something that happens between two souls. When they find each other, they will both see in the other the missing parts of themselves. True love isn’t the sad longing of just one person. Someday, you will find true love. A dear soul like yours was never meant to be alone.”

Gareth’s vision blurred and he had to clear his throat before he could find his voice. “You are a very wise woman, you know.” He tried to smile, but managed only a shaky imitation. “Wise, that is, when you’re not running around like a madwoman, trying to break into royal dungeons.”

“And you’re a very special man, one whom I care for deeply, when you are not being an overprotective ogre.”

“I will try to be content with that.”

Gareth saw her grin and take a deep, steadying breath, and knew that his moment had passed. He wasn’t entirely sure that he was at all sad to see it go.

But then, there would be time enough for regrets later.

“Well, let’s see if I can use my specialness to get you into His Majesty’s dungeons.” He wrinkled his brow. “Although I can’t say I like your choice of venue for your liaison.”

“I’ll have you know that no less a person than the king said that his dungeons were very romantic,” she said with mock hauteur.

Gareth snorted dismissively. “Not much of a recommendation when you consider that our beloved monarch also finds your brother romantic.”

She was still giggling when Gareth returned after checking that the coast was clear.

“Right, let’s get to it,” he whispered, and hustled her unceremoniously out of the room.

The sneaking proved to be all too easy. William might have guards everywhere, but that quantity did not translate into quality. Most of them seemed to spend their time clustered in dark corners, gambling away their meager wages in the pitiful hope of increasing them.

As they slipped into the dungeons Gareth found himself in complete agreement with Matthew’s early disgust at the discipline in the king’s service. It hadn’t even been a challenge. It was only when they reached the door of Robert’s cell that they encountered the kind of professional guard who had to be well paid to look the other way.

Gareth stood outside the cell and haggled deftly with the man, but in the end they had to pay the exorbitant amount the guard demanded. The man smiled toothlessly as Gareth grudgingly counted over the gold pieces.

“Well, thankee, sir,” the guard said, not trying to hide his glee. “Don’t forget that me replacement will be arrivin’ just before dawn, so you had best have done your business by then.” He gave the money a gloating jangle, before walking away, whistling.

“How long will that give us?” Imogen asked quietly, but even so her voice still seemed to echo around the empty stone passageway.

“About four hours. I’ll knock three times to let you know that it is time to leave.”

He quickly used the key and pulled the door ajar, maneuvering Imogen so that she was in front of it.

“Take two steps forward and pull the door,” Gareth murmured and held on to her shoulders for a moment, then stepped away.

Imogen hesitated. “Thank you doesn’t even begin to explain how grateful I am to you for doing this,” she said shakily.

Silence was all the answer she got. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door, walking carefully into the unknown.

“Be happy,” Gareth murmured before disappearing into the shadows to await the dawn.

At the sound of the door closing Robert’s eyes opened, his mind instantly awake and wary. He tried to keep every muscle relaxed so that it would appear as if he still slept, but every sense was alive to any threat that might come out of the darkness.

“Robert?” she whispered.

His eyes flew open in shock. “Imogen,” he mouthed silently, rolling over on the straw pallet, careful not to get himself tangled up in the chains yet again.

The sight of Imogen standing hesitantly near the closed door made him fear that he had finally lost his mind. He could only just make her out in the dim light that radiated from the guttering candle they allowed him at night. That single candle was the one concession they made to his erstwhile rank and he had never been as grateful for it as he was at this moment when it revealed Imogen’s face to his hungry gaze. It was a lifetime since he had last been able to feast himself on the sight of her and even in the imperfect light, she made his soul replete.

“Robert, are you there?” she whispered again, her voice tense with fear.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely as he pushed himself carefully into a sitting position. He cleared his throat and continued in a voice more like his own. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She hugged herself tightly as a tremor of relief flooded her at the sound of his beloved voice. Until she heard him a part of her hadn’t quite believed that he was actually safe. “I came to be with you,” she said gently.

“What?” he all but bellowed. “You traveled halfway across the country for a…a social call to a cell?”

“Oh, I thought you meant…” she stammered in confusion. “No, what I’ve actually come to do is to get you out of here, to prove to the king that you are innocent, to…” Her voice stumbled to a halt as she felt the growing anger that radiated from Robert and filled the cell.

“Are you mad? I told Matthew to get you out of the country, told him to get you the hell out of this mess. So what do you do? You throw yourself into the middle of it.” He let out a strangled sound of disgust and buried his head in his hands, lifting it again instantly, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Who brought you? You can’t have traveled all this way by yourself, so who the hell helped you in this folly?”

“Gareth and Matth-Matthew,” she stammered again.

“I’ll kill them,” he growled furiously. “I will kill them with my bare hands. I’ll tear them apart strip by strip.”

Imogen’s relief at finding him safe began to give way to a vague sense of being ill-used. She had come so far, braved so much…certainly not so she could stand there and let him vent his spleen, she thought indignantly.

“That isn’t fair. It’s not their fault. It was all my own idea,” she said with dignity, but ruined the effect by biting her bottom lip worriedly. “Are you angry because I’m trying to help you?”

“No, you fool,” he ground out precisely. “I’m angry because you have put yourself in danger. I’m angry because I feel guilty that it is for me that you have done so. I’m also bloody angry because there is not a single thing I can do to help or save you. Not while they have me chained to a goddamn wall.” He pulled hard on the chains, which clanked as if to emphasize his point, and he inhaled sharply as the iron manacles dug into the bruised and bloody skin of his wrists.

“You’re hurt,” Imogen gasped and instinctively moved toward the sound of his pain. She had taken only two steps when her foot snagged on a raised stone, and before Robert could shout a warning, fell down. Pain shot through her knee as it struck the stone floor, but she scarcely noticed. It seemed irrelevant when Robert was suffering so much for her.

She crawled to close the distance between them, only stopping when her hand touched the warm strength of his thigh. Robert watched with disbelief as she rested on her knees and started running anxious hands over him to check for hurts.

“You’ve lost so much weight,” she moaned as her hand moved over the bare skin on his torso.

“William isn’t much of a caterer.” He tried to sound carelessly flippant, but it came out in a husky murmur.

She whimpered as her hands moved up to his face and felt his nearly healed wounds through the beard that had grown during his captivity. “Pain,” she whispered. “So much pain.”

Her voice wavered as if she was the one in pain, and Robert’s anger evaporated in an instant. Without pausing to consider the wisdom of his actions, he found himself dragging her onto his lap and into his arms, wanting to comfort her. It comforted him as well. To hold her again was a miracle that he hadn’t dared even to pray for.

He held her as tightly as he dared. Reverently he buried his face in the perfumed waves of her hair and gritted his teeth as desire bit deep into his body and soul. The feel of the soft skin of her neck through her hair was like a call to his soul and he couldn’t stop himself from rubbing his face against her, his bearded cheek rasped quietly.