She steadfastly refused to look at her husband, judging by the absolute silence in the hall he was most displeased with her impudence.
Christien finally turned to her with polite indifference, nearly breaking her heart. This was the way it must be, but she wanted one last acknowledgment of what they meant to each other.
“I thank you for your well wishes, my lady, and wish as well that God keep you safe.” He turned and motioned to his men who filed out behind him.
Madelaine sank down onto the bench in the count’s garden and stared up at the ever-darkening dusk. In the weeks since Christien left, she’d been living in a state of heightened fear, constantly looking over her shoulder for Lucien, always on guard, always afraid to be alone. But tonight she needed privacy to control the tears that wouldn’t go away and to gather her wits about her.
News from Paris wasn’t good. Jacques deMolay, the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, had been seized and thrown in a dungeon because he would not reveal the location of the Templar’s treasure.
With growing anxiety Madelaine waited for word from Christien but heard nothing. A ball of dread settled in her stomach, a premonition of doom surrounded her. Was Christien in the dungeon with his leader?
Occasionally she would glimpse Jean Paul, the man Christien left behind to protect her, but he kept to the shadows, never drawing the attention of others and she was too afraid to approach him to ask for news.
She curled her fingers into the velvet of her gown and leaned forward, finally letting loose the tears that had been pushing against the back of her eyes ever since she left the midwife’s lodgings.
She was with child. After all these years, she was carrying the count’s babe. She knuckled the tears from her eyes. Damn Christien! If he hadn’t been so chivalrous this might have been his babe growing inside her womb. Yet wasn’t it his chivalry that had drawn her to him in the first place? And while heartwarming though the thought was, carrying his child would bring a host of other problems Madelaine didn’t think she was up to confronting.
She leaned against the stone wall and closed her eyes, alone and miserable and lost. She remembered the last time she sat here crying because she was not with child. Christien had come to her and held her, so concerned, so…kind. It had been their first kiss, and a memory she would cherish until she was old and stooped.
She must have dozed because when she opened her eyes it was fully dark and fear shot through her. Quickly she looked around. How long had she been here?
She stood quickly, her hands shaking, her stomach turning with nausea.
She hurried down the path, nearly running, her fear prodding her forward. She’d been so good at avoiding Lucien by never being alone.
A scuff of a boot on the path in front of her had her skidding to a halt. She peered through the darkness to see who it was, praying it was one of the serving wenches or even Jean Paul.
In all of Madelaine’s young years God had yet to answer her prayers and this night was no exception. Lucien stepped into the path. His back was to her and almost immediately another person joined him. A woman.
Breath held, Madelaine slid into the shadows of the castle wall.
“You sent the messenger?” Lucien asked.
“Aye.” The woman stepped into the light.
She knew her. The blacksmith’s widow. A lazy woman who warmed the beds of various men, who earned her meals through her talents in the bedchamber, and who was whispered to be very talented indeed. So talented she’d caught the attention of the count and had been warming his bed for many months.
Hers was the voice from the incident in the garden so long ago. She was the woman the count had tupped while Madelaine and Christien hid in the shadows.
“The count doesn’t know?” Lucien asked.
“Nay,” the woman said. She had long, blond hair that was more white than wheat and pale skin. ’Twas no wonder most of the men went in search of her for she was beautiful, but Madelaine heard her price was high and she wouldn’t give herself to just any man.
“How long before we hear a response?” the woman asked. Madelaine searched her memory for a name.
Lucien shrugged. “’Tis hard to tell in these times. Philip is occupied with deMolay and the Templars. My hope is he sees that the missive comes from his cousin the countess and reads it right away.”
Madelaine gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth to cover the sound but ’twas too late. Lucien and the woman spun around.
“Who’s there?” the woman demanded.
Giselle. Her name was Giselle.
Lucien took a step forward, searching the shadows.
Madelaine turned and fled, picking up her skirts and running as she’d never run before, her only thought to get out of the bailey and outside the walls of the castle. If she reached the forest beyond, she’d be able to hide. Hiding inside the castle wasn’t an option. Lucien would use the full force of his authority to tear down the walls looking for her and she needed to get to her cousin.
“Stop her!” Lucien yelled.
She ran faster, dodging the hands reaching out to her and slipping out of a few men’s grasps.
Men on the battlements rushed to their stations, shouting to each other.
A soldier raced along the battlement to the gatehouse, an axe in his hand glinting in the firelight of the torches. If he cut through the rope holding the portcullis before she reached it, she was as good as dead. The soldier made it to the gatehouse and she lost sight of him. Not knowing where it came from, she put on another burst of speed. Behind her soldiers were yelling. Inside the gatehouse the soldier with the axe was hacking away at the rope.
Madelaine reached the main entrance just as the portcullis broke free of the thick rope. She dove through the entrance. The wind of the falling portcullis whispered across her legs before the metal teeth bit into the wood of the drawbridge. Mon Dieu, that had been too close.
The closed gate wouldn’t hold Lucien back for long, though. She stumbled to her feet and ran for the line of trees. Inside the inner ward, men were shouting. The forest swallowed her up and still she dared not slow. Her hope was that Jean Paul would hear the commotion and come to her rescue although she realized her hope was futile. She hadn’t seen Jean Paul all day and he always made a point to show himself to her. More than likely Jean Paul was dead.
Her breath sawed in and out of burning lungs and the beat of her heart was so heavy, so fast, the forest animals probably heard it. She certainly didn’t hear anything over the drum of it. Her legs were weakening, exhausted, but still she pressed on, breathing hard, breathing deep. Breathing ragged.
Lucien had sent a letter to King Philip and used her name to get his attention. What did it all mean?
Had Lucien revealed her relationship with Christien to her cousin? Fear had her tripping over the hem of her gown. Where was Christien? Was he in Philip’s dungeon and if so what would Philip do to him? She had to get to Paris to find out. How she was to get there, she didn’t know yet.
The faint sounds of barking dogs were far off in the distance. Mon Dieu, he’d brought the dogs! She put on a burst of speed, running blindly through the dark night. A tree branch snagged her veil and yanked her head back. She grabbed the veil, not wanting to leave a trail even though the dogs could easily smell the wake of her fear. A root seemed to lift from the ground and she tripped, stumbled a few steps and went down on one knee. Pain erupted up her leg. When she stood, her knee almost gave out. She controlled her sobs but the tears leaked down her cheeks.
She glanced over her shoulder. The forest was too dark. Quiet, except for the baying of the dogs in the distance. She began to pray disjointed prayers that had never helped before but in which she’d never given up hope.
“Pater noster, qui es in caelis,” she whispered through uneven breaths, “sanctificetur Nomen tuum.” Our Father, who art in heaven…
A sharp bark told her the hounds were closer. Lucien called her name. Her heart nearly stopped and she forgot
about her prayer. She stumbled into a clearing and skidded to a halt. Hands on her knees, she dragged in deep breath after deep breath. Tears dripped off her nose into the soft earth. The sound of horses’ hooves quickly coming toward her from the other direction had her jerking her head up.
She slid behind a tree and waited, hoping it was Jean Paul or mayhap Christien. Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if Christien were on his way to her! But she had a horrible suspicion Christien was being detained in Paris.
She peered through the darkness, barely making out the horse from the light of the moon.
The animal coming from the other side was too small to be one of the warrior horses that Christien and Jean Paul rode and sitting atop it was the slight form of a woman—not a knight.
A woman would help her. A woman would understand.
She stood uncertainly by the tree as the rider approached. She seemed to know Madelaine was there for she unerringly headed toward her. Behind Madelaine, the dogs grew louder. She had no choice but to trust the woman now.
Mayhap she could somehow make it to her father’s castle and find safety there and transportation to Paris. Her father would help her. Of course her father’s castle would be the first place Lucien would look. She shook her head, her thoughts too jumbled, too confused. For now she must concentrate on escape. Later she would plan where she would go.
The clouds moved away from the moon, revealing the face of the woman on the horse.
“No!” Madelaine cried out and sprinted away.
The horse followed at a leisurely canter and the woman’s laughter drifted toward Madelaine. She was caught. Trapped between the horse and the dogs. Her steps slowed until she stopped, her shoulders bowed.
The crunch of leaves beneath booted feet had her looking up into the dark, black eyes of Lucien. Behind him Giselle slid off her horse and stood beside it.
“So now you know,” Lucien said.
Madelaine shook her head. “I know nothing.”
Lucien struck out, his open palm connecting with her cheek, snapping her head sideways. She cried out. Her vision dimmed, the pain was so great.
“Do not lie, Madelaine. ’Tis unbecoming.”
The dogs circled at their feet, whining and yapping. Lucien kicked at one. It yelped and limped off. The others, sensing his mood, quietly slunk away.
Giselle’s avid gaze bounced between the two of them.
“The count will not like this,” Madelaine said.
“I no longer fear the count.”
Madelaine stilled. Fear skittered up her spine. The count had been called away that morning to Paris and she’d been relieved he was gone. Now she wished he was here because she would rather face his wrath than what Lucien had in mind for her.
“What have you done?” she whispered.
Lucien looked her up and down boldly. “Nothing. Yet. You have heard, of course, of what is happening in Paris.” He shook his head and tsked. “It’s a shame that the Templar leader does not cooperate. But that is the way with such men, eh?” He put his hands behind him and rocked back on his heels. “Your poor fool of a husband is trying in vain to free the Grand Knight but I see in which direction the winds are blowing.”
Madelaine’s breathing grew rapid. She wanted to shout at Lucien to be quiet because she knew what he was going to say next.
“The other lords see it too. Only your husband is the blind one. Fool. I fear Count Flandres will soon fall out of favor and even your connection to King Philip will not save him.”
It was beginning to make sense now. Lucien wrote to Philip of the count’s defection. Or what Philip would determine as his defection. Her husband was as good as dead.
“When Philip discovers your so-called loyalty, you want to be rewarded.” She shuddered to think what the reward would be. It was well known priests turned a blind eye to their vows of chastity. Many were raising illegitimate children and had numerous mistresses, while the church stood by doing nothing.
Her death wasn’t what Lucien wanted. He wanted her. He wanted what he’d been denied when Christien barged into the bedchamber the last time. He wanted revenge and she feared even her cousin wouldn’t stop him.
Lucien laughed. “You value yourself too much, Countess.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his dirty knuckles. “Although you would be a just reward. One I may take along with the other.”
Madelaine forced herself to meet the bottomless depth of his soulless eyes. “Other?”
Lucien smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. “What I will receive goes far beyond the pleasures of the flesh, my lady. I need merely take what Philip wants.”
Madelaine licked suddenly dry lips. “The Templar treasure,” she whispered.
Lucien touched the tip of her nose, an indulgent smile on his disgusting face. “The lady is smarter than she pretends to be. You are correct. The Templar treasure. And do you know what the Templar treasure is, Countess?”
She shook her head.
“Conquest, war, famine and death.”
Madelaine drew in a stunned breath. He was speaking of the Book of Revelation. ’Twas one of his favorite books of the Bible to read from at dinner and Madelaine knew most of it by heart now.
Lucien grinned. “I see you know what I speak of. The book, my countess. The one with the seven seals. The Templars have it and I will retrieve it from them.” He leaned forward as if imparting a great secret. “I’ve been promised eternal life if I take it from them, and if I find a way to open the seals I will receive the power of the horsemen.”
He stepped closer, until nothing separated them but the clothes they wore, and shoved the full length of his body against hers, grinding his manhood into her until she cried out in pain. He leaned forward and kissed her so hard he smashed her lips against her teeth and she tasted her own blood.
She was accustomed to brutal kisses, was accustomed to her husband taking what he wanted without asking and had long ago resigned her fate to such a life, but this was different. This wasn’t her husband who had a right to her. This was a madman who believed he could become one of the horsemen of the Apocalypse.
She sank her teeth into Lucien’s lip. Like a dog with a rabbit, she didn’t let go when he jerked back. He backhanded her with a viciousness that made her stagger to the side and her ears ring and her vision dim.
“Is this how it will be, my countess?” He dabbed at his lip, glancing at the blood now on his fingers. He smiled, flicking his tongue out to lick the blood pooling in the corner. Madelaine turned away, sickened.
He grabbed her chin and yanked her head toward him, forcing her eyes to meet his. He hit her again, an openhanded slap on the opposite cheek that threw her head sideways, causing the rough tree bark to cut her temple.
“Submit to me and I will give you power that you can only imagine. We will have eternity, my countess. Forever.”
With a strangled cry, Giselle rushed forward, her face a mask of fury. “What is this? I was promised eternity and power.”
Lucien laughed. “Surely you don’t believe a whore such as yourself would be of service to someone as powerful as I plan to become. Not someone who was married to the castle blacksmith.” He spit the word blacksmith out as if it tasted foul in his mouth.
With a screech, Giselle sprung on Lucien, but he was expecting the attack and pushed her away. Giselle stumbled and fell. Madelaine turned and ran.
Instantly the dogs were there, howling and circling, tripping her. Lucien grabbed her and wrapped his hand around her throat, pushing until she slammed against the trunk of a large tree. Pinned there she could do nothing but look at the muscles bulging in his neck and his black eyes narrowed in fury.
A scream rent the quiet night air. Lucien turned as Giselle swung a large branch. He yelled out, raised his hands to deflect the blow but was too late. The limb slammed into his temple. For a moment he staggered, his surprised gaze going to Giselle, before his knees crumpled and he fell.
“You!” Giselle advanced on her still ho
lding the tree branch.
Madelaine picked up her skirts and ran. She was shoved from behind and lost her footing. She fell forward, her face hitting the hard-packed dirt, jarring her teeth and forcing the breath out of her. Giselle flipped her over and wrapped her hands around Madelaine’s throat. Madelaine kicked but her skirts hampered her movements. She tried to scream, but no sound escaped. The dogs came, prancing around them, whining and howling. But as if sensing the evil inside Giselle, they kept their distance.
Giselle lifted Madelaine from the ground by the hands around her throat and slammed her head into the dirt.
Pain exploded in her head and shoulders. She cried out. Giselle’s face, a twisted mass of raging fury and evil, froze Madelaine’s blood. She’d never seen such hatred before.
“He promised me,” she grunted between clenched teeth. “I was to be at his side for eternity. He. Promised. Me.” With each word, Giselle slammed Madelaine’s head into the ground.
Madelaine tried to fight but her strength was nothing compared to Giselle’s. Eventually her limbs grew heavy, the forest faded and even the dogs’ barking sounded like it came from a great distance.
Hope. The one thing she’d clung to for so long slowly trickled out of her. There would be no daring rescue from the man she loved and she refused to bring a baby into this sordid, hellish world she’d been thrust into. She tried to keep her eyes open as Giselle’s hands tightened upon her throat, but it proved too much. Her eyes drifted closed. She conjured an image of Christien, his smoky gray eyes bursting with love as he leaned forward to kiss her.
A terrible grief consumed her. They would never be together to celebrate their love. They’d never had a chance.
The grief gave way to lightness as she gasped her last breath.
Chapter Nineteen
“Madelaine, wake up. Madelaine.”
Lainie gasped. Her eyes flew open to stare at a dark ceiling dappled with moonlight. No trees looming above her, no rocks digging into her back. No fingers circling her neck and choking the life from her. A ceiling in Christien’s home. In France.
Her Dark Knight Page 21
