Her Dark Knight

by Sharon Cullen

  He laughed at something one of the men said and it startled her. ’Twas very rare to hear laughter inside these walls, and if her husband were around he would surely reprimand the knight. Nonetheless, he had a beautiful laugh, rich and full. She wished she could laugh with him, to share in the tale and feel happy.

  As if sensing her perusal, he lifted his head, searching the area until their gazes locked. Instinctively she cringed against the rough stone of the castle wall, praying he wouldn’t approach. It was all well and good for her to look at him, but to speak to him would heap more punishment upon her and she wasn’t sure her body could endure more.

  He made his way toward her, side-stepping the activity of the keep without looking away from her. Lord help her, she couldn’t look away either.

  He stood before her and she was gazing up at him, his tall frame blocking everything. Everything but him. The words whispered through her head. Everything but him.

  Guilt dug its cruel fingers into her consciousness. A married woman should not look at another man, especially the way she knew she was looking at him.

  He touched her hair and she realized she had forgotten her veil. Another indiscretion she would be punished for. Curiously, she didn’t care. When he was near it was almost worth the retribution.

  “How are you this fine evening, madame?”

  “I am well, Sir Knight, and yourself?” Had her husband ever asked in such a way that indicated he cared what she felt?

  A small smile touched his beautiful mouth and she found herself raising her hand to those lips. Luckily, she checked herself and folded her fingers in the pleats of her gown instead.

  “We leave tonight.”

  Was there regret in his voice or was she hearing her own regret? “I know.”

  He touched her hair again, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “I would have your name, Countess. So I may remember and think of you on the battlefield.”

  “Madelaine,” she whispered, with little thought of consequences. “My name is Madelaine.”

  “Madelaine. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

  She shrugged the daring compliment away while inside she gloried in it. Before her marriage she’d heard everything a man could say to woo a woman but these words, spoken by this man, warmed her in places that had been cold as of late.

  “And your name, Sir Knight? So I might remember as well?” Oh, she was bold. Bolder than was wise, but she didn’t care. She needed to know. Had to know.

  “Christien.”

  A true soldier of Christ. Surely she would go to hell for desiring a soldier of Christ.

  He tipped his head to the side. “Say my name before I take my leave, Madelaine, so I may remember it upon your lips.”

  Her gaze went to the lips he spoke of and her face heated. “Christien,” she breathed, almost afraid to speak it aloud.

  He smiled, extracted her fingers from her kirtle and raised them to his lips where he pressed a kiss. “Au revoir, my Madelaine.”

  Lainie woke with a start and glanced around, confused until she recognized her apartment in Milwaukee.

  Not in France.

  Milwaukee.

  Twenty-first century.

  She sat up, rubbed her eyes and yawned, shocked to see she’d only slept an hour and was still on her couch, fully dressed, the night relatively young.

  Her gaze fell on the painting of a castle hanging on her wall. The castle stood high on a hill, the enshrouding mist lending it a mysterious aura. She’d discovered it in an antique shop in her hometown and had fallen in love with the mystery and romance of it. All those years ago she knew she had to have it and didn’t even quibble over the outrageous price she paid. Now goose bumps raced up her arms as she stared at it. No longer was it just a pretty painting that made her think of chivalry and jousts and knights in shining armor.

  The castle in the painting and the castle in her dreams were the same.

  Was it coincidence or did she dream the castle because she bought the painting? Except she’d had the painting for years and never dreamt about it before.

  She thought of the dark, gloomy castle in her dream and of the dark-haired knight named Christien who walked into the hall, commanding the attention of the woman named Madelaine. Even now it made Lainie shiver in longing. A longing that transferred to the twenty-first century for a dark-haired, silver-eyed man who was not a figment of her imagination but very real.

  With a strangled sound of frustration she surged off the couch.

  This was bordering on the ridiculous. Since meeting Christien two nights ago, she’d slept, but it wasn’t a peaceful sleep and she woke more tired than before. The dreams were beginning to affect every part of her life and if she didn’t get it under control, she was afraid it would start affecting her work to the point where Giselle would notice and question her.

  She had to stop this or she was going to go insane and everything she’d been working for was going to fall apart. She looked around her apartment, desperate to find something to take her mind off the dream.

  She could clean. Her mother always said a good spring cleaning would clear her mind and the result would be an uncluttered home and an uncluttered mind.

  But her gaze locked on the small table by her front door and the white card lying on top of it. Since Christian handed her the card, she’d been drawn to it. Once she attempted to throw it away, but ended up digging it out of the trashcan.

  As she had so many times before, she felt its pull and walked over to the table to pick it up. The letters were embossed in gold as well as a small emblem of a knight on a rearing horse. Her mind flashed back to the dream. Maybe she got the image of the knight from his card and her mind created an entire story from it. It made sense. If she was the creative type. Which she wasn’t.

  She turned the cream-colored cardstock over. Written on the back in spiky handwriting was a different phone number. His personal number, he said.

  Why would a man who didn’t even know her, a man who seemed to be as important and popular as Christien Chevalier, leave her his private phone number?

  Frustrated she tossed the card in the trashcan—again—and deliberately walked away, refusing to heed the irritating voice telling her to dig it out—again.

  Outside her apartment door, she heard people speaking and recognized Giselle’s voice. When Giselle told her about this apartment and urged her to rent it, Lainie had no idea her boss would be living next door. She wasn’t exactly pleased when she found out either. Apparently it wasn’t enough she had to put up with Giselle at work, now she had to put up with her outside of work. But to give Giselle credit, she never bothered Lainie at home. In fact, it seemed she went out of her way to avoid Lainie as much as possible. Which was more than fine.

  Lainie’s good sense fled and she stepped closer to the door. She wasn’t one of those neighbors who noted the comings and goings of everyone who lived around her. But Giselle’s voice on the other side had her curious to see who she was talking to.

  The rumble of a male voice drew her closer. What was this? Giselle had male friends?

  Unable to help herself, she peered through the peephole, trying to get a glimpse of the man Giselle had brought home with her.

  He was too close for her to make out many details, but he was tall with wide shoulders and blond hair. Not the pale blond like Giselle but a deeper blond cut short.

  As if he sensed her perusal, he glanced up. Quickly she stepped back. Her heart knocked in her chest and she took a deep, shaky breath. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She checked the lock on the door before looking through the peephole again.

  He was still standing there, talking to Giselle whose back was to the door. However, he kept glancing at Lainie’s door as if he knew she was watching him.

  He was tall, but not as tall as Christien. Light to Christien’s dark. How weird that she was comparing this man to Christien, but something about him reminded her of Christien. Maybe it was the way the stranger ca
rried himself with that inexplicable presence that turned everyone’s heads.

  Giselle moved out of Lainie’s sight, leaving the man standing in the middle of the hall. He studied her door for a moment before stepping closer and looking directly at the peephole. Directly at her with eyes so dark they appeared black. Bottomless. Soulless. Lainie’s breath caught in her throat.

  He smiled and winked, then sauntered to Giselle’s apartment.

  Lainie pulled herself from the door and stumbled to the wall to brace herself. She couldn’t breathe. The air stuck in her lungs and her heart raced. Fear spread through her, making her legs and arms numb. She desperately tried to pull in a breath but all she could manage was a gasp. She closed her eyes and pictured those eyes staring at her, expressionless. Almost…demonic.

  A sob caught in her throat, tore through her body, making her tremble so hard she slid down the wall, wrapping her arms around bent knees. Evil. She sensed evil surrounding her. Pressing in on her. Touching her. She scrubbed her arms, trying to rid herself of it. To push it away.

  She had to get out of here. She didn’t question the overwhelming urge to run, but obeyed it. It was a struggle to stand. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate. The fear invaded everything, leaving her weak. She gathered up her purse, her cell phone and keys and reached for the door. Her gaze locked on the trashcan. Quickly she dropped to her knees and dumped it out. She swept up Christien’s card and with trembling fingers dialed the number written on the back.

  Get out, get out, get out. Her mind screamed the warning. Hands shaking she put the phone to her ear and bit her lip, glancing at the locked door.

  She leaned against the wall, fighting for each breath. The room tilted, swayed. Her vision dimmed. If she didn’t get help soon she would pass out.

  “This is Christien Chevalier—”

  “Christien, help. I can’t—”

  “—I am unable to take your call at the moment, but please leave a message—”

  Etienne was crouched between Giselle’s parted legs, preparing to tear the scarlet thong off her when he heard Madelaine’s door slam shut and footsteps pound down the hall. His head jerked up. Giselle made a small sound of frustration.

  He pushed away from her, pulled his pants up and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” On hands and knees Giselle scrambled off the bed, naked from the waist down except for the red thong. She slid off the bed and grabbed his arm, her fingernails biting into his skin.

  He tried to shake free of her bruising hold, but she held tight.

  “You are not leaving me to go to her. Do you hear me?” Her face was twisted in fury, her lips turned back into a snarl and her golden eyes snapping flames of fire.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She stepped in front of him, hands on his chest. “I forbid it. You will not leave my bed to run after that woman. I’ve taken all I can. You follow her everywhere and I’ve had enough.”

  His startled gaze met her determined one. So she knew he followed Madelaine. He couldn’t think of the implications of that right now. Not when he needed to discover where Madelaine was going. He stepped around Giselle and headed for the door. As soon as he closed it, she let out a banshee wail that rattled his eardrums. A large object shattered against the door, shaking it on its hinges. He jogged down the steps, ignoring the burst of fury following him.

  He found Madelaine weaving in and out of the crowd on the River Walk. Her movements were jerky, almost frantic.

  Chapter Five

  Lainie raced down the River Walk, past the busy restaurants hugging the walkway, skirting the crowds of people taking advantage of the warm Saturday night. She tried to act normal, tried to act as if the breath wasn’t being squeezed from her. Mentally she knew the air was making it into her lungs, but physically she still felt as if she were being strangled.

  Strangled. She stopped abruptly, her hand going to her throat. The wave of people washed around her. Above, on the balconies overlooking the river, a party was going on, but the noise and the people began to fade.

  I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe! Help me! Mon Dieu, please, someone help me. She grabbed at the fingers digging into her neck, her feet kicking out. She tried to buck the person off her but the world began to fade. Please. Pleasepleasepleaseplease.

  “Hey, lady, you okay?”

  Lainie blinked, bringing the real world back in focus. A man stood in front of her, dreadlocks poking out of a knit hat, scraggly beard and kind eyes. His girlfriend was tucked beneath his arm, looking up at her in concern.

  “You okay?” The girl repeated her boyfriend’s question, reaching out a tentative hand to touch Lainie’s sleeve.

  Lainie took a deep breath, forcing more air into her lungs, willing her heart to stop pounding. “Fine,” she mumbled. “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded. But she wasn’t okay. She’d just had a vision of herself…dying. She shuddered and swallowed the bile rising in her throat but it hurt to swallow, as if she really had been strangled. Her gaze darted around the River Walk. The crowd of people moved on, laughing and talking. She’d escaped her apartment but now she felt exposed, sensing danger, but not knowing where it came from.

  “Is there someone we can call for you?” the girlfriend asked.

  Christien. He was the first person she thought of in her apartment and the name that popped to her lips now. Her mind urged her to run to him but what would she say? How would she explain this panic attack?

  She took a deep breath and smiled at the couple. Or tried to smile. The action felt stiff and unnatural. “N-no. Thank you. I’ll be fine.”

  They looked at each other, shrugged and walked away. Lainie stood uncertainly while people shifted around her. Feeling lost and alone in the large crowd, her tears broke loose and traveled down her cheeks. She wanted to go home. Not to her apartment where she was experiencing weird dreams and strange visions, but to the home she grew up in. But she didn’t have that home anymore and no one was there for her even if she did.

  “Madelaine?” A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped, stifling a cry of surprise.

  Christien. What little courage and strength remained, crumbled. She threw her arms around his waist and buried her head in his chest, taking deep breaths to keep the tears at bay.

  His arms went around her, strong, supportive. Safe.

  He tried to pull away but she held on tighter. He managed to maneuver her to the shadows of a building, blocking her from the prying eyes of the other people.

  “Are you all right? I saw you had called, but you didn’t leave a message.”

  His strength seeped into her. The woodsy spice of his scent surrounded her. Grateful, she clung to him, all pretense of courage vanishing.

  “What happened?” He tried to pull back but she pressed her face into his chest. “Mon amour, you’re frightening me. Tell me what happened?”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t…” She thought of the hand encircling her neck, squeezing the life out of her. It still hurt to swallow.

  Christien’s body was strung tight as if he sensed danger. What could she tell him that wouldn’t make her look like she was losing her mind? How did she say she had a vision of someone killing her? “Come, ma chérie.” He tucked her under his arm and steered them back onto the River Walk, his body shielding her from the crowd. “Come to the nightclub. I don’t like leaving you alone and I can’t be far from the club on a Saturday night.”

  Her heart slowly returned to normal, but she remained weak, drained. It was easier to let him lead her. She would be safe in his club. She wouldn’t think beyond that.

  The club was only a few blocks away and it didn’t take long to get there.

  “Faster to go this way.” He led her to the front doors and nodded to the bouncer, the man who wouldn’t let her in two nights ago. The guy merely nodded back, barely giving Lainie a second look.

  Inside, the techno-pop music was so loud the beat vibrated the fl
oor and resonated inside her chest. The multicolored lights twirled and swirled. People were dancing, their movements jerky in the blinking lights, reminding her of an old-time movie that skipped. She felt like her life was one of those disco balls, spinning out of control.

  “This way.” Christien had to lean down to speak in her ear. His breath whispered across her skin and she shivered. “We will talk in my private quarters. Let me search out Sabine and tell her I will be indisposed.”

  She should argue with him, tell him she was okay, but the thought of returning to her apartment had her throat closing again. “As long as you don’t mind me hanging around,” she said.

  He touched her cheek, his eyes flashing silver in the lights. “Ma belle, there is nothing I’d like more than to have you in my living quarters.” Even through the beat of the music, the timbre of his words reached out to her, burrowing under her skin, sending prickles of awareness through her.

  She leaned toward him, her bones melting to feel the brush of her body against his. But instead of kissing her lips, he kissed her forehead. “Give me one minute.”

  He turned to speak to the woman she’d seen the first night she was in the club and who’d answered the door yesterday. Christien leaned close to speak in her ear, but didn’t let go of Lainie’s hand. The woman nodded, glanced at Lainie and nodded again.

  Sabine was a woman of the world and Lainie came from a working farm where the excitement of the year was the county fair and 4-H ribbons. She looked away, hating that she felt so inadequate. Her gaze landed on a cluster of women in tight mini-dresses and push-up bras. Any of them could have easily stepped from the pages of a magazine—they were so beautiful. They sneered at her scuffed shoes, her worn jeans and baggy sweatshirt. Then made a point to look at Christien, whispering and laughing to each other.