Her Dark Knight Page 13

  Lucheux jerked. His eyes narrowed, then jumped to Giselle who glared back, her lips pressed tightly together.

  “Is she hurt?”

  “Yes,” he bit out, his dormant anger resurfacing.

  Lucheux schooled his features so no emotion showed. Even his eyes were curiously flat. Frustration welled in Christien. The man was impossible to read, always had been.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Lucheux said. “Please be assured we had nothing to do with it. And please tell her to take as much time as needed to recover.”

  He had to consciously restrain himself from grabbing Lucheux’s throat and informing him Madelaine would not be returning to work ever, but he knew that could possibly drive her away from him so he held his tongue.

  “You are being warned,” he said between clenched teeth. “If Madelaine is harmed again, I will come after you.”

  Giselle sneered. “You can’t kill us.”

  He took a step toward her, satisfied when she stumbled back. “There are things worse than dying.”

  Lucheux was rich and powerful, but Christien was much richer and much more powerful in ways a mere mortal would never understand. Not that Lucheux or Giselle were mortals.

  Lucheux’s way of life, his businesses, his livelihood, could be wiped out at a word from Christien. His entire world would collapse faster than even he could fathom. There hadn’t been a need to ruin Lucheux in the past, for his search for the treasure had been benign and, Christien admitted, entertaining. Now there was a reason. Little did he know but Lucheux was too close this time.

  The blood drained from Giselle’s face, leaving her even paler than normal. Christien had touched on her one weakness. Giselle was power hungry and loved the money associated with it. To take it away would be worse than any sort of death he could conjure.

  The tables had certainly turned in the last seven centuries.

  He headed for the door but before he left he turned back. “Do not think I jest. I will destroy you if she so much as stubs her toe.”

  As soon as the door shut behind Chevalier, Lucheux swung on Giselle, his fury nearly beyond control. “What have you done?”

  “Merely what we planned.”

  He had to stop himself from vaulting over the desk and strangling the calm look off her face. “We never planned to hurt her.”

  Giselle’s eyes narrowed. “We planned to do what it took to bring the two together. To distract Chevalier. Or did you forget?”

  “I forgot nothing. You have forgotten what a formidable foe Chevalier is. Hurting Madelaine will incite his fury and that’s the last thing we need.”

  Giselle hesitated.

  “Damn you,” he said softly. “Think, woman, before you act.”

  Her lips thinned and her eyes flashed. “What was I supposed to do? You certainly weren’t acting.”

  “I was being patient. A trait you apparently lack.”

  She took a step forward, her face so twisted with anger he barely recognized her. “I don’t believe you. I think you have feelings for this woman.”

  He laughed.

  She straightened her shoulders. “What has become of you, Lucheux? It never bothered you to hurt her in the past.”

  His fury leapt from him. In a red haze he rounded the desk and grabbed Giselle’s shoulders. Her eyes widened in shock and fear. “You watch your mouth.” He punctuated each word with a shake to her shoulders until her head wobbled. For a wild moment he thought about snapping her neck. It would be so easy. Just a slight pressure. But it would do no good. None of them could die. Or at least not die so easily.

  He was stuck with her for the rest of eternity.

  He dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped back. The red haze clouding his vision slowly dissipated. Giselle stared up at him, a mixture of anger and fear in her expression.

  He ran a hand down his face and turned away, disgusted with himself and her.

  “My God, Giselle, do you realize what you have done?”

  “What needed to be done, because you are doing nothing. You’re so besotted by her you can’t think straight.”

  He shook his head, but he didn’t know what he was denying. Giselle’s words? Could he in good faith say she was wrong? He thought he would do anything to see Chevalier destroyed. He hated Chevalier with a passion transcending everything else. When he found the woman who looked like Chevalier’s love, he knew he’d discovered the perfect weapon to bring Chevalier to his knees and to possibly free the treasure and receive the gift he’d been promised centuries ago. But when he heard Madelaine had been hurt, he’d felt sick.

  He, a man destined for chaos and destruction, quivered over the thought of a woman harmed. ’Twas beyond intolerable.

  Giselle stepped in front of him, her eyes snapping with anger. “You follow her. You obsess over her. It’s as if she has the same power over you she had before.”

  His control snapped. He swung his fist. At the last minute he opened his hand and slapped her.

  Giselle cried out. Her head snapped to the side. Her hand went to her cheek. His chest heaved as he breathed deep, controlling the runaway fury inside him and the lust curling through his loins. The violence called to him. Already he was hard with wanting her. Damn her.

  “Bastard,” she spat. “This isn’t the Middle Ages where women cower at your feet. I am half of this partnership and it’s you who better watch what you say.” She punctuated the “you” with a poke to his chest.

  He grabbed her finger and squeezed. The small bone beneath his hand was no bigger than a fragile twig. One he could easily snap. Giselle winced. The blood drained from her face and still he didn’t release his bruising hold. He hated being reminded of their “partnership.” He was tied to her against his will, forced to work with her. Forced to fuck her because he had no control over a body that wanted her even though the mind did not.

  He hated her and let the emotion burn bright in his eyes. He let her see the tempest of his fury and disgust.

  He let go of her hand and she took a step back, momentarily nonplussed. Of course the reaction didn’t last. Nothing with Giselle did.

  “So this is the way it is, Etienne? You are still enthralled with the wh—”

  “Watch your words, Giselle. I’m warning you.”

  Her mouth shut with an audible click, but fire burned in her gaze. The welt on her cheek turned bright red against her pale skin.

  “Damn you,” she whispered. Tears pooled in her eyes but Lucheux was untouched by them. She’d tried using tears in the past and he quickly learned that like him, she had no feelings other than her lust for power and her drive to become one of the horsemen of the Apocalypse. A promise dangled before them in the fourteenth century. Even now, seven hundred years later, Lucheux shuddered at the memory and broke into a cold sweat of that night that would forever be etched in his memory.

  As a priest, he’d taken his vows of chastity lightly as had many other priests of that time. In truth, he’d entered the brotherhood not for religious reasons but because he was the seventh son of a poor family with no possibility of rising to prominence. His parents had sold him to the church. With no other path to follow, he’d taken his vows. He quickly learned how to take advantage of his position. His goal had been to become a cardinal with all the wealth and privilege it would earn him. He rose through the ranks, using whomever he could to get what he wanted.

  Giselle had seen his ruthlessness and he recognized the same in her. ’Twas natural for them to come together.

  On the night he finally tumbled her in his bed, the…specter…approached them. Lucheux had no doubt the person—’twas really not a person but Lucheux could not describe the demon in any other way—was sent by Satan and he was terrified.

  Looking back, he could now see why they had been chosen. A sense of greed, corruption, lust and no sense of compassion, Lucien and Giselle had been the perfect minions for Satan’s work.

  They were told that if they found the treasure and broke the
seals, they could become two of the four horsemen that would bring down the world. And in return they were granted immortal life. Lucheux hadn’t thought twice about taking the offer and neither had Giselle.

  In the ensuing seven hundred years they’d thought of nothing else. Every conversation, every plan, every step they took was with one goal in mind. Find the treasure Chevalier hid during the fall of the Templars and break those seals.

  He’d been convinced finding Madelaine’s look-alike had been the break they’d been looking for.

  It was why his reaction to her was so disturbing. He shouldn’t want her when he had Giselle to use as he pleased, yet he did. He shouldn’t feel a need to possess Madelaine when the treasure was so close to being his, yet he did.

  “I’ve never been enough, have I, Etienne? I’ve always been second to her.” Giselle leaned into him, brushing her breasts against his chest. His skin burned where the hard points of her nipples touched.

  She rested her hand on his engorged crotch and nearly purred in satisfaction, not realizing his erection was for Madelaine. Her fingers closed over him, causing pain that made him gasp in pleasure. “She was never the one for you.”

  No matter how hard he fought his body’s reaction to Giselle’s touch, it wouldn’t heed his commands. He waged an internal battle against the hold she had on him, knowing it was useless. He would succumb like he always did. And he hated her for it. He wished with all his might that she’d never been present when the demon offered them the chance to be immortal. He wished he’d killed her when he had the chance. For seven hundred years he’d despised her and lusted after her.

  “It’s always been me you’ve turned to, Etienne. Always me.” She lifted up on her toes and brushed her lips against his. Lucheux’s heart beat hard. His cock throbbed at the scent of Giselle and the knowledge of the release he’d find in her body. No, she wasn’t Madelaine, but she was Giselle and, my God, how she played his body.

  “Who’s been with you all these years?” Her breath fanned lightly across his face. Her hands skated over his chest and back. His body ached to be inside her, to find the release she promised in her voice, but he held back, still furious.

  “Who’s been here for you, Etienne?” She bit his earlobe and he groaned, closing his eyes, feeling the sensations Giselle wanted him to feel and listening to her soft hypnotic voice.

  “Etienne? Look at me.”

  He opened his eyes, his gaze filled with Giselle’s timeless beauty, her gorgeous body pressed against his, moving sensuously until every nerve tingled with the awareness of her and with a need that roared through him, demanding satisfaction.

  She cupped his face in her hands, her lips lifting on his in a carnal kiss that made him whimper. When she pulled back, her lips glistened. The imprint of his hand on her cheek called to him, demanding he imprint her in other ways.

  “It’s always been me, Etienne. Always me,” she whispered softly. “Say it, Etienne. Say, ‘It’s always been you, Giselle.’”

  His throat worked and the words escaped against his will. “Always you.” His voice came out harsh, guttural. He took her in a bruising kiss, swallowing her shout of triumph.

  Chapter Eleven

  France 1307

  Madelaine arched her back, attempting to buck Lucien off her. The room spun. Black dots danced before her eyes. She only had a few precious seconds before she passed out. Thoughts of what he would do to her while she was unconscious prodded her terror to another level. Her body fought for its next breath. Her lungs screamed in agony.

  Mon Dieu, she was going to die.

  With the last of her strength, she raked her nails down his face, opening the skin on his cheek. Beads of blood popped up and he cursed. Vile words no religious man should ever utter flew from his mouth but his hold did not weaken.

  His face swam before her, his mouth twisted in an ugly sneer, his eyes snapping with excitement and anger.

  She wanted death, even prayed for it during the last few nights, but she didn’t want Lucien’s evil face to be the last thing she saw. She closed her eyes and pictured Christien as he was in the keep the day after she met him. With the sun shining down on his black hair and a smile on his face. She recalled his laughter and how it made her tingle.

  Suddenly the pressure on her throat disappeared. Lucien flew backward, landing on the ground with a loud rush of air. The deadly tip of a sword pressed into his throat. Christien stood above him, his chest heaving, his expression fierce, brows drawn, lips pulled back into a snarl.

  Madelaine scrambled to the corner of the room and tucked her knees to her chin, breathing sweet air through her raw and bruised throat.

  “What in the bloody hell is going on?” Christien growled.

  Lucien rose up on his elbows and dug the heels of his boots into the rotted rushes, trying to scoot back. “I was sent here by the count to drive the demons from her.” His words were bold but his tone wavered.

  Christien cast her a quick look. “Demons?” He laughed, but cut it off abruptly and pressed his sword into Lucien’s neck, causing the man to gasp. “Try again.”

  “By all that is holy, I swear. The count feared she’d been possessed and implored me to rid her of the evil inside her.”

  One black eyebrow rose. “By strangling her? Is that how you perform your exorcisms, brother?”

  Lucien swallowed. The tip of Christien’s sword bobbed with the movement, drawing blood. Lucien shot Madelaine a look filled with such vitriolic hatred she had to look away and take another deep breath.

  Christien leaned down, his face filled with seething fury. “Come near her again and you are a dead man, brother or not.”

  Lucien nodded and Christien removed his sword. “Leave before I change my mind and skewer you.”

  Quickly Lucien scrambled to his feet and scurried out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Christien sheathed his sword, but it took a moment for him to turn around and face her. His shoulders rose and fell in even breaths. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

  Madelaine pressed her chin to her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs to keep from trembling.

  When he finally turned, anger sparked from his eyes, turning them a churning gray. The muscles jumped in his tightly clenched jaw.

  He crouched before her and reached out a hand. It hovered above her cheek before dropping to his side. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “Madelaine,” he whispered, his tone tortured.

  Madelaine’s sobs were building in her throat, choking her as surely as Lucien’s hands had choked her. Part of her didn’t believe Christien was here. That same part tried to tell her she had died and was in a different place. A place where dreams still existed. But her dreams wouldn’t be this painful or her terror so acute. Tears blurred her vision and leaked down her cheeks.

  “Ah, chérie.” He touched her, lightly brushing away her tears with the pad of his thumb.

  His sword clanked against the stone floor when he sat. Carefully, as if she were fragile, he pulled her into his lap. With his hand on the back of her head, he guided her cheek to his chest, the rough fabric soaking up her tears. She clung to his tunic, burying her face in his chest and sobbed until she was left with nothing but ragged breaths that pained her raw throat.

  “Why didn’t you kill him?” she finally rasped.

  “Killing him would have heaped more trouble upon us. Your husband would have me drawn and quartered and where would you be then?”

  Christien was right. As much as she wanted Lucien dead, killing him would only bring more trouble. Yet what was she to do now? Lucien knew of her plan to escape and would never allow it. Would he tell her husband? If he did, she was as good as dead. And what about Christien?

  “He could have you killed.”

  Christien ran his hand down the hair that had come loose from her fight with Lucien. The action so reminded her of when her mère would soothe her it brought a wave of more tears silently leaking down her chee
ks. She tried to scoot closer, to absorb his warmth and strength but other than crawling inside him, she couldn’t get any closer.

  “Lucien will not tell the count of his humiliation.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know men like him. He will not want anyone to know of his defeat. And he won’t want your husband to banish him from the castle.”

  Madelaine highly doubted the count would banish Lucien from the castle. Her husband put all his trust in Lucien and would believe the priest over anything she said. If anyone were to be punished, ’twould be her.

  Christien rested his chin on the top of her head and sighed. “Ah, Madelaine. I hate that you are here and I hate more that I’m unable to do anything about it.”

  Tears blurred her vision. If only circumstances were different. If only her family wasn’t so powerful and she would have been allowed to marry someone like Christien. Someone tender and caring and strong enough to protect her. If only the king hadn’t demanded the count join his power with her father’s. And if only she had not been the pawn in the bargain.

  “Is it true what he said? Does the count believe you are possessed?”

  “Yes.”

  “What gave him such an idea?”

  She was silent for a long while, not wanting to tell him how devastated she’d been when he left her and of the erroneous hope that he would save her. She’d been a fool to ignore the fact that Christien was as tied to his vows as she was to hers. However much her heart still yearned to believe he was her savior, her mind told her otherwise. He would offer his protection while he was here, but his appearances were rare. It was up to her to save herself. And the one chance she had was now gone. Even if Lucien didn’t tell her husband—which she highly doubted—Lucien himself would be watching her.

  “Madelaine?” Christien moved his shoulder, jostling her out of her musings. “Why does he believe you are possessed?”

  “Because I no longer fear him.” Or at least she thought she no longer feared him. Now she realized how naïve she had been.