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

as he had prophesied that, regardless of the truth, William would take advantage of the situation to remove Robert while he could.

It might have already happened; he might already be departed from this world. She mentally flinched and pulled her mind away from such evil thoughts. They would destroy her if she let them, and Robert wouldn’t want that for her or their child. He would want her to survive and to remember always that he loved her and teach their child about that love. She knew that with a certainty that defied distance and time, life and death.

She deliberately filled her mind with memories of the love Robert had given her in the prison cell and the love she had given him in return, and of the strength Robert had radiated even as he waited to die. It awed her that even at the point of death his only concerns were for her own safety and that she loved him.

No, she realized with amazement, more than merely loved. He completed her, was the other half of her soul, and so she had to live, to keep that part of him alive. He would always have existence in her memories and in the face of the new soul that their love had created.

For those reasons she must endure.

Another tear fell unchecked down her cheek.

She flinched as Roger wiped away the tear with the pad of his thumb.

“If you cry, my dear, I will be bound to think that you don’t want to be with me and might find myself taking offence.” He kissed her neck. She shuddered again, and he chuckled as he sucked brutally on the tender flesh as if he was trying to draw her fear inside of him. “And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” he asked tauntingly as he lifted his head.

She shook her head stiffly.

“Not good enough,” he whispered, his hand moving insinuatingly up her body. “I find I have a longing to hear you say the words. I have always found your voice most…soothing.” His hand moved to her breast. “Sooth me, Sister.”

“No, Roger, I wouldn’t want that,” she said jerkily and reached to snatch his hand away from where it clenched her breast painfully.

Roger chuckled and let his hand drop for now. “Much better.”

This time she managed to suppress the shiver of revulsion that started in the pit of her stomach, then carefully made her mind a blank nothing. She surrounded herself in an empty fog where she didn’t exist, Roger didn’t exist and pain didn’t exist.

She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, but so successful was she in constructing her emptiness that it was a moment before the fact that they had stopped moving registered in her mind. Roger lifted her down from the horse and she listened to him move around in the now-familiar routines of establishing their nightly camp as if it was all happening to someone else, not her.

She didn’t try to run away. She had nowhere to go.

She heard him move toward her and knew he bowed ironically before her with a courtly flourish before gripping her elbow and propelling her forward. “My lady, let me take you to the stream.”

She stumbled clumsily but soon recovered. She had quickly learned to do whatever he told her. He would enjoy too much suppressing a revolution and Imogen refused to give him any more pleasure.

He let go of her arm when they reached the stream and took a step back, but he didn’t leave. He never did.

He watched and waited as she relieved herself. She felt her soul shrinking under the weight of her humiliation. Her hands were shaking as she awkwardly followed the sound of running water and reached to wipe her face, her tears mingling invisibly with the water.

Her misery was so absolute that she didn’t even protest when Roger unexpectedly swung her up in his arms and carried her back to their camp.

He held her close, his breath a hot brand over her face as he slowly lowered her to the ground. He didn’t let her go. He held on to her upper arms with a bruising firmness as he watched her narrowly.

“You have put on weight,” he said blandly. “Haven’t you?”

She tried not to flinch but knew that her face drained of all color and betrayed her.

“I only just noticed,” he said as he carelessly removed her cloak and threw it on the ground. “Most strange,” he murmured to himself as his eyes raked her figure assessingly.

His hand moved down her arm and over to her breast. “You’re fuller here,” he said as his hand moved to the swell of her abdomen, “and here.”

Her mind fragmented. He knew! How had he worked it out? And when? Had he noticed as he had carried her, or had she done something at the stream that had alerted him?

Had she somehow betrayed herself?

Neither of them said a word as his hand continued to move over her. Words were not needed between them. They both knew what the other thought, knew what was going to happen. She knew he would not stop now until she was destroyed. He had no choice. The rules of the game had been decided so long ago that her betrayal had sealed her doom regardless of what either of them now might want.

Imogen was oddly relieved when the silence was broken by the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and actually welcomed the pain of his hand hitting the side of her face.

“Bitch,” he said through gritted teeth. “You let that bastard into your body, into my body, didn’t you?”

“He was my husband. You gave me to him,” she said calmly, despite the throbbing pain of her face. “What else could you expect?”

“I didn’t expect you to enjoy it.” His hand made contact with her face again, splitting her lip, filling her mouth with the metallic taste of blood. “You opened your white thighs and welcomed him into your body, greeted him with