“Riding accident,” Lucien said. The count didn’t look up. Was he so upset at her death? ’Twas common knowledge he had many mistresses, including Giselle. And Christien knew the man beat Madelaine and abused her both physically and mentally, but in this day, that wasn’t unusual. Besides, Madelaine was more of a political conquest than a wife and the count would be worried if he lost his one connection to the throne.
“When?” Christien forced the word through a thick throat.
“A sennight ago,” Lucien said.
Christien stepped back from what felt like a body blow. A week ago. She’d been dead an entire week. He took a deep breath, controlling his rage and the urge to strike down Lucien. Mon Dieu. Could he not save her just once? His sense of déjà vu was disquieting, but he forced himself to remember his mission.
Kill Lucien and Giselle. Not because they were going to become immortal, but because they’d murdered Madelaine.
If his mission had changed, what did it matter now? Either way, they were dead.
“What happened?” he asked.
“She fell from her horse and broke her neck,” Lucien said, lacing sorrow into his voice.
More than likely she broke her neck at the hands of Giselle. Christien bit his tongue from saying what he really wanted to say. Instead he looked more closely at Lucien, trying to remember what Madelaine told him about the fight. A welt on Lucien’s temple had turned an ugly yellow and green.
“What happened to your head?” With a lift of his chin, Christien indicated the injury.
Lucien shrugged. “I was searching for the countess and wasn’t paying proper attention.”
“Is that so?” Christien suffused just enough disbelief into his voice to warn Lucien he didn’t buy the story.
For a moment, panic brightened Lucien’s eyes but he quickly masked it by lowering his lids and looking down at his shoes. “The castle is in mourning,” he said sorrowfully. “Our countess will be most missed.”
“I’m sure she will,” Christien muttered, turning away because he couldn’t stand to look at Lucien any longer. He clenched his jaw to keep from crying out at the pain inside him.
He had returned the exact same day he’d returned the first time, which meant in the next twenty-four hours he would be called back to Paris. He squared his shoulders. He had twenty-four hours to get this deed done. He would not need all of that.
Christien struggled to swallow the pork-filled meat pie. Contrary to modern belief, the food in the Middle Ages was quite delicious, well spiced and flavorful, but Christien was unable to stomach it today. Not while Madelaine’s hypocritical murderer stood at the dais reading from the Bible.
However, the men beside him had no problem eating, shoving the food into their mouths, wiping their greasy lips on their sleeves. Christien well remembered the hunger plaguing the warriors and didn’t blame them for their ill-manners.
A man plopped down in the vacant seat next to him and Christien recognized his old friend Durant de Mercier. He grinned at Christien and slapped him on the back. No words were exchanged for no one spoke while Lucien read in his tedious, monotonous tone. Christien smiled back at Durant, his heart suddenly lightened by the presence of an ally in what he considered enemy territory.
Durant was an odd juxtaposition—a quiet, prayerful monk who turned vicious on the battlefield. A wine maker from the monastery of Burgundy, Durant felt God’s call to arms and turned his back on his grapes to join the Crusades. Christien longed to tell him that the Pinot Noir grapes he’d cultivated would later become some of the most celebrated wines of the modern era.
Of course Christien couldn’t tell Durant that and Durant would never know, for in a few days Philip’s men would round up Durant and his fellow knights and torture them for the secrets of the Templars.
Heart heavy, Christien vividly recalled the nights both during battle and between battles that he and Durant spent under the stars. Durant would talk of his beloved vineyards and the various types of soil used to grow different varieties of grapes. Christien had learned more about wine-making from Durant than in the entire seven hundred years of his life.
Durant ate quietly and with the manners their neighbors lacked. Christien tucked into his own food, forcing it down his throat. This would be his last hot meal for some time and he should at least fortify himself for what was to come.
“‘And I looked, and behold a pale horse and his name that sat on him was Death.’”
Christien’s head jerked up, meeting Lucien’s implacable gaze. The man was reading from the Book of Revelation. A cold feeling slithered through Christien’s veins.
The meal continued, annoying Christien as time dragged. He hated that he was bound to this table, that he was forbidden to rise and leave without permission.
Occasionally Lucien would glance at him, panic in his eyes. When their gazes locked, Lucien’s voice trembled slightly or he’d lose his place in the book. No one else seemed to notice, but Christien did and he played on the man’s fear, holding his gaze steady, letting his anger show.
Lucien dropped his gaze to the book and paused, searching for his place. He cleared his throat. “‘And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.’”
Christien winced, the words hitting a little too close to home. He desired death now and it fled from him. He pushed his food away. Durant arched his brow and grabbed the pie, devouring it as he had his own.
Movement from the corner of his eye had Christien turning to see Giselle slip into the hall and stand in the shadows. She looked the same as she would seven hundred years in the future. Same thick, long almost-white hair. Same translucent skin. Same haughty demeanor even though she was less than a servant here. She lifted her chin, appearing to ignore the lustful stares of the other knights. They were sworn to celibacy but that didn’t mean they didn’t think about sex, and Giselle, with her low bodice and pouty lips, exuded sex.
Lucien nodded and Giselle slipped out. Christien forced himself to remain seated, for to rise before Lucien dismissed everyone would bring retribution on his head and that was the last thing he needed. He let Giselle go even though his hand went to the hilt of his sword at his side and his fingers curled around it. Bloodlust raced through him, coloring his vision and causing his heart to beat furiously. Never in his life did he want someone dead as he did Giselle and Lucien at that moment.
It sickened him that they were alive while Madelaine lay in a cold grave.
Lucien quickly finished his passage, closed the Bible with a thud and hastily bid everyone a good-night.
Released from their captivity, soldiers stood and stretched, speaking in low voices. Christien stood as well, keeping his eye on Lucien. He turned to follow, hesitated and turned back to Durant. He put a hand on his brother Templar’s arm. Durant turned, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. Durant had always been the jokester, making others laugh when laughter was the last thing they wanted to do.
“Stay safe, brother.”
They shook arms, but Christien pulled him in close for a quick hug and a slap on the back, then he hurried out of the hall, swallowing the lump in his throat and forcing Durant and the others he’d dined with out of his mind. Too soon they would all be dead. He could do nothing about it. He couldn’t stop time from marching forward. He couldn’t save them but he could stop two people from gaining immortality.
Lucien was well ahead of him, but Christien was tall and easily tracked his movements, following him through the twists and turns of the castle corridors. The crush of humanity in the hall slowly dispersed until no one but Lucien and Christien were left. Christien dropped back, ducking into doorways every time Lucien glanced over his shoulder.
The man certainly acted guilty.
After some time, Lucien stopped at a closed door. If Christien remembered correctly this was a wing of the castle containing bedchambers. Not the bedchambers reserved for the higher-quality guests, but those for
servants of the guests who were a cut above most servants.
Christien slid into the shadows and pressed his back against the wall, holding his breath. Lucien glanced left and right before opening the door and disappearing inside.
Mirroring Lucien’s movements, Christien looked up and down the hall before emerging from the shadows and making his way to the door. He pressed his ear to it, but heard only muted voices through the two layers of oak. Slowly he pulled his dagger from his belt, careful to make no noise. Lucien was a priest, not a warrior, but Christien learned to never take anything at face value. The man was surely armed and if he wasn’t Giselle probably would be.
He pushed the door open, hoping the iron hinges made no noise, and peered inside. What he found disgusted him. He’d known Lucien and Giselle had been together since the beginning and it wasn’t unheard of for priests to have mistresses. In fact many even had children with their mistresses.
Lucien had Giselle up against a wall. Her leg was wrapped around his hip, his hand up her skirt. Giselle fumbled with the laces of Lucien’s breeches. Christien slipped inside, closing the door behind him. Two against one and one was a woman. The odds were on his side but he still preferred the element of surprise. Neither noticed his approach, their grunts and groans testament to their preoccupation.
He was tempted to stab the bastard in the back, just like Lucien did to him, but he wasn’t a coward and preferred to meet his enemy face-to-face. Besides, he wanted Lucien to see him. And he wanted to look into Lucien’s eyes and watch the life drain from him, to let him know his death was retaliation for Madelaine’s death.
He yanked Lucien away from Giselle.
“Wha—” Lucien’s mouth dropped open when he saw Christien.
Giselle cried out, hastily pulled her bodice up and pressed her back to the wall.
“Surprised to see me?” Christien asked.
Lucien straightened his tunic, outrage suffusing his face, but not reaching his eyes where fear lingered. He blustered but that was all it was—bluster. He also wasn’t armed. Stupid man.
“This is an outrage,” he sputtered.
Christien managed not to roll his eyes. “And feeling the castle whore up isn’t?”
Giselle cried out at the insult.
“I know you killed Madelaine.”
His words hung in the air between them. Nothing but the muted sounds of the warriors outside the windows penetrated the thick silence. Giselle’s gaze darted to Lucien.
Lucien straightened his shoulders and stepped next to Giselle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Christien moved closer. Giselle cowered from him. Lucien tried to block her with his body. Christien allowed them to stay together, better together than apart where he’d have to watch his front and his back. His mind told him to get it over with, but he wanted revenge. He wanted them to know why they were dying and right now it had nothing to do with the treasure or the Apocalypse and everything to do with Madelaine.
He tried to push his grief to the side, to not let it overpower him but it was a useless exercise. Instead he embraced it, letting it comfort him instead of distract him. Letting it give him strength instead of weakening him.
This is for you, Madelaine.
Movement in the far corner caught his eyes but ’twas nothing there except deepening shadows.
Christien turned his attention to the couple before him. “She heard you tell Giselle about the letter you sent to King Philip, warning him the count was a traitor.”
Lucien’s face drained of color. Giselle’s eyes grew bigger, her breathing more erratic. Her fingers curled against the stone wall and her body began to shake.
Christien turned his glare to Giselle. “You strangled her.”
She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears, but not tears of grief. The woman didn’t know of grief. ’Twas fear in those pale eyes.
He cocked his head. “Are you afraid, Giselle? Afraid like Madelaine was afraid while you squeezed the life out of her?”
“Who are you?” she whispered.
“Who am I?” he asked. “To you I am death. To you I am Madelaine’s revenge. I am a man who loved and lost. I am…” He smiled and turned his attention to Lucien. “‘I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore; and have the keys of hell and of death.’ Do you recall that verse, Lucien? No? Let me refresh your memory. Revelation 1:18. You probably don’t appreciate the irony of it like I do—”
“Devil!” Lucien yelled. “You are the devil!” He grabbed Giselle and flung her at Christien.
Christien cursed and reached for Lucien, but Giselle wrapped her arms around him, pinning his to his sides. He broke her hold and stabbed her through the heart. Her shocked gaze flew to his. He leaned into her face. “That was for Madelaine. May you rot in hell.”
He dropped her and dove for the doorway but before he exited the bedchamber those damn shadows caught his eye again. Did they appear darker and were they moving forward? Christien stopped, mesmerized as the shadow rolled slowly toward Giselle, covering her body until there was nothing left of her.
He shuddered in apprehension, casting one last wary look back before chasing after Lucien. Satan’s demons had taken her anyway. ’Twas just revenge.
Lucien was a few doors away, running down the corridor, screaming about the devil. Christien took off after him. ’Twas just like the bastard to sacrifice Giselle to save his own sorry life. The man was not only a murderer but a coward. A murderer and coward who Christien could not let get away. If Lucien encountered anyone and told them Christien was intent on killing him, the entire castle would turn against him. Many might not like Lucien, but harming a priest was a serious offence.
Christien quickly caught up to him, grabbed him by the tunic and spun him around.
Lucien fell to his knees, crying out. “Please don’t,” he said and he began to pray.
Christien yanked his head back, forcing Lucien to look up at him. “Did Madelaine plead when you and Giselle cornered her?”
“How do you know of this?” Lucien bared his teeth, finding a false sense of courage. False because Christien saw the terror in his eyes.
“I know because she told me.”
Lucien’s eyes widened. “She’s dead.”
“Are you certain?”
A sound of fear escaped Lucien. “If she is resurrected then you are the devil.”
Christien cocked his head. “Oh? And you are not in league with the devil yourself?”
Lucien scooted back. “What do you mean?”
“Come now, Lucien, let’s not quibble. You made a deal with the devil. If you take the treasure from me and break the seals you will receive the powers of the horsemen.”
Lucien trembled and in that instant Christien could see he understood his station in life wouldn’t save him.
“My death will taint your soul,” he said.
Christien laughed. “Then I will gladly serve my time in hell alongside you. However, unlike you, hell is not in my future.”
Lucien lunged for Christien’s legs. Pulled off center, Christien fell hard on his back. His head slammed into the stone floor and for a moment the world went black. Lucien landed on Christien’s chest, forcing the air from his lungs and leaving him struggling for breath. Panic seized him. He couldn’t fail now. He had to kill Lucien before the man turned immortal.
Lucien grabbed for the knife that had fallen out of Christien’s hand. Christien scrambled for it too but Lucien had the advantage.
He snatched the knife and raised it. For a moment, a single moment in time, Christien wished for death. For the oblivion it would bring him. For the release of his grief and his guilt for not being able to protect Madelaine like he should have. To end it all, to finally be at peace.
But his wish was futile and reality intruded. He had to save the treasure and humanity. ’Twas what he was made for.
Pulling on a strength from deep inside, he rolled, knocking Lucien off and gra
bbing the knife. Their positions reversed and now Christien straddled Lucien.
The man looked up at him, defiance on his face. “Did she tell you how I fucked her? That she liked it? Did she mention that, knight?”
Rage beat at Christien’s sanity. At the thought of Lucien’s hands on his Madelaine. He hesitated. Had Madelaine not told him Lucien raped her? Had she kept it from him? No. The man was trying to get to Christien and for a moment it worked.
“She was willing,” Lucien said with a twisted smile.
Christien raised the dagger and buried it in Lucien’s cold, lying heart. Lucien gasped. His arms fell to his sides and he stopped breathing.
Christien sat back, breathing hard. He stared down at Lucien’s open, unseeing eyes, feeling his revenge seep out of him, leaving him empty.
He pushed off Lucien’s body and stood. He had nothing left inside him. No more anger, no more grief. He turned to leave.
Michael stood at the end of the hall. “You did well.”
He tried to push past Michael but the angel stopped him with a hand to the arm. “You’re being summoned to Paris.”
“You told me you would get me back to the twenty-first century.”
Michael’s long look was full of regret. “He discovered our plan. Your punishment is to live the next seven hundred years over. I’m sorry, brother.”
Christien tilted his head back to stare at the rough-hewn beams of the ceiling. So it begins again. Anger didn’t come close to what he was feeling. Despair didn’t touch him. He was numb with disbelief. His jaw muscles clenched. He fought the swirl of emotions inside him. He’d been foolish to want his life to be something more than protecting the treasure and yet he still hoped. He still believed, even though he cursed himself for believing.
Michael sighed. “There is much at stake here, Chevalier.”
“I know what’s at stake. Better than you.” Christien yanked his arm from Michael. “Promise me something, Michael.”
Michael’s lips thinned. “I am not here to bargain with you—”
Her Dark Knight Page 26
