Her Dark Knight Page 11

  When she first came to Castle Flandres she paid little attention to the route her escorts took to get her here. She’d naïvely assumed those same escorts would simply reverse their direction when she wanted to visit her home. She’d been stunned to discover her new husband had no intention of allowing her to visit her home again nor of allowing her parents to visit. She’d been cut off from everyone and everything she’d ever known.

  It wasn’t until months later she understood why. Count Flandres wooed her parents in exactly the same way he wooed the king and her. With flowery lies dripping from honeyed lips that masked an innate evil. To her family, he was everything they wanted in a match for her—rich and powerful and considerate of her needs. He was the perfect alliance and he knew it. He also knew if her family visited or she visited them the ruse would be over.

  Deep in thought she left her bedchambers and headed for the hall for the midday meal. How soon would her husband send Brother Lucien? How much time did she have to plan her escape?

  She ate her meal, lost in thoughts and plans, for the first time feeling any real emotion since Christien left nearly three weeks ago. It felt good to make her own decisions, to not be at the mercy of another’s whims.

  After finishing her meal, she left the hall and headed back to her bedchamber. She would go through her gowns and choose a few older ones that wouldn’t be missed by her maid. She would stash them in an unused bedchamber so her maids wouldn’t see them and report back to her husband, then she would pilfer food from the kitchens and hide it, as well. Maybe she’d make up a story about a stray dog so no one would become suspicious. Transportation was a problem. Obviously she needed a mount. At one time she had been an accomplished rider, but the count never let her ride anymore and her mare, an even-tempered, lovely animal, had been left behind when she came here. She would have to quickly pick one in the stables and hope for the best.

  Unburdened from her fear as she’d never been before, she quickly made her gown choices and found a rarely used chamber at the darkest end of the hall. She stuffed the gowns beneath the mattress and dusted her hands off, pleased with herself for taking the first step. The thought of what route she would take to get to her family nagged her. Once, on one of the rare occasions she’d been in her husband’s solar, she’d noticed maps of France spread across his desk. Those would tell her where her family home was located in relation to Castle Flandres. Somehow she would have to sneak in and try to find them. Now would be the perfect opportunity for ’twas the time of day when her husband inspected the soldiers’ training.

  She turned to leave the bedchamber and froze.

  Lucien leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a small smile lifting his thin lips.

  “What have we here, my countess? Hiding clothing?” He sauntered in, closing the door behind him.

  Instinctively Madelaine backed away.

  He lifted the mattress and pulled her gowns out. Her heart fell to her toes and nearly ceased beating. Her breath left her and defeat clawed at her. He’d discovered her plan. Somehow, someway, Lucien discovered what she was doing and had followed her. She wanted to kick herself for not being vigilant enough. For being so involved in her own thoughts she hadn’t looked around. Foolish. Foolish.

  Her gaze jumped from the gowns to Lucien to the door and back again. He would tell her husband and who knew what would happen next. No punishment would be severe enough for the count. He wouldn’t take lightly the thought of his wife, his property, leaving him.

  She glanced at the window covered with a large, heavy tapestry. ’Twas only an arrow slit if she remembered correctly. Not nearly wide enough to fit through and jump from. Possible death was preferable than remaining in this chamber.

  Sweat dripped down her back and her hands shook. She inched toward the arrow slit.

  Lucien held up the gowns, his brows lifting, mocking. “What have you to say, my lady?”

  Words crowded her rapidly closing throat. Lies tumbled through her brain but none were plausible reasons for stashing clothing beneath a mattress. Short of killing Lucien, which she didn’t have the strength nor the means to do, she was doomed.

  Lucien looked at the gowns in his hands, then at her. “Are you running away?” He tsked and tossed the garments on the bed. Helplessly, she watched one slide to the floor. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

  She licked suddenly dry lips. “What do you want?”

  He moved closer, slowly removing one glove, finger by finger. “You know why I’m here. Your husband is concerned and I convinced him I would help you. But what do I want?” He chuckled. “I think you know the answer to that.”

  For every step he moved closer, she took one away, circling the room toward the closed door. At some point her mind rejected the arrow slit and the death that decision awaited. Would she have time to open the door and run down the hall? What would she do after that? How would she hide from Lucien and the men her husband sent after her?

  She breathed deep to control her racing terror. She should have run before the meal, when she had the chance. Now she was trapped with Lucien. A man she had angered too many times to count.

  He tilted his head. His light brown hair fell across his shoulder and over one eye. “He says you have been weak, my lady. He believes you haven’t fought the devil hard enough. You need my help.”

  She lifted her chin. “I am perfectly well, thank you.”

  With a wicked smile, Lucien moved fast, backing her against the wall so suddenly her palms scraped against the rough stone. Her skirts brushed his breeches. The toes of his boots crushed her slippers. His fetid breath made her want to turn her head away. The remnants of his last meal were stuck in his front tooth.

  She’d been dodging his advances for so long she could hardly believe he’d finally caught her. Tears pushed against the back of her eyes but she blinked them away, instinctively knowing he would want to see her cry.

  He grabbed her chin in a bruising grip, causing her to gasp. Dark, feral eyes smiled at her. A smile promising retribution and satisfaction. A smile that had her heart racing so hard it made it difficult to breathe.

  Excitement flared in his eyes. He pressed his hips forward, silently showing her what she had to look forward to. Sickened she turned her gaze from him.

  He squeezed her chin tighter until she feared her jaw would crack. She tried to pull away but the movement merely shoved the back of her head into the rough stone behind her.

  The rigid outline of his manhood ground into her pelvis.

  His gaze raked her mouth and he licked his lips. Saliva pooled in the corners of his mouth. Slowly he began raising her skirts, his fingers brushing her leg. His moist breath panted against her neck.

  “No.” She slapped at his hands, but her meager protestations merely made him laugh.

  “It’s the devil in you, my lady.” His voice became deeper, raspier. “It’s telling you to fight me. It’s telling you to fear me.”

  He was too excited by what the devil was telling him.

  “Please,” she whispered, knowing he wanted to hear her plead and willing to do whatever it took to get away. She’d beg if she had to.

  “Please what?” He bent his head until his nose touched her neck and inhaled deeply. “Please what? Tell me what you want.” His tongue darted out and licked her neck. “My lady.”

  “Please, don’t.”

  His arm snaked around her waist. He began to pant, his hips pumping. His eyes darkened, lost focus.

  “No!” She twisted away and shoved him.

  He stumbled back, but not far enough. His hand circled her neck, fingers digging into her skin, cutting off her air supply. The room grew dim and Madelaine struggled to breathe. She clawed at his hand, but his muscles were rock hard and trembled with the force of his exertion.

  His face filled her vision, dark eyes glittering with a terrifying combination of hate and lust. His mouth twisted into a sneer. She was so close she saw the small hairs of his patchy beard
and a smudge of dirt on his cheekbone. She smelled the oily sweat of him.

  “You walk this castle with your pretty little nose in the air and those delicious hips swaying beneath your skirts. The devil has his evil claws in you and only I can save you from him.”

  Her lungs were bursting with the need for air. She pulled at the hands circling her throat, tearing his skin with her nails.

  Present Day

  Lainie gasped. Her eyes flew open and her body went rigid, sending a wave of pain through her that made her groan. She breathed deeply, drawing air into her lungs. Breathing it out, pulling it back in. Slowly her body relaxed, the pain receding enough to stop the room from spinning.

  She could still feel the imprint of Lucien’s fingers on her neck and the air being squeezed out of her. She tried to raise her hand to touch her throat, but it hurt so much to move she let it drop to her side with a grimace.

  Lainie tried valiantly to control Madelaine’s fear pulsing through her because the fear made her muscles tense and tense muscles caused the pain to claw its way back up.

  “How do you feel?”

  She jumped and whipped her head to the left. For a moment the room dimmed, black dots danced before her eyes and her stomach heaved at the sudden movement.

  Through the thickening shadows of the dark hospital room she recognized Christian sitting in a chair next to the bed. It took a few moments for her vision to clear to see he was bent forward, elbows on knees, hair mussed, eyes bloodshot, face pale.

  “Like I was hit by a car.”

  “That’s because you were.” His voice was tight with emotion. She didn’t know if it was anger or something else and at the moment wasn’t in the right frame of mind to figure it out. “Should I call the nurse? Do you need something for the pain?”

  She shook her head, her back teeth coming together at even that small movement.

  “There’s no need to be heroic, Madelaine. If you are in pain take the medication.”

  She ignored the admonition. While she wanted the pain medication, she didn’t want the side effects. Pain pills made her violently ill and while she didn’t have much pride left lying in this hospital bed wearing a gown covering only the front of her, she had enough to know she didn’t want to be bent over a bed pan retching her insides out in front of Christien.

  “What’s the prognosis?” Experimentally she moved her legs and breathed a sigh of relief. Her hip was stiff and probably had the mother of all bruises, but she could wiggle her toes. They were the only thing on her that didn’t hurt.

  “Mainly bruising. A bad case of road rash on your left arm. A bump on the head they want to monitor so they’re keeping you overnight.”

  “No broken bones?”

  “No broken bones. Miraculously.” His rough voice dipped low.

  She looked at the clock and discovered several hours had passed since the accident. “You don’t have to stay with me.”

  He made a frustrated sound and stood to pace to the other side of the small room. “Do you really think I would leave you? My God, Madelaine, I’m not that cold.”

  She twisted the blanket, confused by his apparent anger. “I didn’t say you were cold and I don’t want you to think you’re obligated.”

  His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. “I’ll pretend that’s the medication talking.”

  Lainie’s head fell against the pillow and she closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just—” She raised her hand, let it fall to the bed. Tears pressed against her eyes. She willed them away.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, beyond relieved he was here, that he wasn’t going to leave her alone. That he wanted to be here. She’d never been in a hospital before and the thought of spending the night alone was disconcerting.

  He sat in the chair he’d just vacated and blew out a weary sigh. For the first time she noticed he was holding her necklace, the chain laced through his fingers, the key swaying back and forth. Instinctively her hand went to her bare throat. She’d never taken it off before and she felt vulnerable without it.

  “What happened?” His voice was quiet but commanding in the hushed silence of the hospital.

  Lainie’s hand dropped to the bed and she freed the memories she’d been holding at bay. Immediately her body tensed and the pain ricocheted through her. Christien placed his hand over hers and she grabbed on, probably squeezing his fingers too tight but he didn’t protest.

  “I was standing at the curb waiting for the light to turn so I could cross and then I wasn’t standing on the curb anymore.”

  She closed her eyes, remembering the hand on her back, the shove that sent her into traffic. In her mind she heard the squeal of tires, the shout of the people around her. “I think I was pushed.”

  His fingers flexed beneath hers. “How do you know?”

  “Because I felt a hand on my back. I turned to see who it was and suddenly I was bounced off a car.”

  His hand slid from hers and he pressed his fingers into closed eyes, muttering to himself. “I was afraid of this.”

  Lainie’s eyes had started to drift closed, but they snapped back open. “Afraid of what?”

  He stared at the floor, elbows on knees, fingers steepled. The meager light reflected off the tiny diamonds in the swaying key. For a moment Lainie had no trouble picturing him sitting like this in prayer in a candle-lit chapel with a rosary dangling from his hands. The image quickly faded, leaving the man before her, exhausted, weary and with a look of worry so intense it made her stomach muscles clench.

  “Talk to me, Christien. What are you afraid of?”

  His silver-eyed gaze met hers, far too serious for her peace of mind.

  “You’re scaring me,” she whispered.

  He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and took her hand, staring intently at their interwoven fingers. “You are shaking. Do you need another blanket? Should I call the nurse?”

  “You should answer my questions.”

  “It’s…complicated.”

  “I’m pretty intelligent. I think I can figure it out.” The shaking was making her head hurt and her shoulder ache and her stomach turn. Although the stomach-turning part had more to do with the conversation.

  “A man was sitting across the street while I was eating lunch,” she said. “He looked familiar.”

  His head jerked up. “Can you describe him?”

  “About average height. Blond hair. Pale skin.”

  “Where had you seen him before?”

  “That’s the thing. I’m not even sure I have. I just had the feeling I’ve seen him before.”

  He unclenched his other hand to reveal the diamond-and-silver key, looking small in his scarred palm. He’d been holding it so tightly it left an imprint. “There are…people…who would like to see me fail.”

  The blood rushed out of Lainie’s face, leaving her light-headed. She swallowed her rising fear. “And how does this involve me?”

  Stormy gray eyes searched her face. “You don’t know?”

  She shook her head, her mouth dry.

  “You are my Achilles heel, Madelaine, and they know it. To get to me, they’re going through you.”

  For several moments she couldn’t speak, suddenly afraid, but not for the obvious reasons. Not because someone was out to hurt her, or because Christien might be in danger, but because of what he was trying to tell her. She meant something to him. She was important to him.

  “We barely know each other,” she whispered.

  “You know more about me than you think.”

  “We just met—”

  “Your dreams aren’t dreams, Madelaine. They’re memories of us.”

  She shook her head, fighting the pain. “I’m Madelaine Alexander, born to a farming family in the twentieth century. I’m not some…some French countess who lived in a castle in the fourteenth century.”

  Christien knew he’d frightened her. The expressions on Madelaine’s face turned from confusion to fear. Her shoulders pressed into the pill
ow. Not only did she not believe him, she thought him mad. Crazy. Who could blame her? Right now he was all of those things.

  Inside he was shaking with fury, using every bit of his self-control to hide it from her. When he received the call that she’d been hurt, he’d rushed to the hospital, his heart in his throat. He couldn’t lose her after just finding her. When he discovered she was alive, his relief had been so great he’d had to sit down to compose himself.

  When she told him she’d been pushed, the anger returned ten times stronger than what it had been. He’d been right all along. She was caught in the middle of this dormant war that suddenly wasn’t dormant anymore. Someone was making a move and to Christien’s horror, the move was made against Madelaine.

  All along he’d thought she was sent as a distraction when in reality she was in more danger than he. He should never have let her walk away, but he wasn’t going to make that mistake again. He would protect her because she was his to protect. He’d come far too close to losing her again.

  Her hand touched his arm, bringing him out of his thoughts enough to push the anger to the dark recesses of his mind where he would let it fester. He’d need the anger soon to face what he had to face.

  She looked up at him, her amber-colored eyes wide and filled with pity. Inside he blanched at the look of pity.

  “I’m sorry, Christien. But I’m not that Madelaine.”

  “Of course you’re not the same,” he said softly, placating her. He had to go slow when all he wanted to do was run away with her. But running away would solve nothing. He had to be more vigilant than he’d ever been before.

  She blew out a relieved breath and offered him a shy smile. By agreeing with her, he felt as if he were denying everything that happened so long ago, everything they meant to each other, everything that ever mattered to him. A hollowness opened inside him. The crushing loneliness he’d lived with for so long came surging in, leaving him wounded and weary once again.