Midnight Eyes, Brophy, Sarah [love story books to read txt] 📗

sitting down on the floor and leaning his head back against the wall, but his feet still tapped on the stones and his fists rhythmically clenched and unclenched in time with the churning of his thoughts.

Matthew looked over to him balefully. And that was Robert trying to be restful, Matthew thought with a silent sigh. Still, it was an improvement on the incessant pacing Robert had been doing for the past week, so Matthew just closed his eyes. He couldn’t help grimacing as he felt the motion sickness—caused by the cheap liquor and Robert’s prowling—roll through him.

He opened his eyes quickly and lifted the jug to his lips once more. “To the king and all who sail in him,” Matthew slurred, and tilted the jug in a mock salute.

“You’re drinking too much, Old Man.”

“Of course I am,” Matthew agreed with a lip-smacking slurp. “It’s not as if there is anything more pressing that I should be doing. I might as well enjoy the king’s hospitality to its full extent.” He looked balefully at the ruby liquor. “Although, I do think that the king could afford to at least buy some wine that doesn’t taste like vinegar.”

“Not that taste would stop you,” Robert murmured and sighed with resignation as Matthew’s Adam’s apple bobbed with each long swallow, but still he couldn’t help but envy the old man’s ability to lose himself in an alcoholic fog. God knows, he would have tried it himself if he had even half believed for a moment that Imogen’s pain wouldn’t follow him into his stupor. At least sober he was in some kind of control. Drunk, he might just disgrace himself with tears.

Robert shifted uncomfortably and started to get up to resume his pacing, but quickly sat back down when he caught sight of Matthew’s raised eyebrow.

Silence descended but Robert’s mind roared with his impatience and guilt even though he knew that, for now, there was nothing that could be done. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the swelter of emotions. He needed to forget, needed to numb his mind. He closed his eyes and willed himself to feel no pain. He might have actually slept for a moment, because the bang of the solid wooden door hitting the wall brought him jarringly back to consciousness.

He stood quickly, instinctively wary of any change to their monotonous routine. Matthew, however, didn’t seem to be all that interested. His drunken face reflected only the most mild curiosity.

Robert didn’t recognize the guard who couldn’t quite look him in the eye.

“The king commands Sir Robert’s presence in the throne room,” the man said formally, and Robert narrowed his eyes. This wasn’t an invitation to dine with a benevolent monarch. This was serious.

“Finally,” Robert murmured steadily, but a cold chill settled low in his spine, warning him of impending danger. He reached for the sword that rested against the wall.

“Sorry, Sir Robert, but I’ve been told to make sure you are unarmed before you go into His Majesty’s presence.”

Robert’s hand hovered over the hilt for a second, then dropped to his side.

He was reluctant to leave it behind when every nerve in his body screamed that danger was threateningly close. He might as well be naked as leave the relative safety of these rooms unarmed, he thought grimly. The presence of his sword hanging low on his left hip would at least give him a chance, but apparently it was a chance that was being denied him.

He had never before been unarmed in the king’s presence.

Strange. William had never been squeamish about weapons before and those with any sense went armed when close to a throne. After all, absolute power produced a lethal violence that was equaled only by the violence produced by extreme poverty.

Casting a rueful glance at his sword, he turned to the guard and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Well, in that case, I’m ready.”

The other man nodded and, with a formal “Follow me,” left the room. Robert turned quickly to Matthew, painfully aware that his time had run out.

“Get out of here if you can, Old Man. Get to Shadowsend and tell Gareth to move Imogen out of the country as fast as he can. There should be enough gold in my strongbox to buy you all a new life somewhere else. Tell him to also pay the men and then they can scatter.”

Despite all of the alcohol in his system, the older man’s eyes were clear as he nodded his head once. Robert longed to say more, but the guard waited with visible impatience in the hallway just out of earshot. Robert gave Matthew a crooked smile and followed the guard from the room.

“Give the king my love,” Matthew called after him, “and tell him not to be so cheap next time. He could at least buy some decent wine for his prisoners.”

Robert’s smile broadened and he just shrugged at the clearly scandalized guard as he casually followed him along the halls. His smile slowly faded as the strange quiet of the castle penetrated his consciousness.

Things had certainly changed in the six months Robert had been absent from the court. Gone was the easy air of debauchery, replaced by the heavier atmosphere of suspicion and fear. As they passed down passageways the silence became oppressive. Voices that had once risen in dissipation and revelry seemed to have been unnaturally stilled. It was disconcertingly like the hush of a tomb.

A well-protected tomb, at that.

The guards appeared to have trebled in number. They stood guarding who knew what at regular intervals along the halls. Robert suspected that more likely than not it was their presence that had suppressed the normal babble of the court. It had even infected the servants. They scurried about in a terrified muteness, never once letting their eyes rise higher than the floor.

Robert’s eyes narrowed speculatively. William’s debauched, merry court seemed to have died and on its corpse was growing a fungus that reeked of fear.

They passed clusters of noblemen whispering in