Gareth shrugged his shoulders. “It will keep you on your toes.”
Robert sighed and reached for the mead.
The only person who seemed oblivious to the impending chaos was Imogen herself. Entirely unaware of the furor she had inadvertently caused, she set about calmly eating her dinner, pausing from time to time to caress her bouquet of herbs.
Robert smiled despite himself. Things might not be turning out quite as he had planned, but married life was beginning to suit him. He filled Imogen’s cup and placed it carefully at her hand.
It was suiting him very well indeed.
The sound of Imogen’s laughter on the breeze drew Robert to the window. The courtyard below was bathed in sunlight, the snow of the long winter almost a memory, but it wasn’t the joy of the new season that filled Robert with warmth. No, it was the sound of Imogen’s laughter coming from the practice yard that brought a gentle smile to his face.
He’d organized the space as soon as his men had started arriving on his doorstep, and now most hours of the day the courtyard was filled with the clash of steel on steel. Today, however, instead of the sound of men practicing war, all that could be heard was the murmur of voices and laughter. Yet again, it would seem, Imogen was distracting the men from their serious business. Not that they weren’t easily distracted, Robert thought wryly.
She had only to appear outdoors and his men willingly laid down their arms just so that they might have a chance to vie for her attention, like now. Robert tried to find her in the scene below his window but he could catch only occasional glimpses of her amongst the half-naked, bronzed, sweating bodies that clustered around her. Despite that, however, her presence seemed to fill the whole courtyard.
Robert shook his head at the folly of his men, but he was smiling all the same. How could he blame his men for being captured in her flame when he himself was one of her most willing victims? Her growing confidence and delight at the new world she was discovering was a rare jewel in a warrior’s hard life, and Robert was loath to miss a moment of it.
She was trying to catch up on life after years of waking sleep and she was throwing herself into the small world of the Keep with a will. Sometimes it was exhausting just to watch her human whirlwind. Everything was of interest to her, and she was tireless in the pursuit of anything that caught that interest.
Robert smiled fondly as he caught the occasional glimpse of her chatting animatedly to his men. Ladies were not normally seen in a practice yard, or even showed any interest in the masculine domains, but when the lady was Imogen, it would have been impossible to keep her out.
There was nothing conventional about his lady.
Robert leaned on the window’s edge and watched the men reluctantly return to their work as Gareth entered the yard, their departing bodies revealing fully to his eager gaze a blooming Imogen and a clearly wilting Mary. The old woman was obviously struggling to keep up with the newly revitalized Imogen.
A part of Robert was more than willing to lift the burden from Mary’s shoulders and in fact he longed to be Imogen’s eyes in the exciting new world she was discovering all around. But he didn’t, his logic ruthlessly reminding him that to do so would be like giving her the last piece of his soul. Pride demanded that he didn’t give her all of himself unless he knew for certain he had all of her in return.
That he didn’t was like finding a dark corruption in paradise.
Every time he was near her, he could feel her hidden truths standing like unbreachable walls between them, he thought with a frown as he watched the two women disappear into the walled kitchen garden and out of his view.
It was only when he was no longer distracted by the beautiful puzzle that was his wife that he spotted a man in the shadows of the wall, watching Imogen as she passed.
Robert’s frown only deepened when he recognized the watcher as the priest who had married them. Ian. That was what Imogen had called him. Roger’s friend.
His initial dislike for the man had crystallized into something firmer. He hated the way the man always seemed to be where Imogen was, watching her every move, his pale eyes following her. Robert dearly wanted to get rid of the man, but something stayed his hand.
He feared how Imogen might react if she realized just how closely Roger was having her watched. He refused to upset the fragile balance they had found, but at the same time he made a small mental note that the second he could get rid of the man without Imogen being aware, he would do so with great pleasure.
The loud knock on the door drew him from his brooding thoughts with a start. “Come in,” he called, and sat down quickly at his desk, vaguely embarrassed at the thought of being caught staring longingly into the practice yard. It seemed better to pretend to be busy at the Keep’s ledgers than mooning after his own wife. When he looked up from the meaningless numbers, the sight of Sir Edmond holding a protesting lamb gave him pause.
The young knight looked uncomfortable but also strangely proud at the same time as he held the wriggling bundle with his arms outstretched.
Robert rested his elbows on the table, steepled his hands and raised his finger to his lips.
“And just why exactly have you brought me a sheep, Sir Edmond?”
The young man flushed a deep red and lowered his eyes with patent embarrassment. “It’s not for you,” he mumbled.
Robert laughed out loud but knew he shouldn’t be amused. After all, this kind of thing had been going on for weeks and surely he shouldn’t be encouraging the lunacy? It was Gareth’s fault, of course. His gift of aromatic herbs had started an unofficial competition amongst the men. Every man jack of them seemed to be battling hard to earn themselves a kiss of their own and there seemed to be no length to which they wouldn’t go in the pursuit of their goal.
Even the normally sane Matthew had entered into the madness, Robert remembered with a rueful grin as he met the baleful stare of the lamb. Only that morning, the old man had proudly presented Imogen with a soft duck’s feather, his knees cracking outrageously as he had knelt gallantly on the stone floor in front of the main hearth.
Robert had wanted to laugh at the old man’s foolishness, and he suspected it was a desire shared by all who were witness to the folly, but Matthew’s fierce glare had forestalled any such reaction. Imogen, however, hadn’t noticed the suppressed amusement as she reached out and helped the old man to his feet. She had scolded him harshly for his foolishness. But she had smiled and her cheeks had been clearly flushed with pleasure at the chivalrous gesture from the usually crusty old man.
She had given him a hug and asked him if he would act as her escort on her inspection of the storeroom, to checked the freshness of the spices.
The blissfully smug smile on Matthew’s face as he had taken her arm and led her away had killed all amusement, dead. And it had apparently inspired a new wave of creativity in the Pleasing-Imogen Tournament, Robert realized as he dispassionately observed the sheep that Sir Edmond was trying to hold begin to wriggle its way to freedom.
He didn’t blame the men entirely. Robert himself had been more than a little inspired by the sight of Imogen caressing her cheek absentmindedly with the feather as she had walked away.
Robert’s body heated as he imagined presenting her with a feather of his own.
Of course, he would give it to her in the privacy of their chamber. They would both be naked and lying on the rug before the fire. He would then run the feather over the gentle swell of her breasts, over the hollow of her navel, over the moist silk of her inner thigh and, reaching ever higher…
Robert closed his eyes for a moment and tried to breathe deeply. His fevered imaginings were having an instantaneous, and painful, effect on him. His groin was now full and aching and he was grateful that the table was hiding his erection from Sir Edmond’s gaze, as the young man looked like he was suffering enough trying to control the sheep, without being confronted with his leader’s insatiable lust.
Not that Edmond didn’t have every right to look embarrassed, Robert thought sternly. Knights weren’t shepherds and, as far as Robert was concerned, shepherds were the only ones who should have anything to do with sheep. Judging by the increasingly pained look on Edmond’s face, he was fast coming to that conclusion himself.
“So that’s not my sheep, then?” Robert couldn’t seem to stop his lips twitching at Edmond’s almost frantic head shaking. “So, if it is not my sheep, then why have you brought it in here?”
Edmond shrugged, his face filled with desperation. “I…I thought—uh, I thought…”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Robert murmured but, taking pity on the boy, continued. “Let me guess what you think you thought. You were thinking that if you were to give that vaguely smelly beast to Lady Imogen,
my
wife,” he emphasized, “she might be so overwhelmed by the—uh, magnitude, of the gift, that she might just bestow on your unworthy person some small favor. Am I close?”
Edmond dropped his head, and nodded dejectedly, a lock of his blond hair falling forward over his forehead. Was I ever that young? Robert thought with bewilderment. Somehow it just didn’t seem possible.
“Well, why then hasn’t my lady been presented with this unusual token?”
“Couldn’t find her,” Edmond mumbled, his misery now absolute, and Robert’s side began to ache with suppressed laughter.
“Ah,” he breathed out carefully and, once he was sure of his continued composure, he added, “would you like me to take you to her?”
Edmond looked up and his grin was radiant. “You would actually do that?” he breathed with awe.
Robert could no longer contain his laughter as he stood. “Of course. Far be it for me to deny my wife such a delightful gift. She was heading to the kitchen garden, I believe, if you care to follow me.”
As they walked through the Keep’s hall and into the courtyard, everyone guessed who the sheep was for, and Robert had to grin at the frankly jealous looks the men were throwing Edmond. The poor boy was beginning to walk so tall that Robert feared he might trip over something if he didn’t cast the odd glance down at his feet. His new dignity was only marginally dinted by the protesting bleat of the sheep. It had to be some sort of enchantment, Robert concluded with amused awe. It was the only possible answer for the insanity that seemed to have descended over them all.
And Robert was as caught in Imogen’s spell as were his men, even as he tried to fight it. He was just more discreet about his.
Not many might know it, but every few days he rode over to the tower to bring back some small thing from the horde that Roger had hidden there. He would have brought everything over to the Keep at once but Imogen had been emphatic that it should all be left where it was. She had been coldly emotionless as she had mouthed the denial of her past, but the memory of the lingering touches she had bestowed on the covers of the books was burnt into his brain. He’d had to grit his teeth to stop the roar that had almost escaped as he had watched her surreptitiously slip a small paperweight into her cloak pocket just before they had left, when she thought he wasn’t looking. That she had tried to hide it from him cut into him like a knife to his vitals, but it was only in the dark of the night, as he watched over her as she slept, that he let himself dwell on the helplessness betrayed in that small gesture. A helplessness she refused to share, dark memories she carefully shielded from his gaze. It was his primal fear of losing her to those memories that stopped him from bringing it all out into the open by tearing down the tower stone by stone and giving her back her childhood, but the anger still filled him.
Anger that it was fear of her brother and his power that made her insist that the tower should stay as it was. Anger that she doubted him and his ability to stand between her and any danger, especially the threat posed by her reptilian brother.
If only she would talk to him! If she but asked him, he would vanquish all of her demons, Robert thought, smiling savagely as he imagined the pleasure to be found in grinding Roger to dust. But she didn’t tell him. She held her enemies and their secrets close to her, denying him.
Still, in his own way he fought them. He fought them every time he presented her with a small piece of her past. Each piece of the puzzle that he returned to her was a silent pledge that he would protect her, to the last breath in his body, from all who might harm her.
He could only hope that she would understand and, in time, let him in.
Until then, he would settle for the smile she gave him each time he gave her back another relic from her youth, would settle for the warmth of her body along his as she silently thanked him at night in the privacy of their chamber.
Robert looked at the jubilant Edmond and had to smile.
If only Edmond knew.
Imogen buried her hands deep in the warming soil. The winter seemed to have lasted forever, but at last it was finally taking flight. The sun was getting slowly stronger, the winds steadily sweeter.
After years of cold, lonely isolation, Imogen couldn’t help but feel that it was a glorious time to be alive. Just drawing breath and smelling the scents of spring was a gift. To be contributing to it, well, that was almost a miracle. There was much she still couldn’t do, but she had also come to realize that there was so much else she could if she tried. Each day she was working harder than she had ever done before and she loved it.
Today, old Duncan was teaching her to weed, and while Mary might grumble that gardening was no job for a lady, she also enjoyed the chance to catch up on her sleep too much to pass on the opportunity. Grudgingly, she allowed the small social abomination to continue.
Imogen smiled with satisfaction at how everything had turned out. It was good for Mary to have some time to herself after all these years of devoted service, but it was also good that Imogen was finding a place in the world. With Duncan watching over her, there was no longer any excuse for her to be idle.
He had given her a garden bed to weed in preparation for the seeds he had collected last autumn. It was amazing to know that as long as she was methodical about her work, then her hands were nearly as useful as Duncan’s gnarled ones.
No, it was more than amazing. It felt like she was being let back into the human race after many long, dark years of exile. It felt like magic and Robert was her personal magician who had brought her back to life.
Her smile broadened at the absurd thought of her strong, simple warrior of a husband as a manipulative conjurer of tricks, although she had to admit that in him, there was a certain enchantment to be found. She knew she must be blushing as memory after memory filled her mind with the exact details of the magic that he created in her with his body. She had never known such joy as there was to be found in Robert’s arms.