Her Dark Knight

by Sharon Cullen

  “Wow,” she said.

  He smiled and turned to look at her. She was staring up at the ceiling, her hair spread around her, a light sheen of sweat coating her brow.

  “Can we do that again sometime?”

  He chuckled and crawled up the bed to take her in his arms. Immediately she curled around him and sighed.

  “Anytime you want.”

  “Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow?”

  Miraculously he began to stir. For a seven-hundred-and-thirty-year-old man, he wasn’t doing too badly.

  “Tomorrow it is.”

  She sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes still glazed. “I’m starving. You ready for dinner?”

  He looked her up and down, taking in her glorious nakedness, the plump breasts that were a little more than a handful, the dark curls glistening at her center. “I’m sated.” He cocked a brow. “For now.”

  She playfully swatted him and scooted off the bed. “Well I’m not. Let’s see what we have to eat.”

  After cleaning up and putting their clothes back on, they scavenged the refrigerator and made turkey sandwiches. Madelaine grabbed a bag of chips and headed for the balcony.

  They settled on the two-seater glider and looked out over the dark abyss of Lake Michigan. It was close to May and the warm weather was holding on, fighting the good fight against the last gasp of winter. He put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. She pulled her feet beneath her as he pushed the glider into motion.

  “It’s beautiful up here.”

  “In the summer with the boats on the lake and the sun reflecting off the waves it’s magnificent.”

  “I can’t wait to see it.”

  Would she be around in the summer? Would she still be with him when she realized who he was and that once again he was keeping secrets from her? He pushed the glider a little harder, wishing he could push his thoughts away as easily. He would have to tell her everything, but for now he held his tongue. ’Twould be best to tell her when he had all the facts. That gave him a day or two of reprieve.

  “Have you been to the lake at night?” he asked.

  “I haven’t been to the lake at all except to drive past it every now and then.”

  “You need to get out more, love.”

  “This from the man who works seven days a week.”

  “Touché.”

  Even in the dark, the lake was beautiful with the nearly full moon reflecting white light off the waves. Maybe he’d buy her a sailboat and they’d sail along the coast, stopping at the small towns along the way.

  The idea sounded wonderful, but he recognized the impossibility of it. To take his mind off the treasure would be disastrous, yet he found it difficult to concentrate when Madelaine was around.

  “Tell me about your family.” He didn’t need to ask because he knew everything. More than even Madelaine knew, but he found himself wanting to hear about her life from her. And, yes, he wanted to connect to someone who had a family.

  She shrugged. “Not much to tell. I grew up on a farm and was an only child.”

  “Growing up on a farm sounds like fun.”

  He’d grown up on a farm, as well. For the first time in years he let himself think about his long-dead family. His four brothers and five sisters were always into mischief, always laughing, always happy. Looking back, he had to think his mother had been stressed but she never showed it. He remembered her laughing a lot and even wading through the creek that ran beside their house, searching for toads with them. His father had been a hard worker, always in the fields, coming home late at night and leaving early in the morning. ’Twas a wonder he managed to impregnate his wife as many times as he did.

  They were all dead, of course. Wiped out when the bubonic plague spread through their small village. By then Christien was already immortal and deep into the intrigue of the Knights Templar, but he’d still grieved for them.

  She shivered, bringing him out of his musings.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  “Content.”

  He drew her closer for a quick hug, feeling the same contentment, an emotion he hadn’t experienced since wading in the creek and laughing with his mother.

  She twisted her head to look up at him. “Tell me about you,” she said. “And your family.”

  He shrugged, dislodging her head then guiding it back with the tips of his fingers until she rested comfortably again. “I was born and raised in France—”

  “What city?”

  He hesitated. “A small town you wouldn’t recognize.”

  “Brothers and sisters?”

  How much to tell her? On his official biography put out through his company, he listed himself as an only child because it prevented people from looking too deeply into his past. A past he reinvented every few decades. And yet a part of him wanted to tell her about himself—his real self—not some story created for the press.

  “None,” he finally said, hating himself for lying and not yet ready for the truth.

  “Parents?”

  “Dead.”

  “I’m sorry.” She covered his hand with hers.

  “’Twas a long time ago.”

  He pushed the glider again. From so far up they barely heard the long line of people outside the club.

  “Tell me,” she said into the silence, “about us. In that other time.”

  Christien stilled, but quickly resumed the motion of the glider.

  “’Twas a dark time,” he said softly. “So much fighting. To return to you… It made me happy.” He didn’t mean to refer to himself in the first person. He held his breath, waiting for her to discover the mistake. Waiting for her to ask. This would be the opening he needed to tell her everything. To tell her he hadn’t been reincarnated like she thought. But she didn’t catch his slip.

  “You made her happy, too,” she said. “I think you were the only bright spot in her life as well.”

  He rubbed his chin on the top of her head and pressed his lips into her hair.

  “Did you love her?” she asked.

  “More than anything.”

  “And yet you two couldn’t be together.”

  “I was a lowly knight, you—she—a countess. We were worlds apart.”

  “How sad.”

  “Not sad. We took what we were able and were happy for it. Bittersweet, maybe, but never sad.”

  “When did you realize you had this whole past life?”

  Tell her. “I’ve always known.”

  “Did you dream of it?”

  “There were dreams. Memories.”

  Lainie sighed and settled more comfortably against him. “Did you think you were going crazy too? When you started having these weird dreams?”

  “Madelaine, you are not crazy.”

  “I know. It’s just sometimes I feel like two different people.”

  “There are things about you that are the same as her, but you two are not the same. Your beliefs and your personality have been shaped by the time you are living in, just as Madelaine’s was. That alone makes you two different.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “You have to trust me on this.”

  His other hand rested on her thigh and she played with the tips of his fingers. “Sometimes I wonder if my feelings for you aren’t what she felt for you. I experience her emotions in my dreams. And when I awaken, those emotions stay with me. I have to wonder where hers end and mine begin.”

  He turned his hand palm up and trapped her fingers in his, stilling her nervous motions. “The only way to find out is to test those emotions.”

  “And what if we discover what we feel for each other isn’t real?”

  “What we feel for each other is very real.”

  Some time passed. Christien stroked her shoulder. She snuggled into his embrace and they watched the moon reflect off the waves.

  “How did it end?” she asked.

  “How did what end?”

  “Made
laine and her dark knight.”

  Something cold and lethal sliced through his heart, opening old wounds.

  “Not good, huh?”

  “No. I’m afraid not.”

  “I hope they died together,” she said softly.

  Chapter Fifteen

  France, 1307

  “I am already damned,” Madelaine said.

  Christien jerked, tensing at Madelaine’s words. “Madelaine, please do not—”

  She pressed her fingers to his lips. It was all he could do not to flick out his tongue and taste her. The thought alone made his body harden with the overpowering need to make her his. Damn her husband and damn their wedding vows.

  “I am not as naïve as most think. I know you are nothing but kind and honest and you can show me what it can be like.”

  He shook his head and enfolded her fingers in his hand. What she proposed… Making love to her… ’Twould be every dream he’d ever had, every prayer he’d ever uttered. But it would also be wrong.

  “Would it not be cruel to know and never have again?” he asked, trying to make her see reason. Trying to stay reasonable.

  “Or crueler yet to have never known?”

  He smiled but it pained him to do so. He was simply a man and what she asked was something his body and soul yearned for, yet his mind was not so adamant. How cruel to both of them to make love and be torn apart forever. Was it not best to simply enjoy what they had?

  “If we are discovered, we are dead,” she said softly. “If we are discovered while…” She looked away, her face flushing. Yet when she looked back at him boldness replaced the embarrassment in her eyes as well as determination and a certain amount of acceptance. As if she believed her time here was limited no matter what she did.

  “If we are discovered making love we are dead as well,” she finished.

  Ah, but there were many ways to die and Christien was well aware of most of them. If caught, the count would make certain their deaths were not swift and painless and one thing Christien knew was he would never, ever give Flandres any reason to harm Madelaine because of something he had done.

  And that, of course, raised the question of just what the hell he was doing in this bedchamber with her.

  She smiled up at him with those soft amber eyes reflecting defeat and he knew why he was here. Because he was unable to leave.

  He lost all sense, all reason. He pulled her close but this time his hold was gentle and she melted into him as he dipped his head and tenderly kissed her lips. Mon Dieu, she was everything he had ever wanted in a woman. What a shame they came from such divergent backgrounds. That what they had could never be.

  She let out a soft mewl that resonated deep within his bones and set his body on fire with a need so fierce it scalded him. Her hands were caught between them and he backed up a fraction to uncurl her fingers and lay her palms above the uneven beat of his heart.

  Her fingers wandered across his chest, burning a path in their wake and making him tremble. She explored his body. His was probably the first male body she had touched like this. Certainly she wouldn’t have touched her husband in such a way.

  He’d been careful to keep his raging manhood from her, afraid to frighten her, but she arched her back, pressing her pelvis into it and he nearly came undone.

  “My love,” he said between kisses, cupping her face in his hands as he nipped her lips, holding tight to his control.

  She made a sound low in her throat.

  “We must stop.” But he was unable to force his body to do what his mind demanded. He pressed closer, backing her against the wall. Suddenly she went still, terror in her wide eyes. He pulled back. “Madelaine, look at me.”

  Her eyes focused but the terror remained.

  “You are not in any danger while you are with me. Do you understand, ma chérie?”

  She swallowed and he bit back a curse. Something happened to frighten her. She had been responsive until her back hit the wall. He stepped away. Quickly she slipped away from him to stand in the middle of the room.

  “I apologize,” she whispered, looking at the floor.

  “Never be sorry.”

  “He…” She waved her hand to the wall and looked away.

  Christien silently cursed. “Lucien or the count?”

  “The count.”

  The bastard. He cursed out loud and willed his erection to subside.

  She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and Christien closed his eyes. His erection would never go away as long as she nibbled on her lip.

  “I truly want to know,” she said softly.

  “Know what?” Except he knew and his pitiful attempt to buy some time was just that—pitiful.

  “I want to know what lovemaking is all about. I want to lie with you, even if it is just once. I want to learn you.”

  He stepped back, but this time it was his body pinned against the wall. “This is not the best idea.”

  “Please, Christien. What if we never see each other again? What if, God forbid, something were to happen to you on the battlefield?”

  Unspoken between them was the thought, What if something happened to her? She seemed resigned to the idea she wasn’t going to be of this world much longer and he refused to lie to himself anymore. Lucien wasn’t going away. He would do one of two things, stalk her until he found her alone and unprotected, or tell her husband, whose vengeance would come down on both their heads. Christien was betting on the former. Lucien wanted her for himself. He lusted after her, wanted a taste of her beauty and would not tell her husband, for to do so meant she would be out of his reach.

  “Why do you call me ‘my love’?”

  Her question took him by surprise.

  “Because you love me?” she asked, advancing on him.

  He saw no reason to deny his love or fight it. “Yes.”

  “And I love you.”

  “Don’t,” he said.

  “Don’t what? Don’t love you? ’Tis too late, I’m afraid. I fell in love with you in the garden that night so many months ago. Do you remember?”

  Remember? The moment was engraved upon his brain. He would never forget the ripeness of her breasts pressed against him or the lavender-and-roses scent of her skin. He would forever remember the taste of her lips upon his and the small hands that held him tight.

  She slid her hands up his chest.

  He grabbed them and pressed them together to halt her erotic explorations. “I thought we decided we wouldn’t do this.”

  “You decided.”

  “We are both damned if we continue.”

  “And damned if we do not.”

  He closed his eyes and rested his head against the stone behind him. He wanted nothing more than to throw her on the bed and show her what a man could do to pleasure a woman. He was up to the task. So what was holding him back?

  The fact she was married? ’Twas true he stayed far from other men’s wives, but that wasn’t the reason. Simon of Flandres didn’t deserve her, but neither did she deserve to roast in the fires of hell for making love to him. He was unworthy of the sacrifice and maybe that’s where his hesitation came from. He was her inferior in so many ways.

  She kissed his chin, sliding her body up his to reach it and he groaned, pouring all of his frustration into the sound before he stepped away. Her hands fell from his body. Her brows creased in confusion.

  “I will not do this to you,” he said. “I will not compromise you.”

  Her chin lifted and her eyes flashed in defiance. “We love each other, is that not enough?”

  He shook his head. “If your husband were to find out—and make no doubt he will—he will kill you.”

  “I am already doomed,” she said softly.

  “Stop this,” he hissed, taking an angry step toward her. “I will not hear of this any longer. You will be safe. I am leaving a man behind. His sole purpose will be to guard you.”

  Her hands twisted in her skirt. “What if the count discovers him?”


  “He is my best man. He will not be discovered. Madelaine, think on this. You would be breaking your holy vows of matrimony and for what? In the end you would still be married to him and he would still have control over you. You wouldn’t be happy with yourself and mayhap even me.”

  She bit her bottom lip and looked away. “You are right, of course. I wish it were different. I wish we would have met at a different time, under different circumstances.”

  Yet everything would be the same. She was from a noble lineage, he nothing but a lowly knight. If things had been different, they probably would never have met at all.

  He gathered her in his arms one last time. “Je t’aime, my Madelaine.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Christien rolled out of bed, careful not to wake Madelaine, and made his way down the hall to collapse on the couch, head in his hands, trying desperately to control his breathing. It had been ages since he’d dreamt so vividly, so this one took him by surprise. ’Twas as if it happened only yesterday.

  He groaned and ran a hand down his sweaty face. How many times had he wished he’d taken her up on the offer to bed her? How many regrets did he have of that night? He often wondered what the outcome would have been if he’d known that was the last time he would see her. Would he have bedded her?

  He surged off the couch and paced to the bank of windows. For once the view of the lake and the reflected lights of the city didn’t soothe him. His heart beat hard against his ribs and his blood pounded through him at the memories that wouldn’t let him go. He drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

  Had the count known? Was that why Christien and his men were suddenly called away that night? These questions haunted him to this day.

  He looked at the time. Three in the morning. He would not be going back to sleep now, not after the dream, and he didn’t want to toss and turn in bed and risk waking Madelaine, so he snuck back in his room, grabbed a pair of jeans and his phone and headed to his office to make some overseas calls.