Her Dark Knight

by Sharon Cullen

  Lainie lifted her chin and tightened her hold on Christien’s hand. He threw her a worried glance before returning his attention to Sabine. The women continued to whisper and laugh.

  Christien touched her shoulder. “This way,” he said above the music.

  She knew it was petty and beneath her, but Lainie smiled at the group of women before following Christien into the elevator. She caught their narrow-eyed look of disbelief before the doors slid shut. And then she was alone with Christien in the small elevator, feeling horrible for what she’d done and hyperaware of the man next to her.

  The heat coming off him wrapped around her. She was acutely conscious of his every breath and every movement.

  She tried to put distance between them, but Christien was having none of that. He tugged her closer and turned to her as the elevator rose swiftly. “I am sorry I did not answer my phone.”

  She shook her head, feeling foolish for putting him to all this trouble. With him this close, her fear abated. “It’s all right.”

  He cupped her cheek in his large hand. Against her better judgment she leaned in to his warmth. “No, chérie, it is not all right.”

  He was so close his warm breath caressed her skin. So close she could kiss him. For a moment their gazes locked, his such a pure beautiful gray she could fall into it and never want to leave. She had the oddest sensation she’d done this before, looked deep into his eyes and found everything she’d been searching for.

  The elevator doors opened, startling her out of the haze of longing and severing the deep connection humming between them. He pulled away and motioned for her to exit. She stepped out and caught her breath.

  She expected his living quarters to reflect his office décor. Glass and chrome, hard angles and dark colors. Starkness and simplicity.

  Instead elegance, opulence and luxury were the words that sprang to mind. The look was homey instead of stuffy. The kind of place to retreat to after a hard day’s work.

  He’d decorated in dark wood, intricately carved, with jeweled tones to complement, offset by creams and beiges. The living room and dining area were combined, surrounded by cream-colored pillars. The windows were unadorned, the lights of Milwaukee in the background and the dark void of Lake Michigan beyond.

  The couches were formal, yet comfortable. A flat-screen television looked out of place sitting inside a large antique armoire.

  Gorgeous, gigantic floral arrangements sat on the coffee table and dining room table and a sword hung above a stone fireplace.

  Feet sinking into the deep-piled carpet, Lainie made her way to the fireplace to stare up at the weapon. Her mind flashed back to her latest dream in which the other Madelaine had been watching Christien prepare for battle, a sword almost exactly like this riding his hip.

  She knew nothing about medieval weaponry, yet had dreamt about this one in detail, right down to the hammered hilt. Before tonight she hadn’t even known what a hilt was.

  In her dream the sword had been nicked and dented. This was polished and gleamed in the recessed lighting but that was the only difference. How did she dream of this weapon when she’d never seen it before?

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Where did you get it?”

  He stepped into the room and for the first time she noticed the music playing in the background. Not the loud techno-pop of downstairs, but a quiet jazz coming from an invisible sound system.

  “I’ve had it for years.”

  She turned from the massive fireplace, almost disappointed he hadn’t said more. What else is there to say, Lainie? Were you expecting him to tell you he used it to fight in the Crusades?

  “What happened tonight, Madelaine?” His tone wasn’t cajoling, but commanding. Not smooth, but coarse. The soldier, her mind whispered.

  She stepped away from the weapon. His eyes tracked her, unrelenting, probing. She rubbed her arms and looked around. She wished she could spill it all, but that was impossible. You didn’t tell a stranger you dreamt of him or you saw visions of yourself being…murdered. Her mind stuttered over the word and she shivered. The fear she thought she’d overcome bubbled to the surface, almost overpowering her, but she managed to wrestle it back in place and put a tight hold on it. Fear wouldn’t do her any good right now. She didn’t even know what it was she feared.

  “Madelaine.”

  She closed her eyes, once again pulling from his strength and making it her own.

  “It’s nothing.” She walked to the windows to look out. Far below, a line of people snaked around the building, waiting to get into his nightclub.

  “You lie,” he said softly.

  She turned to face him, keeping the room between them. “It was just an episode. An asthma attack. I panicked and called you.” She glanced away, unable to meet his direct gaze. “I’m sorry I bothered you, but I don’t know many people here yet. You’re the first one I thought to call.” There. That at least wasn’t a lie.

  “Do you have these attacks often?”

  “More often than before.”

  “Should I call a doctor?”

  “No!” Her head jerked up. “I mean, I’m fine now. They pass.” Or at least she hoped they passed, but what did she know? She’d never dreamt like this before.

  He tilted his head and studied her. “What brings on these…” He paused. “Attacks?” In his quick hesitation she sensed he didn’t believe her but was playing along.

  “Um. Stress.” Isn’t that what she’d told herself? Just stress. Stress of moving, starting a new job, making new friends. The stress of her father’s health and paying her bills. Except lots of people did all those things and she’d bet a dollar none of their stress manifested itself in strange dreams that took place hundreds of years ago, and with weapons she knew nothing about but now, due to her dreams, suddenly seemed to have an abundant knowledge of.

  Christien remained quiet for a long while, studying her. She had the feeling he was waiting for something. Waiting for her to tell him the truth, but she couldn’t do it. This wasn’t something you just blurted out.

  “I couldn’t breathe.” She suddenly wanted him to know, needed to say it so they had at least some honesty between them. “When I called you. I couldn’t breathe.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Is this what happens during these attacks?”

  She nodded, relieved she could at least admit this. “It feels like…” She put a hand to her throat and swallowed. “Like someone’s strangling me,” she whispered. “Like I’m dying.”

  She closed her eyes and the vision came back. Hands around her throat, squeezing the breath from her. The thought of impending death. The fear the knowledge brought. The sadness of losing…something. She didn’t know what though.

  “Madelaine.” He was suddenly in front of her, pulling her hands from her neck and holding them in his. “Chérie, breathe. I am here now.”

  She opened her eyes, still seeing the hands, still feeling the burning need to breathe. Her chest rose and fell.

  “It’s all right, chérie.”

  “It’s not,” she gasped. “It’s not all right.” She backed away from him, terrified. Not of him but of herself. Of what her mind was doing.

  He let her go, his hands falling to his sides, his eyes haunted. “Madelaine,” he said softly.

  “It’s not all right, Christien. Something’s wrong with me.”

  She moved to the sofa and sank into it, putting her head in her hands. What’s happening to me? Why am I acting this way? Where are these visions coming from?

  He sat beside her and took her hands in his, kissing her knuckles.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “For what? What has you so scared? Please tell me so I can help.”

  She looked at him helplessly, the words stuck in her throat. To admit something was wrong with her would be admitting she was losing her mind.

  Christien’s phone buzzed. He cursed and pulled it from his belt to read the text message. “It’s Sabine. I’m sorry, Ma
delaine, but I need to see to this.”

  She nodded, partly relieved she’d been given a reprieve and scared he had to leave her. What if the vision returned and what if, this time, she wasn’t able to pull herself out of it?

  “Stay here,” he said. “I want to finish this conversation.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “But I do. There are things you need to tell me, no?”

  Her breath escaped her in a terrified rush. He wasn’t letting her go easily. When he returned, she’d have no choice but to tell him what was happening. Or she could leave. Go back to her apartment where her fears lived.

  “Please stay.” As if sensing her thoughts, his fingers tightened around hers. He touched her chin to draw her closer.

  He was so close, so warm and secure. If she moved just a fraction she could kiss him. But something kept her from moving, some force held her back when her body longed to feel his lips on hers and her soul cried out for him.

  “Madelaine.” His whispered words brushed her skin and slid along her nerves, making them tingle in ways she’d never experienced before.

  Slowly she lifted her eyes to meet his. A storm raged inside him, as well. She saw it in the swirling fog of his eyes, in the steel that had become his muscles.

  “Don’t leave me,” he said so softly she almost didn’t hear him.

  His head inched closer, degree by degree. He was going to kiss her. And this kiss would change her life. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  He spoke but they were in words she didn’t understand, in a language she’d never heard before, and yet the cadence was comforting, almost familiar.

  “Kiss me,” she said.

  He closed his eyes as if he were in pain. For a horrible second she thought he wasn’t going to kiss her. And then his lips were on hers, hot and insistent.

  She made a sound deep in her throat of surrender, submission, longing. His fingers moved from her chin to her jaw, to the back of her head, cradling it in a tender embrace.

  She put her hands on his broad shoulders and pulled him closer. Their tongues brushed together and Lainie gasped at the unexpected need racing through her.

  This is where you should be. This is the way it should be between us.

  He pulled away. Something passed through his eyes, something desperate and sad. A grief so sharp it pierced her soul to find an answering grief.

  Christien looked away and swallowed. “Stay.” His voice was rough, but not harsh.

  “I will.”

  He touched her face and the key at her throat. “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  He left her sitting on the couch alone in his apartment with the certain knowledge that she’d been right.

  That kiss changed everything.

  Christien clenched his fists and leaned against the wall of the elevator. He’d been balancing on the razor edge of control ever since he brought Madelaine to his living quarters. Who was he kidding? Since she walked into his club Thursday night he’d been off balance.

  The brush of her body, the small sound she made in the back of her throat, her hands on his shoulders urging him forward had nearly tipped him over that edge. Instantly he’d been rock hard and he fought the compulsion to tumble her back on the couch and touch every part of her luscious body, to drive into her and spill his seed until he was a dry husk, spent. And then to do it all over again because once would never be enough with Madelaine.

  He groaned and rolled his head against the wall in a combination of misery and fiery need that wouldn’t release its hold. Everything, from the smallest red blood cell in his veins to the tip of his throbbing erection, yearned for Madelaine.

  He had to control himself or he’d stride back in there to finish what he started, even if it was the worst mistake he could make. She was confused and frightened and to top it off she’d been lying.

  When she pressed her body against his on the River Walk, he felt her shaking, felt the fear coming off her in waves. Yet he didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust her. She claimed an asthma attack but she couldn’t look him in the eyes when she said it.

  Was this another ruse to get them together? Had Lucheux put her up to this? His body clenched in barely suppressed anger and he pounded a fist against the wall of the elevator. What the hell was going on? What was Lucheux up to?

  He didn’t want to think Madelaine was involved, but until he was sure, he would be on guard. Damn his traitorous body. When she touched her throat and the fear clouded her eyes, he had no choice but to go to her and comfort her. Either she was a very good actress, or she was truly afraid. He was betting on the latter because he saw right through her pitiful lies and she hadn’t been lying about being afraid.

  He should put a man on his door to be sure Madelaine stayed safe inside his club but that would frighten her more and raise questions he didn’t want to answer.

  He had to play this in a way that kept her from questioning his motives and yet also kept her safe. How the hell he was going to do that, he didn’t know.

  His phone buzzed again. Sabine wondering where he was. He punched the button for the club level and forced his body to cool down, cursing the ill-timed interruption. He had the impression Madelaine was on the verge of telling him something important, something she was struggling with. Was the guilt eating at her? Did she want to tell him what Lucheux’s motives were? Did she even know?

  What if it was none of the above? What if she was nothing but a look-alike caught in circumstances she knew nothing about? If this were the case, Christien vowed he would protect her with everything at his disposal. He would not allow an innocent person to be dragged into this war. But first he had to prove she was innocent.

  Chapter Six

  France, 1307

  Madelaine sat on the garden bench and gave in to the tears she’d been holding back. She wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked forward, her sobs so deep it hurt to cry.

  The sun had just gone down, vespers was finished, supper complete. The knights filed out of the hall for a final check of their horses and equipment before sleep. She was alone in the silent, shadow-ridden garden and glad of it. She was weary of the trailing gaze of her husband, always suspicious, always present. Weary of having to be constantly alert to Lucien’s presence and dodging his watchful eye and knowing smirk.

  ’Twas coming to the point she feared Lucien almost more than her husband.

  If either of them caught her in the garden… She shuddered to think what would happen. Lucien might very well follow through with the silent threats that were becoming more and more frequent. Her husband would beat her and enjoy it. But she had nowhere else to go. No solitude to be had.

  A heavy hand pressed against her shoulder and she leaped up, a scream on her lips. Quickly the hand covered her mouth. “Shhh, Madelaine. It is I.”

  Her eyes widened. Surely not. Surely it wasn’t the knight who’d haunted her dreams for these past months. Her heart soared in hope and wonder. A day hadn’t gone by that she hadn’t thought of him, hadn’t relived his generous laugh or the lips that pressed against her knuckles.

  He dropped his hand and stepped into a patch of moonlight. Madelaine sucked in her breath. ’Twas him. Christien. Her heart skipped a beat in joy and she quickly suppressed the smile threatening to break free. Anxiously she looked around. It was wrong for them to be alone in a moonlit garden. If they were discovered it was in her husband’s right to punish both of them.

  “No one is about,” he said. “I have checked.”

  “Oh.” She brushed at the remainder of the tears on her cheeks, trying to hide the fact she’d been crying, yet knowing it was futile. Certainly he’d heard her sobs.

  He laid a hand on her arm. She should shake it off, step away. This knight was a threat to her well-being in more ways than one, yet she couldn’t walk away from the kindness he offered.

  “What has happened, Madelaine, to make you so sad?”

  She huffed out a laugh and shook her hea
d. Since entering the walls of this castle she had been nothing but sad.

  Christien guided her to the bench and waited for her to settle onto it before sitting beside her. For months this man had invaded her thoughts and dreams, had been the bright light in a very dismal existence. When life had become too much, she’d think of him—where he was, the dangers he encountered. As time marched on and he did not return, she worried for him. She listened, aching for a word of his whereabouts, but the other knights said nothing and she could not ask, so she suffered in silence.

  “Ah, Madelaine, do not cry, chérie.” With his thumb, he wiped the remainder of her tears away. “I wish I could take you away from this, to a place of laughter and light.”

  The tears came harder at his soft words of kindness. She cried into her hands.

  “Hush, my sweet.” His voice was so close to her ear his breath warmed her chilled skin. “Hush, Madelaine. Someone will hear, chérie.”

  She hiccupped, sniffed. “I apologize.”

  “Nay. There is no need.” His hand continued to stroke circles on her back, relaxing her to the point that she leaned into him and sighed in pleasure. It had been too long since she’d experienced the healing power of touch. For her, touch had come to signify pain and degradation. She shivered, but pushed those memories away. Not now. She didn’t want them intruding on the only peaceful time she’d found in this den of hell.

  “Can you tell me what has you so upset? Has someone hurt you?” His voice started out soft, but hardened toward the end and it warmed her to think she might have one ally in the castle. However sporadic his appearances.

  It also reminded her of what had sent her out here and fresh tears welled up, but she sniffed them back, willed them away and decided since she had no pride left and this man seemed to honestly care, she would tell him.