Her Dark Knight (5 page)

He caressed her cheek, his finger idly wandering down to her jaw to touch the key hanging at the hollow of her throat. Her vision blurred and she saw another hand, the same hand, in another time. He stepped back, broke the connection, and her vision sharpened. With a half bow, he turned and reached for the door handle.

“Wait…”

Christien tensed, bracing himself to turn around. The memories of Madelaine he’d kept tucked away bombarded him all night, let loose by this woman’s visit. He hadn’t even bothered trying to sleep, knowing it was pointless. In the hours before dawn and after the club closed, he’d relived every minute with her. Up until and including the defining moment of the knowledge of her death. He was tired, his nerves stretched thin. She was so much like his Madelaine it hurt to look at her.

He turned and his heart constricted. The sun bounced off her deep brown hair, picking out the reddish strands. She was looking up at him and something passed across her face. A hint of the confusion she was feeling inside.
Mon Dieu,
he needed to get out of here to tend to the wounds opening up inside him in the only way he knew how. Only the haze of alcohol would dim his memories and make them less poignant.

“Yes?”

“I…” She still clutched the envelope with the blasted papers in them. Papers she would take to Lucheux, his enemy.

He had the sudden urge to grab on to her and never let go. To protect her with all the resources he lacked centuries ago. Instead he tilted his head, his gaze roving over her body, drinking in the sight of her while his heart broke all over again.

She must have sensed something inside him, or saw the pain he was valiantly trying to control because she took a step back. “Never mind,” she whispered.

Once again he watched her walk away, studied the swing of her slim hips in the tight skirt. Again he had the almost overwhelming urge to run after her, but he kept his feet planted and let her leave.

In the darkness of the night and early morning hours he’d done his homework. He knew where she lived—in an apartment building owned by Lucheux. He knew where she worked—for Lucheux. He knew all about her father, the farm the Alexanders owned for generations and she grew up on. The battle she fought alongside her father to keep the government from taking over the farm. He knew to the penny how much she paid in nursing-home costs and the extent of her student loans.

He knew Lucheux held a powerful hold over her, offering her enough money to work for him that would put a considerable dent in those loans and bills and keep her father in the expensive home she’d chosen for him.

At the corner her steps faltered and she hesitated. Christien held his breath, waiting for her to turn around but she didn’t. She squared those shoulders and marched out of sight.

And he let her go.

But he wasn’t worried. He’d put a man on her to watch her and report back to him.

Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.
It was a motto he lived by and believed in.

Except he was finding it difficult to think of Lainie Alexander as his enemy. Her eyes were too expressive and she was a terrible liar. There had been moments when he glimpsed her fear and confusion. There had been a few times he swore she remembered him, but she’d quickly squashed those memories and the confusion had doubled.

But he would not let himself be swayed by the copper-colored eyes or the thick hair. He would not forget he was here for a larger purpose. He had to remember she worked for Lucheux, reported to Lucheux. Was she a plant? Most definitely. Of that he had no doubt. Whether she knew it was another story.

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

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.