Her Dark Knight Page 14
“Why do you no longer fear him?”
She shrugged. “He has done everything he can to me. What more is there except death and death is what I prefer to this existence.”
Christien made a sound in his throat and held her tighter. “Do not say such things.”
“It is true. I will die eventually. More likely sooner than later.”
“Arrête. Stop this.”
Christien refused to see what was in front of him, but hopes and dreams had been stripped from Madelaine and she was well aware what the future held. She’d been a fool to believe she could run away.
She turned in Christien’s arms to face him. “He married me for political gain. He does not love me. He does not know how to love, only to hate and to hurt.” She touched Christien’s face, her fingers gliding along the rough stubble of his clenched jaw. “That will not change, Christien.”
“Then we will change the circumstances.”
She tried to smile through the tears gathering in her eyes. Ah, her soldier of Christ, always fighting the good fight. But this he could not fight. He had no claim to her and no way to save her but to take her away and if he took her from here, they would be hunted and killed.
“So his plan is to declare you possessed and then what? Lock you away? Kill you?”
“No. He wants me to know he has the power to do whatever he wants with me. And he is right.” She laid her head over his beating heart. “He is the one who is evil.”
Christien lifted her head by placing his thumb under her chin. “But Lucien wasn’t performing an ‘exorcism’ when I entered, was he?” His eyes burned with fury and his muscles tightened with suppressed anger. “Madelaine? Has he hurt you before?”
She thought of all the times Lucien cornered her and touched her. Of the times his dark, glistening eyes followed her around the hall. She recalled his hate-filled face when he attacked her. She shuddered to think what would have happened if she hadn’t fought back. “Not like this.”
He cursed again. “Woman, I do not know how you survive in this pit of hell day after day. If I had but the power…”
His voice trailed away and she looked up at the helplessness written on his face.
“I wish you did have the power,” she said softly.
He made a sound low in his throat and closed his eyes briefly. “What am I to do with you?”
Keep holding me like this, she wanted to say. But she held her tongue for that was the old Madelaine talking. The new Madelaine understood nothing good could come of what was between them. Lucien would not go away because Christien threatened him and eventually he would go to her husband and tell him about Christien. Then neither of them would be safe.
“I am concerned for your safety.”
She huffed out a breath that was the closest thing to a laugh she could manage. “There is no safety in these walls.”
He tipped her head up and she saw, in the bright depths of his silver eyes, how frightened he was for her. ’Twas a different feeling, knowing someone cared for her well-being.
“Come.” He stood and took her hand, gently helping her to stand on wobbling legs. Her head swam, but Christien’s comforting hold didn’t leave her until everything righted itself.
“Do you carry a dagger?”
She shook her head. “The count forbids me to carry any weapons besides my eating dagger. He insists he can protect his property himself.”
“More than likely it is to protect his own miserable hide,” he muttered, causing her to smile sadly. ’Twas a thought she’d often had. She may be naïve, but she wasn’t foolish. She understood her husband kept her unarmed for a reason. Many a time she wished for a weapon to plunge into his black heart.
“I am going to teach you to defend yourself. There are ways to fight that require naught but your own fingers and hands. How many times have you encountered Lucien alone?”
“Occasionally.”
Christien looked down his nose at her, his expression so severe it bordered on silly and caused her lips to twitch in amusement. “It is me you are speaking with, Madelaine. You can be truthful. It’s more than occasionally, is it not?”
Startled, Madelaine stared at him for a moment. He was right. This was Christien, she could tell him anything. She’d been alone for so long she’d become used to the fact she had no one to confide in. Even her maids reported to her husband, and Madelaine learned to hide everything from everyone at all times. It had become so ingrained in her she forgot what it was like to actually have a friend to speak openly to. Even now the idea seemed extraordinary.
“It depends on his mood,” she said. “If he’s in a particularly vile mood I know to stay away.”
“And if he searches you out?”
“I try to make sure that never happens.”
“But it does.” He searched her face, reading her thoughts clearly. “I am going to teach you how to protect yourself, ma chérie.”
He grabbed her bliaut and yanked her hard against his body in a move so sudden and unexpected she could only gasp. Her body went rigid, frozen as fear took over.
“Fight me,” he said between clenched teeth.
She stared up at him, unmoving, and he shook her. Not hard, but enough to jerk her head back and for her to cry out softly. “Fight! Pretend I’m Lucien and fight me.”
She continued to stare at him, her body as limp as a child’s rag doll. He shoved her away from him hard enough for her to stumble and grab on to the small wooden table in front of the fireplace. Her legs started to go numb but she held herself up. What was wrong with her? ’Twas Christien. He didn’t mean her harm. Yet, her mind didn’t comprehend that.
“Is this how you react when confronted with Lucien? Mon Dieu, woman, no wonder he bullies you.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took a step toward her. She made a small sound and backed up.
’Tis only Christien. She knew he was trying to educate her. To arm her with knowledge to better protect herself, but the attack was so unexpected, she panicked.
“I am trying to teach you to defend yourself, Madelaine,” he said softly, as if realizing he had pushed her to the very edge of her endurance.
“What will that get me?” she asked. “I fight back. He fights harder. He’s stronger than I, and if my husband were to discover I can fight back, he will be furious.”
Christien blew a breath out between his teeth. “You need to defend yourself. Or have you given up all hope? Have you resigned yourself to this…this abusive life?”
“I shoved Lucien once,” she said softly. “After he pushed me into a dark alcove and…” She turned her head away, her face heating in humiliation. “He touched me.”
Christien’s fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. “And what did he do when you pushed him?”
“I know not.” Her shoulders came up in a shrug. “I ran away.”
Christien lifted her chin gently. “Madelaine, this man enjoys hurting you. ’Tis obvious you fear him. Men like Lucien, and even your husband, feed on that fear. If you fight back, mayhap he’ll leave you be.”
“And mayhap not.”
Christien’s hold on her chin turned into a caress, his rough fingers sliding along her skin in such a way that a shiver raced up her spine. She thought of the night in the garden when her husband was so close but Christien closer and of the feelings he’d awakened in her. Feelings she desperately wanted to experience again.
“Have you told your husband?”
She shook her head. “He would not believe me. He puts his trust in Lucien and would not like to know his trust is misplaced.”
“Then he is a fool. Everyone makes mistakes. Especially when it comes to someone’s character.”
“Not my husband.”
“Most especially your husband.” Christien stepped back. “You must learn to fight Lucien. If you cannot avoid him, then you must fight him so he will never approach you again.”
“I try to stay away. I’m very vigilant.”
“I thought I was alone but he must have followed me.” Her gaze jumped to the bed and the clothes Lucien had thrown on the mattress. Her suppressed fear broke free. How had it come to this? Such a hopeless situation. Much like her life since coming here.
Lucien had carefully cultivated his reputation of a man in control of everything and with an answer to every question. To many of the men, including her husband, Lucien was all-knowing and all-seeing. He was the closest thing to God here. Lucien wouldn’t destroy everyone’s belief. He would keep quiet, but he would silently seethe and he would come back.
Fighting him wasn’t going to save her, merely delay the inevitable. She looked at Christien, at the hope in his face and remembered a time when she’d been as hopeful, before everything she believed in was destroyed.
“Let me help you,” he said softly.
She was so tired. So weary of her life. Danger lurked everywhere she turned—from her husband, from Lucien. Even Christien was a danger to her heart. And her love for him was a danger to her well-being if her husband were to discover them. And he would eventually.
“Madelaine?” He searched her eyes. His lips turned down. “What is wrong, mon couer?”
“Hold me,” she whispered, swaying beneath the gravity of her thoughts.
Christien pulled her to him in a tight hug. She melted into him, leaning her body against his, all of his dips and angles, the hard muscles and warmth fitting into hers. She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. Man, horse, leather, sunshine. His rough tunic scratched her cheek and she rubbed her face against it. Christien’s hold suddenly became something more. Less exuberant, more tender. His arms cradled her instead of simply holding her, his hands moved slowly up her back, his fingers exploring.
“Madelaine,” he murmured, his voice husky.
“Mmm.”
She wrapped her arms around him, letting her hands explore as his did. His back was roped with tight muscles that flexed beneath her fingers. He was all sinew and strength.
She pressed her thighs to his, luxuriating in the strength of him. If she were strong like Christien she wouldn’t have to worry about fighting Lucien or her husband.
She tilted her head up to find Christien’s silver eyes looking down at her, sparking with longing and need. His lips parted, little puffs of breath fanning her cheek. She touched those lips with the tip of her finger, memorizing the softness. Her stomach clenched and a heaviness developed between her legs. A restlessness overtook her and she stood on tiptoe, pressing her lips to his.
At first he didn’t respond, then something broke loose inside him and he groaned. Cupping the back of her head with his large hand, he urged her forward, his mouth opening, his tongue touching the seam of her lips, prodding them open.
In the past, she’d been disgusted when her husband wanted her to kiss open-mouthed, but now she wanted Christien inside her in any way she could get him. She opened eagerly, hungrily, sucking his tongue in and causing him to moan. The sound vibrated through her, making her move her legs to ease the pressure between them.
The rigid outline of his erection pressed against her belly. Just one time she wanted to know how it could be between a man and a woman who loved each other. She’d heard the maids whisper and understood it could be so much more than what she’d experienced. She wanted that with Christien.
But he pulled away and took a deep breath, holding her at arm’s length. “We must stop.”
“Why?”
“’Tis not right.”
“I want you to show me how beautiful it can be. I want to see the beauty, Christien. I want to know it’s more than pain and degradation. That it’s more than being controlled and humiliated.”
He closed his eyes and groaned. His arms still held her at a distance but they were shaking with the effort. “I would like nothing more than to show you how beautiful it can be. But I cannot.”
“I see.” She looked away, embarrassed she had asked. Mortified he had rejected her.
“Madelaine. Love. Please do not think I don’t want you. You have already witnessed the proof. I want you very much, but there is nothing I can offer you. You are married to a brutal man who will kill us if he discovered our transgressions.”
“Is not being alone with you in this room a transgression? Have I not already broken my wedding vows? Don’t you understand, Christien? I don’t care anymore. He has destroyed everything I once honored and cherished.”
“Shhhh.” He pressed his fingers against her lips. “Do not say such things.”
She broke away from him and paced across the room. “Look at me, Christien. Look at me and tell me what you see. I am but a mere woman. You can teach me to fight, but it changes nothing. I will still live in this castle between two men—one who hates me and abuses me and one who hates me and wants me. I can fight, but in the end we both know what the outcome will be. I am a walking corpse.”
“Stop this!” He took an angry step forward. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, but she knew Christien well enough not to be afraid. He would never hit her. He was too honorable to ever hit a woman. “We will think of something.”
She opened her arms wide. “What? What can we do? Will you take me with you? How long before he discovers us gone and sends his men after us? How far will we get before we are found and brought back? What will happen to us then, Christien? You will be killed most certainly but not before he tortures you. And I…” She was unable finish her thought. It mattered not, they both knew what her fate was.
“Don’t you see?” She took a step toward him. “I’m already damned.”
Chapter Twelve
Christien stepped off the elevator and loosened his tie with a weary sigh. He’d left Lucheux’s office and returned to the club in time to help Sabine open. Normally Wednesday nights weren’t busy, but of course tonight was the exception. He’d been running nonstop since walking through the doors.
Even though Madelaine was constantly in his thoughts, he purposely didn’t check on her. When he left her with the vague excuse he had business to attend to—he had no intention of telling her he was going to speak to Lucheux—she’d looked beaten down, exhausted, weary beyond her endurance and haunted. He thought it best to leave her to sleep. He hoped she took the doctor’s advice and rested. Even though she was recovering well enough to leave the hospital, he was still concerned by how slowly she moved and how stiff she was. He hated that she was in such pain.
The elevator doors silently closed behind him and he rolled the tension from his shoulders, glad the night was over.
His home was dark with only strategically placed night lights illuminating enough to see where furniture was so he didn’t trip. He made his way down the hall, tired, but anxious to see her.
Quietly he pushed open the door to her room and peered in. She was lying in the bed, the covers drawn to her chin, eyes closed, breathing deep. Fast asleep. Something inside him loosened, a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. He’d put a man on each exit to his quarters and trusted his men implicitly to keep her safe, but until now he didn’t realize how much he had to see for himself that she was all right.
He wanted to crawl into bed beside her, to slide into her wet heat, to kiss the hollow of her throat and make her squirm beneath him. The thought had him hard and his blood turned sluggish. Instead he forced himself to step back into the hall and silently pull the door closed.
Much to his irritation, she was being stubborn, refusing to take the pain medication the doctor prescribed even though she was hurting. If he could take the pain from her and make it his own, he gladly would, but such was not his burden to bear and so he vowed to ease whatever suffering he could. And that meant leaving her alone.
Pulling his tie off, he entered his bedroom and suddenly stopped, his senses on alert.
Someone had been in his room.
He stood in the doorway, his gaze sliding from the bed to his dresser, to the open clo
set door, to the bookcase and back to the bed. Nothing had been disturbed as far as he could tell with a cursory look, but he knew someone had been in here. Every instinct told him so.
Only Madelaine had been in his living quarters today. His guards would have told him if someone else had entered.
He walked to the dresser and opened a drawer. His clothes were undisturbed. To the naked eye, nothing had been touched in his closet. His gaze roamed the room and fell on the trunk shoved into the corner and nearly forgotten until now. The contents of the trunk had followed him from place to place for centuries. The original had fallen apart long ago, replaced with another and still another, but the contents stayed the same. Why they survived and the trunks didn’t, he wasn’t sure. It’d been years, nigh on a century since he opened it, but he knew exactly what was inside.
His gut clenching, he slowly lifted the lid. ’Twas as if his buried grief had been lurking inside and the raised lid set it loose. Like a whirlwind it nearly knocked him over. This was why he never opened the lid. The pain was almost unbearable, but he stood against it, weathered it like he had so many times before.
With his mind raw and bleeding, he knelt and touched the garments within. Hers lay at the top. He had to close his eyes against the wave of pain. He remembered exactly what she looked like in it, how it molded to her gentle curves and flowed over her hips. The garment wasn’t the most elegant nor best made—her husband would not allow her such luxuries—but on her it looked magnificent.
Christien clenched his teeth and hung his head, cursing his mind for not being able to forget. ’Twas as if he’d lost her just yesterday, the pain was so acute.
When his emotions were under control, he sat back on his heels and withdrew his hand from the fabric. Even though it’d been decades since he opened the lid, he knew without a doubt that her gown hadn’t been on top. So how had it come to be there?
She searched through your bedchamber.