Her Dark Knight

by Sharon Cullen

  Yes, he had to be on his guard despite the fact his heart told him otherwise.

  Chapter Three

  France, 1307

  Keeping to the edges of the corridor, Madelaine, Countess of Flandres, stepped carefully. Her heart beat heavily against her ribs as her gaze swept the wide corridor, searching for the count amongst the large crowd entering the hall. She was late. Again. And if her husband discovered this she would be punished.

  She rounded a corner and bumped into someone. With a startled gasp, she stepped back.

  “Countess.” Lucien, her husband’s confidant and the man who led the household in all things religious, moved in front of her. His smile was charming, the flash of his small eyes anything but.

  “Brother.” With head bowed she tried to step around him but he slid in front of her, blocking her escape. He herded her into a small alcove, effectively separating her from the others. She swallowed but did not look up at him.

  “You are quite beautiful tonight, my countess.” He touched her cheek.

  She jerked back so fast she hit her head on the stone wall. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I must find my husband.”

  He placed a hand on the wall beside her head. His body brushed against hers. Madelaine’s face heated in mortification.

  “The count is otherwise occupied.” His smile turned into a sneer and his gaze raked her bodice. Her gown was not risqué, for her husband would not allow any skin to show, but all the same she felt sullied by the brother’s hot leer on her chest.

  “Otherwise occupied” meant her husband was engaged with his mistress. The thought didn’t affect her like it used to. Let the other woman have him and his sickening bedsport. In fact it gave her hope that maybe tonight he would leave her alone.

  Lucien trailed a dirt-encrusted fingernail down her cheek, over her chin and straight to her bodice. She pushed his hand away, causing him to chuckle. “Don’t be such a prude, Madelaine.”

  Her gaze darted to the men walking past, oblivious to the scene playing out a few feet from them. There would be no help from that quarter for they feared Brother Lucien and with good cause.

  Lucien’s lust for her was a dirty secret she kept to herself. Her husband would never believe the truth and would punish her for even uttering the words that would condemn the one person for whom he had the utmost respect. The one person who knew her husband’s secrets.

  She slid to the right. Lucien blocked her by placing his knee against her thigh. Madelaine closed her eyes in humiliation. ’Twasn’t often she gave in to the anger inside her for she’d learned anger was a useless emotion, but Lucien’s constant advances, his obvious lack of respect for his lord’s countess and his position in the church had taken their toll. With an act of defiance she would later pay a price for, Madelaine shoved hard.

  Taken off guard, Lucien stumbled back, his eyes wide in surprise. She hurried away, losing herself in the crowd of knights heading to the tables set up for the evening meal. She always felt as if she needed a bath after her encounters with Lucien, but bathing was a luxury she could ill afford. For one, her husband wouldn’t permit it and two, he would be furious if she did not arrive for the evening meal.

  Knights took their places at the long tables. Quiet conversation whispered through the hall, but for the most part everyone was subdued.

  Unlike her parents’ hall, no musicians played their instruments, no lively chatter rang throughout the hall and certainly no laughter. The evening meal, served after vespers, was a serious affair. Lucien read from the Bible and everyone was expected to listen. Talk was absolutely forbidden during this time.

  Madelaine hated it. She hated the strict lifestyle her husband imposed on all who lived under his roof. Even visitors were subject to the stringent regimen. Although most visitors did not mind since they were the Knights of the Order Templar who fought in the Crusades and were used to the lifestyle.

  It was no secret the Count of Flandres did not want to wed her. A fact she learned only after the wedding ceremony. He did so only because her family’s connection to King Philip IV—a distant cousin—was too powerful a lure for the Templars. A marriage of one of their most devout followers to Madelaine’s family would secure innumerable political connections. The count had done his duty, but that didn’t mean he liked it and he took his displeasure out on Madelaine every day of her life.

  The quiet whispers of the knights died when the count entered, his critical eye roving the room, looking for the slightest infractions, eager to punish those who didn’t follow his rules.

  He claimed he punished for the person’s own good and the good of their immortal soul. However, she saw the gleam in his eyes when he ordered a knight flogged. She saw his barely repressed excitement when he watched the flogging. ’Twasn’t natural, but she would be the last one to put her fears into words.

  His dark gaze landed on her and her stomach churned in apprehension. His look was shrewd, knowing. Was he aware she’d dawdled in the garden after vespers? That she’d arrived late to the hall for supper? He had spies everywhere. Servants who wanted to get in his good graces by telling tales of his wife. More often than not he preferred to believe them rather than her.

  Her biggest fear was that someone would see her with the priest and misinterpret the scene. The count would believe she had cornered the priest rather than the other way around. She shuddered at the thought of what he would do to her.

  He settled onto the hard bench beside her. No padded chairs for the lord and lady of the manor here. No rich foods, no sweets, no luxuries of any kind. They lived a sparse existence as dictated by the Order.

  Halfway through the meal, her gaze fell upon a man making his way along the edge of the room, his steps light, his body beautifully graceful and heavily muscled in his black hose and dark green tunic. He didn’t wear the long, dark cappa of a Knight Templar, nor the beard or short hair, but he did bear the red cross above his heart that all knights of the Order wore. His dress marked him as a soldier who sold his sword to the Order.

  He found a place to sit, forcing the other knights to scoot down the bench. Something about him arrested her attention and wouldn’t let go. His hair was black—a deep black that when touched by the light of the candle flames appeared almost blue. He was taller than most of the men in the room—certainly taller than her husband.

  Occasionally he would raise his eyes from his meal. Once their gazes locked and Madelaine hastily looked away, but could practically feel his stare upon her before taking in the rest of the room. His movements were economical and efficient. He ignored those sitting around him while they threw surreptitious glances at him.

  All too soon the evening meal ended. She had not eaten a thing because she’d been so intrigued by the newcomer and resigned herself to a very hungry night until she could break her fast after prime in the morning.

  She rose from the table. Her husband hurried away with nary a word to her and she breathed a sigh of relief. Lucien was on the other side of the great hall, appearing to lecture a group of knights, his hands waving in the air. Now would be a good time to escape to her chambers and hope her husband did not remember he had a wife this night.

  “The food was superb, madame. My heartfelt gratitude.”

  Startled at the voice mere inches from her, she jumped and put a hand to her suddenly racing heart. She looked up into the gray eyes of the dark-haired knight, her mouth suddenly dry, her mind blank.

  Up close he was magnificent. His height added to the perception of power. His shoulders were broad, the material of his dark green tunic of the highest quality. Madelaine lowered her gaze to the rough fabric of her woolen kirtle. Once upon a time she too wore fine clothes, but her husband did not believe in such extravagance and forbade her to wear the garments she’d brought from her childhood home. For the most part, she’d almost forgotten the feel of fine silk against her skin and for a moment, her anger flared that this man made her remember all she had lost. Not only the clothes, but her family,
as well.

  She looked up into those silver eyes. Her stomach twisted into a knot. If her husband were to discover her speaking to another man she would certainly be reprimanded. “Pardonnez-moi?”

  He lifted a midnight-black brow. “My sincerest gratitude, Countess, for a wonderful meal and a roof over our heads for the evening.”

  “Anything to serve the soldiers.” It was a sentiment her husband uttered often, but this time she meant it sincerely. At least for this particular soldier.

  Her husband appeared at her side. She stiffened her back and lowered her gaze, trying to scoot away from the heavy arm that descended on her shoulder. He effectively anchored her in place so there was no hope of an easy escape. She could tell by the hardness of his voice and the way his fingers dug into her shoulder he was not pleased to see her conversing with a soldier.

  “I see you have met my countess, Sir Knight.”

  The knight’s contemplative, silver-eyed gaze lingered on her for a few moments longer than discretion allowed before turning to his host. Madelaine told herself she was glad of it. Glad to have his intense scrutiny on someone else and not her, but she was lying. She understood the appreciation and interest in his eyes. Like any young girl, she liked the undivided attention of an attractive man who saw her as something other than a piece of property.

  She would pay the price for that as well, for the count did not miss anything that took place in his hall.

  “I have indeed, my lord,” the knight was saying. “I was expressing my appreciation for the meal and your hospitality.”

  “Were you?”

  Her husband’s accusing stare landed on her before it turned to their visitor. The knight’s eyes narrowed a fraction, as if he understood the threat in her husband’s words. This was no man who cowered to his superiors. She liked that, for Madelaine believed a man wasn’t made by the title he inherited, but by the choices he made in his life.

  The count lowered his head until his breath touched her neck and she shuddered. “Dear wife, why don’t you retire to my bedchamber. I will be up shortly.”

  Her heart sank. She would rather serve any other penance than be summonsed to his bedchamber. Very early in her marriage, she learned her husband held a deep, dark secret. For all his piousness, for all his fealty to the Templars, for all that he lived by their rules, one passion drove him. This was the ultimate punishment and she knew he had read her thoughts at dinner and he knew she’d detoured through the gardens on her way from vespers. But most of all, he’d witnessed her conversation with the knight and mayhap even noticed her appreciation of the other man. For her indiscretions, she would receive the ultimate punishment.

  Chapter Four

  Present Day

  Lainie exited the office building and turned right. Lucheux followed at a discreet distance, intrigued by the sway of her hips and the bounce in her dark hair. She kept her head up and looked straight ahead, alert to every person who passed her, yet unaware of who followed. Stupid girl.

  She was so much of what she had been and yet so different. Beautiful to be sure. Smart, strong. Maybe she’d been all those things centuries ago, but he’d been too much of a brute to notice. Now he was more discerning. Now he noticed. And like he did centuries ago, he admired her. So much so that a part of him wanted her for himself again. Forget his plan to use her to get to Chevalier. Just take her, a voice whispered in his head. Keep her as yours.

  He knew the moment she sensed she was being followed. She clutched the strap of her purse tighter. Her steps faltered and she nervously glanced over her shoulder. Large eyes fell on him, then moved away. He kept walking, not missing a step. Her fear spoke to a darkness inside him, exciting him. He slowed, putting distance between them, letting her think she was safe. He’d been smart in not introducing himself when she started working for him. It gave him an anonymity he would use to his advantage.

  Of course that wasn’t the only reason he hadn’t approached her. Part of him feared she would recognize him. Yes, Giselle was correct when she said he feared that Madelaine and this woman were the same. The resemblance was uncanny and there was something about Lainie Alexander that called to him. Something he hadn’t felt for hundreds of years. However, she hadn’t recognized Giselle so chances were she wouldn’t him either. But he wasn’t willing to risk it so he kept his distance even though that evil voice urged him toward what could be a delightful, delicious confrontation.

  She crossed the street and put her key in the lock of her building, pushed open the door and stepped in with one final, scared look over her shoulder.

  He waited until the lights went on in her apartment before he jogged across the street and let himself into the building with his own key. He paused in front of her apartment door and put his hand to it, closing his eyes.

  He had a duplicate key. He could enter. For a moment he let himself think of the possibilities. Of what he would do to her. Of her fear. Her struggles. The thoughts excited him. His blood hummed through his veins, pooling in his lower regions. He snatched his hand away, breaking the ties of a lust he had no business feeling if he wanted to accomplish his task.

  He moved past her door and entered Giselle’s apartment without knocking.

  Giselle looked up from tying the sash of a white, silk robe around her slim waist. She paused, one delicious knee parting the folds of the silk. He was already hard. Not for Giselle, but for the other woman. The one who’d always looked at him in loathing as if he were never good enough for her.

  In a few quick strides he was beside Giselle, shoving her against the wall so her back was to him. He hiked up the robe, pulled his stiff cock out, closed his eyes and pictured Madelaine. He fondled himself, making his erection hard to the point of pain, then shoved himself inside Giselle with one brutal stroke. She was hot and wet and ready for him and she moaned as he pounded into her.

  He hated her with a ferociousness that went bone deep and spanned centuries. He hated her, yet he couldn’t stay away from her and his weakness fanned the flames of his hatred. He took her hard, hammering into her until her hips hit the wall and she grunted with each thrust. It excited her. She loved sex like this and her excitement excited him, but it also disgusted him.

  She came fast and furious, bucking against him so violently he was unable to control his own orgasm.

  Afterward he didn’t waste time with pleasantries. Angry he’d given in to his lust, furious for being so weak he couldn’t control himself, he zipped up. Giselle leaned against the wall with a smile of satisfaction that made him grimace.

  “Feel better?” she smirked.

  He turned away, too sickened to look at her, and headed for the door, not knowing where he was going, but knowing he couldn’t stay here any longer.

  “Christien returned the papers.”

  Giselle’s words stilled his hand on the knob. He turned back to her. She was leaning against the wall, her white robe gaping open to reveal the valley between perfect breasts and the long length of one leg.

  She blinked slowly, her eyelids heavy. No doubt she was still immersed in the aftermath of orgasmic sex. She would still be pulsing inside. The thought aroused him again, but he ignored it. She would want him to come to her while they spoke of Madelaine and he refused to.

  “And?”

  She shrugged. The silk slithered down one creamy shoulder. His mouth watered for more of her, but he viciously restrained the impulse. No matter how hard he tried to stop it, she was like a drug to him, a craving he couldn’t deny.

  “She retrieved the papers and returned them to me.” She pushed away from the wall and sauntered over to the couch where she sat in the corner, one leg stretching the length of it. Half the robe draped to the floor and Giselle shifted, hiding her womanhood from him with a knowing smile.

  “Do you have them?” He dragged his gaze from the closely shaved curls she’d blocked from his view. He was curious as to what Chevalier’s response was. He hadn’t tried hiding the fact that the papers were a sc
am to get Madelaine into Chevalier’s club. Lucheux tried to picture a confused Chevalier but the image wouldn’t come. He’d never seen the man anything but confident. Damn him.

  “I left them at the office.” Her smile told him she knew of her power over him and gloried in it. His anger flared, but he tamped down on it. Their relationship defied convention and time. They were tied to each other in ways the average person wouldn’t understand and while he hated it, he also knew it was necessary. If he had known of this abnormal connection all those years ago, would he have agreed to become what he was?

  He strode to the windows to stare out at a darkened Milwaukee. Behind him, he could practically feel Giselle’s bottled fury, the burning hatred for Madelaine she carried with her. It hadn’t been a pretty scene when he told Giselle to hire Madelaine, but he’d won in the end.

  He pushed thoughts of Giselle out of his mind and concentrated on the plan he’d devised after seeing Madelaine Alexander’s picture in her hometown newspaper. The article describing the girl who fought off the government and lost had intrigued him. But the accompanying photo of the Countess of Flandres come back to life had possessed him. Immediately he knew she would be a powerful lure Chevalier wouldn’t be able to resist. As Giselle was to him, Madelaine would be to Christien.

  She would be his downfall.

  She hurt all over, especially between her legs where her husband abused her the worst. But the pain didn’t stop her from making her way to the keep the next morning to watch the knight and his men prepare to ride out. She kept close to the shadows of the castle, away from her husband’s men and the prying eyes of the meddlesome servants.

  The knight was in deep discussion with his squire. His face was earnest, touched with the rays of the sun. Her heart twisted at the thought of him leaving. Such a strange reaction considering they met only once and only for a few moments. Especially strange considering the horrible punishment she’d endured for speaking with him. She shouldn’t want him to stay. He was a temptation she could ill afford, but a temptation nonetheless. He was comely to look at it but ’twas more than that. ’Twas the quiet strength beneath the enigmatic eyes. A strength she sensed he used for good rather than evil like her husband.