Midnight Eyes by Sarah Brophy

should be grateful that Imogen had seen fit only to reprimand her on the former, when the latter was seen by many as the more serious crime.
    “Now don’t you go changing the subject,” Mary said, blustering a little to hide her discomfort. “We were talking about you walking miles in the snow, not what your name might be.”
    “This fear of me walking isn’t just your polite way of saying that I have got fat, is it?” Imogen teased, feeling surprisingly lighthearted for the first time in years.
    “You know I mean nothing of the sort. Any extra weight you might carry has always managed to land in all the right places.” Mary huffed with evident disgust.
    Imogen couldn’t stop a blush of pleasure at the old woman’s words.
    “Do you really think so?” Imogen asked, unable to keep the eagerness out of her voice. She ran unsure hands over her gently rounded hips to try and feel if there was any truth to the words.
    Mary’s anger evaporated in the glow of Imogen’s pleasure. That such a small compliment meant so much to an awe-inspiringly beautiful woman was a travesty. The older woman sighed silently. Sometimes she was apt to forget just how much Imogen had been cheated in life.
    “Aye, I really think so,” Mary said gruffly. “I’ll just go and get all that you’ll need for this expedition.”
    The glow of happiness on Imogen’s face went up a notch. She could momentarily block the whys and wherefores of her “expedition,” and just enjoy the pleasure and anticipation of going outside again. Every fiber of her being hummed with excitement and she couldn’t stop herself from clapping her hands together and doing a small, excited jig.
    It didn’t even seem to matter that she would be heading toward the dark tower Roger had built and told her tauntingly so much about. How could that matter when she would be entering the land of the living again after all these years? It was almost too good to be true.
    She hugged her arms around herself more tightly, trying to hold in her excitement.
    “All right, my lady, I’ve got some sturdy shoes and a cloak that might vaguely fit. I have also found a hat, gloves and young Lucas,” Mary said briskly, dumping everything but Lucas, who stood impatiently near the door, into Imogen’s waiting arms.
    “Why Lucas?” Imogen asked, sitting down to put on her shoes.
    “Why Lucas? Because one of us has to use her brains and it would seem that the honor is all mine,” she said dryly. “You clearly can’t go out by yourself and, as much as I would dearly love to be the one continually picking your sorry hide out of the snow all day, it will be one pleasure I will be forced to forgo. You might consider yourself able to walk for hours in snow up to your knees, but I’m not. Your husband has managed to thaw most of me out with his excellent fires, and I’m damned if I’ll let you freeze me up again.” She paused before adding, “Besides, Lucas was all I could find in the kitchens.”
    Imogen smiled as she stood, trying to get a feel for the boots. They pinched a bit, but other than that they seemed just fine. “Cheer up, Mary,” Imogen said playfully, “and I might even bring you back a snowball.”
    Mary humphed and grabbed the cloak from off the floor where Imogen had dumped it and thrust it into her hands. Imogen twirled it around herself with a small flourish, then spread her arms wide. “How do I look?”
    “Like a beggar with stolen clothes,” Lucas said round a mouthful of apple as he wandered farther into the room.
    Imogen was momentarily taken aback, then a slow smile lit her face.
    Mary scowled and gave Lucas a good-natured cuff round the ear. “Now, don’t you be giving Lady Imogen any of your cheek.”
    He nodded vigorously and gave her a mischievous salute as he stuffed the core of the apple into his mouth and started crunching his way merrily through the seeds. Before he had even finished it he was reaching a hand for more into the food basket he