Author: Sharon Cullen
Date: 2011-11-27T22:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Paranormal; Fiction
Description: Madelaine Alexander is on a mission. When her boss sends her to the hottest nightclub in town to meet with the owner, she won't be deterred, even if that means standing in line for fifty-eight minutes in torturous heels while she'd rather be home in her pj's with a bowl of popcorn. A Knight of the Templar, Christien Chevalier was given immortality along with the responsibility of protecting the treasure of the Templars. He's been unwavering in his task for centuries until his one true love—who died seven hundred years ago—shows up in his club, demanding his attention. Christien couldn't protec
Publisher: Carina Press
Rights: Copyright © 2011 by Sharon Cullen

Her Dark Knight

By Sharon Cullen

Madelaine Alexander is on a mission. When her boss sends her to the hottest nightclub in town to meet with the owner, she won’t be deterred, even if that means standing in line for fifty-eight minutes in torturous heels while she’d rather be home in her pj’s with a bowl of popcorn.

A Knight of the Templar, Christien Chevalier was given immortality along with the responsibility of protecting the treasure of the Templars. He’s been unwavering in his task for centuries until his one true love—who died seven hundred years ago—shows up in his club, demanding his attention.

Christien couldn’t protect Madelaine when they first fell in love. She was married to a lord and he was simply a knight. Now, through some unknown miracle, she stands before him again and they have a second chance. But Christien fears that Madelaine is being used as a pawn in a dangerous game, a game of good versus evil that could affect all of mankind…

84,000 words

Dear Reader,

What do you get when you cross summer with lots of beach time, and long hours of traveling? An executive editor who’s too busy to write the Dear Reader letter, but has time for reading. I find both the beach and the plane are excellent places to read, and thanks to plenty of time spent on both this summer (I went to Australia! And New Zealand!) I’m able to tell you with confidence: our fall lineup of books is outstanding.

We kick off the fall season with seven romantic suspense titles, during our Romantic Suspense celebration in the first week of September. We’re pleased to offer novella Fatal Destiny by Marie Force as a free download to get you started with the romantic suspense offerings. Also in September, fans of Eleri Stone’s sexy, hot paranormal romance debut novel, Mercy, can look forward to her follow-up story, Redemption, set in the same world of the Lost City Shifters.

Looking to dive into a new erotic romance? We have a sizzling trilogy for you. In October, look for Christine D’Abo’s Long Shots trilogy featuring three siblings who share ownership of a coffee shop, and each of whom discover steamy passion within the walls of a local sex club. Christine’s trilogy kicks off with Double Shot.

In addition to a variety of frontlist titles in historical, paranormal, contemporary, steampunk and erotic romance, we’re also pleased to present two authors releasing backlist titles with us. In October, we’ll re-release four science fiction romance titles from the backlist of C.J. Barry, and in November four Western romance titles from the backlist of Susan Edwards.

Also in November, we’re thrilled to offer our first two chick lit titles from three debut authors, Liar’s Guide to True Love by Wendy Chen and Unscripted by Natalie Aaron and Marla Schwartz. I hope you’ll check out these fun, sometimes laugh-out-loud novels.

Whether you’re on the beach, on a plane, or sitting in your favorite recliner at home, Carina Press can offer you a diverting read to take you away on your next great adventure this fall!

We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

Happy reading!

~Angela James

Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress

Acknowledgments

This book wouldn’t be where it is today if not for the hard work of the best critique partner in the whole wide world, Sonja Goedde. Thank you, Sonja, for your excellent advice and eye for detail and for loving Christien and Madelaine as much as I do.

And for my excellent editor, Charlotte Herscher, for taking a chance on me and for seeing the potential of this story. Thank you!

Dedication

To my husband, John, who didn’t blink when I told him I wanted to be a writer—even though he probably should have. Who stood beside me all these years and cheered me on. Who believes in me sometimes more than I believe in myself.

And to my kids, Megan, Nic and Abby. For understanding what it meant when I said, “Mommy’s writing.” I love you all.

Who is worthy to open the book, and to loose the seals thereof?

Revelation 5:2

Contents

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

About the Author

Prologue

Balatradoch, Scotland

1309

In nomine Patris

The fever was catching up to him. Slowing him down.

Killing him.

His knees buckled. By the grace of God and the sheer force of will that sustained him through his long journey, he forced himself upright.

His only thought was to put one foot in front of the other. He would think of nothing else. For to think would be to remember.

…et Filii…

And to remember would be his downfall.

His foot slipped. He fell to one knee, sinking into the slime. His will faltered and he ceased to struggle. He welcomed death, but not yet. Not before he completed his mission.

The bundle he’d carried from France to Scotland slipped from numb fingers. He fumbled the precious package, catching it before it landed in the mud and gently cradled it against his chest.

For his brothers he forced himself to stand. For his master he moved forward. For his lost love he wept.

…et Spiritus Sancti…

Mud sucked at his boots, shackling him, its cold fingers pulling him down. He dropped to both knees and slowly pitched forward. He lay on the cold earth, his lungs burning with sickness, struggling to breathe, the rain running off him in rivulets. Through the driving storm he glimpsed the rough outline of a building. A chapel mayhap, but it was too difficult to tell and his vision kept fading.

With a last burst of energy he curled his almost frozen fingers into claws and dug at the mud, creating a hole big enough to hold the treasure entrusted to him.

This watery cavity was not what his master intended when giving him this mission, but it would have to do.

He rose to his knees and pulled the white tunic emblazoned with the red, eight-point cross from his satchel. Holding the piece of clothing to his chest, he rocked back and forth, muttering disjointed prayers. Prayers a sinner like he had no business voicing.

He kissed the tunic before lining the hole with the cloth that had once brought him such pride. And had ultimately been his downfall.

He carefully placed the wrapped package inside the hole and pushed the mud over it until nothing remained but a scar in the earth.

With the last of his strength spent, he fell to his side. He accomplished what he’d been commanded to do. The precious treasure was safe from the enemy. He now welcomed the death that shadowed him for close to two years. Mayhap, if God was willing, he would meet the missing half of his heart on the other side.

He closed his eyes. His lips moved, but he did not know if sound escaped.

“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

He breathed his final breath.

Amen.

Fire scorched his skin and burned his insides. He tossed one way then the other. His lids fluttered open only to see the bright flames leap at him.

A face appeared before him, stern in its expression, black eyes shuttered. Cool water poured over his body.

“Am I in hell?” His voice was rough, his throat raw.

“Nay. Not hell, but close to it.”

His heart beat rapidly, sweat pooled beneath him. If he had it in him, he would have wept. As it was, he had energy only enough to shiver even though his body burned.

At least the treasure was safe. In that he could find solace. But only that.

When next he opened his eyes a cool breeze touched his heated skin. He turned his head to view his hell. But it wasn’t hell he was seeing, rather the crumbled remains of a stone wall and the unlit wicks of dozens of candles.

“The fever broke.”

His gaze darted to the voice, but was only able to make out dark hair and a strong build. A warrior, mayhap.

“Where am I?”

“Scotland.”

He closed his eyes against the disappointment. He would have rather died than live one more day.

“You will live, brother.” The crunch of stone beneath boots told him the man was moving, but his soft, even breaths remained close. Birds chirped outside. Birds. He’d never thought to hear birdsong again. He didn’t welcome it.

“Why do you call me brother?” He searched for his rescuer, but was unable to move overmuch without feeling as if his head would split in two.

“Are you not a brother?”

Suddenly he was on alert, his body tense. What did this man know? What had he seen? His mind raced to the treasure. Was it still buried or had this man retrieved it?

“I am no one’s brother,” he said.

“Others think differently.”

Why wouldn’t the man move into his sight? “What others?”

“Your brothers.”

“I told you. I have no brothers.” He did have brothers though. Thousands being persecuted as he lay upon this pallet, weak as a babe. But he would not admit to that. Could not without dire consequences. Moments ago he was disappointed he had not died. Now he was glad. He had to make certain the treasure was still buried. That no one knew of its existence.

The man stepped closer. He was clothed in the garments of a warrior. A sword at his side. Scars on his arms. Muscles that bespoke of long hours of battle.

The man looked down on him with dark eyes. “Do not forsake your brothers to me, knight.”

He swallowed, suddenly ashamed. “Who are you?”

“I am your savior. I brought you back from death for you are needed.”

“I accomplished my task.” What had started as a statement, turned into a question and he cursed his weakness. If the illness had not stolen his strength he would be on his feet, sword in hand, demanding answers. As it was, he could not even lift his head.

“For now,” the man said.

“Speak plainly. Who are you?”

“I told you.”

“You told me nothing. What is your name?”

“Michael.”

“Where are you from?”

“Far away.”

“Enough with the riddles.”

The man named Michael sighed and looked out into the distance before turning his enigmatic stare back to him. “You are charged with another task. A bigger task that will require much of you.”

“Have I not given enough?” He indicated his prone body with a weak sweep of his hand.

“There is more you can give. The treasure will never be completely safe. It needs a guardian.”

“Nay.” His head fell back. “Find another more worthy.”

“There is no other.”

“I don’t want this. I want to die.”

“You want to be with her, but that is no longer possible.”

Michael stood over him, hands on hips, eyes sparkling in the shadows. The anger returned, sharp and hot. Hotter than the fever that had burned through him.

No longer possible. As if it ever was. As if he’d ever had a chance of meeting her in heaven. Heaven wasn’t for sinners and he’d been a fool to think otherwise. Even so, he’d allowed himself the possibility. It dogged his every step from France to Scotland. It burned in his brain and ate at his soul.

“You are needed here.” Michael’s expression softened, as if he felt his patient’s pain and longing. “You are charged with protecting the treasure for all eternity.”

“Nay.” Nay. He did not want this.

“If the treasure is discovered by the wrong people, there will be war as we have never seen, pestilence and death. Everything as you know it will be gone.”

“You are speaking of the Apocalypse?”

Michael did not answer. His silence was answer enough.

He would not accept that he was the only man standing between life and the end of the world. The only man for the rest of eternity? Nay.

“You will encounter those who want to take the treasure from you, who will do anything to have it. You alone know where it is buried, but only the key can break the seals.”

“What is this key you speak of?”

“You will know when you find it.”

He shook his pounding head. “You speak in riddles again.”

Michael lowered himself to one knee and folded battle-scarred hands over his bent leg. “The key will reveal itself in time. For now you need to protect the treasure. You have been given eternal life to do so. Death cannot claim you.”

He stared at his rescuer turned jailor, anger and desperation and defeat churning inside him. “You lied.”

Michael cocked a brow in question.

“This is hell.”

Chapter One

Present Day

“I have an appointment with Christien Chevalier.” Lainie Alexander boldly looked into the skeptical eyes of the man guarding the doors to The Chevalier—the most popular nightclub in Milwaukee.

“Right.” He crossed beefy arms over a barrel chest and cocked a cynical eyebrow.

“I’m serious. Our appointment’s in fifteen minutes.”

The bouncer resembled a large block of wood with a shaved head and pool-table legs. And when he stared her down with those narrowed, beady eyes, like he was doing now, he was intimidating. But Lainie tried not to let the intimidation affect her. She squared her shoulders and hiked her purse up on her shoulder.

“I’m not making this up.” The line of people behind her muttered. They hadn’t exactly been nice since she bypassed them and marched to the front of the line. She ignored them, hoping a lynch mob wasn’t forming.

“Mr. Chevalier didn’t mention no appointment.”

“Maybe it slipped his mind.”

The other eyebrow went up. “You don’t know him, do you?”

She shifted her weight to her other aching foot. The four inch heels with peek-a-boo toes were cutting the circulation off her feet and she seriously regretted wearing them. Her navy business suit and white silk blouse weren’t exactly clubbing clothes either. Next to the others in line she stuck out like a sore thumb. But she wasn’t here to club. She was here on business. Business she was going to be late for if this meathead didn’t let her in.

“No, we’ve never met, but I assure you we have an appointment.”

“What sort of appointment?”

She wasn’t sure she liked the insinuation of his words or his look, but she chose to ignore them. Angering the gatekeeper wouldn’t get her closer to the man she needed to see. And if she didn’t get what she came for, her boss would be on her like white on rice.

“I have papers for him to sign.” She dug in her briefcase, pulled out a manila envelope and waved it in his face.

He didn’t even glance at it. “If you want in, you wait in line like everyone else.”

Her hand paused in midwave. She glanced at the line snaking down the street and disappearing around the corner. “You can’t be serious.”

“Never been more serious.”

A laughing, boisterous group exited the club and two more entered. She cast a sideways glance at the bouncer and edged toward the door.

“Don’t even think it.”

She sighed in exasperation. Obviously she needed to resort to plan B. “Mr. Chevalier will be very angry if you don’t let me in. He’s expecting these papers and I’m sure there will be…consequences if I’m late.”

“Look, lady, you’re not on the list. Go to the back of the line and wait like everyone else.”

“But—”

His steely-eyed glare had her backing up a step, causing her feet to weep in misery. “I’ll be in that line an hour and our meeting is in fifteen minutes.”

He made a production of peering at the long line. “At least an hour.”

She glared at him. “At least tell him I’m here.”

He shook his head, looking more annoyed than amused.

Behind her the crowd’s muttering grew louder and angrier. People who at first laughed at her attempts were now glaring at her. She took another step back and retreated to the end of the line where she couldn’t even see the entrance.

All around her the crowd joked and laughed, hooked up with others, broke apart and hooked up again.

She opened the manila envelope and leafed through the papers for Chevalier’s phone number. If she called and reminded him, she wouldn’t have to wait and her aching feet would get a break and she could get what she needed and go home and get to bed. But there wasn’t a phone number. In fact, his name wasn’t even on any of the papers. Strange, but what did she know. Her expertise wasn’t in contracts. She was merely the assistant to the director of Human Resources. She had no idea why Giselle had sent her on this errand and it wasn’t her place to ask. No one questioned Giselle. To do so would unleash her wrath and Lainie had learned to avoid Giselle’s anger at all cost.

She pulled her cell phone out and found the club’s number through directory assistance but all she got was a busy signal. With a heavy sigh she resigned herself to waiting and hoped Chevalier wouldn’t be angry. After all, it was his employee who wouldn’t let her in. She glared down the line but the bouncer was out of sight.

It didn’t take an hour to get to the front. It took fifty-eight minutes. Fifty-eight minutes of torture standing in her uncomfortable heels. Fifty-eight minutes of hitting Redial and getting a busy signal. Fifty-eight minutes of shivering in the cool April night because she didn’t wear a coat. She didn’t think she needed a coat to acquire one, measly signature.

The bouncer smiled when she finally made it to the entrance. “Twenty bucks.”

She laughed, but when he didn’t her laugh trailed off. “Twenty bucks for what?”

“To get in.”

She gritted her teeth and barely managed to grab on to her runaway anger. “But I told you I have an appointment.”

“You’re not on the list. Twenty bucks or you don’t get in.”

“This is ridiculous.”

The man shrugged and turned his attention to the person behind her.

“Fine.” She dug in her purse and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, slapping it into his outstretched hand. “Do I get a receipt for tax purposes?” She couldn’t help the nasty tone in her voice. She was beyond being civil to this barbarian.

He smiled, folded the twenty into a thick roll of bills and shoved it in his pocket.

Lainie sighed and bit back her frustration. “How do I find Mr. Chevalier?”

“Not my problem.”

She turned on her heel and attempted to stomp into the club but her feet were in agony and the most she managed was a graceful limp.

Loud techno-pop music vibrated through the soles of her feet and swirling lights had her blinking a few times. The place was packed with writhing bodies bumping and grinding to the beat of the music. This was only Thursday. She couldn’t imagine what Friday and Saturday were like. Chevalier sure knew what he was doing when he opened this place.

She made her way to the edge of the room and sidled closer to the bar. Maybe the bartender would know where to find him. She had to slip between two men who looked her up and down before dismissing her. Any other time she might have been offended, but tonight she didn’t care. She just wanted to get home and put on her comfortable sweats and make a bag of microwave popcorn.

The bartender was all dark hair and dark eyes and a smile that would melt a woman’s heart. “What can I get you?” he yelled above the music.

She had to practically drape herself over the bar in order for him to hear her. “I’m looking for Mr. Chevalier.”

He barked out a laugh. “You and everyone else. What’re you drinking?”

Lainie wanted to put her head down in defeat, but defeat wasn’t in her vocabulary. She’d been given this task and she’d accomplish it even if it killed her. As it was, she was pretty sure she was going to lose a toe or two.

The person next to her slid off the barstool and Lainie jumped up on it, relieved to finally sit. She placed her briefcase in her lap and slid a shoe off to massage the feeling back into her foot. She nearly closed her eyes in ecstasy. “I have an appointment with Chevalier,” she told the bartender. “Do you know where he is?”

“I don’t know anything about his appointments. There’s a two-drink minimum. What’ll you have?”

Lainie just barely refrained from pulling her hair out. “I’ll take an ice water with lemon.”

“Water isn’t part of the two drink minimum.” He shot her a look that said duh.

She had a feeling drinks here were at least ten bucks a pop. She didn’t have ten dollars to spare on a watered-down drink. Especially after paying to get in.

“Give me a water to start with while I look at the drink menu.” Liar. Apparently the bartender agreed because he shook his head, but he disappeared to get her water.

She swiveled around to search the crowd. Someone here had to know where Chevalier was.

One of the men she’d squeezed between pointed to the dance floor. “That’s him there.”

“Who?”

“Chevalier. You said you were looking for him.”

Quickly she slipped on her shoe and slid off the stool. Throwing a “thank you” back to the stranger, she hiked the strap of her purse over her shoulder and was preparing to plow through the crowd when she spotted him. At least she thought it was him. It had to be. No one else wore such an exquisitely cut suit or commanded the attention he did. The people around him kept a respectful distance, creating a bubble of calm amid the frenzy of the dancing.

He was speaking to a curvaceous blonde wrapped in a tight silver dress that stopped about two inches below her butt. One hand was on her shoulder, the other in the air as if he’d been in the act of pointing something out to her when his gaze locked with Lainie’s.

Something inside her stilled even as her heart accelerated and her stomach churned.

His mouth snapped shut and his arm dropped to his side. The blonde leaned close and spoke in his ear. He didn’t respond, just continued to stare at Lainie.

Lainie’s breath caught in her throat and something very close to anxiety squeezed her insides. Her hands began to sweat and she had this incredible urge to turn around and walk out. The crowd moved again and blocked her view. The feeling left and she shook her head. Weird.

She pushed her way through the densely packed crowd, hoping Chevalier wouldn’t disappear again when suddenly a large form blocked her way.

“Hey there.”

His eyes were bloodshot and his breath reeked of beer. One hand held a half-full beer glass, the other settled heavily on her shoulder.

“Hey.” She stepped to the side, searching the crowd for Chevalier.

He stepped with her. “Wanna dance?”

Suddenly furious at the stupid man, the stupid bouncer and her stupid shoes, she shoved her briefcase between them. “Do I look like I want to dance? I’m here on business. If you’ll excuse me.” She stepped to the side again but he matched her step for step.

“You’re cute.”

“And you’re drunk.”

He laughed. “Hell, yeah. Dance with me.” Suddenly his arm was around her waist, dragging her up against him. He pinched her butt and she gasped at the sudden pain.

“Please let go.” She kept her voice calm and tried not to show fear. She was in a nightclub filled with hundreds of people. She was safe. But suddenly she didn’t feel safe.

The man leered at her. “I knew you’d have a fine ass underneath that ugly skirt.”

Ugly skirt? She struggled to pull away but his fingers dug into her shoulders.

“I said let go.” She pushed against him, using her briefcase as a shield and weapon, but it didn’t budge him.

“Aww, come on. Just one dance. I wanna see if your tits are as nice as your ass.”

Her eyes narrowed. She lifted her foot and smashed her heel into his arch, glad for once she had no feeling left in her feet. He grunted and his jovial expression fled on the heels of his anger.

“Bitch.” He hauled her closer. The corner of her briefcase dug into her ribs, causing her to cry out.

Suddenly he was yanked backward. His eyes widened and his beer went flying. Lainie ducked, avoiding the glass and spray of beer. Dancers scurried out of the way, forming a hushed circle. Chevalier held the drunk by the collar.

“Do you know this gentleman?” The full force of Chevalier’s angry gaze landed on her.

She shook her head.

He shoved the man toward a muscular guy with Security emblazoned across his chest. “Find him a ride home. He’s not allowed to return. Ever.”

The man was carted away, sputtering outraged apologies.

Chevalier eyed the quiet crowd. He didn’t need words to convey what his look told them. Such behavior wasn’t tolerated here and anyone with thoughts of misbehaving should leave now. The crowd broke up, no one willing to stare Chevalier down.

His frosty gaze landed on her. He snagged her wrist in a bruising hold. “Come with me.”

He didn’t have to force his way through the crowd like she had earlier. People parted for him. Some tried to talk to him, but one look at his face and they snapped their mouths shut.

Lainie jogged to keep up. Her feet weren’t appreciative of the exercise. What the hell was going on? He acted as if she were the one who caused the scene.

He motioned to someone before pushing open a door with a sign that read Authorized Personnel Only on the front and quickly ushered her into an office. After the noise of the music and the loud conversations, the quiet was disconcerting.

Lainie breathed deep to calm her racing heart. A large glass-and-chrome desk with a very comfortable-looking black, leather chair dominated the room. Tall picture windows looked out over the line of people waiting to get in. Wonderful. He’d probably seen her waiting in line.

Finally she met his penetrating gaze, which was filled with a fury she’d rarely witnessed in a man before.

“Who the hell are you?” he growled.

“If you’re angry about that scene, I’m not the one who caused it. The man you served drinks to until he was too drunk to know better did.”

His eyes were such a light gray they were almost silver. “Ronald says you claim to have an appointment with me. Who are you and who sent you?”

Ronald must be the bouncer who wouldn’t let her in until she paid. She yanked her wrist free of Chevalier’s tight hold while one very strange thought whispered through her mind. He had an accent. French if she wasn’t mistaken and it was sexy as hell. And he’s overbearing as hell. “I don’t claim anything. I do have an appointment with you. Giselle Blanche sent me.”

His nostrils flared. She didn’t think it was possible but he seemed even more menacing. “How do you know Giselle Blanche?”

“I work for her.” Unfortunately. But she didn’t say that because she had no idea what his relationship was to Giselle and she was here on business.

“You work for Etienne Lucheux?” he asked.

“Mr. Lucheux owns the company, yes.” She’d never actually met Mr. Lucheux because she reported directly to Giselle.

“Why did he send you here?” He still didn’t sound convinced she was telling the truth and why did he think Lucheux sent her when she’d told him Giselle had?

“I have papers you need to sign.”

Those silver eyes turned hard as granite. “Show me the papers.”

She put her briefcase on his desk and extracted the envelope with shaking hands, biting her tongue to stop herself from telling him where he could put the damn papers. He snatched them out of her grasp. What an arrogant ass!

While he leafed through them, a harsh line drawn between lowered brows, she fumed. And yet, despite her anger, she had to admit he was good-looking. Almost breathtakingly handsome with his full head of black hair, a little on the long side but not too much. And those gray eyes that went from dark to light and back again. She almost had the feeling they’d met before but that was impossible. She would have remembered meeting someone like Christien Chevalier.

The muscles in his jaw tightened and he tossed the papers on the desk. They missed and landed on the chair, one sliding to the floor.

“They’re fake. Now why don’t you tell me why you are here?”

Stunned she stared at the lone page on the floor. When she glanced through them while waiting in line she’d thought something was weird, but fake?

“All I know is I was supposed to bring them to you. I was told we had an appointment and all you had to do was sign them and I’d be done.”

“I assure you, Miss…” He raised a brow in inquiry.

“Alexander. Lainie Alexander.”

“Lainie.” Her name sounded foreign and exotic coming from him.

“It’s short for Madelaine.” She didn’t know why she was telling him this. It wasn’t any of his business what her name was.

His perusal of her sharpened until she felt like a bug pinned beneath a microscope.

“Madelaine.”

If Lainie sounded foreign and exotic, Madelaine sounded downright sinful when whispered in that way. Suddenly images of a large bed with navy curtains and soft sheets invaded her mind. She suppressed a shudder of longing that came from nowhere.

“The papers,” she said, more to remind herself than him.

Those granite eyes never left her face. His thoughtful expression made her more nervous than his angry expression did.

“I only make appointments Monday through Wednesday. I would never make an appointment on a Thursday night. Those papers are a ruse.”

Confused and a little frightened, she ran a hand through her hair, forgetting the French twist she’d worked so hard to create. Of course the bobby pins fell out and half her hair tumbled down her back. Great. Wonderful.

She didn’t care anymore.

“Look, Mr. Chevalier—”

“Christien.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Christien.”

She breathed through clenched teeth. One minute he was seething in fury and the next he was asking her to call him by his given name.

“Christien. I didn’t make the appointment, my boss did. I have no idea why she would create this…ruse.” What an odd word to use. “If there was an ulterior motive she kept it from me.”

“Madelaine—”

“Don’t call me that.” Her visceral reaction startled her. She’d never particularly liked her name, believing it too different from the Lindsays and Nicoles and Megans in her class, but she’d never disliked someone using it as much as she disliked him using it.

He cocked his head. “Is that not your name?”

“I prefer Lainie.”

“Madelaine. Are you telling me you have no idea why she would send you to do her bidding?”

Her back teeth came together. He totally ignored her polite request to call her by the name she preferred, then insinuated something when he emphasized the you. As if she weren’t good enough to deliver his papers? This man was arrogant and she wasn’t sure she liked him very much. “I have no idea, Mr. Chevalier.”

A smile touched his sensuous mouth, gone before he allowed it full rein. She shuddered to think of the devastating impact of his smile should he ever unleash it.

He moved to the edge of his desk and planted his butt on it. His finger tapped the edge of the desk. The silver in his eyes dulled as if his thoughts turned inward. He was thinking something, but whatever it was she wasn’t privy to it. Nor did she think she wanted to be.

He shook his head, straightened and walked with quick, angry strides to the other side of the room. His back to her, he took deep breaths, those wide shoulders rising and falling.

He turned around, piercing her with those steely eyes. “How long have you worked for Lucheux?”

“Three months.” Three very long months. She’d applied for the job after finding an advertisement in the local hometown paper. To her surprise, Giselle called her right away. Two phone interviews later, they flew her to Milwaukee for a face-to-face interview. Once they met, Giselle had been condescending, standoffish and disdainful. She’d looked at Lainie as if she were looking at a bug smooshed on the sole of her shoe.

Lainie had written off the fabulous opportunity to work for Lucheux Limited, disappointed the chance had slipped through her fingers. To her shock, she received a call from Giselle later that afternoon offering her the position as assistant to the director of Human Resources and citing a salary that still made Lainie swallow in surprise.

Chevalier walked toward her, yanking her back to the present, the supposedly fake papers and his intimidating presence. Except walk was too ordinary a word. Stalked might be better. He stopped when they were toe-to-toe and for the first time she realized the complete power of the man. Tall, wide-shouldered and fit beneath the expensively cut dark gray suit, he exuded authority and commanded attention. He dominated the room with a strength of force she’d never encountered before. It was as if her surroundings were sucked into his aura.

His gaze focused on the part of her hair falling over her shoulder. He picked up a lock and rubbed it between his fingers, inhaling deeply, as if pulling her scent into him. Something crossed his face, an expression close to grief.

She blinked and the glass-and-chrome desk, the leather chair, the bookcases and tinted windows, wavered, before disappearing. Suddenly she was surrounded by a darkness broken only by the moon’s light. Sadness rushed through her, pressing on her shoulders, squeezing her lungs and heart.

A man stood in front of her. He looked like Chevalier. He had Chevalier’s stormy gray eyes and thick black hair, but he wasn’t dressed like Chevalier. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was dressed in period clothing. Like from medieval times. He touched her cheek and spoke to her in a language she didn’t understand.

Her sadness drove into her, weakening her with its intensity. She was sad for him and for her.

“Where did you get this?”

Yanked back to the present by his harsh question, she took a deep breath. The room swam into focus, the desk and chair still sitting before the windows, the bookcases in their right place. And Chevalier in front of her, dressed not in medieval clothing but an expensive gray suit that matched his eyes.

His fingers touched her necklace, then skimmed the soft skin of her neck. Heat exploded inside her and centered on his touch. He did nothing more than touch, but it felt as if she’d been branded.

She struggled to shake off the remnants of the strange vision. Something weird was going on here. Something otherworldly and something she didn’t want anything to do with, yet her feet refused to move to the door.

Their gazes locked, held. His was so familiar.

“It was a gift from my mother. Years ago.”

He lifted the silver key she’d worn almost her whole life and cradled it in his large palm.

He muttered in what sounded like French. He cocked his head, studying her. “I make you nervous.”

“Yes.” No reason to deny it.

“Don’t be afraid, Madelaine. I would never hurt you.” His voice wrapped around her, held her spellbound until the room around them faded once again.

“I would never hurt you, chérie.” A callused hand touched her cheek, skimmed down to her chin, sending shivers through her.

“I know.” She leaned in to the caress—

Lainie took a frightened step back and stumbled over the leg of a chair.

What the hell?

“I should go.” She gathered her briefcase and shot a look at the papers strewn over the desk chair and on the floor. She wasn’t happy she wouldn’t be returning the papers to Giselle, and Giselle would be furious when she discovered Lainie didn’t have them, but at the moment, she didn’t care. Whatever was going on in this room was far bigger than Giselle and her wrath.

“Madelaine. Please—”

“I’m sorry. I need to go. Just—” she waved a hand toward his desk, “—do whatever you want with those.”

She practically raced to the door and out into the crowded dance floor. She pushed through the crowd.

“Sorry.” She used her elbows when people wouldn’t move out of her way.

“Hey!”

“What the—”

“Excuse me.” Air. I need air. Breathe, Lainie.

She stumbled through the door and leaned against the rough brick of the façade, ignoring the curious stares of the people waiting in line and the strange expression of the bouncer.

Christien quickly stepped out a side door and made his way down the dark, deserted alley.

He reached the street just as Madelaine stumbled out the front doors of his club and leaned against the wall. The expression on her face stopped him. Confusion. Terror. He’d scared her but he’d been angry when he saw her. Angry that another shared her looks. Angry she was in his club, making him remember. When he learned her name, and saw the key around her neck, everything changed. But before he could find out for certain if she truly was his Madelaine, she’d fled.

He didn’t want to frighten her more by chasing after her, but mon Dieu, he had to know if it really was her.

He made the sign of the cross and muttered an expletive.

Madelaine. Her name whispered through his soul. He ached with the remembered feel of her and it had taken everything inside him to keep from gathering her in his arms and holding her tight. For so long he had been without her, to suddenly find her in his club was a miracle and many, many prayers come true.

He took a step in her direction, but a cab pulled up and she scrambled inside. The cab pulled away, taking her with it.

He breathed fast. Sweat beaded on his brow and his hands clenched into fists until his nails dug into his palms.

Everything had been the same. The luxurious fall of mink hair. The cinnamon-colored eyes. Even her height when she wasn’t in those silly shoes. He unclenched his fists and wanted to roar with frustration and misery.

’Tis her. And yet it wasn’t her. He’d searched those eyes, looked deep into her soul and saw nothing but fear with small glimpses of memories she kept tightly locked away. There had been a moment when he was certain she remembered, but the moment passed.

He sagged against the brick wall, his legs suddenly weak, and watched the taxi until it turned a corner out of sight.

Wouldn’t their love have withstood the ages? Regardless of time and rebirth, she would have remembered, wouldn’t she?

Heart heavy with the grief he’d carried for seven hundred long years, he headed inside. He wouldn’t be able to learn her address until the taxi returned. He thanked all that was holy that Ronald flagged down the taxi in their employ. He would discover where she lived soon enough. But not soon enough for him.

He entered his office and stopped, inhaling deeply. Lavender. He closed his eyes, his memories racing back to a time of brutality. To a time when the only light in his life had been his sporadic visits to a fortress in France and a woman named Madelaine.

He looked down at the fake contract sent by Etienne Lucheux. He touched the papers, his mind working quickly. What game was Lucheux playing? What message was he sending and how had he managed to resurrect a dead woman?

An uneasy feeling twisted his gut and he breathed deep, absorbing the familiar smell of his lost love.

And a woman who wore a silver key around her neck.

Chapter Two

Her breath sawed in and out of burning lungs. Her heart beat so heavy and so fast the forest animals probably heard it.

She certainly couldn’t hear anything over the drum of it.

Her legs weakened. Exhausted, she pressed on.

In the distance, she heard the faint sounds of the baying dogs.

Mon Dieu, he’d brought the dogs!

She put on a burst of speed. A tree branch snagged her veil and yanked her head back. Whimpering, she grabbed at the veil, not wanting to leave a trail even though the dogs could easily smell the wake of her fear. She tripped over a root, stumbled a few steps and went down on one knee. She swallowed her sobs, tears leaking down her cheeks.

A glance over her shoulder showed only leafless branches, ghostly in the fog suspended over the forest floor. The sound of the dogs appeared closer, but that could have been a trick of the fog.

She began to pray. Broken prayers that never helped before but in which she’d never given up hope.

“Pater noster, qui es in caelis,” she whispered through uneven breaths, “sanctificetur Nomen tuum.” Our Father, who art in heaven…

The voices of her pursuers approached, closer now. Her heart nearly stopped and she forgot about praying.

“Do you have those papers?”

Lainie looked up from her computer monitor to find Giselle inside her office door, one pale, perfectly plucked eyebrow rising in inquiry. She’d been expecting Giselle all day, had futilely hoped she wouldn’t show, but knew this conversation was inevitable. Lainie was exhausted from a night of tossing and turning and from the strange dream that plagued her once she did fall asleep. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind to verbally spar with her boss, but she also knew Giselle wouldn’t go away if politely asked.

The questions that had kept her awake most of the night weighed her down. Why would Giselle send her on a mission with phony papers? And were they truly phony or was Chevalier playing some game? No. The look on Chevalier’s face and his anger convinced her he wasn’t playing a game. So why did he believe the papers were fake?

She wasn’t any closer to the answer than she had been in Chevalier’s office. Just more tired.

“About those papers.” She sat back and eyed Giselle, trying to quell the nervous flutters in her stomach. Things weren’t adding up and it was making her uneasy. Uneasy enough to question what she should do. Tell Giselle that Chevalier thought the papers were fake? Or keep the information to herself? Right now playing things close to the vest was her best option. “Mr. Chevalier knew nothing of our appointment.”

Other than a slow blink, Giselle’s face remained expressionless.

“I had to wait in line and pay twenty bucks to get in.” If she expected Giselle to offer reimbursement, she would have been disappointed. Good thing she didn’t expect it. “I only saw him because he saved me from being accosted by a customer.”

That got a reaction, but only a slight twist of the lips. Sometimes Lainie believed Giselle was made of ice.

“Is there a point to this drawn-out story?” Giselle asked in a bored tone.

Lainie tamped down her rising anger. “My point is he knew nothing of the appointment, yet you were adamant I had an appointment with him.”

“I can’t help it if he’s so disorganized he can’t keep his calendar straight.”

Lainie highly doubted Chevalier was disorganized. She was pretty sure, just from meeting him once, he knew everything that went on around him.

However, she chose not to comment on the last remark. Arguing with Giselle was useless, and damaging to one’s career and psyche. “Mr. Chevalier seemed angry at the content of those papers.”

Again no expression, but it seemed as if Giselle was trying too hard not to express any emotion. On a normal day, Giselle wouldn’t have a problem expressing to Lainie or anyone else exactly what she was thinking. But today wasn’t normal. Nothing had been normal since she walked into The Chevalier last night.

“I repeat my first question. Do you have the papers?”

Lainie took a deep breath. “No. Chevalier wouldn’t sign them.”

The muscles in Giselle’s face tightened in contained anger, putting Lainie even more on edge.

“So you left the papers with no idea if he would return them? You have no idea what was in those papers or how important they were.”

“He didn’t seem to think they were very important.”

Brows slammed down over pale blue eyes. Everything about Giselle was pale. Her hair was so blond it was almost white, her skin so fair it was translucent and on the days she wore red—which was almost every day—the look was jarring. “What are you trying to say?”

The slight headache Lainie had been battling all day threatened to erupt into something much worse, but her spurt of anger pushed it away. She didn’t like being played with. “I’m just telling you what happened. Chevalier wasn’t impressed with the papers.”

Giselle’s look turned speculative, which was odd. Nothing about this conversation was going as she expected and it made her headache worse and her anxiety skyrocket.

“Did he say anything else?”

Lainie took her time forming her answer, because she was taken off guard. She’d expected Giselle to ask why Chevalier thought the papers weren’t important but it appeared Giselle was fishing for something else.

What was going on here?

“Other than the fact he was angry, no.” Technically not a lie. Chevalier hadn’t said much past the observation of the papers. It was the other stuff that bothered her. His strange reaction when he first saw her. The visions. Lainie’s heart constricted when she thought of the visions and the dream that troubled her sleep.

Whatever she was in the middle of, she wanted no part of it. Something wasn’t right about her whole meeting with Chevalier.

“I suggest Mr. Lucheux call Mr. Chevalier to clear things up,” she said.

Giselle drew in a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. Lainie’s stomach fluttered in apprehension. Giselle was known for her unexpected explosions of anger. Lainie sensed one of those explosions was imminent. “Mr. Lucheux is far too busy to be chasing paperwork when that is your job.”

“I fail to see how advertising contracts fall under the Human Resources Department.”

Three months ago she thought the very generous salary Lucheux Limited offered would help her look past Giselle’s disdain and abrasiveness. With her student loans due each month and her father’s nursing-home bills, Lainie had been drowning in debt and needed the money. With this job she could afford to pay her loans and the exorbitant nursing-home costs. Even though she had nothing left over at the end of the month, she felt better knowing her dad was in a good place, with qualified people to look after him and someday those student loans would be paid. Until then she’d eat peanut butter and jelly, refill her water bottle instead of buying bottled water and drink the office coffee instead of the fancy stuff.

Until then, she’d have to put up with her boss’s weird looks and condescending attitude.

“You work for me,” Giselle said quietly. “Your job is not to question my decisions.”

Lainie sat up, her exhaustion falling away in the face of her anger. Her stubbornness ignored the voice that screamed shut up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I’d signed up for the army.”

Giselle’s pale eyes narrowed. Lainie could almost see the fire breathing from her mouth.

“Do you have a problem, Miss Alexander? Is there something you’d like to discuss with me? Like maybe your two-week notice?”

A tremor shook her body. She’d pushed too far this time. She thought of her father, frail and confused after all that had happened to him. If she lost his spot in the nursing home because she lost her job she’d either have to find a cheaper place that was less equipped to handle him or she’d have to take him in herself. She’d tried taking care of him in the beginning and it hadn’t worked. His mood swings had become violent and she’d been forced to put him in the home.

She bit the inside of her cheek and tamped down on the anger. She’d been doing that a lot lately. For her father she’d continue to do it even if it was humiliating. “No, ma’am.”

“I didn’t think so.” Victory gleamed in Giselle’s eyes as well as a touch of disappointment. She wanted Lainie to fight back, but Lainie wasn’t giving her the satisfaction. “Go back to Mr. Chevalier and retrieve those papers. Signed papers.” She glanced at her watch. “I want them by tomorrow morning.”

Lainie went still. Her anger disintegrated, replaced by a tremor that shook her body and soul. She didn’t want to go back to The Chevalier. She had a feeling she’d barely escaped last night. “But tomorrow’s Saturday.”

Giselle shot her the evil glare that had earned her the nickname Dragon Bitch. “Tomorrow. Or you’ll be looking for another job.”

Lucheux stepped closer to the window to watch Madelaine exit the building.

The warm April breeze fanned her hair out behind her, picking up the glints of red and reflecting them back. His fingers curled around the windowsill. He leaned forward, hampered by the thick glass.

“She delivered the papers as promised,” Giselle said.

“Good.”

Giselle stepped up next to him, nearly trembling from her suppressed fury. Madelaine enraged Giselle. Ever since he discovered her existence Giselle had been quietly seething.

“Chevalier isn’t pleased.”

“I didn’t expect him to be.” What had Chevalier’s reaction been when he saw her last night? As shaken as Lucheux’s when he first spotted her?

“She didn’t succeed in getting his signature so I sent her back.” Her tone didn’t suppress her fury that Madelaine had somehow failed in her mission, which wasn’t the case at all.

“The goal wasn’t for him to sign fake papers, but to meet her. I say she succeeded admirably.”

Giselle hissed out a breath. He enjoyed seeing Giselle thrown off her game.

“If he isn’t already, Chevalier will soon be preoccupied with her,” he said.

“He can’t honestly believe she’s his dead lover.”

Madelaine disappeared from sight but Lucheux kept watch over the street. He didn’t comment on Giselle’s statement because a part of him wasn’t so sure. The resemblance Lainie Alexander had to Madelaine, Countess of Flandres, was beyond eerie and bordering on downright scary. What if she was the reincarnated Madelaine? What would it mean?

Giselle turned to him, her expression incredulous. “Surely you don’t believe it’s her.” When he didn’t respond, she laughed. “You do!” Lucheux mashed his back teeth together. He hated when Giselle laughed at him. Those pale eyes that disconcerted him on many an occasion looked troubled. “You believe it too,” he said softly. “You’re afraid it’s her.”

She stopped laughing and scoffed, but wasn’t able to stop the flash of fear in her eyes. His comment hit the mark. Interesting.

“Of course not,” she said.

Lucheux had known Giselle for many centuries. He was tied to her in ways that defied description and both sickened and enraged him. In all that time he’d never seen her afraid. He considered her fear quietly and tried to decide how to use it against her.

Lainie stood outside The Chevalier and rubbed a sweaty palm down her skirt. In the light of day the building looked different with its darkened windows and the door closed and locked. Not precisely abandoned. More like waiting for something to happen.

This early in the afternoon the only things moving were a few pieces of trash fluttering in the cool breeze. She shivered and stood at the front door in indecision. No line of people waited to get in. No bouncer turned her away. Nothing but a big, black door and her clamoring nerves faced her.

Last night she’d escaped this place, promising herself she would never return and now here she was, not even twelve hours later, right back where she said she wouldn’t be. Damn Giselle. And damn the fact Lainie needed this job so much. If she had only herself to worry about she’d walk away. Forget the job. Forget the great pay. It wasn’t worth Giselle’s abuse or facing Chevalier again. But it wasn’t just her. She had responsibilities and a sick father who relied on her.

“Come on, Lainie, don’t be a coward.” She’d never been a coward. Not when the government stepped in and tried to take her family’s farm. Not when she worked all day and attended college at night for five years. And not when her father slowly shriveled away to a shell of himself after he lost his land and certainly not when she had to make the difficult decision to put him in a nursing home. Coward wasn’t in her vocabulary.

She looked to the right and left. Chevalier picked his place of business well. At one time it had been an abandoned warehouse among a block of other abandoned warehouses. According to the research she’d done at work this morning, he’d bought the block, refurbished the buildings and now rented all of them out. Businesses lined the bottoms and apartments the tops. Six years after his purchase people were on waiting lists to rent those apartments. She couldn’t even imagine the amount of money he’d spent to undertake such a huge project. But it paid off. He was now one of the richest men in Milwaukee and one of the five hundred richest men in the United States.

She looked at the door again. Time was up. Giselle wanted those papers by tomorrow and Lainie was damned if she was giving up her Saturday to chase them down. A surge of anger had her taking a step closer to the door. Somehow she’d get those papers from Chevalier and be done with all of this, without having to go inside.

She knocked, tentatively at first, then harder.

I’m not going in. I’m not going in. She shivered even though the temperature was well past seventy. Thoughts of last night spiked her fear. She didn’t want to relive last night. Chevalier’s weird behavior. The strange visions. Thank goodness the bartender never delivered her water or she would have thought someone drugged it.

And the strangeness didn’t end when she left the club either. It continued right through the night and into her dream of the woman running through the forest.

The door opened, startling her, but Christien wasn’t standing on the other side, rather the beautiful blonde was. The one with the killer boobs and silver dress.

Of course Lainie should have realized he wouldn’t answer his own door. And she should have realized he would have a gorgeous woman answer it.

The woman eyed Lainie with curiosity, a slight twist to her lips hinting at amusement which made Lainie’s embarrassment worse.

“Yes? May I help you?” Her voice had a slight European flair to it, the kind that ended every sentence with a question mark. She wore white linen pants and a white flowing blouse that Lainie was sure cost two of her very generous paychecks.

Lainie tugged on her skirt and resisted the urge to run her hand down her hair to make sure nothing was sticking up. Thank goodness she wasn’t wearing those ridiculous shoes she’d worn last night. At least she could feel her feet.

“I’m looking for Mr. Chevalier,” she said.

The woman’s half smile blossomed into a full grin, a knowing grin. As if women knocked on the door looking for Christien all the time. Which they probably did.

“Mr. Chevalier is unavailable. I can take a message if you wish and tell him you came calling.”

Came calling. What an old-fashioned term.

Lainie glanced at the blackened windows. She could use this to her advantage because not seeing Christien Chevalier again would definitely be an advantage.

“Actually, maybe you can help. I’m here to pick up some papers I delivered last night.”

Recognition lit the woman’s bright blue eyes. “Oh, I remember you now. I’m sorry, but Mr. Chevalier is taking a very important conference call or I would tell him you are here.”

Good. An important call meant she wouldn’t see him. Coward, her mind whispered, but she pushed the word away, preferring cautious. “Would you by any chance be able to get those papers for me? I’m supposed to deliver them to my boss as soon as possible.”

The woman contemplated Lainie for a moment. “I can’t,” she finally said, her voice full of regret. “He told us he was not to be disturbed. What is your name and number and I will have him call you?”

Lainie’s shoulders drooped. “I’ll wait.”

The woman frowned, apparently taken aback. “But it will be a while.”

Of course it would. Yet, what choice did she have? Return to Giselle without the papers? Impossible. Give the woman her name and leave? She liked that idea much better than the others. It might be the easier choice but she’d be on edge all day wondering when he would call, if he would call, and what she would do when she saw him again. No. She wanted to get it over with.

“I don’t mind waiting,” she said.

The woman appeared confused, as if she didn’t know what to do with Lainie now that she couldn’t get rid of her.

“Can I get your name?” she asked.

“Lainie Alexander. I’m sure he’ll remember me.” Unless another woman had been accosted in his club and delivered fake papers.

“Lainie Alexander,” the woman repeated. “I will be sure to tell him.” She hesitated and looked behind her. “Would you like to come in? We’re not open, but—”

“No. Thank you though,” Lainie added, tempering her tone. The thought of going in made her shiver. Strange things happened in that building. Weird visions. Bizarre thoughts. “It’s such a nice day, I’d rather wait out here.”

The woman looked up and down the street, nodded and disappeared into the club, shutting the door behind her.

Lainie plopped down on the top stoop, resigning herself to a long wait. The view across the street wasn’t a pretty sight. A dirty, rusted elevated train track perched above a dried-out patch of land filled with dead, brown weeds. Rusted machinery poked up here and there, giving the field an abandoned feel.

To her left and down the street were other warehouses, some still operational but most abandoned and covered in graffiti. To her right began the rejuvenation process Chevalier started and others were completing. Shops and storefront businesses had thrown open their doors on what was looking to be the warmest day of the year. The lunch hour was over, but a couple blocks away a few people strolled the sidewalk and window-shopped. The juxtaposition of the two sides of the street was odd but at the same time uplifting, reminding her life was a continuous cycle of resurrection, restoration and rebirth. What was old, was new again.

She considered walking down the street and looking into the shop windows. The day was warm and sitting in the hot son was making her thirsty.

“Madelaine.”

With a squeak of surprise, Lainie jumped up and spun around. Her foot slipped off the top step and her arms windmilled frantically. A strong hand clamped down on her wrist, hauling her back on the step and keeping its grip until she found her balance.

Her hand flew to her chest, as if she could physically stop her racing heart. She looked up into the clear, silver eyes of Chevalier.

“You scared me to death,” she said.

He didn’t loosen his hold and didn’t tear his gaze away. He was still dressed in the magnificently cut gray suit he’d worn the night before. His silver tie was undone, his eyes bloodshot and his black hair mussed. This wasn’t the Chevalier she’d met last night. The man she met appeared impeccable, no hair out of place. This man looked like he’d had a rough night with a few bottles of whiskey, yet his eyes were clear, if weary. And his body was tense, on alert.

What was the same, though, was her reaction to him. Just like last night, her hands turned clammy and she found it hard to breathe, as if a large rock had settled on her chest.

He mumbled something French-sounding. “I thought…” he said in English then shook his head. His gaze slid to her hand still resting above her pounding heart. “I frightened you.”

“No.” She lowered her hand. “Well, maybe a little.”

“There is no need to be frightened of me.”

She wasn’t sure she was frightened of him. It was more like she was frightened of her reaction to him. Which made no sense.

“You break my heart with your fear, Madelaine.”

He spoke as if they knew each other. But they didn’t. She swore they’d never met and yet… She sensed they did know each other. More than their brief encounter the night before. It was as if she knew him in ways she shouldn’t.

Suddenly he was right there, so close his suit coat brushed against her blouse. She stared into those light gray eyes that seemed so familiar.

“Have we met before?” she asked.

He pulled back as if startled. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry.” She looked away, her cheeks heating in embarrassment. “It’s just… You look familiar.”

He touched her cheek, his thumb feathering across her jaw, causing goose bumps to race up her arm and her breath to catch. His gaze fell to her lips while his thumb continued its lazy exploration of her cheek and jaw. Lainie swallowed, her legs suddenly weak. If she didn’t have so much pride, she would have leaned against him for support.

Suddenly his hand was gone and he stepped back. His jaw muscle clenched and his eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I too thought you looked familiar.”

“Do I?”

“You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago. Someone I met in France.” He watched her closely. His tone was accusing as if he didn’t much like the person he’d known in France.

“I’ve never been to France.”

He studied her for such a long time she became uneasy. “Not you then, eh?”

She attempted a laugh to soothe the tension coming off him, but feared she failed miserably. “I wish. I’d love to visit France.”

His intense stare made her hands shake. She hated her reaction to him. Hated him for causing this strange reaction. And hated Giselle for forcing her to return here when everything inside her said to run like hell. “I, uh, came for those papers.”

He blinked and his eyes cleared. “Ah, yes. The papers.”

Lainie held her hand out in a gesture of peace. “I’m just the messenger. Don’t shoot me.”

A smile touched the corner of his mouth and went a long way in easing the harshness of his expression. She wished he would smile fully. It would be a sight to behold. “I would never harm you, Madelaine.”

Her brain stumbled over what she was about to say and her thoughts flew away at his words. “I know,” she whispered. And she did know. No matter how much he scared her, no matter how much he irritated her, he would never hurt her physically. Emotionally? She had a feeling if she let herself get close to Christien Chevalier she would never be the same again.

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to remember the reason she was here. “The papers. My boss needs them by tomorrow.”

“Well, then, I must give them to you.” He turned to go inside and glanced over his shoulder when she didn’t follow. “They’re in my office.”

She waved him on. “I’ll wait here.”

“Are you afraid to come inside with me?”

She hesitated, reluctant to admit her fear of stepping inside those doors. Strange things happened to her in there. But before she could answer, Christien linked his fingers with hers and lightly tugged.

“Come,” he said softly.

She swallowed, liking too much the warmth of his hand in hers. His touch set off tiny electric shocks that traveled up her arm and settled deep in her belly, turning her insides to liquid. Instinctively she folded her fingers in his. His hold tightened, as if he were telling her he’d never let go. And she didn’t want him to. For letting go would mean losing him and losing him would be the destruction of her.

But that didn’t make sense. They only met last night, yet something told her Christien Chevalier was important. Vital and imperative. She’d heard stories of people who fell in love at first sight, but that wasn’t happening here. It was something deeper.

She shook her head and followed him into the darkness of the club, the strange feeling dogging her footsteps and frightening her more than anything else had ever frightened her. More than when her father stopped recognizing her and she realized she was entirely alone in the world.

She wanted to pull her hand away, to run out of the club and never look back. Almost as if he sensed her thoughts, Chevalier glanced at her and his fingers tightened around hers, keeping her at his side. Lainie edged closer to him.

The club looked different in the middle of the day. The lights were off, the disco ball dark. Their steps echoed across the cavernous dance floor, sending a shiver up her spine.

Christien opened the door to his office. Lainie hung back, reluctant to enter. He threw her a bemused glance. “I told you I would never hurt you. You don’t need to fear me, but if it makes you feel better to stand outside, I won’t stop you.”

She peered into the office. It was an ordinary office with a desk and chair and bookcases. All very expensive, but an office just the same. No ghosts lurking in the shadows. “What is wrong?” Christien asked.

She shook her head and laughed. “Nothing but my imagination.”

“And what is your imagination telling you?”

She hesitated, feeling stupid.

Christien tugged on the end of her hair in a surprisingly playful gesture. “Imagination can be a delightful thing,” he murmured.

Lainie’s gaze flew to his, to the fire inside his eyes. All she had to do was raise her head a little bit and their lips would touch. His gaze dropped to her mouth. His breath hitched. Lainie lifted up on her toes and looked into his eyes. His kiss would be gentle and worshipful. She didn’t know how she knew that. She just did and she wanted it. She wanted his lips pressed against hers. Would die if she didn’t get it.

Suddenly he was gone and she dropped back on her heels, disoriented, embarrassed. She looked down at her shoes, afraid to see the expression on his face. What a fool she’d been. Christien had far more beautiful women to kiss than her. She was merely the messenger on an errand for her boss and would never be the type of woman to run in his circles.

The manila envelope appeared in her sight and she grabbed on to it, her face heating in mortification.

“Madelaine, look at me.”

Slowly she raised her gaze to his chin, but stopped there, too much of a coward to look him in the eye. He tilted her chin up until she had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were a stormy gray, like the clouds she’d seen race over Lake Michigan.

“Do you feel it?” he asked softly. “Do you feel what is between us?”

She nodded, incapable of speech. She’d thought she’d been the only one experiencing this weird connection. His grimace told her it wasn’t one-sided but it was definitely unwanted.

“What am I to do with you?” he whispered mostly to himself. Lainie could have sworn he shook himself. “Tell Etienne if he has any questions, to give me a call.”

It took her a moment to calm the butterflies in her stomach. But she came back to earth with a solid thump that left her disoriented and bruised. What did he mean when he asked what he was going to do with her?

“I will. Thank you.” She turned to leave. Christien fell into step beside her. They made their way across the silent dance floor. This time he didn’t hold her hand. In a way, she was grateful. She didn’t think her mind could take much more of the turmoil his presence had on her psyche and her emotions. It was this place. It did weird things to them.

At the front door, she hesitated. “I’m sorry I interrupted your business call.”

He looked at her with those enigmatic eyes that appeared silver one minute, a churning gray the next.

“Take this.” With the hands of a magician, he whipped out a business card seemingly from nowhere and held it out to her. “My personal number is written on the back. If you need anything, please call me.”

“Oh. Well.” Flustered, she stared at the card. Her common sense screamed at her to get out and never come back. “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t think—”

“Keep it.” He put the card in her hand and curled her fingers around it, wrinkling the heavy paper and causing the corners to cut into her palm. “Please. Call if you need anything. Anything, Madelaine. Even if it is the smallest thing, I am here for you.”

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.

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 scam 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.

He laughed at something one of the men said and it startled her. ’Twas very rare to hear laughter inside these walls, and if her husband were around he would surely reprimand the knight. Nonetheless, he had a beautiful laugh, rich and full. She wished she could laugh with him, to share in the tale and feel happy.

As if sensing her perusal, he lifted his head, searching the area until their gazes locked. Instinctively she cringed against the rough stone of the castle wall, praying he wouldn’t approach. It was all well and good for her to look at him, but to speak to him would heap more punishment upon her and she wasn’t sure her body could endure more.

He made his way toward her, side-stepping the activity of the keep without looking away from her. Lord help her, she couldn’t look away either.

He stood before her and she was gazing up at him, his tall frame blocking everything. Everything but him. The words whispered through her head. Everything but him.

Guilt dug its cruel fingers into her consciousness. A married woman should not look at another man, especially the way she knew she was looking at him.

He touched her hair and she realized she had forgotten her veil. Another indiscretion she would be punished for. Curiously, she didn’t care. When he was near it was almost worth the retribution.

“How are you this fine evening, madame?”

“I am well, Sir Knight, and yourself?” Had her husband ever asked in such a way that indicated he cared what she felt?

A small smile touched his beautiful mouth and she found herself raising her hand to those lips. Luckily, she checked herself and folded her fingers in the pleats of her gown instead.

“We leave tonight.”

Was there regret in his voice or was she hearing her own regret? “I know.”

He touched her hair again, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “I would have your name, Countess. So I may remember and think of you on the battlefield.”

“Madelaine,” she whispered, with little thought of consequences. “My name is Madelaine.”

“Madelaine. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

She shrugged the daring compliment away while inside she gloried in it. Before her marriage she’d heard everything a man could say to woo a woman but these words, spoken by this man, warmed her in places that had been cold as of late.

“And your name, Sir Knight? So I might remember as well?” Oh, she was bold. Bolder than was wise, but she didn’t care. She needed to know. Had to know.

“Christien.”

A true soldier of Christ. Surely she would go to hell for desiring a soldier of Christ.

He tipped his head to the side. “Say my name before I take my leave, Madelaine, so I may remember it upon your lips.”

Her gaze went to the lips he spoke of and her face heated. “Christien,” she breathed, almost afraid to speak it aloud.

He smiled, extracted her fingers from her kirtle and raised them to his lips where he pressed a kiss. “Au revoir, my Madelaine.”

Lainie woke with a start and glanced around, confused until she recognized her apartment in Milwaukee.

Not in France.

Milwaukee.

Twenty-first century.

She sat up, rubbed her eyes and yawned, shocked to see she’d only slept an hour and was still on her couch, fully dressed, the night relatively young.

Her gaze fell on the painting of a castle hanging on her wall. The castle stood high on a hill, the enshrouding mist lending it a mysterious aura. She’d discovered it in an antique shop in her hometown and had fallen in love with the mystery and romance of it. All those years ago she knew she had to have it and didn’t even quibble over the outrageous price she paid. Now goose bumps raced up her arms as she stared at it. No longer was it just a pretty painting that made her think of chivalry and jousts and knights in shining armor.

The castle in the painting and the castle in her dreams were the same.

Was it coincidence or did she dream the castle because she bought the painting? Except she’d had the painting for years and never dreamt about it before.

She thought of the dark, gloomy castle in her dream and of the dark-haired knight named Christien who walked into the hall, commanding the attention of the woman named Madelaine. Even now it made Lainie shiver in longing. A longing that transferred to the twenty-first century for a dark-haired, silver-eyed man who was not a figment of her imagination but very real.

With a strangled sound of frustration she surged off the couch.

This was bordering on the ridiculous. Since meeting Christien two nights ago, she’d slept, but it wasn’t a peaceful sleep and she woke more tired than before. The dreams were beginning to affect every part of her life and if she didn’t get it under control, she was afraid it would start affecting her work to the point where Giselle would notice and question her.

She had to stop this or she was going to go insane and everything she’d been working for was going to fall apart. She looked around her apartment, desperate to find something to take her mind off the dream.

She could clean. Her mother always said a good spring cleaning would clear her mind and the result would be an uncluttered home and an uncluttered mind.

But her gaze locked on the small table by her front door and the white card lying on top of it. Since Christian handed her the card, she’d been drawn to it. Once she attempted to throw it away, but ended up digging it out of the trashcan.

As she had so many times before, she felt its pull and walked over to the table to pick it up. The letters were embossed in gold as well as a small emblem of a knight on a rearing horse. Her mind flashed back to the dream. Maybe she got the image of the knight from his card and her mind created an entire story from it. It made sense. If she was the creative type. Which she wasn’t.

She turned the cream-colored cardstock over. Written on the back in spiky handwriting was a different phone number. His personal number, he said.

Why would a man who didn’t even know her, a man who seemed to be as important and popular as Christien Chevalier, leave her his private phone number?

Frustrated she tossed the card in the trashcan—again—and deliberately walked away, refusing to heed the irritating voice telling her to dig it out—again.

Outside her apartment door, she heard people speaking and recognized Giselle’s voice. When Giselle told her about this apartment and urged her to rent it, Lainie had no idea her boss would be living next door. She wasn’t exactly pleased when she found out either. Apparently it wasn’t enough she had to put up with Giselle at work, now she had to put up with her outside of work. But to give Giselle credit, she never bothered Lainie at home. In fact, it seemed she went out of her way to avoid Lainie as much as possible. Which was more than fine.

Lainie’s good sense fled and she stepped closer to the door. She wasn’t one of those neighbors who noted the comings and goings of everyone who lived around her. But Giselle’s voice on the other side had her curious to see who she was talking to.

The rumble of a male voice drew her closer. What was this? Giselle had male friends?

Unable to help herself, she peered through the peephole, trying to get a glimpse of the man Giselle had brought home with her.

He was too close for her to make out many details, but he was tall with wide shoulders and blond hair. Not the pale blond like Giselle but a deeper blond cut short.

As if he sensed her perusal, he glanced up. Quickly she stepped back. Her heart knocked in her chest and she took a deep, shaky breath. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She checked the lock on the door before looking through the peephole again.

He was still standing there, talking to Giselle whose back was to the door. However, he kept glancing at Lainie’s door as if he knew she was watching him.

He was tall, but not as tall as Christien. Light to Christien’s dark. How weird that she was comparing this man to Christien, but something about him reminded her of Christien. Maybe it was the way the stranger carried himself with that inexplicable presence that turned everyone’s heads.

Giselle moved out of Lainie’s sight, leaving the man standing in the middle of the hall. He studied her door for a moment before stepping closer and looking directly at the peephole. Directly at her with eyes so dark they appeared black. Bottomless. Soulless. Lainie’s breath caught in her throat.

He smiled and winked, then sauntered to Giselle’s apartment.

Lainie pulled herself from the door and stumbled to the wall to brace herself. She couldn’t breathe. The air stuck in her lungs and her heart raced. Fear spread through her, making her legs and arms numb. She desperately tried to pull in a breath but all she could manage was a gasp. She closed her eyes and pictured those eyes staring at her, expressionless. Almost…demonic.

A sob caught in her throat, tore through her body, making her tremble so hard she slid down the wall, wrapping her arms around bent knees. Evil. She sensed evil surrounding her. Pressing in on her. Touching her. She scrubbed her arms, trying to rid herself of it. To push it away.

She had to get out of here. She didn’t question the overwhelming urge to run, but obeyed it. It was a struggle to stand. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate. The fear invaded everything, leaving her weak. She gathered up her purse, her cell phone and keys and reached for the door. Her gaze locked on the trashcan. Quickly she dropped to her knees and dumped it out. She swept up Christien’s card and with trembling fingers dialed the number written on the back.

Get out, get out, get out. Her mind screamed the warning. Hands shaking she put the phone to her ear and bit her lip, glancing at the locked door.

She leaned against the wall, fighting for each breath. The room tilted, swayed. Her vision dimmed. If she didn’t get help soon she would pass out.

“This is Christien Chevalier—”

“Christien, help. I can’t—”

“—I am unable to take your call at the moment, but please leave a message—”

Etienne was crouched between Giselle’s parted legs, preparing to tear the scarlet thong off her when he heard Madelaine’s door slam shut and footsteps pound down the hall. His head jerked up. Giselle made a small sound of frustration.

He pushed away from her, pulled his pants up and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” On hands and knees Giselle scrambled off the bed, naked from the waist down except for the red thong. She slid off the bed and grabbed his arm, her fingernails biting into his skin.

He tried to shake free of her bruising hold, but she held tight.

“You are not leaving me to go to her. Do you hear me?” Her face was twisted in fury, her lips turned back into a snarl and her golden eyes snapping flames of fire.

“I’ll be right back.”

She stepped in front of him, hands on his chest. “I forbid it. You will not leave my bed to run after that woman. I’ve taken all I can. You follow her everywhere and I’ve had enough.”

His startled gaze met her determined one. So she knew he followed Madelaine. He couldn’t think of the implications of that right now. Not when he needed to discover where Madelaine was going. He stepped around Giselle and headed for the door. As soon as he closed it, she let out a banshee wail that rattled his eardrums. A large object shattered against the door, shaking it on its hinges. He jogged down the steps, ignoring the burst of fury following him.

He found Madelaine weaving in and out of the crowd on the River Walk. Her movements were jerky, almost frantic.

Chapter Five

Lainie raced down the River Walk, past the busy restaurants hugging the walkway, skirting the crowds of people taking advantage of the warm Saturday night. She tried to act normal, tried to act as if the breath wasn’t being squeezed from her. Mentally she knew the air was making it into her lungs, but physically she still felt as if she were being strangled.

Strangled. She stopped abruptly, her hand going to her throat. The wave of people washed around her. Above, on the balconies overlooking the river, a party was going on, but the noise and the people began to fade.

I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe! Help me! Mon Dieu, please, someone help me. She grabbed at the fingers digging into her neck, her feet kicking out. She tried to buck the person off her but the world began to fade. Please. Pleasepleasepleaseplease.

“Hey, lady, you okay?”

Lainie blinked, bringing the real world back in focus. A man stood in front of her, dreadlocks poking out of a knit hat, scraggly beard and kind eyes. His girlfriend was tucked beneath his arm, looking up at her in concern.

“You okay?” The girl repeated her boyfriend’s question, reaching out a tentative hand to touch Lainie’s sleeve.

Lainie took a deep breath, forcing more air into her lungs, willing her heart to stop pounding. “Fine,” she mumbled. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. But she wasn’t okay. She’d just had a vision of herself…dying. She shuddered and swallowed the bile rising in her throat but it hurt to swallow, as if she really had been strangled. Her gaze darted around the River Walk. The crowd of people moved on, laughing and talking. She’d escaped her apartment but now she felt exposed, sensing danger, but not knowing where it came from.

“Is there someone we can call for you?” the girlfriend asked.

Christien. He was the first person she thought of in her apartment and the name that popped to her lips now. Her mind urged her to run to him but what would she say? How would she explain this panic attack?

She took a deep breath and smiled at the couple. Or tried to smile. The action felt stiff and unnatural. “N-no. Thank you. I’ll be fine.”

They looked at each other, shrugged and walked away. Lainie stood uncertainly while people shifted around her. Feeling lost and alone in the large crowd, her tears broke loose and traveled down her cheeks. She wanted to go home. Not to her apartment where she was experiencing weird dreams and strange visions, but to the home she grew up in. But she didn’t have that home anymore and no one was there for her even if she did.

“Madelaine?” A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped, stifling a cry of surprise.

Christien. What little courage and strength remained, crumbled. She threw her arms around his waist and buried her head in his chest, taking deep breaths to keep the tears at bay.

His arms went around her, strong, supportive. Safe.

He tried to pull away but she held on tighter. He managed to maneuver her to the shadows of a building, blocking her from the prying eyes of the other people.

“Are you all right? I saw you had called, but you didn’t leave a message.”

His strength seeped into her. The woodsy spice of his scent surrounded her. Grateful, she clung to him, all pretense of courage vanishing.

“What happened?” He tried to pull back but she pressed her face into his chest. “Mon amour, you’re frightening me. Tell me what happened?”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t…” She thought of the hand encircling her neck, squeezing the life out of her. It still hurt to swallow.

Christien’s body was strung tight as if he sensed danger. What could she tell him that wouldn’t make her look like she was losing her mind? How did she say she had a vision of someone killing her? “Come, ma chérie.” He tucked her under his arm and steered them back onto the River Walk, his body shielding her from the crowd. “Come to the nightclub. I don’t like leaving you alone and I can’t be far from the club on a Saturday night.”

Her heart slowly returned to normal, but she remained weak, drained. It was easier to let him lead her. She would be safe in his club. She wouldn’t think beyond that.

The club was only a few blocks away and it didn’t take long to get there.

“Faster to go this way.” He led her to the front doors and nodded to the bouncer, the man who wouldn’t let her in two nights ago. The guy merely nodded back, barely giving Lainie a second look.

Inside, the techno-pop music was so loud the beat vibrated the floor and resonated inside her chest. The multicolored lights twirled and swirled. People were dancing, their movements jerky in the blinking lights, reminding her of an old-time movie that skipped. She felt like her life was one of those disco balls, spinning out of control.

“This way.” Christien had to lean down to speak in her ear. His breath whispered across her skin and she shivered. “We will talk in my private quarters. Let me search out Sabine and tell her I will be indisposed.”

She should argue with him, tell him she was okay, but the thought of returning to her apartment had her throat closing again. “As long as you don’t mind me hanging around,” she said.

He touched her cheek, his eyes flashing silver in the lights. “Ma belle, there is nothing I’d like more than to have you in my living quarters.” Even through the beat of the music, the timbre of his words reached out to her, burrowing under her skin, sending prickles of awareness through her.

She leaned toward him, her bones melting to feel the brush of her body against his. But instead of kissing her lips, he kissed her forehead. “Give me one minute.”

He turned to speak to the woman she’d seen the first night she was in the club and who’d answered the door yesterday. Christien leaned close to speak in her ear, but didn’t let go of Lainie’s hand. The woman nodded, glanced at Lainie and nodded again.

Sabine was a woman of the world and Lainie came from a working farm where the excitement of the year was the county fair and 4-H ribbons. She looked away, hating that she felt so inadequate. Her gaze landed on a cluster of women in tight mini-dresses and push-up bras. Any of them could have easily stepped from the pages of a magazine—they were so beautiful. They sneered at her scuffed shoes, her worn jeans and baggy sweatshirt. Then made a point to look at Christien, whispering and laughing to each other.

Lainie lifted her chin and tightened her hold on Christien’s hand. He threw her a worried glance before returning his attention to Sabine. The women continued to whisper and laugh.

Christien touched her shoulder. “This way,” he said above the music.

She knew it was petty and beneath her, but Lainie smiled at the group of women before following Christien into the elevator. She caught their narrow-eyed look of disbelief before the doors slid shut. And then she was alone with Christien in the small elevator, feeling horrible for what she’d done and hyperaware of the man next to her.

The heat coming off him wrapped around her. She was acutely conscious of his every breath and every movement.

She tried to put distance between them, but Christien was having none of that. He tugged her closer and turned to her as the elevator rose swiftly. “I am sorry I did not answer my phone.”

She shook her head, feeling foolish for putting him to all this trouble. With him this close, her fear abated. “It’s all right.”

He cupped her cheek in his large hand. Against her better judgment she leaned in to his warmth. “No, chérie, it is not all right.”

He was so close his warm breath caressed her skin. So close she could kiss him. For a moment their gazes locked, his such a pure beautiful gray she could fall into it and never want to leave. She had the oddest sensation she’d done this before, looked deep into his eyes and found everything she’d been searching for.

The elevator doors opened, startling her out of the haze of longing and severing the deep connection humming between them. He pulled away and motioned for her to exit. She stepped out and caught her breath.

She expected his living quarters to reflect his office décor. Glass and chrome, hard angles and dark colors. Starkness and simplicity.

Instead elegance, opulence and luxury were the words that sprang to mind. The look was homey instead of stuffy. The kind of place to retreat to after a hard day’s work.

He’d decorated in dark wood, intricately carved, with jeweled tones to complement, offset by creams and beiges. The living room and dining area were combined, surrounded by cream-colored pillars. The windows were unadorned, the lights of Milwaukee in the background and the dark void of Lake Michigan beyond.

The couches were formal, yet comfortable. A flat-screen television looked out of place sitting inside a large antique armoire.

Gorgeous, gigantic floral arrangements sat on the coffee table and dining room table and a sword hung above a stone fireplace.

Feet sinking into the deep-piled carpet, Lainie made her way to the fireplace to stare up at the weapon. Her mind flashed back to her latest dream in which the other Madelaine had been watching Christien prepare for battle, a sword almost exactly like this riding his hip.

She knew nothing about medieval weaponry, yet had dreamt about this one in detail, right down to the hammered hilt. Before tonight she hadn’t even known what a hilt was.

In her dream the sword had been nicked and dented. This was polished and gleamed in the recessed lighting but that was the only difference. How did she dream of this weapon when she’d never seen it before?

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Where did you get it?”

He stepped into the room and for the first time she noticed the music playing in the background. Not the loud techno-pop of downstairs, but a quiet jazz coming from an invisible sound system.

“I’ve had it for years.”

She turned from the massive fireplace, almost disappointed he hadn’t said more. What else is there to say, Lainie? Were you expecting him to tell you he used it to fight in the Crusades?

“What happened tonight, Madelaine?” His tone wasn’t cajoling, but commanding. Not smooth, but coarse. The soldier, her mind whispered.

She stepped away from the weapon. His eyes tracked her, unrelenting, probing. She rubbed her arms and looked around. She wished she could spill it all, but that was impossible. You didn’t tell a stranger you dreamt of him or you saw visions of yourself being…murdered. Her mind stuttered over the word and she shivered. The fear she thought she’d overcome bubbled to the surface, almost overpowering her, but she managed to wrestle it back in place and put a tight hold on it. Fear wouldn’t do her any good right now. She didn’t even know what it was she feared.

“Madelaine.”

She closed her eyes, once again pulling from his strength and making it her own.

“It’s nothing.” She walked to the windows to look out. Far below, a line of people snaked around the building, waiting to get into his nightclub.

“You lie,” he said softly.

She turned to face him, keeping the room between them. “It was just an episode. An asthma attack. I panicked and called you.” She glanced away, unable to meet his direct gaze. “I’m sorry I bothered you, but I don’t know many people here yet. You’re the first one I thought to call.” There. That at least wasn’t a lie.

“Do you have these attacks often?”

“More often than before.”

“Should I call a doctor?”

“No!” Her head jerked up. “I mean, I’m fine now. They pass.” Or at least she hoped they passed, but what did she know? She’d never dreamt like this before.

He tilted his head and studied her. “What brings on these…” He paused. “Attacks?” In his quick hesitation she sensed he didn’t believe her but was playing along.

“Um. Stress.” Isn’t that what she’d told herself? Just stress. Stress of moving, starting a new job, making new friends. The stress of her father’s health and paying her bills. Except lots of people did all those things and she’d bet a dollar none of their stress manifested itself in strange dreams that took place hundreds of years ago, and with weapons she knew nothing about but now, due to her dreams, suddenly seemed to have an abundant knowledge of.

Christien remained quiet for a long while, studying her. She had the feeling he was waiting for something. Waiting for her to tell him the truth, but she couldn’t do it. This wasn’t something you just blurted out.

“I couldn’t breathe.” She suddenly wanted him to know, needed to say it so they had at least some honesty between them. “When I called you. I couldn’t breathe.”

His gaze sharpened. “Is this what happens during these attacks?”

She nodded, relieved she could at least admit this. “It feels like…” She put a hand to her throat and swallowed. “Like someone’s strangling me,” she whispered. “Like I’m dying.”

She closed her eyes and the vision came back. Hands around her throat, squeezing the breath from her. The thought of impending death. The fear the knowledge brought. The sadness of losing…something. She didn’t know what though.

“Madelaine.” He was suddenly in front of her, pulling her hands from her neck and holding them in his. “Chérie, breathe. I am here now.”

She opened her eyes, still seeing the hands, still feeling the burning need to breathe. Her chest rose and fell.

“It’s all right, chérie.”

“It’s not,” she gasped. “It’s not all right.” She backed away from him, terrified. Not of him but of herself. Of what her mind was doing.

He let her go, his hands falling to his sides, his eyes haunted. “Madelaine,” he said softly.

“It’s not all right, Christien. Something’s wrong with me.”

She moved to the sofa and sank into it, putting her head in her hands. What’s happening to me? Why am I acting this way? Where are these visions coming from?

He sat beside her and took her hands in his, kissing her knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what? What has you so scared? Please tell me so I can help.”

She looked at him helplessly, the words stuck in her throat. To admit something was wrong with her would be admitting she was losing her mind.

Christien’s phone buzzed. He cursed and pulled it from his belt to read the text message. “It’s Sabine. I’m sorry, Madelaine, but I need to see to this.”

She nodded, partly relieved she’d been given a reprieve and scared he had to leave her. What if the vision returned and what if, this time, she wasn’t able to pull herself out of it?

“Stay here,” he said. “I want to finish this conversation.”

“I don’t think—”

“But I do. There are things you need to tell me, no?”

Her breath escaped her in a terrified rush. He wasn’t letting her go easily. When he returned, she’d have no choice but to tell him what was happening. Or she could leave. Go back to her apartment where her fears lived.

“Please stay.” As if sensing her thoughts, his fingers tightened around hers. He touched her chin to draw her closer.

He was so close, so warm and secure. If she moved just a fraction she could kiss him. But something kept her from moving, some force held her back when her body longed to feel his lips on hers and her soul cried out for him.

“Madelaine.” His whispered words brushed her skin and slid along her nerves, making them tingle in ways she’d never experienced before.

Slowly she lifted her eyes to meet his. A storm raged inside him, as well. She saw it in the swirling fog of his eyes, in the steel that had become his muscles.

“Don’t leave me,” he said so softly she almost didn’t hear him.

His head inched closer, degree by degree. He was going to kiss her. And this kiss would change her life. Nothing would ever be the same again.

He spoke but they were in words she didn’t understand, in a language she’d never heard before, and yet the cadence was comforting, almost familiar.

“Kiss me,” she said.

He closed his eyes as if he were in pain. For a horrible second she thought he wasn’t going to kiss her. And then his lips were on hers, hot and insistent.

She made a sound deep in her throat of surrender, submission, longing. His fingers moved from her chin to her jaw, to the back of her head, cradling it in a tender embrace.

She put her hands on his broad shoulders and pulled him closer. Their tongues brushed together and Lainie gasped at the unexpected need racing through her.

This is where you should be. This is the way it should be between us.

He pulled away. Something passed through his eyes, something desperate and sad. A grief so sharp it pierced her soul to find an answering grief.

Christien looked away and swallowed. “Stay.” His voice was rough, but not harsh.

“I will.”

He touched her face and the key at her throat. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

He left her sitting on the couch alone in his apartment with the certain knowledge that she’d been right.

That kiss changed everything.

Christien clenched his fists and leaned against the wall of the elevator. He’d been balancing on the razor edge of control ever since he brought Madelaine to his living quarters. Who was he kidding? Since she walked into his club Thursday night he’d been off balance.

The brush of her body, the small sound she made in the back of her throat, her hands on his shoulders urging him forward had nearly tipped him over that edge. Instantly he’d been rock hard and he fought the compulsion to tumble her back on the couch and touch every part of her luscious body, to drive into her and spill his seed until he was a dry husk, spent. And then to do it all over again because once would never be enough with Madelaine.

He groaned and rolled his head against the wall in a combination of misery and fiery need that wouldn’t release its hold. Everything, from the smallest red blood cell in his veins to the tip of his throbbing erection, yearned for Madelaine.

He had to control himself or he’d stride back in there to finish what he started, even if it was the worst mistake he could make. She was confused and frightened and to top it off she’d been lying.

When she pressed her body against his on the River Walk, he felt her shaking, felt the fear coming off her in waves. Yet he didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust her. She claimed an asthma attack but she couldn’t look him in the eyes when she said it.

Was this another ruse to get them together? Had Lucheux put her up to this? His body clenched in barely suppressed anger and he pounded a fist against the wall of the elevator. What the hell was going on? What was Lucheux up to?

He didn’t want to think Madelaine was involved, but until he was sure, he would be on guard. Damn his traitorous body. When she touched her throat and the fear clouded her eyes, he had no choice but to go to her and comfort her. Either she was a very good actress, or she was truly afraid. He was betting on the latter because he saw right through her pitiful lies and she hadn’t been lying about being afraid.

He should put a man on his door to be sure Madelaine stayed safe inside his club but that would frighten her more and raise questions he didn’t want to answer.

He had to play this in a way that kept her from questioning his motives and yet also kept her safe. How the hell he was going to do that, he didn’t know.

His phone buzzed again. Sabine wondering where he was. He punched the button for the club level and forced his body to cool down, cursing the ill-timed interruption. He had the impression Madelaine was on the verge of telling him something important, something she was struggling with. Was the guilt eating at her? Did she want to tell him what Lucheux’s motives were? Did she even know?

What if it was none of the above? What if she was nothing but a look-alike caught in circumstances she knew nothing about? If this were the case, Christien vowed he would protect her with everything at his disposal. He would not allow an innocent person to be dragged into this war. But first he had to prove she was innocent.

Chapter Six

France, 1307

Madelaine sat on the garden bench and gave in to the tears she’d been holding back. She wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked forward, her sobs so deep it hurt to cry.

The sun had just gone down, vespers was finished, supper complete. The knights filed out of the hall for a final check of their horses and equipment before sleep. She was alone in the silent, shadow-ridden garden and glad of it. She was weary of the trailing gaze of her husband, always suspicious, always present. Weary of having to be constantly alert to Lucien’s presence and dodging his watchful eye and knowing smirk.

’Twas coming to the point she feared Lucien almost more than her husband.

If either of them caught her in the garden… She shuddered to think what would happen. Lucien might very well follow through with the silent threats that were becoming more and more frequent. Her husband would beat her and enjoy it. But she had nowhere else to go. No solitude to be had.

A heavy hand pressed against her shoulder and she leaped up, a scream on her lips. Quickly the hand covered her mouth. “Shhh, Madelaine. It is I.”

Her eyes widened. Surely not. Surely it wasn’t the knight who’d haunted her dreams for these past months. Her heart soared in hope and wonder. A day hadn’t gone by that she hadn’t thought of him, hadn’t relived his generous laugh or the lips that pressed against her knuckles.

He dropped his hand and stepped into a patch of moonlight. Madelaine sucked in her breath. ’Twas him. Christien. Her heart skipped a beat in joy and she quickly suppressed the smile threatening to break free. Anxiously she looked around. It was wrong for them to be alone in a moonlit garden. If they were discovered it was in her husband’s right to punish both of them.

“No one is about,” he said. “I have checked.”

“Oh.” She brushed at the remainder of the tears on her cheeks, trying to hide the fact she’d been crying, yet knowing it was futile. Certainly he’d heard her sobs.

He laid a hand on her arm. She should shake it off, step away. This knight was a threat to her well-being in more ways than one, yet she couldn’t walk away from the kindness he offered.

“What has happened, Madelaine, to make you so sad?”

She huffed out a laugh and shook her head. Since entering the walls of this castle she had been nothing but sad.

Christien guided her to the bench and waited for her to settle onto it before sitting beside her. For months this man had invaded her thoughts and dreams, had been the bright light in a very dismal existence. When life had become too much, she’d think of him—where he was, the dangers he encountered. As time marched on and he did not return, she worried for him. She listened, aching for a word of his whereabouts, but the other knights said nothing and she could not ask, so she suffered in silence.

“Ah, Madelaine, do not cry, chérie.” With his thumb, he wiped the remainder of her tears away. “I wish I could take you away from this, to a place of laughter and light.”

The tears came harder at his soft words of kindness. She cried into her hands.

“Hush, my sweet.” His voice was so close to her ear his breath warmed her chilled skin. “Hush, Madelaine. Someone will hear, chérie.”

She hiccupped, sniffed. “I apologize.”

“Nay. There is no need.” His hand continued to stroke circles on her back, relaxing her to the point that she leaned into him and sighed in pleasure. It had been too long since she’d experienced the healing power of touch. For her, touch had come to signify pain and degradation. She shivered, but pushed those memories away. Not now. She didn’t want them intruding on the only peaceful time she’d found in this den of hell.

“Can you tell me what has you so upset? Has someone hurt you?” His voice started out soft, but hardened toward the end and it warmed her to think she might have one ally in the castle. However sporadic his appearances.

It also reminded her of what had sent her out here and fresh tears welled up, but she sniffed them back, willed them away and decided since she had no pride left and this man seemed to honestly care, she would tell him.

“I am not with child,” she said softly, looking down at her folded hands in shame.

Christien drew back, his hand dropped to his side and Madelaine ached for its comforting presence. “Pardonnez-moi?”

She took a fortifying breath and looked up at the full moon. “My husband. He will be angry to discover once again I am not with child.” She didn’t tell him how shattered she was to discover the same thing. Even though it was selfish, she so desperately wanted a child to love, who would love her in return. Someone to hold and care for. Something bright in the dismal dark of her existence. Yet month after month, even this pleasure was denied her.

Christien slid off the bench and knelt before her, one knee raised, his elbow resting on it as he stared up into her face. “What will he do when he discovers this?”

She blinked away another tear and shrugged. ’Twas hard to tell what mood he would be in and how he would react to this news. He very much wanted an heir to carry on his name and ’twas forever her failing not to give him the one thing he so desired. He would be furious to be sure. He might take his anger out on her or he might not. She never knew.

Christien took her hands in his and squeezed. “Madelaine—” He stiffened, his head snapping to look over his shoulder.

Madelaine went still. Faintly she heard female laughter and a male voice—her husband’s voice. She bolted to her feet, her terrified gaze darting around the darkness, searching for escape. Her heart thundered in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Christien rose silently, placing a staying hand on her arm. He pressed a finger to her lips in a bid to remain silent. Slowly, with his body, he moved her toward the deeper shadows of the garden, beneath an archway nearly covered in clinging vines.

The voices drew closer.

Madelaine’s heart beat so heavily she was positive her husband would hear it.

In the shadowed recess of the covered arch, Christien stood with his front pressed against hers, his back to the garden. He wore all black and with his black hair it would be almost impossible to see him.

“Breathe, Madelaine,” he whispered into her ear.

His warm breath caressed her, causing shivers to erupt down her spine and pucker her skin. Suddenly she was hot all over, her body straining toward his in a wantonness she’d never expected. She clutched his arms, needing to anchor herself. He steadied her, leaned closer until their bodies touched from the tips of their toes to her shoulders. To her mortification her nipples hardened into tiny points.

“Madelaine,” he whispered.

Oh, this was wrong.

His lips brushed against her cheek and she closed her eyes.

Suddenly the voice was behind Christien. Madelaine stiffened, the need to run so strong she moved her feet. Christien’s grasp on her tightened in warning. But like a rabbit caught in the sights of a prey, she knew she wouldn’t be able to remain still for long. The urge to run was too keen.

“Well, well, well,” her husband’s voice said. “What have we here?”

Chapter Seven

Present Day

Christien looked down at Madelaine fast asleep on his couch. Her knees were curled to her chest and a hand was tucked beneath her cheek.

His knees buckled and he sank to the floor beside her. Who was playing such a cruel joke on him? Who knew of the one person who could breach his defenses and leave him powerless?

Slowly he uncurled his fingers and pushed a strand of hair off her cheek. Her lids fluttered but did not open, and his heart turned over.

The warrior in him told him to let her go. To take her home and expel her from his life. Her appearance did not bode well for him or for the treasure he was sworn to protect. At best she was a distraction. At worst she was the catalyst that could start the war to end civilization. He shook his head at the thought. All these centuries he’d wondered when it would begin, when evil would make its move on good. Never in all that time had he imagined his Madelaine would come back to life and be caught in the middle of it. He closed his eyes, the pain too great to bear. But bear it he must. He had to look on her as his enemy until he could prove otherwise.

She sighed, drawing his gaze back to her. The key around her neck caught his attention. ’Twas no more than two inches long but beautifully made, wrought in silver with small diamonds surrounding the bow. He sat back on his heels, his mind suddenly racing.

“Only the key will open it.”

His gaze returned to the necklace. Coincidence that she was wearing a key about her neck? Christien didn’t believe in coincidences.

His jaw clenched in indecision. How had Lucheux found her?

His eyes narrowed. If Madelaine had approached Lucheux with this plan that meant she had prior knowledge of the treasure and what she meant to Christien. Theirs had been a great love and even though he was cynical by nature he could not imagine her using their love against him. Which made him wonder if someone else had conceived of the notion to cross Madelaine’s path with Lucheux’s.

He stood swiftly, frustrated by the questions piling up and the lack of answers.

He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the guest bedroom. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer. He wouldn’t take her home tonight. He would keep her close and when she awoke in the morning he would get the answers he needed.

At least that was what he told himself. Yet when he laid her on the bed his heart beat a little harder, the blood rushed through his veins a little hotter and his mind wasn’t thinking of her as an enemy, but as the woman he loved long ago.

She blinked and looked up at him with sleepy eyes. “Christien.”

“Yes, my love?”

She sighed and her eyes drifted closed. “Just Christien.”

His heart turned over and he knew if he discovered she was consciously using him to get to the treasure it would destroy him.

Madelaine cried out, ripping Christien from a sound sleep. He rolled from his bed, instinctively reaching for a sword that hadn’t been at his side for several hundred years. He was down the hall before he realized where he was and in her room before the sleep cleared from his brain.

She was standing in the middle of the room, her eyes wild with fright, her body shaking so hard it made her teeth chatter.

“He’ll find us.” She turned wide, blank eyes to him.

She was in the grip of a nightmare.

He rounded the bed, cautiously advancing on her. “Who will find us?”

She put her hands on his chest and pushed. The action didn’t budge him. “You must go,” she whispered desperately.

He froze, belatedly realizing she was speaking Norman French. The breath rushed out of him and for a moment he didn’t move. He hadn’t heard his native tongue in many, many years. Hearing it now plunged his mind into the past so fast it made him dizzy and his pulse beat harder.

She spoke the language fluently, with no hesitation. At first he wondered if Lucheux had coached her in it, but her fluency convinced him otherwise. She wouldn’t speak a newly learned language while immersed in a nightmare.

Automatically he answered in the same language, the words he hadn’t used in centuries rolling off his tongue as if he spoke it every day. “Why must I go, chérie?”

She muttered under her breath, a disjointed prayer spoken in Latin. He’d heard her murmur this same prayer one other time. A night etched in his memory of a garden and a woman sobbing over a child that was not to be.

Her head whipped around as if something behind her had startled her.

“Madelaine.”

She shrieked, jumped and tried to push him out the door. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against his body. She desperately squirmed to get free, her feeble attempt ineffectual against his hold. She was so small and so soft he was afraid of hurting her.

“Madelaine, stop this.”

She looked up at him with terror-filled eyes, not seeing him. Her pupils were dilated, her breathing rapid. She twisted, slipping out of his hold. He made a grab for her, but she stepped away.

“You must go, before he finds you here. Oh, please, leave!”

Christien closed his eyes. An invisible hand squeezed his heart, tearing at the barely healed scars. ’Twas as if he were reenacting that fateful night all over again. How could she know of it? What was she seeing?

“Mon amour, you are dreaming. We are safe. Trust me, Madelaine. We are safe.”

He pulled her against his chest and cradled her head to his shoulder. Sobs racked her body until he shook with them. He pressed his lips into her hair, closing his eyes tight to keep his own tears from falling.

He absorbed her tremors while his mind went back to that night in the garden. When they stood this close. When he felt for the first time her body against his and realized they were made for each other. Two halves of a whole—exactly the way it felt now which made his pain even more acute.

She is real.

His heart squeezed. He desperately wanted to believe she was the real thing, but he couldn’t afford to follow his heart. Until proven otherwise, he had to believe she was his enemy.

Her body went rigid and her breathing hitched, but he continued to hold her.

He began to fall in love with her that night in the garden as she sat on the bench and cried. She had been such an innocent in the harshness of Castle Flandres, such a ray of sunlight when it seemed he’d forever been deprived of sunlight. He’d been drawn to her, inexplicably. Certainly unadvisedly.

Theirs had been a romance doomed for failure, but when they were together, it was simply right.

Just like it felt right holding her like this. When she was in his arms he couldn’t believe she wasn’t a miracle, a dream come true, a prayer answered. She had to be. Anything else was inconceivable.

He tore himself away from her, leaving her swaying in the middle of the room, a look of confusion on her face. ’Twas dangerous to think that way, to let his heart rule his mind. Whatever nightmare she was having had nothing to do with that night in the garden.

He stepped away, schooling his features, pushing the memories from his mind to become the guardian he was meant to be. “Do you feel better?”

She nodded, head bent, her fall of mink hair hiding her face. He checked the urge to push the hair away and see into her eyes.

Finally she looked at him, a quick glance before she looked away but enough to tell him how scared and confused she was.

He held his hand out to her. “Come. Let us eat breakfast.”

She hesitated, her gaze flying to him before she tentatively wrapped her fingers around his. He led her to his kitchen where a wide variety of breakfast food awaited. Before retiring for the morning he’d instructed his chef to have food sent up in the hope she’d still be here, but even he was surprised at the abundance.

Madelaine stared blankly at the spread. Her hair was in disarray, as if she’d been well loved. The nightmare he’d woken her from still had its claws in her.

She sat at the breakfast bar, her movements wooden, automatic. Christien poured them each a tall mug of steaming coffee from a carafe, nudging hers closer when she didn’t immediately take it.

He waited until she took a few sips, and forced himself to wait until she took a few more. She was looking a little more awake and was eyeing the food hungrily. She slathered a bagel with cream cheese and took a big bite. His gaze followed the movement of the tip of her tongue as it licked the cheese from the corner of her mouth, his body responding with a ferocity he hadn’t felt in a long time.

In fact he remembered the last time he’d felt this type of intense need. ’Twas his last night with Madelaine.

He shoved the thought away because it brought too much pain and heartache. Their entire relationship had been nothing but pain and heartache if he was truthful. They’d been foolish. Stupid, would be a more accurate term. They had no business conversing let alone becoming so well acquainted, yet he wouldn’t trade those times for anything.

“Tell me about the dream,” he said after she finished her bagel.

Her gaze slid away. His anger resurfaced, nearly consuming him. He pushed off his stool to refill his coffee, surprised to see his hand tremble from fury. Damn her. And damn him for wanting to believe in her. She was nothing but a conniving liar. A fake. Suddenly he hated her. Hated her for who she looked like and the memories she’d dragged out of him. Hated her for distracting him at a time when he could ill afford distractions.

But most of all he hated her for making him feel again. And just as quickly as the hate came, it disappeared, leaving him empty and confused.

“Who did you want me to run from?” He took a sip of coffee, swallowing the hot brew quickly and feeling the burn all the way to his gut.

Her face paled and her lips thinned into a tight line. He wanted to shake the answer out of her, but knew that would only scare her and regardless of his anger, he didn’t want to frighten her any more than she already was.

“Don’t you think after all that has happened you can trust me?”

“I trust you.”

He wanted to laugh at her outrageous lie. “Do you?”

She hopped off the stool. Her face went from pale to red in a heartbeat, surprising him. “I’m trying,” she said between clenched teeth. “Can’t you see I’m trying? I don’t know who to trust.” She ran a hand through her mussed hair and stormed out of the room.

He followed slowly, giving her time, intrigued by her display of anger. I don’t know who to trust. What an interesting choice of words.

He found her in the living room staring up at the sword hanging on the wall above the fireplace. At one time it had been an extension of himself. He’d carried it everywhere and even slept with it. Many an enemy’s blood had dripped with it. Nowadays he barely looked at it, but looking now he realized he missed the weight of it in his hand, the way it sang through the air toward an enemy’s head. A lot could be said for modern times, but ’twas medieval times he was born to and medieval times he yearned for. Especially when justice was called for.

“Tell me about the dream,” he said casually, taking a sip of coffee.

“Which dream?”

He looked at her sharply. “There’s been more than one?”

She huffed out a shaky laugh and looked at him with haunted eyes. “Oh, yes. Many more than one.” She nodded toward the sword. “That was in my dream.”

He looked up at the sword as if he’d never seen it before. She dreamt of his sword? It’s not surprising. She was intrigued by it last night so she incorporated it into her dream.

“I dreamt of it before I came here.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His brain went blank and he could do nothing but wait for what she had to say next.

“I dream of you, too.”

The fine hairs on his arms rose. Slowly he put his mug down on the nearest table. The unexpected turn of the conversation left him floundering. A sensation he was unaccustomed to and didn’t like.

“Tell me,” he said softly.

Her eyes filled with tears and her defenses broke under the flood. ’Twas as if he were seeing the real Madelaine Alexander for the first time without pretenses or lies on her lips.

“I saw her,” she whispered. “I saw her in the hall. With a dark-haired knight that looked like you. I was there, yet I wasn’t. I was watching, yet I was inside her, feeling her excitement at speaking to you and her fear of being discovered by her husband. She…” Her breath hitched. Tears raced down her cheeks. “She was drawn to you. Attracted. She knew she shouldn’t be. She knew she’d be punished if her attraction was discovered.”

Christien closed his eyes and bit back a groan of torture. She was describing the night they first met. Mon Dieu. What was happening here? Where did these memories of hers come from?

Lucheux?

Had Lucheux planted them in her mind?

“She had no love in her life,” she was saying. “No happiness. No laughter. She missed that the most. The laughter.”

Christien made a low sound. Memories came pouring out. Emotions he’d buried when he buried the treasure and made a pledge to protect it for the rest of eternity. He felt his Madelaine’s pain from so long ago. He’d tried to shield her from it, to give her laughter and happiness, but his visits were sporadic and his attempts had to be covert.

He could do little save whisking her away. But where would he have taken her? He was a landless knight, paid by the Knights Templar and the money he was earning would have disappeared if he’d taken her from the powerful influence of Count Flandres. Not to mention she was cousin to King Philip. Christien would have lost his head if he’d been caught and where would that have left her?

“Her husband found them talking.” She was breathing too fast. “She knew she was going to be punished, but she didn’t regret talking to the kind knight.” A long, low moan escaped her and she pressed a fist to her mouth, her eyes huge, unseeing. Or seeing too much.

“Madelaine. Arrête.  Stop. Please.”

Her breath was wheezing out of her. The tears came faster. “H-he… He… Oh, God, Christien.”

“Enough, ma belle.” He couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t force her to say the words. Her body was trembling, tears racing down her cheeks. She could barely breathe through the sobs. Whether she was the real Madelaine or not, this was tearing her apart and he couldn’t bear to watch it happen.

“He raped her.”

Christien closed his eyes. He wanted to scream in agony, wanted to find the bastard who’d done this and kill him with his bare hands, but he was already dead.

“Shhh, little one. Quiet.” He took her in his arms, unable to stand by while she grieved and needing her next to him before his own memories overtook him.

“What’s happening to me, Christien? Why am I suddenly having dreams of this woman?”

He stilled, her words piercing him. The emotion was too real to be forced. Could it be she truly didn’t know what was happening? Ah, God. He wished he knew.

The look she gave him was so desperate it tore him apart. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

He saw the fear those words evoked and knew she was balancing on a slippery slope. She honestly thought she was losing her mind and who could blame her?

“No, Madelaine. I believe you.” But did he? Did he really believe her? He wanted to, but his mind still balked.

“What if…” He paused to consider his words carefully. “What if there are two realities? What if what you are experiencing aren’t dreams but something else?”

Her brows drew together in confusion. If she was an actress then she deserved an Academy Award for this performance. However, he was beginning to believe she wasn’t acting.

“Of course they’re dreams. What else could they be?”

He hesitated, but knew he had to put it out there, if only to get her reaction. “Memories.”

Her brows dipped and she chewed on her lower lip. “Memories? I don’t understand.”

“There are people who believe death isn’t really the end. That a person’s…essence…can be passed on to another body.”

“You’re talking about reincarnation.” The brows drew deeper and her eyes narrowed in thought before she shook her head. “There is no such thing as reincarnation, Christien.”

“Some would disagree.”

“So you’re saying these dreams aren’t dreams but memories of a past life I led? A past that includes someone who looks like you?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“I don’t believe in reincarnation.” She backed away from him. “I’ve been under a lot of stress with this new job and moving to a new city.”

“So you believe stress triggered these dreams?”

“Yes.” She nodded vigorously.

“The dream you just had, tell me, why did I have to leave?” Only she would know the answer to this question.

She looked away and bit her bottom lip, but this time he didn’t sense her trying to come up with a lie. “So you weren’t caught with her,” she said so quietly he had to lean forward to hear her.

“Caught with whom?”

She looked at him with wide eyes. “Her. The other Madelaine. The one who looks like me.”

“Where were they that they could get caught?”

She frowned and he could tell she was thinking, plunging herself back into the dream. “A garden.”

His heart stilled. Up until now she’d told him things Lucheux could have easily known, but Lucheux didn’t know about that night in the garden.

“Did he find me?”

Her golden-brown eyes looked up at him. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

Mon Dieu. He was beginning to believe she wasn’t trying to trick him. Her reactions were too quick and too real. No hesitation.

“Do you know I fell in love with you that night?” he asked in Norman French.

She frowned at him.

“Did Lucheux send you to me?” he asked again in Norman French, studying her, looking for any sign she understood what he was saying. Nothing. Not one spark of recognition.

“What are you saying?” she asked, obviously confused.

He looked away. “Never mind.”

She thought she was going mad? ’Twas nothing to what his mind was telling him. More and more he was beginning to believe she was an innocent bystander in all of this and it made his anger boil. If Lucheux truly had pulled an innocent into this war, then Christien was going to make him pay.

“I think I should go.”

The soldier in him went on alert. “I wish you would stay.” And not only because he didn’t want her going back to Lucheux—if that was where she was going—but because he genuinely didn’t want her to leave.

She looked around as if searching for something and found her shoes by the couch. She was still dressed in the jeans and sweatshirt she’d arrived in the night before. “Thank you for letting me sleep…” She looked away and a blush rose up her neck and cheeks.

“Madelaine. Look at me.”

She slowly turned her gaze to him.

“You are welcome here anytime. My door is always open to you.” You fool. Why give her an open invitation? Turn your back and concentrate on protecting the treasure. That was what he should do, follow the inner voice, pretend she didn’t exist, but he couldn’t. He would sooner cut off his sword arm than turn his back on those frightened eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He followed her to the elevator and punched the button, his mind screaming not to let her go. To protect her.

From what? Shouldn’t he be protecting himself? He found the idea ludicrous and the idea of her needing protection from Lucheux all too real. The thought of her alone out there, working for Lucheux, experiencing her dreams by herself, made him feel helpless and if there was one thing he hated it was feeling helpless. He’d experienced it too often in the past.

They rode the elevator in silence. The club was dark and silent. Their footfalls echoed over the deserted dance floor as they moved beneath the darkened lights.

“You don’t have to walk me home. I’ll be fine.”

“Nevertheless, I am.”

“I jog these streets nearly every day. Right now they’re deserted.”

His hands clenched at the thought of her running through the streets alone. He might be living in modern times, but his mind was of a warrior who constantly catalogued the dangers around him. And the streets of Milwaukee, while not the most dangerous, were still wrought with some danger.

“Humor me.” He began walking in the direction of her apartment.

He heard her sigh, then fall into step beside him. “Look, Christien, I appreciate that you let me stay the night. That was very nice of you.”

He snorted. Nice wasn’t the word he’d been thinking and nice certainly weren’t the thoughts he had when he carried her to bed. He’d wanted to kiss her awake until she was hot for him and squirming beneath him. Even thinking of it now made him want to turn back and drag her through those doors and do everything he wanted to. The fact he kept walking didn’t make him nice. It made him an idiot.

Apparently she chose to ignore his sound of disgust because she kept speaking. “As you know I just started this new job—”

“I know.”

“Yes, well.” She cleared her throat. “It’s important I succeed in this new position.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is it important for you to succeed?”

She waved her hands in the air. He liked that she talked with her hands. The other Madelaine had done that as well and he always thought it endearing. He concentrated on those hands, watching them. Just like the other Madelaine. The actions weren’t something easily duplicated and probably not something Lucheux had noticed about the fourteenth-century Madelaine. He filed the thought away with the other clues that told him she was the genuine thing.

“Because it’s difficult to get into a company like Lucheux Limited. The competition is fierce and so few jobs open up.”

“And yet Lucheux hired you. That has to tell you something.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to screw this up.”

He wasn’t going to be the one to tell her she didn’t get the job based on her resume but based on her eerie likeness to a dead countess.

He steered her onto the entrance to the River Walk. Normally Christien barely noted the changing of the seasons. When time held no meaning, seasons were inconsequential. He’d lived through hundreds of them but today he could feel spring in the air. The breeze was warm upon his face. The sun seemed brighter. He was aware that this new appreciation had nothing to do with Mother Nature but rather Madelaine at his side. She brought new awareness to his life, an edge to a dull existence.

“I need this job more than anything. I have to succeed.”

“Why do you have to succeed?”

“Well. For the same reasons everyone wants to succeed.”

“Generally people want success for money or power or to rise above bad situations. Which reason is yours?”

“Money,” she said softly.

He wondered if she would admit it. He knew everything about her. Where she grew up, what her grades were in college, how much money she owed in student loans. And he knew about her father, about the fight they’d waged against the government who wanted their land to build a highway and the loss of not only her family home, but the father who’d doted on her all her life. The worst part was that he didn’t die, but lost his sensibilities, forcing her to put him in a very expensive nursing home and increasing her debt.

No doubt Lucheux knew all of this as well and played on her vulnerabilities. What had he offered her? Enough money to cover her debts without making her suspicious? Or did he outright offer to pay everything off if she agreed to play along with his scheme?

Christien wouldn’t put either scenario past the man, but he was beginning to doubt the latter. Her debts were still there, whittled down little by little every month.

“It’s not such a horrible thing to want money,” he said. “I’ve been poor and helpless in the past because of the lack of it. I understand.” And damn his traitorous mind he could also understand why she would agree to Lucheux’s scheme. Being helpless wore a person down and trampled their pride. To save her father, she would do anything, even swallow that pride.

She breathed out a sigh. “I don’t want you to think I’m here because, well, because you’re rich.”

He laughed. “I never once thought that.”

“Oh.” She ducked her head in embarrassment. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Why are you glad?”

She blew out a breath. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“How else am I to learn about you?”

Her steps faltered. He put a hand under her elbow to steady her, the simple touch anything but simple to him.

“You want to learn about me?”

“You intrigue me.”

“I do?”

He smiled at her surprised tone. “You do.”

They walked in silence for a few moments. Slowly the tension eased out of her. Her shoulders relaxed, her steps became lighter, less hurried, as if she actually wanted to linger.

“And working for Lucheux will get you the money you need?” he asked, returning to the conversation.

“Yes.”

How much money will it get you, Madelaine? Enough to pay off all your bills?

“My father is…ill. He’s in a good nursing home but the expense is a little beyond my budget. The opportunity to work for Lucheux came at the perfect time.”

He bet it did. Rage hit him hard and unexpectedly. Another coincidence he couldn’t write off. Lucheux was definitely using her to get to him. But did she know it?

“This job is so new and so important.”

Christien yanked his attention back to the conversation, not liking the turn it was taking.

“I don’t need any distractions right now.” They reached her apartment building and she turned to him.

He took her hand and was relieved when she didn’t pull away. “Do you think I’m a distraction?”

“Yes.”

“A good distraction or a bad distraction?” He rubbed her knuckles. Her eyes darkened and her fingers trembled.

“Bad.”

He took a step closer. “Bad can sometimes be good.”

She yanked her hands away, obviously flustered. “This isn’t a good time for me to have a relationship.”

Stunned, he stared at her for a moment. She didn’t know. She didn’t know Lucheux had thrust her into Christien’s life to distract him. Lucheux hadn’t coaxed her into lying to him. He’d merely used her looks to get to Christien. Otherwise she wouldn’t be trying to push him away. Unless she was a very, very good manipulator, but he didn’t believe she was.

His relief was so profound that he tightened his hold on her fingers so she wouldn’t see his hands shake. But the realization only led to more questions and prodded his instincts to protect her even more. Her innocence meant danger to her.

He cleared his throat. Of course he couldn’t let her walk away. Not now. But he also couldn’t kidnap her and keep her locked up for her own safety.

He skimmed his fingers up her arm, feeling the goose bumps rise. A ray of sunlight caught on the key at her neck, drawing his attention to it and making him believe more than ever that she was the key Michael spoke of.

He put his hand beneath her chin. Slowly she raised her eyes to his.

“I can wait,” he said softly even though every instinct told him not to let her out of his sight.

She stepped back, breaking their contact. He allowed her the room she needed, but would only let her go so far. He said he would wait, but he lied. He was through with waiting. However, he would give her the illusion of time if that was what she wanted.

“Why would you wait? I’m a hick from farm country. You’re…” She waved her hand in the air.

“I’m what?” They were standing so close that every time she breathed her chest brushed against his. He had to grit his teeth to keep from taking her in his arms.

“This isn’t a joke,” she whispered.

“Oh, I know.”

“You’re way out of my league.”

“I don’t play baseball.”

Her lips thinned. To keep from laughing or because she was perturbed?

“You’re exasperating,” she said.

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“Kiss me.”

“Christien…”

“Kiss me, Madelaine.”

“This is going beyond exasperation into frustration. You’re not listening to a word I’m saying.”

He stared at her lips, needing the feel of them against his own. “I heard every word. Exasperating. Frustrating. And something about baseball.”

He leaned forward and kissed her. Her small sound of surrender sent his heart soaring. Tentatively her fingers rested against his chest, her touch electrifying. He pulled her into his arms, feeling Madelaine. Not Lainie Alexander, but Madelaine, the woman he’d loved and lost. The woman he thought he’d never see again. ’Twas her body held tightly against his, her lips he was tasting. There could be no two alike.

He pulled away before the kiss went too far. Before he swooped her up and carried her away.

She swayed. Her lips parted. Her lids fluttered open. Her eyes were a deep amber, the exact shade Madelaine’s got when she was aroused. It took every bit of self-control to step away from her.

“Go inside, Madelaine. Before I change my mind.”

“Change your mind about what?”

“About taking you back to my place and making long, slow love to you.”

He waited, breath held, hoping she’d take him up on the offer. To his great disappointment, she unlocked the door to the building and stepped through, closing it firmly behind her.

He stood on the sidewalk for a long while, the taste of her on his lips, the feel of her in his arms.

Her dreams weren’t dreams. They were memories trying to escape her tightly locked brain. In the daylight hours she was strong enough to fight them, but in the night, when her defenses were down, the memories came pouring out.

Hope, joy, happiness, elation—all of those emotions flooded him. He wanted to shout in exultation. To run after her, pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless, but he held back, for a darkness hovered around his happiness. Questions that needed answers. Why did she return to him? Who was behind this miraculous resurrection?

Now more than ever, he had to be vigilant. Madelaine’s rebirth could only mean one thing. Whoever sent her was after him and using her to get to him. He silently cursed, caught between duty and honor and the love of his life. Somehow he knew he was going to have to make a choice between the two and no matter what choice he made, it was going to destroy him.

Chapter Eight

France, 1307

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” the count said in a husky voice Madelaine knew intimately.

The other woman murmured something, then laughed.

Madelaine’s body strained, the urge to run so fierce she began to breathe too fast, her lungs sucking up the air.

Christien pushed his body against hers, crowding her farther into the shadows.

“Shhhh.” His lips were so close to her ear they brushed against her skin, causing her to shiver.

She tried to look over Christien’s shoulder but he shifted to block her view.

“Best not to look,” he said so softly she barely heard.

Behind him, her husband groaned. Madelaine slumped against Christien, aware of exactly what she was hearing and mortified to the depths of her soul.

They were trapped feet away from her husband who was rutting with his mistress.

She burrowed into the safety of Christien’s arms and rested her head on his shoulder. It had been so long since she’d felt safe that she was dizzy with it.

“Let me see,” her husband said, his voice thick with lust.

Madelaine stiffened at the tone of his voice. ’Twas the same tone he used with her and what followed was always degrading and painful.

She looked up at Christien. “If he finds you here like this, he will kill you,” she whispered urgently. “You must get out of here.”

“Easy, chérie,” Christien murmured. “If we move, he will most certainly see us. Stay still, ma petite, and all will be fine.”

He didn’t understand the count’s power, didn’t know exactly what would happen if they were discovered. While it was acceptable for the count to rut with another woman, Madelaine’s husband would be beyond furious if he knew she even thought of another man, let alone spent time with him in the garden, his body pressed against hers in such a seductive fashion. She closed her eyes, more frightened than ever before. Not for herself, but for Christien who had done nothing but express kindness to her.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Shhh.” He leaned forward and she felt rather than heard his hush. An exhalation of breath that caressed her ear.

She pushed against his chest to look up at him. “You need to leave before you’re discovered.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “There is no need to be frightened for me.”

His hand moved to her hip, soothing her. He murmured soft, disjointed phrases, his mouth so close to her cheek each movement of his lips brushed against her heated skin. She didn’t know when the movements of Christien’s lips went from speaking platitudes to gentle, delicate kisses. They skimmed her jaw, her cheek, even the tip of her nose. She swallowed, trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach and the sudden trembling in her legs that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the man practically wrapped around her.

He kissed her forehead and her lips. She squeezed her eyes closed, waiting for the pressure of his lips to bruise, for his teeth to bite. But the pain never came. Instead an entirely different sensation filled her. She’d never experienced any of this before. Never felt this inexplicable need her body was reaching for.

He cradled her against his muscular body. Her breasts tingled and she nearly whimpered with an almost uncontrollable desire to rub them against him.

Behind them her husband grunted as he ploughed into the other woman, but Christien’s light caresses and soft kisses became more important.

She raised her head and pressed her lips against his, not knowing precisely what to do, only knowing she needed more. He sighed, his breath sweet against her skin, and kissed her back. Christien’s kisses were so much better than the painful kisses of her husband. Christien used his mouth and his tongue to excite, to invite, to cherish. Her husband used his to punish, to hurt and to dominate. She much preferred Christien’s way.

When his tongue flicked out she didn’t press her lips together or struggle in panic as she’d done in the past. She opened her mouth wider and let him inside. He tasted of mead and mint leaves. His tongue caressed her, bold yet tender. She’d listened to the servants talk of such needs but never believed they truly enjoyed the act. Now she understood what they’d been speaking of.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, stealing kisses while her husband stood so near. She lost all sense of time, knew only the warm liquid pooling between her legs and the clenching of her stomach.

Eventually—too soon—Christien pulled away. Breathing heavily, he lowered his forehead until it rested against hers.

“What you do to me, chérie. Never have I felt this way.”

His words, mirroring her thoughts, brought tears to her eyes and she valiantly battled them back. They were alone in the garden. Her husband had finished his sport and the two left without Madelaine even knowing it. ’Twas foolish to lose herself like this when danger was so near. Her distraction could have easily cost Christien his life.

All the warmth and tenderness evaporated. She slid from beneath his strong embrace and grabbed his hand.

“You must go now, before he returns for me.”

“Madelaine—”

She pushed at his chest with all her might. “Go,” she whispered.

He looked at her long and hard, his silver eyes nearly glinting in the light of the moon. Her heart leapt in fear, pounded with urgency. When her husband didn’t find her inside, he would come looking and he would be angry.

“Please,” she implored. If anything happened to Christien, she would never forgive herself.

He touched her cheek, a tender expression crossing his face and darkening his eyes. “Do you fear more for me than yourself?”

She nodded mutely. Too scared to speak.

“Ah, my lady.” He closed his eyes as if in pain and when he opened them, sadness had lodged there. Sadness and regret. “I will go, but know you are always in my thoughts and what is between us is not finished.”

He pulled her close and kissed her quickly before he disappeared into the shadows.

Present Day

Lainie’s friend, Erica, leaned over the small outdoor café table, her fork in her hand and her eyes wide with happiness. “Peter and I decided to try to get pregnant.”

Lainie smiled. “Oh, Erica, how exciting. I’m happy for you.”

Erica sat back, still beaming. “I’ve wanted to for a long time but Peter never thought we were ready financially. I mean, who ever thinks they’re financially stable enough to have kids?”

On Tuesday morning, when Erica called Lainie and asked her to lunch, Lainie jumped at the opportunity. She liked the tiny, bubbly woman who worked in marketing and Lainie desperately needed friends in this new city. Erica’s effervescent personality was exactly what Lainie needed to take her mind off the past weekend.

She hadn’t seen nor talked to Christien since Sunday morning when he escorted her back to her apartment. She needed space and time to think about the bizarre circumstances.

She’d been afraid to tell him of the dreams, afraid he would think she was going insane. But the dream in the garden was too much. The woman’s terror had been overwhelming and insidious, burrowing inside her until it became her own terror. She’d never been so afraid and it was worse because it wasn’t her fear.

Confused, she’d wanted someone to talk to and Christien had been there. He loaned her his strength, held her until her body stopped trembling.

And because she’d been vulnerable, his gentle probing shattered the meager defenses she’d put in place. When the story spilled out of her in fits and starts, he didn’t look at her like she had a third eyeball in the middle of her head. In fact, it had been the opposite. He’d been shocked for sure, but there had been something else in his eyes. Up until then he’d kept her at a distance, but after she told him her story she sensed…a closeness to him that hadn’t been there before.

Except he thought she was reliving memories of a past life.

So now who was nuts?

Reincarnation? She’d immediately dismissed the concept. She didn’t believe in reincarnation. But the notion of a past life stuck with her, popping up at weird times. Was he right? Was this what the strange dreams were about?

“We’ll start trying in December,” Erica was saying.

“Why wait six months? Why not now?” Lainie brought her mind back to the present and took another bite of her Caesar salad. She glanced around at the other diners in the small outdoor café who were also enjoying the warm sun. Conversations ebbed and flowed, accompanied by the clink of cutlery and china. Normal. Everything was normal and it felt good to act normal for at least one hour out of the day.

Her gaze passed over a man sitting at a table across the street. Her gaze jumped back to him. He was nursing one of those expensive, designer coffees and leafing through a magazine. The bright sun glinted off his blond hair and turned his pale skin pink. Dressed like every other man in the area—in dress pants and a white button-down shirt—he didn’t seem out of the ordinary. On the contrary, he seemed very ordinary—a businessman enjoying lunch on a nice spring day. Even so, Lainie’s heart thumped hard. Something about him seemed familiar.

“Peter wants to pay off a few more bills,” Erica said, but Lainie barely heard.

He’s probably a guy who works and lives around here, just like you.

“Lainie? Are you all right?”

She turned back to Erica and pasted on a smile. “Of course. I thought I saw someone I recognized. So tell me about the baby. Are you going to keep working after it’s born?”

Erica shook her head. “Enough about me. What’s been going on with you?”

It was on the tip of Lainie’s tongue to tell her new friend nothing was going on in her life, yet she hesitated, wanting—needing—to share something of herself. To pretend this was a normal lunch between good friends. There it was again, that word normal. Would she ever feel normal again?

“I’ve sort of been seeing Christien Chevalier.”

Erica put her fork down with a loud clang and stared wide-eyed at Lainie for a moment. “You’re kidding, right? Chevalier? The guy who owns the nightclub?”

“Yes.”

“My God, Lainie. He’s…” Erica’s brow scrunched.

“Out of my league. I know.” She tried to tell him as much but he refused to listen. Sometimes—most of the time—she found it hard to believe Christien Chevalier was interested in her. But he’d as much as said it outside her apartment building Sunday morning when he claimed he would wait until she was ready for him.

She’d been trying so hard to give him an out, to make him understand she wasn’t going to be clingy or needy. Instead of taking the out, he’d stepped away from it and she’d lost her heart to him.

They were so different. He was rich. She was struggling to make ends meet. He’d been all over the world. She never made it out of Wisconsin. He was big-city sophistication and she was small-town rustic.

Yet the differences didn’t seem to bother him.

Erica shifted in her chair, preparing for a long talk. “So tell me. What’s he like? Have you slept with him?”

Lainie laughed. It felt good to laugh and shed her somber thoughts. “He’s very nice. Very thoughtful. A little…” She searched for the right word to describe Christien. “Chivalrous. And no, I haven’t slept with him.” She’d been surprised to wake up in his home, however. She remembered him leaving to take care of business and being so tired. The next thing she remembered was standing in the middle of the room and him holding her tightly while she cried, the remnants of the dream still terrifyingly close.

The dream. Madelaine and Christien in the garden, about to be caught by her husband. Even now Lainie shuddered at how close they had come to being discovered. It was almost like watching a soap opera on TV except it was so much more real and the intensity of the dreams was wearing her out.

She didn’t tell Erica about the dreams though, or running to Christien after seeing visions of herself dying. She hadn’t even told Christien about her visions of death and neither would she. He might say she wasn’t crazy, but she didn’t believe him. How could she when she thought she was crazy?

“But I have kissed him,” she said with a secret smile, her body warming at the memory of their kiss. It’d heated her blood until she was completely flushed. His arms around her made her feel safe. It’d been a long time since she felt safe. When he pulled away, he looked flustered, not an expression he wore easily.

“Yeah? So tell me what it’s like kissing Christien Chevalier?” Erica asked.

“It’s…” Like I’ve come home. Like I’ve been searching for something all my life but didn’t even know it until he showed up. “Nice.”

“Nice? Nice? By the look on your face I bet it was much better than nice.”

Lainie laughed and tried to put into words what kissing Christien was like. Except it wasn’t something easily explained. When he’d said “kiss me” she’d been tempted to throw everything away. To forget her responsibilities and be reckless for once in her life. He’d been so tempting and she’d been so tempted, but common sense prevailed and she walked away. She wasn’t sure how much longer her resistance would last. Her mind told her to stand strong. A relationship with this man would alter her life forever. Her heart said to grab what she could for the exact same reason. Either way, she knew she would never be the same again.

Do you feel it? he’d asked the other day. Do you feel what is between us?

She had felt it. This…connection…was the only word to describe what was between them, but even that didn’t come close. When she was with him, it felt right, like she’d been missing the other half of herself her entire life and had finally found it. It was as if she knew him, knew what made him tick, what he was thinking, what he liked and disliked.

Was he right? Had she known him in another life?

She shook her head and handed the waiter her credit card. Reincarnation only happened in the pages of books, not in real life. Lainie had to keep her head on her shoulders. Christien was wonderful and kind, but she had to stop him from distracting her. She had to think of her father and his needs and wants before her own.

While signing her receipt, she glimpsed the man from across the street out of the corner of her eye. He was still sitting at the table, his magazine forgotten, the corners of the pages lifting in the warm breeze. He sat back, relaxed, hands on a flat stomach, watching the women walk by. Their gazes locked, but his moved on almost immediately.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she’d never seen him before. Maybe this past weekend was getting to her, making her imagine things.

She and Erica walked back to the office with the larger-than-normal lunch crowd. The sidewalks were busy on this warm April day.

They paused at the corner to wait for the light to turn with a handful of people. Erica chattered about her weekend and the movie she and her husband had seen. Lainie turned to respond when suddenly she was shoved from behind. Her foot slipped off the curb. She cried out, catching a glimpse of a mini-van barreling down on them.

Tires squealed. Someone screamed. The driver of the van laid on the horn. Lainie’s shoulder slammed into the hood. The impact threw her backward. She landed on her side and slid across the road. The asphalt ate through her clothes. Her head hit the curb and everything went black.

Chapter Nine

France, 1307

Something inside Madelaine died the night Christien left her in the garden.

She’d walked back to her bedchamber and gone to bed a young girl. When dawn broke, the young girl was no more, replaced by a disillusioned woman who no longer believed in the hope that had once grown within her.

What is between us is not finished. His words were the comfort she sought and the hope she clung to that night. She naïvely believed he’d come for her and save her from the cruelty of her existence, but when she awoke the next morning she discovered Christien and his men had left soon after he’d walked away from her in the garden. He’d had no intention of coming for her.

She withdrew into herself, speaking when spoken to, carrying out the duties of a countess in a large, bustling castle, but she was a shell of herself.

In a way, she had Christien’s abandonment to thank for the change within her because deep inside, in the place she retreated to, she found the strength she’d been lacking.

Her husband’s threats meant little. What more could he do to her that he hadn’t done before?

When the count realized the hold he had over her was weakening, that his threats held no meaning, that he failed to reach the part of her where fear lived, he declared her ill. He called in a physician, forcing her to submit to a humiliating bodily inspection in front of him.

Instead of the mortification she would have felt weeks ago, she burned with an intense anger the likes of which she’d never experienced before. She used her anger to feed her strength, clinging to it like a person drowning, knowing if she let go, she would no longer exist.

She lifted her chin and stared at her husband, forcing all the coldness inside her to show through her eyes. He’d taken one look at her and winced, his black-eyed gaze unable to meet hers.

But it hadn’t taken long for her indifference to incite his fury.

“It seems, dear wife, the physician believes nothing is wrong with you. Physically.” He circled her, watching, waiting for her to show a chink in her armor, but she refused to give him what he was searching for.

She simply didn’t care anymore. If he killed her, ’twould be best. Her life had become an endless road of sorrow, fear and pain. To end it would be a blessing.

If Christien were going to save her from this, he would have done it long ago. The sad truth was she couldn’t count on him. She couldn’t count on anyone. She was on her own and in order to survive she had to become a different person. Not the naïve young girl who wrung her hands while waiting for someone to save her, but a woman who fought back.

She lifted her chin and looked her husband squarely in the bottomless pit of those black eyes and discovered something she should have seen a long time ago. Her husband had no soul. Those black eyes were merely the window to what lay inside him…nothing. With a shudder of fear—the first real fear she allowed herself to feel since her night in the garden—she realized a darkness encompassed him. Something sinister and evil.

His smile was cold and made his obsidian eyes gleam with anticipation. She’d seen that look many times before and it made her shiver inside.

“Brother Lucien believes you need help of a different sort.”

Her fear flared but she valiantly hid it.

His teeth flashed in an evil smile. “Of the religious sort.”

Dear God, no.

“I believe time spent with Brother Lucien will cure you of your affliction, no?”

She balled her hands in the folds of her skirts and took deep breaths to calm her racing heart.

The count circled her again. “Mayhap your ill humors come from the devil himself.”

She mashed her back teeth together. She was not the one with the evil inside her.

He put his finger to his chin, his hard gaze raking her from head to foot. “Yes. I believe that’s what is needed here. A little education from the good brother.” He laughed and sauntered out of the room.

Madelaine sagged against the cold, stone wall, fighting her tears. The protective barrier she’d erected over the past several weeks was not enough to stem the tidal wave of fear nearly buckling her knees. Mon Dieu, he was sending Brother Lucien to her.

She could only imagine what Brother Lucien’s “cure” would be. More than likely ’twas something far removed from an exorcism.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her mind flitted from one thought to another. She needed to escape. To run away before Brother Lucien came for her. But where to go? Her family? They would gladly take her in but they were so far away she had no hope of getting to them without help from some quarter. She buried her face in her hands and for the first time since learning Christien had left she allowed herself to cry. But the tears didn’t last long. Tears hadn’t helped in the past and wouldn’t help now. What she needed was action. A plan of escape.

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 pillow. 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.

It had taken decades to move through the grief of losing her and centuries more to go a full day without thinking of her. He tried to convince himself she couldn’t possibly be the Madelaine he loved and lost. A figment of his imagination. A hope. A dream. But certainly not real.

Ever since their conversation on Sunday, he knew she was very much real and was the same woman he’d loved. These days apart from her felt as if someone reached down his throat and squeezed his heart.

That she did not remember him tore at his soul. That she refused to believe him was like dying a thousand deaths.

He looked into her eyes, frustration and anger at the injustice of it all churning inside him. He’d loved her with all his heart, all his soul, with every fiber of his being and she didn’t remember it.

He stood. Her fingers slid against his bare arm and away from him. The anger swelled, more forceful this time, and directed at her. Centuries ago they’d been forbidden to each other—because he was a lowly knight and she a countess. They’d loved deeply, but had not been allowed their love. Doomed to never live together, to never celebrate their feelings publicly they’d nurtured their love in the only way they were able. Secretly.

When he looked into those cinnamon-colored eyes, he saw the memories pushing to be released and her desperate struggle to contain them. If she would just open up and let the memories come, she would understand what this connection was between them. She’d know.

And that’s all Christien wanted, for her to remember him. Because he was living in hell, knowing she’d come back to him but unable to push past her defenses to unlock her memories.

“We met on April fourteenth, in the year of our Lord 1307. You were sitting next to your husband, Count Flandres, when I first saw you from across the hall. You watched me from beneath your lashes.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth went slack. She was pale before but now she was positively gray. Don’t do this to her. But for once he ignored his gut.

“You know this because I told you about the dream. This doesn’t prove anything,” she whispered.

Christien ignored her, his anger taking over his good sense.

“I saw your fear of him, especially when he approached us.”

Tears pooled in her eyes but still he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He needed her to remember. “Even though you experienced his wrath that night, you still came to the keep the next morning to see us off. You hid in the shadows, but I knew you were there. Even then we had this connection.”

She pressed a fist to her mouth, the tears rolling over her knuckles. This part she hadn’t told him and they both knew it.

“Rest assured, my lady, I was as drawn to you as you were to me. Certainly a mad choice on both our parts, but you couldn’t stay away and neither could I.”

“Please,” she whispered around her fist. “Please, stop.”

Her plea didn’t penetrate his anger. Nothing could at this point.

“Do you believe me now, Madelaine?”

“How do you know this? How do you know what I’ve been dreaming?”

“Because they’re not dreams, Madelaine. They’re memories of our life together.”

“Stop this!” Her cry echoed through the quiet hospital room. “They’re not memories. They’re dreams. Caused by stress.”

He looked down at her. Unable to resist, he touched her cheek, her jaw, the hollow at the base of her throat where her necklace had once lain. “Do you always feel a lover’s touch in your dreams?”

She jerked back, hissing in pain. “Enough. What you’re saying can’t happen.”

“It is happening,” he said softly. “But you continue to deny it. We were in love, Madelaine.”

“We weren’t! They were!” Her breathing was erratic, the fear coming off her in waves, but it was the look in her eyes that stopped him short. Fear he could handle. Fear he could assuage. He would slay her demons for her, travel to hell and back if it would make her happy. But fear of him made him sick inside.

“I’m not mad,” he said softly.

“I didn’t say you were.”

He raised a brow. “No? You were certainly thinking it.”

“What? You can read minds as well as know a person’s dreams?”

He shook his head sadly. “No, Madelaine. I know you.”

Chapter Ten

After their conversation in the hospital room, Christien said very little to Lainie over the next twenty-four hours. He quickly and efficiently handled her nurses and doctors and before she knew it, they were ensconced in a limousine and on their way to the club. He never asked her where she wanted to go. He just swooped her up and took her with him.

She didn’t argue, much to her disgust. At first she blamed her acquiescence on the pain. But in the end, she decided it was time to stop lying to herself. She didn’t argue because she didn’t want to be alone.

And she decided to be honest about one other thing, as well. Maybe her dreams weren’t all about stress. Maybe they were about something else.

She replayed the conversation in the hospital room and the same questions kept popping up. How did he know so many details about the dreams? Dreams she’d never told him about.

Did he have the same dreams? Did he know about her before they even met?

What if they had lived another life together? What did that mean?

And there were other thoughts, darker thoughts she kept avoiding but knew she couldn’t avoid any longer.

Why was she pushed into oncoming traffic? And why did Christien think he was responsible?

You are my Achilles heel, Madelaine.

His statement shocked her. Could it have happened so fast? And yet, didn’t she feel the same about him? How many times had she been tempted to forget everything—her job, the mounting debt and the crushing responsibility to her father—to be with Christien?

The man confused her and that was precisely why she needed to find out more about him. She needed a plan to protect herself against him.

Do you really need protecting from Christien?

Yes, but not the physical kind. She didn’t fear that he would hurt her. Her fear stemmed from the emotional damage. Already she was falling in love with him and it scared her. Did he feel the same? And if he did could she trust that his love was genuine and not for the woman of her dreams?

And, let’s be honest, how much of her love was tied to the dark knight in her dreams?

This was such a mess. When they were together it was like four people were in the room instead of two and the emotions were jumbled between all of them. She had no doubt Madelaine and Christien loved with a rare intensity, but what of the Lainie and Christien of modern times? How did their feelings fit into all of this?

She pounded her fist into the bed Christien had deposited her in when they reached his apartment. Why couldn’t anything be simple? Why did it seem that lately everything she touched turned into the biggest complication? She couldn’t meet a nice man who made a good living and liked her for her. No, she had to find a man who believed they were the reincarnation of another couple from centuries ago.

And the fact remained she knew little about him except for what she read on the internet, which was scarce and sketchy. Not one article mentioned his childhood except to say he grew up in France and his parents were dead. He graduated from Cambridge University with a degree in finance and in the early nineties moved to the United States where he quickly rose to become one of the richest men in the nation. He was known for his uncanny ability to refurbish large sections of cities, taking what had once been rundown, drug-infested gang hangouts to bustling business and entertainment complexes. Milwaukee was merely one of many examples.

He was a confirmed bachelor who dated but never exclusively and from the vague information she’d been able to glean from the internet, he never stayed with a woman longer than two or three dates.

All of that was interesting and information Lainie filed away in her memory but it didn’t tell her anything about the man. What made him tick? Why did he prefer to lead the life of a loner? What was his life like before he entered Cambridge University?

Only one way to find out. She had to snoop.

Slowly she slid off the sumptuous bed. He’d given her the same extravagant bedroom he’d given her Saturday night. She’d been relieved he didn’t expect her to share his bed. At the moment, her emotions were out of control and she didn’t trust herself to make the right decision when it came to Christien Chevalier. When she was near him, he was everything she wanted, but when they were apart, he scared her. Or more specifically, her emotions concerning him scared her.

She quietly padded down the hall, her feet sinking into the deep plush carpet. She stuck to her rule of no pain medication and after a full day in the hospital the pain had eased, but not altogether. The nurses said each day would be better than the last and so far they were right. She was still stiff, but her head didn’t hurt as much. If she didn’t move her shoulder, the pain was manageable.

Christien’s home was quiet. The nightclub wouldn’t open for a few more hours, but he assured her she wouldn’t hear it from her room. She didn’t doubt it. Christien had managed to create an oasis amidst the chaos of his life. A retreat that held the outside world at bay. She envied him this solitude and wished she was able to forget her responsibilities for one night.

Sabine was somewhere in the building, her number programmed into Lainie’s phone in case she needed anything, but she had no plans to call Sabine. Christien left not long after making sure she was settled in, claiming he had things to take care of, but would be back in a few hours. She had time to do what needed to be done.

Breath held, she slowly pushed open the door to his bedroom, guilt churning in her stomach for what she was about to do. But guilt didn’t stop her from stepping in or turning in a circle, her mouth open in awe. His decorator was truly talented. When she first saw his living quarters the other night she’d been taken aback by the heavy wood furniture and rich colors, but the more she got to know Christien the more she realized this was more like him. Not the stark simplicity of his office space, but this Old World charm that reminded her of an era long gone. A few touches of the modern world intruded, like the expensive sound system continually playing soothing jazz and the flat-screen television in each bedroom. Even the electrical lighting seemed like an invasion.

The largest canopy bed she’d ever seen dominated the room. Made of intricately carved mahogany, it boasted four posters standing at least seven feet tall, but that wasn’t what amazed her. What amazed her were the heavy velvet curtains tied to each poster and the matching midnight-blue bedspread made of the same velvet. Who had a velvet bedspread?

Tentatively she reached out and stroked the fabric, closing her eyes in ecstasy at the sumptuousness of the soft velvet. What would it feel like to lie naked on such a bed with the curtains pulled tight against the world?

The thought had her yanking her hand back. She had no business daydreaming of lying naked in Christien’s bed. Those thoughts only led to trouble.

Her guilt ratcheted up a few notches when she pulled open dresser drawers and riffled through them. His clothes were almost as much of a delight to touch as the bed. Christien Chevalier didn’t believe in synthetic fibers. He liked real cotton, slippery silk, superfine linen and smooth-as-butter leather. He liked cashmere sweaters, wool trousers and satin sheets.

Satin sheets with velvet bedspreads. She shook her head and turned her attention to the closet.

But neither the closet nor the dresser provided any more insight into the mind of Christien Chevalier.

Her feet took her to a large—everything in this room was large—bookcase stuffed with well-used books. Not the kind you bought in a shop by the dozen to make it look like you were a reader. These had been read and reread. Lainie tilted her head, perusing the titles, surprised to find nonfiction titles like A History of the End of the World, Exposition of the Book of Revelation, and A Reader’s Guide to the Book of Revelation. In fact, every book on the shelves had something to do with the Book of Revelation.

Lainie had been raised in a religious household. Her parents were devout Catholics. Not the Bible-thumping type, but they believed in going to church every Sunday and made sure Lainie was educated in the faith. So Lainie knew about the Book of Revelation and the prophecy of the end of the world. She didn’t remember exactly what the book was about, other than it had to do with the seven seals and the four horsemen.

Why would Christien be interested in the last book of the Bible to the point that was all he read?

She pulled a title down, the binding worn, the pages leafed through many times. She read words like apocalypse, the second coming of Christ, seven trumpets and seven bowls. She put the book back and was running her finger down the spines of others when her gaze landed on a wooden trunk tucked into the corner of the room, overshadowed by the large bookcase.

The trunk was old, cracked, the hinges made of some sort of metal, but they weren’t rusted. In fact they were well-oiled because they didn’t make a sound when she lifted the heavy lid.

Lainie sank to her knees, wincing when her bruised hip bumped the trunk, and peered inside. She carefully lifted out more clothing and put them aside. She let her hand rest on them, as if they carried the essence of Christien in them. Like all the other clothes, they were made of natural fibers, but instead of the tailored garments she found in his dresser and closet, these were roughly made, hand sewn with large stitches and rough thread. The colors were dull, the white more of an ecru, the reds more of an orange.

Reaching back into the trunk she accidentally knocked the pile over. Cursing under her breath, she scooped them up and was about to refold them when her eyes fell on a blue dress.

Using the trunk for leverage, Lainie stood and held the dress up.

At one time it had probably been a vibrant blue, but had faded to a dull purple. It was simply cut with no ornamentation. Hand sewn but sewn better than the others in the pile. When she held it up to her, it reached past her toes and trailed on the ground.

Something flashed through her mind, a memory there then gone.

Christien hated leaving Madelaine alone, but was damned if he would put off this visit any longer. His tightly held fury was fraying and he had every intention of taking it out on someone.

He strode through the front doors of Lucheux Limited, bypassing the reception desk and ignoring the receptionist who stood in surprise.

“Excuse me, sir. Sir!”

He punched the button for the elevator as she lifted her phone and spoke into it rapidly. Good. Let her call security. He was itching for a fight. It’d been a long time since he had one.

Damn modern times.

In the old days rivals fought it out with battle axes. Later they dueled. The prohibition of dueling led to the softness of modern man, in his opinion. Nowadays people wanted to talk things out.

He snorted.

Talk was the last thing he wanted to do, but because these were modern times he would try it first. If talking didn’t work he would resort to the old way.

The elevator arrived and he stepped in. The door slid closed just as building security entered the reception area. He grinned, his muscles twitching. Too bad he didn’t have his sword at his side or a dagger in his belt.

The grin faded fast when he thought of Madelaine and his near terror when he received the call that she’d been hit by a car, or his fury when she told him she’d been pushed. His hands closed into fists and he had to breathe through clenched teeth.

He was not going to lose her so soon after finding her again. He’d do what it took to protect her even if it meant he had to put her under lock and key. Thank God she hadn’t argued about coming home with him. Modern woman or no, he would have thrown her over his shoulder and carried her away which wouldn’t have endeared him to her, but he didn’t care. Better alive and mad as a wet cat than dead.

The elevators opened to another desk with another woman behind it. She looked up at him, her mouth opened in an O of surprise.

“Where is Etienne Lucheux?”

Her hand inched toward the phone. Christien slammed his hand over it and leaned forward. “Tell me where he is.”

She snatched her arm back. Her eyes darted to the left.

“Thank you.”

He pushed Lucheux’s office door open with the force of only part of his anger. Lucheux’s head jerked up. Giselle, standing at the side of the desk, jumped.

Christien closed the door quietly. “Call your pitiful security force and tell them to leave us alone.”

“What are you doing here?” Giselle spit out.

Christien had never liked Giselle, finding her too driven for her own good. She tended to act before thinking, to grasp what wasn’t hers and to demand when she was undeserving.

“Call them,” Christien said to Lucheux.

With a nonchalant shrug, Lucheux picked up the phone, dialed and spoke quietly into it. When he hung up Christien approached the desk, placed his hands on it and leaned forward.

Giselle moved closer. Christien swung his head toward her and narrowed his eyes. “Not another step.”

She stepped back, the twisted expression on her face telling him how much she hated him. It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know.

He turned back to Lucheux. “Whatever game you’re playing, I want it stopped.”

Lucheux leaned back, his expression shrewd, appraising. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Christien pushed away from the desk. “I’m talking about Madelaine Alexander. I know your intentions.” He looked at Giselle, her face curiously expressionless. “And they won’t work. However, since you sent Ms. Alexander to me and she is an innocent in this, she is now under my protection.”

“I assure you, Chevalier, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Christien eyed his nemesis, searching for deceit in him. While it was coming off Giselle in waves, he was unable get a good read on Lucheux. “She was hit by a car yesterday.”

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 cheeks. 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.

“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.”

“What happened today?”

“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 closet 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.

Looking for what? Proof of what he tried to tell her? There wasn’t any better proof than her own gown. But would it be enough?

He closed the lid and stood, suddenly needing to see her, to touch her, to know she lived, that she was real and not a figment of his imagination.

He made his way to her bedroom and knelt beside the bed. Her face was beyond pale with dark circles beneath her eyes and a bruise on her chin. Her cheeks were wet with tears. Behind closed lids, her eyes moved back and forth. Once again she was immersed in her dreams. Silently he cursed. As much as he wanted her to remember, sometimes he thought it best if she remembered nothing at all. This trickle of memories was tearing her apart and in turn tearing him apart.

“Ah, Madelaine,” he whispered, tortured to see her crying in her sleep yet afraid to bring her out of it. Would it be best to let her remember through her dreams or wake her before the memory was complete?

She cried out softly. At first Christien thought she was in pain but quickly realized it wasn’t the physical kind. What was she remembering? What painful memory had her mind dredged up? There were so many bad memories and so few good ones. He wished it had been the other way around.

He stood, kicked off his shoes and stripped to his boxers. He lifted the covers and carefully crawled into bed. Immediately Madelaine curled her warm body around his, snaked her arm across his chest and laid her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and squeezed his eyes shut, but knew the sleep he desperately needed wouldn’t come. That the memories Madelaine was experiencing and the memories released when he opened the trunk would haunt him until he slipped from her bed in the early morning dawn before she awoke.

“What are you doing?”

Lainie jumped and twirled around, her hand going to her suddenly racing heart. “Christien. You scared me to death.”

He glanced at the folded clothes on the bed. “What are you doing?”

“Getting my clothes together.”

“Why?”

She hesitated, distracted by the way he was leaning against the doorframe, a frown marring his brow. Christien in a designer suit was magnificent. In well-worn jeans molding his perfectly formed thighs and a black T-shirt stretching across an impressively muscled chest, he was…scrumptious. She had to squash the urge to run her hand through his mussed hair and across cheeks shadowed by a day’s worth of beard. What this man did to her should be illegal.

This reaction scared her the most, the intense relief when she saw him after being away from him for even the smallest amount of time. It wasn’t natural to feel that way for a person you barely knew.

“Why what?” she asked, stalling.

He scowled and crossed his arms, not stepping any farther into her room. Since coming to his home five days ago he’d been like this, remote, yet attentive. Seeing to her every need, but keeping his distance. She was hurt by his attitude, yet understood it because she felt the same way. Words were left unspoken, conversations avoided that needed to be said, but neither of them had the guts to broach the subject. Things between them were up in the air and both were left wondering what the next step should be.

If this were a normal relationship, Lainie would demand they sit down and talk, but this was far from normal and she had no idea how to proceed. The conversation from the night in her hospital room went round and round in her head and the more she stewed on it, the more confused she became. He knew things no other person knew. Things she dreamt of. He claimed they were lovers in a past life, but how was that possible? Did things like that happen? Was there more than heaven and hell at the end of it all?

Did God really give people a do-over?

They should talk, yet she shied away from broaching any discussion. He ran a popular nightclub and conducted business throughout the world. He was gone more often than not. The opportunity for discussion was limited.

She purposely didn’t mention the dress she’d found in the trunk. How do you broach something like that?

By the way, Christien, I was snooping through your things the other day and found a trunk with very old clothes in them. What’s that all about?

Not hardly.

Yet she couldn’t stop thinking of the clothing. She’d even gone so far as to use his computer to research the garments and discovered the design of the dress was from the early fourteenth century.

The same time period her dreams took place.

She also learned the sword hanging above the fireplace was from the fourteenth century, as well. Was it the same sword hanging at her dream man’s side? Was this yet more proof he was right? That maybe they did know each other in a different time?

“Madelaine?”

She sighed and looked him in the eye, refusing to lie to him. “I can’t stay here forever.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, Christien, I can’t. I have a life to get back to. I have a job I can’t lose.”

His scowl deepened. “Lucheux said—”

“I know what Mr. Lucheux said, but I can’t take advantage of him. At some point I need to go back.”

He uncrossed his arms. His jaw flexed. “When are you leaving?”

“Tonight.”

“So soon.”

“You had to have known.”

He looked away. “I don’t like you going back out there when someone tried to hurt you.”

She didn’t either, but she refused to cower. “I can’t stay locked away forever.”

His look told her he thought hiding away forever was a very good idea.

“The police are looking into it,” she added.

He scoffed.

“You can’t protect me from everything. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe someone bumped into me and being a klutz I lost my balance.”

“You said you were pushed.”

Lainie ran her hands through her hair in exasperation. She’d thought a lot about that moment on the curb. She had believed she was pushed, but what if she was wrong?

“The police talked to all the witnesses. No one saw anyone push me nor did they see the blond guy. What are you going to do, keep me here forever?”

His gaze snapped back to hers, and she realized in his long look that he’d considered the option.

“I can’t live my life in fear and I can’t stay up here hiding from the rest of the world.”

What she didn’t tell him was she needed room to think. It was so hard to think in his home, with his presence all around her and with her ears attuned to his every movement. The dreams were becoming more and more disturbing, haunting her in the middle of the night. Almost every morning she woke to a wet pillow where she’d cried in her sleep, desperately afraid for Madelaine’s safety. The people in her dreams were as real to her as the people she saw on the streets and it worried her. She was losing touch with reality. Returning to work, to her apartment and bills and obligations, would bring her back to reality faster than anything else.

She needed to leave to keep her sanity.

“Stay one more night.”

“Christien.” She sighed his name, frustrated.

“Spend the night with me.”

She froze. The bottom dropped out of her stomach and she blinked several times. “What do you mean?”

“I think you know.”

“I don’t know.” She was afraid to hope. Afraid she was reading too much into this.

“I want you to stay the night with me. To be with me.”

She wanted to stay so badly she ached with it, but still she held back. Why now? Why did he come to her now, as she was getting ready to leave when for the past four nights he’d carefully kept his distance? Her old fears resurfaced. Doubts, misgivings. Things they needed to discuss before they took such an important step.

“Does this have anything to do with the other Madelaine? The one in my dreams?” When he didn’t answer she had to look away, the pain nearly unbearable. “I see.”

“I don’t think you do.”

She pressed her lips together to keep her chin from trembling. He didn’t want her, Madelaine Alexander from a small farming town in Wisconsin. He wanted Madelaine, the Countess of Flandres.

“When you look at me, Christien, what do you see?”

She’d purposely worded her question the same way the other Madelaine had to test him, to see if he really did know the details of her dreams. He flinched as if she’d slapped him and his face paled. He knew. More proof. It was as if the final puzzle piece fell into place. Her last question had been answered. No way could he have known about their conversation in her dream unless he truly was the knight in her dreams. She put her hand on the bedpost to steady her trembling legs.

The gown she’d discovered in his room, the details of dreams she’d never told him, the sword. The dreams themselves. Everything pointed to the same thing.

Christien took a step forward, his shock turning to concern. “Madelaine?”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

His brows came together. “What’s true?”

She swallowed a lump in her throat, her mind moving so fast she couldn’t keep up with her thoughts. “You and I. We did know each other all those centuries ago.”

She clutched the post tighter as the world narrowed to Christien. Everything else became unfocused, unnecessary.

“Yes.” He watched her closely, a worried frown creasing his brow.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. This isn’t happening. For a brief moment she wished she’d never accepted Giselle’s job offer and never met Christien. But the thought quickly passed, leaving guilt in its place. Would she have wanted to live the rest of her life without knowing him?

No. Emphatically, definitely, absolutely no. He frustrated her and bewildered her, but deep in her heart she knew she’d been searching for him her entire life. Maybe even longer.

If God had given her a do-over, she would gladly do it all over.

“Do you…” She licked her lips. “Do you dream of her?”

A pained look crossed his face. “Constantly.”

“When did you realize I was…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence because it was still so strange that she shared a past with another woman. But it wasn’t another woman, was it? It was her.

“Since the moment I saw that cretin pawing you on my dance floor.” His voice had a hard edge to it and his face became like stone. He’d been angry that night, but she’d assumed it was because the man was harassing a guest.

His reaction to her in his office made sense now, as well. He must have been reeling upon seeing her standing there.

“When did your dreams start?” she asked.

He approached her slowly until he was standing in front of her, a look of wonder and awe on his face. He’d had the same look the next day when she returned for the papers. He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “You have always been in my mind, Madelaine. Always.”

She swallowed, her insides trembling at the fierce love glowing from his eyes. Yet she was still uncertain. Was his love for a woman he’d been dreaming of or for her? Was his offer to make love for Lainie or for a woman he’d never met in this lifetime?

And what of her feelings? They were so intricately tied to the couple in her dreams she didn’t even know where her true feelings for Christien began and where her feelings for the man in the dream ended. The two were the same, yet different.

He certainly looked like the Christien in her dreams and he acted like him, as well. But he wasn’t the same as the dark-haired knight. The man in her dreams had been filled with idealism and a hunger for adventure. He believed he was invincible and could save the world.

The man before her was cynical, weary, guarded. Lonely.

“When you look at me, do you see her?” she asked. “Or do you see me?”

“Don’t do this, ma chérie.”

“I have to,” she whispered. “I have to know.”

“Does it matter?”

Did it matter? She felt the same emotions Madelaine of Flandres felt. She lived Madelaine’s life, her terror, her joy when Christien appeared and her anger at the circumstances beyond her control. Like the two Christiens, the two Madelaines were the same, yet different. Lainie had been forged in modern times, taught to fend for herself, to fight for what was right. Madelaine was a victim of the brutal times she lived in and those circumstances made them vastly different people.

Did it matter that Christien came to her but saw the other Madelaine?

“At first I was drawn to you because you looked like her,” he said. “I thought God, or someone, was playing a cruel trick on me and I was angry. For so long you had been in my mind then suddenly you were in front of me. Flesh and blood. And you didn’t know. That’s what hurt the most. You had no idea what we had been to each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

His hand reached out to her then dropped to his side. “You look like her. So much that it stops my breath every time I see you, but there is a strength in you that Madelaine lacked. I loved her.” His tone was so heavy with sadness it made her insides clench. “I grieve for her every day, but ’tis you I want, Lainie.”

Tears pushed against the back of her eyes. She couldn’t blink fast enough to keep them at bay. They rolled down her cheeks and soaked into her shirt. She wanted to believe him. Oh, how she wanted to believe him. The desolation in his expression, the grief and despair physically hurt her.

“Do you not want me, Lainie?”

A sob caught in her throat and she swallowed. Yes, she wanted him. More than she’d wanted anything in her life.

“Do you believe I am the man in your dreams?”

“I think it’s more complicated than that.” Christien possessed depths she couldn’t even begin to touch. Layers that held secrets. She sensed much more to the story of Christien Chevalier. More than a man who dreamt of a woman and fell in love with her. Why did he have clothes dating from that time period? And what about the books on his shelves?

“Who are you really?”

He held his arms out to his sides. “I am but a man who has lived long and seen much. I’ve known joy and despair, love and heartache, peace and war. I’ve been to hell and back and lived to tell about it. I can’t promise that when I look at you I don’t see her. I can promise that if you allow me I will protect you with all the resources at hand. I will cherish you, respect you and honor you.”

Her tears came faster, but through them she managed to laugh. “You better watch it. Those almost sound like wedding vows.”

His expression never wavered. “They are vows. Mayhap not wedding vows, but vows nonetheless.” He peeled her hand from the bedpost and took it in his. “When I am away from you, I despair and when I am near you I am happy. Stay with me.”

How could she deny him when he’d already given her so much? And did she want to deny him? Did she want to deny herself? Something between them went far deeper than a past life. She had a feeling they were meant to be together in this life. Maybe to finish what they started. Or maybe it was something else.

“I don’t know why we were brought together again, Christien. All I know is that what is between us is important. But you need to understand I am not that Madelaine. I have my own life and serious responsibilities. I have a job I need to keep so I can pay my father’s medical expenses.” She touched his cheek, feathering her fingers over the rough stubble of his jaw. “I can’t stay here forever, locked away from the real world. I have to go back to my life.”

Something flashed in his eyes, quickly gone before she could decide what it was. “What are you trying to say? Speak plainly.”

She smiled at her warrior, a man more prone to action than words though the words that came from him were beautiful. “I’m saying I would be honored to spend the night with you, but I’m still going back to work tomorrow.”

He kissed her knuckles. “You can’t get any plainer than that.” For the first time in days, he smiled and it stole Lainie’s breath. He was such a beautiful man. A good man. Could she really be so lucky to have known him in two lives? “But I have a few provisions.”

“Uh oh.”

He smiled again.

She wanted to keep him smiling. To make him laugh because she feared he didn’t laugh often enough.

“I understand your need to return to work even though I don’t agree with it.”

She opened her mouth but he put a finger over her lips.

“Let me finish, mon couer.”

She pressed her lips together and he withdrew his finger, but not before he brushed the pad of it along her lip, causing her stomach to clench.

“I’m still concerned for your safety, so I am putting a guard on you.”

“That is so unnecessary. This is the twenty-first century, Christien. I’ll be fine.”

“I lost you once, Madelaine, I won’t lose you again. Humor me. You won’t see him, I promise.”

She pictured the bouncer who wouldn’t let her in the first night glued to her side. That would go over real well with Giselle.

“No one will see him?”

“Non. He will be very discreet.”

“He can’t go into my office building.”

When he opened his mouth to object, Lainie put her finger over it, mirroring his actions. “That’s nonnegotiable.” She pulled her finger away, but not before she caressed his soft lips. His eyes darkened to a stormy gray.

He captured her trailing hand and kissed the tips of her fingers, his tongue flicking out to pull her finger in his mouth. Those silver eyes, now churning with desire, studied her as he sucked her finger, his mouth closing around it, surrounding it in his heat. She pulled in a breath, her insides turning to liquid, warmth pooling between her legs. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the scrape of his tongue against her skin. A low moan vibrated through her hand.

She whispered his name, a benediction, a plea. Good thing she was sitting down because her legs wouldn’t be able to hold her.

The more he sucked on her finger, the weaker she got.

She swallowed, amazed at what he did with just her finger. She could only imagine what would happen if she let him loose on her whole body.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled her finger out, licking the tip. A sensuous smile touched his mouth.

He swooped her up in his arms, carrying her effortlessly out of her room.

“Um. Where are we going?”

“I want you in my bed.”

She shivered at the thought of the decadent velvet bedspread and the draperies hanging from the bedposts.

“Can we close the bed curtains?”

He pulled back to look at her and she shrugged. “I’ve been fantasizing about making love to you in your bed with the draperies closing out the world,” she said.

He groaned. “Good God, woman.”

She laughed and was unceremoniously dumped on his bed. She ran her hands over the velvety softness of the spread and looked up at Christien as he untied the bed hangings from each of the posts, then crawled in beside her, closing the rest of the world off.

“Ah, Madelaine, what you do to me.” He placed an elbow on either side of her head and looked down on her. “You cannot imagine all of the nights I have lain here, aching for you.”

She ran her hands up his arm. “Why didn’t you ask me to join you?”

“Because I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” She couldn’t imagine Christien ever being afraid of anything. Especially of her.

He dipped his head and nuzzled the spot below her ear, making her squirm and her belly tighten.

“I was afraid to hurt you even more. You were so bruised when you first arrived.”

She brushed his hair away from his forehead. “I would have come if you had called. I lay in bed listening to you pace your room night after night, wondering what was wrong with me that you didn’t come to me.”

“Then we are both fools.”

“But not anymore.”

“Nay. Not anymore.”

“Make love to me, Christien.”

Christien sighed and closed his eyes. For so long he lived with the regret of not bedding her seven centuries ago. All these years he cursed and damned his chivalry, living with the knowledge that he would never have what he truly wanted. Even now he wouldn’t let his mind believe it, fearing it would all be taken away from him in the blink of an eye.

Everything she accused him of was true. He wanted to lock her away, to keep her in his quarters forever. Protecting her was merely part of the reason. Deep down, he was selfish, wanting her only for himself without the distractions of her job or his. He wanted to know she would always be here, waiting for him. His to hold and make love to.

The practical side of him knew that was impossible. In this day you couldn’t keep a person locked away no matter what the reason and to do so would drive her from him. ’Twas why he allowed her to return to work on the morrow. Though allowed probably wasn’t the right word. He’d accepted the inevitable. Madelaine wouldn’t turn her back on her responsibilities to her father or to Lucheux. It made him proud of her in a twisted sort of way. Although it ate at him like acid that she felt obligated to a cur like Etienne Lucheux.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him down so their lips met. Letting loose the full force of his desire, he devoured her mouth in the most carnal, exquisite kiss he had ever experienced. ’Twas nothing like he had ever felt in all his long years and ’twould be like no other to come.

Her glorious dark hair spread out beneath her, a veil slithering across the dark blue of his bedding. He still didn’t know why she returned to him or what role she would play in the future when it came to the treasure. At this point it mattered not. All that mattered was she would finally be his in all ways and he would never again let her go.

His hands trailed from her throat to her breasts, his gaze helpless but to follow the movement. His ragged breaths caught in his throat. If he didn’t have her this night he would surely die.

She arched her back, lifting her breasts to him. As an offering? A gift? Mon Dieu, he didn’t care. He slowly unbuttoned her shirt, and unhooked the front closure of her brassiere, revealing the most perfect pair of breasts he’d ever had the luxury of laying eyes upon.

“Magnifique,” he murmured.

She cried out when his wet mouth touched her breast, and anchored his head to her. ’Twasn’t as if he had any desire to move anyway.

His member ached. He had never been so hard or ready so fast in his life. He tamped down on the craving to take her hard and fast. To brand her so she would always be his. They had all night and as far as he was concerned, the rest of her life. No need to hurry. Although his body rebelled at the thought. He unsnapped her jeans and pushed them off her hips and down her legs. Her moans were torture for his aching body. So much so he feared he would embarrass himself and spill his seed without even a touch from her. But he held tight and willed himself away from the brink as he touched the moist curls at the juncture of her thighs.

She stilled and her breathing stopped momentarily. Christien continued his explorations, continued his suckling of first one breast before moving to the other until slowly, bit by bit, her thighs relaxed beneath him and fell apart.

“Christien.”

He pulled away from her nipple and stared down at the glistening breast, wet from his open-mouthed kisses. “What, my love? Tell me what you want.”

“Nothing. Just Christien.”

He smiled, the primitive part of him he kept closed off relishing the fact he’d addled her mind.

Her head fell to the side and her eyes drifted closed. Her breathing was harsh and uneven, the color in her face high. He touched the button hidden by her folds and she cried out, her hips coming off the bed. She clenched handfuls of the duvet as she bucked against his hand. He rubbed first with one finger, then two as she whimpered, her legs restlessly opening and closing. He watched her face, enthralled by the expressions crossing it, especially when he slid a third finger inside her. He nearly came undone when her body opened up for him, the tight muscles contracting around him. He moaned. His hips pumped against the bed as the pressure inside him built to a frenzied need.

Her breathing changed and her eyes flew open. “Chris—”

“Let it go, my love.”

“I can’t…” She was panting, holding herself back. He applied more pressure. “I want you inside me.”

He smiled, not letting up even though her head was whipping back and forth. What sort of lovers had she had in the past who only gave her one orgasm? The thought of other lovers had the warrior in him rising, the jealousy all-consuming until he shoved it away. It mattered not who came before him, only that he was her last and only lover from now until God took her from him again.

She cried out and he pushed his finger up inside her, feeling the first contractions of her passageway. She bore down, a keening cry ripped from inside her and the contractions gave way to fierce spasms. Her knees locked and her toes curled and still she kept crying out, the spasms coming faster and harder. He continued to apply more pressure, forcing her toward another completion.

Her eyes shot open, unfocused, amazed. ’Twas obvious she had never found completion twice in a row. He was glad he was the first to give her that at least.

He kept it up, pulling back when she was on the brink of another then letting it build again until his fingers cramped, and still he would not relent. He was mesmerized, enthralled, spellbound watching her. His member was heavy and aching, the pressure nearly unbearable, the need to be inside her driving him wild.

When he was on the very edge of his control, he withdrew his fingers, unbuckled his belt and lowered his zipper. He shoved his pants down, boxers and all and entered her. She was so wet he slid right in with nary a problem. Her wetness dripped out of her, coating his bollocks. He paused and hung his head, willing her not to move. One more thrust and he would lose it and that was the last thing he wanted. The first time he made love to her, he wanted it to last.

He groaned. Mon Dieu, she was everything he had ever wished for. He grazed her neck with his teeth, tasting the sweetness of her skin and the saltiness of her sweat.

She touched his cheek and he opened his eyes to see her looking up at him, love shining from the amber depths. He’d pushed her hard. Sweat gleamed on her brow, her skin flushed a rosy hue and her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took. She was glorious. More than he’d ever hoped for. A miracle.

Her smile was mischievous as she contracted her inner muscles, squeezing him.

“Minx,” he growled.

“What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t want this to end.”

Her expression softened. Her fingers feathered across his face. “There will be many more times. I promise.”

He blinked against the sudden pressure behind his eyes, still afraid she’d be taken from him as swiftly as she’d arrived.

She rose up and kissed him, breaking the dam of his resistance.

His hips pistoned against hers, his movements almost frenzied. Miraculously she came undone again. She threw her head back. A keening cry ripped from her and she met each of his thrusts with her own, burying him deeper into her than he ever thought he could go.

Suddenly her muscles clamped down and his seed shot out of him. He yelled and arched his back.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, riding her waves of pleasure and he was hopeless, trapped. His seed surged out of him, shooting deep inside her and he could do nothing but hold her, riding it out.

Chapter Thirteen

Breathing hard, Christien rolled off Madelaine and gathered her to his side. His pride noted she was just as breathless as he was.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She huffed out a laugh. “Hardly.”

When he didn’t respond, she turned her head to look at him. “I’m fine, Christien. No aches and pains. Well—” she grinned, “—maybe the usual aches and pains, but those I’ll gladly suffer.”

He pulled her in closer to kiss the top of her head. It felt good to laugh, to forget for a few hours the crushing responsibility and the fear of the future.

Dark thoughts hovered around him. He tried to push them away but they were insistent. Even if he could keep her safe, she still wasn’t his forever. He was immortal. She was not. Sooner or later she would be taken from him again.

His muscles tensed, his mind rebelling at the thought, but he couldn’t deny it. Some day she would die and he would once again grieve for her. He would survive his grief because he had no choice. His vow to the treasure rose above all else. Even Madelaine. But he would take what he was able, treasure it for always and tuck the memories away for a time when she wasn’t with him.

“Christien?”

“Yes, my love.”

“You’re squeezing me.”

He relaxed his hold. “I have something for you.”

“You do?” She sounded like a little girl on Christmas morning and it made him smile. He would give her presents all the time to hear the excitement in her voice.

He rolled to the side and snatched her necklace off the nightstand.

“My necklace.”

He’d had it since the nurse gave it to him and was surprised she hadn’t asked for it. He’d taken the opportunity to research its background and have it appraised. He shifted uncomfortably, not willing to think right now about what he’d learned.

She lifted her head and he fastened it around her neck. The key fell to the hollow of her throat, the dim lighting catching the diamonds’ heat.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “Where did you get it?”

She touched it almost reflexively. “My mother gave it to me.” A note of sadness crept into her voice. Through his research of her family he’d learned her mother died from ovarian cancer when Madelaine was fifteen. Too young to have lost a mother.

“She said it’s been in the family for generations and I was to pass it on to my daughter.”

“It makes a wonderful heirloom.” And expensive. Very expensive. Her parents came from hardworking people who farmed the land and kept to themselves. Madelaine was an only child of an older couple. A miracle birth at the age when women usually stopped giving birth. Madelaine had been greatly loved, but not spoiled.

“Interesting reading you’ve got here.”

He pulled himself from his thoughts to find her leafing through the book he’d left on the nightstand.

She looked up at him, her brow arched. “Pretty heavy reading.”

He shrugged, not wanting to go there quite yet. He planned to spend the rest of her life with her and that meant revealing all his secrets, but not yet. Tonight he wanted to forget about everything else.

“Why all the interest in the last book of the Bible?”

He sighed. She wasn’t going to let this go as easily as he hoped. “It intrigues me.”

She snapped the book closed. “It’s depressing.”

“That too.”

She pulled away from him, scooted up in bed and to his great disappointment, pulled the covers over her breasts. “Most people believe the seven seals were opened when Rome fell.”

“I’ve heard that theory.” They were wrong, of course. None of the seals were opened because only one person could open them and that person had yet to reveal himself. The key, Michael had said. Christien’s gaze went to the key at Madelaine’s neck. A trinket no farmer could afford.

“You don’t believe Rome was the opening of the seals?”

She was far too perceptive for her own good. “No. I don’t.”

“So you think the Apocalypse is yet to come?”

Not if he could help it. “Hopefully it will never come.”

A crease marred her brow and he wanted to growl in frustration. He had a naked woman in his bed, a woman he loved to distraction, who was distracting him with her hidden breasts and all she wanted to talk about was the Apocalypse?

“I’m trying to remember the story. Something about seven seals and four horsemen.”

He leaned against the headboard. He wasn’t going to get what he wanted until she finished this conversation. Much to his regret. “There are seven seals. The first four are the horsemen of the Apocalypse representing conquest, war, famine and death. Alone they will destroy civilization. The remaining three seals will devastate the earth and all other living creatures.”

“Like I said, depressing.”

“Exactly.” He pulled her down on top of him and pressed his erection against her stomach. Her eyes darkened and a mischievous smile played around the corners of her mouth.

“You don’t want to discuss the Apocalypse?”

He growled and kissed her, trying to erase all thoughts of the Apocalypse, the horsemen and the Book of Revelation.

“Cool tattoo.” Lainie touched the Celtic cross above Christien’s heart, surprised he had a tattoo. Then again, she shouldn’t be surprised. Beneath the designer suits and hand-woven shirts lurked a soldier, a man with a warrior’s mentality.

He rubbed the tattoo. “A whim. I got it in Scotland a long time ago.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Scotland, huh?” She’d never been out of Wisconsin let alone the country. Scotland was a fairytale land to her. Just another of the big differences between them, but she wasn’t going to allow the thought to diminish her good mood.

Right now she was sated, her bones barely solid after making love to Christien twice. He was an unrelenting lover, unsatisfied until she fell apart screaming. Not just once but over and over again. She’d had orgasms before with other lovers, but they were nothing compared to the heights Christien had taken her. It left her breathless and, surprisingly, wanting more.

He was lying on his side, his hand idly playing with the ends of her hair. His body was loose, the normal tension gone from him.

“I know you are determined to return to work tomorrow.”

She closed her eyes, praying he wouldn’t ask her to give up her job because at this moment she wasn’t sure she had the strength to fight him and she had to be strong. She had to think of her father. Without a paycheck, he would lose his place in the nursing home.

“Will you come back to me after work?” He cupped her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “Move in with me, Madelaine. Live with me.”

“Oh.” Oh. She didn’t quite know what to think about that. A little scared, a little excited. He wasn’t asking her to marry him. If he had, she probably would have bolted off the bed and run away. Marriage was way too big of a commitment way too fast. But living with him? She’d never lived with a man before. The thought of returning to her apartment alone didn’t appeal to her. But moving in here?

“You sure you want me under your feet all the time?”

His eyes darkened to a stormy gray. “I want you under me, over me, any way I can get you.”

His words had her squirming. Surely she didn’t want him so hungrily again, but she did. She could have this every night. He was offering it to her. And much more. The chance to be with him, to learn about him. The other Madelaine and Christien never had the chance to explore their love, to see where it could take them. To just be without the fear of discovery. This would be like giving them a second chance. And maybe that’s what the dreams were about. Second chances. Righting a wrong.

A do-over.

She smiled up at Christien. “As long as you know what you’re getting into, I would love to live with you.”

Lainie entered her office building with trepidation.

Trepidation? Who was she kidding? She was downright scared. Lucheux told her to take as much time as she needed, but she was sure Giselle hadn’t agreed and since Lainie had never even met Lucheux, it was Giselle’s reaction she was worried about.

Only the thought of going home to Christien in defeat had her straightening her shoulders and marching through the office.

Home. To Christien. The thought still wasn’t something she was used to. Giving up her apartment, packing up her stuff. Putting her clothes in his closet… She shook her head. Now that she was away from him the doubts were creeping in. She wanted more than great sex. She wanted a partnership and she had a feeling Christien was keeping things from her. Layers. The man definitely had layers.

Her coworkers gathered around her, exclaiming over her accident and gently inquiring about her injuries. She answered as best she could, not telling them the belief she was pushed. But she couldn’t hang out in the outer office forever so she broke away and headed with leaden feet to the inner sanctuary where Giselle waited, arms folded, toe tapping.

Lainie drew a deep breath. “Good morning, Giselle.”

Giselle’s frosty glare and a raised eyebrow were her answer. “So glad you were able to join us.” She tilted her head toward Lainie’s desk. “Your work is waiting for you.” She left abruptly, leaving Lainie to stare after her.

That was it? That was all the tongue lashing she was going to get? She stepped into her office and her heart sank. That and a week’s worth of work no one had touched.

“Hey you.”

Lainie lifted her head, the first time she’d looked away from the mountain of paperwork since she arrived six hours ago.

Erica stood in the doorway with a big smile and an even bigger bag of what smelled like food. Lainie’s stomach rumbled.

“I figured you’d be too busy to eat lunch so I brought some.”

Lainie rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck, nearly groaning at how stiff she was. Making love all night with Christien then sitting behind her desk all day made her newly healed body unhappy.

Erica plopped down in the chair opposite the desk, pulled out a container of soup, a plastic-wrapped spoon and a sandwich. Lainie nearly tackled her for it. Neither spoke until Lainie sat back with a contented sigh, her stomach full.

“Thank you.”

Erica waved her hand in the air. “I’m just glad you’re okay. And you’re back.”

Lainie glared at the pile of paperwork. “I’m beginning to rethink that decision.”

“Of course Giselle wouldn’t help you with your work. That would require her to be nice and I don’t think nice is in her vocabulary.”

Lainie laughed. “Definitely not.” I’m doing this for Dad. I’m doing this for Dad. If it weren’t for him, she would have left this job long ago.

“I never thanked you for calling Christien after the accident,” she said.

Erica frowned. “I didn’t call Christien.”

“After the accident? He said he got a call and came right away. I thought…” She’d assumed Erica called him, but by Erica’s expression she guessed not.

“I didn’t call him. I didn’t even think about it. Should I have?”

Lainie shook her head. “No. I guess someone else did.” Who though?

Erica stood. “Well, now that you’re back, we need to do lunch again. Only this time don’t get hit by a car.”

Lainie smiled absently. “I’ll try not to.”

She sat at her desk a long while after Erica left. She was positive Christien said he’d come straight to the hospital after getting the call. No one else would have called him. No one but Erica knew they were seeing each other. She picked up her phone and dialed Christien’s number. He answered on the third ring, with a distracted, “Chevalier.”

“Who told you I was hit by the car?”

“Madelaine?”

“I thought Erica called you, but she said it wasn’t her.” Her lunch sat heavily in her stomach right next to the big ball of dread. “The blond guy,” she suddenly said. “He’s one of your men isn’t he?”

“Madelaine, maybe we shouldn’t talk about this over the phone.”

He didn’t deny it.

“I knew I’d seen him somewhere before. Why, Christien? Why did you have me followed?”

“This isn’t the time—”

“Never mind.” She hung up and stared blankly at the wall in front of her.

Giselle appeared in the doorway. “Since you’re staring at the wall, I assume you’ve finished your work.”

Lainie looked down at the stack of paperwork. Disappointment tugged at her—she’d trusted him and he hadn’t trusted her. The bubble of happiness she’d been living in since yesterday afternoon popped, leaving her feelings shredded.

“No, not finished yet,” she said. “I was just taking a small break.”

Giselle rolled her eyes. “Stop slacking. There’s more waiting when you’re finished with that.”

Lainie swallowed her retort and pulled the stack toward her. It was better this way.

She managed to get through most of the paperwork, firmly keeping her mind focused on the task at hand and ignoring the depressing thoughts circling. But by midnight her head was spinning and she was so tired she couldn’t see straight.

Exhausted, she stood and stretched. The other offices were dark, everyone having gone home at least six hours ago. She’d put in a sixteen-hour workday. If that wasn’t good enough for Giselle nothing would be. The woman would have to live with it.

On her way down to the lobby, Lainie gave a passing thought to Christien’s bodyguard who’d been waiting outside the building for the last sixteen hours. She probably should have told him she was working late.

She exited the building and looked for Ronald, but instead found Christien leaning against the outside wall.

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Where’s Ronald?”

“I sent him home two hours ago.”

She shrugged and headed toward her apartment. Christien fell into step beside her.

“The blond man you saw was one of my men. Hired to protect you.”

When she didn’t say anything he sighed.

“I told you in the hospital I was afraid someone would try to use you to get to me.”

“You keep saying that but you won’t tell me who is trying to get to you.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, his gaze sliding away. Lainie wanted to scream in frustration.

“Trust goes two ways, Chevalier.”

“I know that.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me I was being followed?”

“And what would you have said?”

“That I didn’t need a babysitter. But it doesn’t mean I didn’t deserve to know.”

“I apologize. You’re correct, of course. Sometimes I forget that you can take care of yourself.”

The chagrined, boyishly forlorn look on his face cooled her anger, leaving her more exhausted than before. “You make it hard to stay mad at you.”

“I try my best not to make you angry, but it’s a hard thing to do.” He tried to smile but she could see in his eyes how hurt and frightened he’d been. The loneliness had crept back in there too. Something she hadn’t seen in days. Despite his heavy-handed ways, deep down he was a lonely man at heart and that saddened her.

Despite her exhaustion and residual anger, she smiled. “Tell Ronald I’m sorry I left him out here for so long.”

“I take it Giselle wasn’t kind when you returned.”

Lainie shrugged.

“Why do you continue to work for her if she’s so cruel to you?”

“Because I need the money.”

He took her hand and pulled her to a stop. “I don’t like that you’re being abused. Let me help. I can set up a trust for your father—”

“I pay my own way. But thank you,” she added, softening her tone. She wasn’t a charity case. Her father was her responsibility and she would take care of him like he took care of her for all those years. It was only right.

“I have plenty of money. You wouldn’t have to work so hard—”

“No, Christien. I appreciate the thought, really I do, but I won’t take your money.”

She pulled her hand from his and continued on.

“You’re going back to your apartment.”

It wasn’t a question but she nodded anyway.

Christien stopped walking and as much as she knew she should keep going, she stopped and turned back to him.

“I thought you were coming back to me.”

“Christien.” She understood his reasons for having her followed, but it still didn’t make his decision right. If she were in danger she had a right to know and to accept or refuse his offer of help. He didn’t give her the choice and that didn’t sit well with her. How many other times would he take her choice away from her? How many times would he autonomously decide what was best without consulting her?

“I made a mistake,” he said. “I should have told you.”

The warm breeze ruffled his dark hair. The red neon light from the business they stopped beside shined down on him, highlighting one side of his face, while plunging the other into shadows.

“I had a right to know.”

“You did.”

Damn him for agreeing with her. It made it difficult to argue. “How many other choices have you taken from me?”

He took both her hands and drew her closer. “None. And I will never make that mistake again. I promise, ma chérie. But you have to promise something as well.”

The heat from his hands warmed her. She hadn’t realized how cold she’d become since their phone conversation.

“Promise you won’t run away every time you are angry. If we are to make this relationship work, we need to communicate.”

Shame washed over her. He was right, of course. She couldn’t run away every time he angered her. “I’m sorry. The next time I’ll make sure to talk before I walk.”

One half of his face smiled, the other still lost in the shadows. “You’re so sure there will be a next time?”

“Oh, I think there will be many next times. We’re bound to argue here and there.”

He drew her closer until their bodies brushed and she pulled in a startled breath. “Think of all the making up we’ll do.” His sensuous lips curled into a knowing grin.

“Just think.”

“Do you forgive me, Madelaine?”

“For wanting to keep me safe? For thinking of my best interest even though you didn’t discuss it with me? Of course. Do you forgive me for wanting to run?”

He kissed her, a sweet, tender kiss that stole her breath. “As long as you never leave me again. You are my heart, ma chérie. And without my heart, I would die.”

Oh, my.

“Come home with me.”

She nodded, tears clogging her throat and together they walked back to his home.

Chapter Fourteen

Christien stared blindly at the report in front of him. Acting on a hunch, he had Madelaine’s family investigated more deeply than before, and the report confirmed his hunch was right.

Now what? What should he do with the information?

He shifted his gaze to the window. Two days ago, when Madelaine didn’t return home from work and he realized she wasn’t going to, he’d panicked.

She’d been furious about his deception and rightfully so. He should have told her about the bodyguard, but in truth the thought of telling her never crossed his mind. He had her followed initially to find out more about her and, yes, to determine if she was in league with Lucheux. He’d kept the man on her to ensure her safety.

’Twas an error on his part that he wasn’t honest with her. It was why this information was so disturbing. His gut reaction was to keep it from her, to not upset the balance of her world. But Madelaine would consider it as making a decision without consulting her. She would want to know.

Just as she wants to know who your enemy is? He winced at the damn voice inside his head. Another thing he was keeping from her. He rubbed his eyes with the pads of his thumbs, for the first time in a long while unsure what to do and where to go from here.

Tell her about Lucheux? Not tell her? Now that she understood reincarnation, she might be willing to accept that Lucheux was also reincarnated. Except he wasn’t. He was immortal like Christien.

Good God. The lies of omission kept piling up.

He had to come clean. Tell her everything. Even about himself.

He grabbed his phone and punched in a number. When the rough voice on the other end answered, Christien gave orders to dig deeper.

He left the office and hurried through the crowded club, keeping a keen eye on the wait staff as they expertly maneuvered around the dance floor, balancing drinks and taking orders. Sabine waved to him and he lifted his chin in greeting, making a mental note to give her a raise. Since Madelaine’s accident, he’d spent more and more time with her, leaving Sabine to run the club. It had been his intention all along to step back and let Sabine handle everything. Maybe now would be a good time to put his plan into action.

Stepping on the elevator, he glanced at his watch. Madelaine would have arrived home from work a quarter of an hour ago and would be changing out of her work clothes right now. He briefly thought of joining her in the bedroom and helping her out of those clothes, but he was well aware of how tired she was each night. Giselle was pushing Madelaine far too hard, and his tongue was half-bloody from all the words he’d bit back. He wanted her to quit her job and let him take care of her.

If only she would let him, Christien would make Madelaine’s life much easier. It would be fairly simple to set up a trust for her father and she would have the comfort of knowing he was well taken care of and would never have to leave the home he was comfortable in. But every time he mentioned it, she closed herself off. He admired her pride but sometimes pride got in the way of good sense.

When he stepped off the elevator she was coming down the hallway, her hair piled on top of her head, dressed in baggy sweatpants and an old T-shirt that said Peanut Butter Jelly Time. He smiled at the T-shirt, but wanted to frown at the dark circles under her eyes.

She went up on her toes and kissed him. A sweet, tender kiss of hello he’d looked forward to since she moved in with him several days ago. For centuries he’d lived alone, but surprisingly didn’t find it hard to adjust to living with Madelaine. Each morning was a hardship to get out of bed and each evening he was impatient to get back upstairs.

He put a hand on her waist while the other cupped the back of her head and drew her closer. Her eyes flew open in surprise, but she didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. He walked her backward until she was against the wall and his hips pushed into her pelvis, searching for the sweet release only her body could provide.

Her hands stroked up his back, pulling his shirt out. She wrapped a leg around his hip. His erection slipped easily into the V of her legs. The heat of her surrounded him.

Her fingers skimmed his back, came around to the front, teasing his chest and his nipples.

“You better watch it,” he said between kisses. “We may not get dinner if you keep that up.”

“Who says I’m hungry for dinner?”

He groaned and pulled her T-shirt over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her nipples puckered into sharp points, begging him to take them into his mouth. He obliged, bending to suckle. Madelaine put a hand on either side of his head and arched her back. Her moans drove him on as his hips pumped.

Quickly she unbuttoned his trousers and pulled him out. He gasped when her hand went around him, sliding up his length, then down to cup his bollocks. He surged forward, his eyes drifting closed, every nerve ending on fire.

She slid down the wall and took him in her mouth. Her moist heat surrounded him. Her tongue swirled around his tip and he cried out. Bracing his hands against the wall, he hung his head to watch her lips surround his shaft. The scene below him was so erotic he knew he didn’t have much time left. He was racing toward climax, his bollocks tightening as the pressure built.

He began to pump into her, grunting with each thrust.

“I’m close, ma chérie,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “You should stop.”

She made a humming noise and cupped him in her other hand, squeezing lightly. He lost control and surged into her mouth one last time. His semen shot from him so forcefully it nearly buckled his knees and he yelled out, beyond thought, operating on nothing but instinct. His climax went on and on. They’d had sex almost every night. He should be drained, but Madelaine managed to squeeze more out of him until his muscles quivered and he saw black spots before his eyes.

His arms gave out. Breathing hard he leaned against the wall. Beneath him Madelaine looked up and grinned that mischievous grin he loved so much. With a growl he scooped her up from the floor and carried her to his bed where he laid her down on the soft velvet comforter and spread her legs.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving as good as I got.” He pulled her sweatpants down and discovered much to his delight she wore no underwear. He looked up at her. “Minx.”

She laughed and tried to pull him on top of her but he shook his head. “This one is all for you, my love.”

He parted her curls and sucked in his breath at the wetness dripping from her and the bright pink bud nestled within.

“Christien?”

“Relax, mon amour. And enjoy.” He positioned his lips over her and sucked her in. She gasped, her body rigid, her legs tensing and he sensed this had never been done to her before. He took his time, lapping at her, putting pressure on the one place that had her squirming and calling out his name.

He lifted her legs and placed them over his shoulders to open her wider. She moaned, grabbing handfuls of the comforter, her head moving from side to side.

Her hips pumped against his jaw, faster, then faster still. He worked her, his tongue gliding against the small bud until she began to gasp. She was near her climax. Her soft moans grew louder and his cock, rock hard again, pressed against the bed. He couldn’t believe he was this ready after his last climax, but he was and if he didn’t stop, he was going to come all over the comforter. His hips pumped in rhythm to hers. She let loose the comforter and grabbed his hair.

“Oh, God. Oh, God,” she whimpered.

Her legs tensed and her hips came off the bed so violently she smashed his nose into her pelvic bone. He put a finger inside her channel and she shattered around him, screaming. It was too much. He came with her, his own climax nearly as intense as the last one.

When she went boneless beneath him, Christien withdrew his finger and laid his head on her stomach, listening to the rise and fall of her breaths as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“Wow,” she said.

He smiled and turned to look at her. She was staring up at the ceiling, her hair spread around her, a light sheen of sweat coating her brow.

“Can we do that again sometime?”

He chuckled and crawled up the bed to take her in his arms. Immediately she curled around him and sighed.

“Anytime you want.”

“Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow?”

Miraculously he began to stir. For a seven-hundred-and-thirty-year-old man, he wasn’t doing too badly.

“Tomorrow it is.”

She sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes still glazed. “I’m starving. You ready for dinner?”

He looked her up and down, taking in her glorious nakedness, the plump breasts that were a little more than a handful, the dark curls glistening at her center. “I’m sated.” He cocked a brow. “For now.”

She playfully swatted him and scooted off the bed. “Well I’m not. Let’s see what we have to eat.”

After cleaning up and putting their clothes back on, they scavenged the refrigerator and made turkey sandwiches. Madelaine grabbed a bag of chips and headed for the balcony.

They settled on the two-seater glider and looked out over the dark abyss of Lake Michigan. It was close to May and the warm weather was holding on, fighting the good fight against the last gasp of winter. He put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. She pulled her feet beneath her as he pushed the glider into motion.

“It’s beautiful up here.”

“In the summer with the boats on the lake and the sun reflecting off the waves it’s magnificent.”

“I can’t wait to see it.”

Would she be around in the summer? Would she still be with him when she realized who he was and that once again he was keeping secrets from her? He pushed the glider a little harder, wishing he could push his thoughts away as easily. He would have to tell her everything, but for now he held his tongue. ’Twould be best to tell her when he had all the facts. That gave him a day or two of reprieve.

“Have you been to the lake at night?” he asked.

“I haven’t been to the lake at all except to drive past it every now and then.”

“You need to get out more, love.”

“This from the man who works seven days a week.”

“Touché.”

Even in the dark, the lake was beautiful with the nearly full moon reflecting white light off the waves. Maybe he’d buy her a sailboat and they’d sail along the coast, stopping at the small towns along the way.

The idea sounded wonderful, but he recognized the impossibility of it. To take his mind off the treasure would be disastrous, yet he found it difficult to concentrate when Madelaine was around.

“Tell me about your family.” He didn’t need to ask because he knew everything. More than even Madelaine knew, but he found himself wanting to hear about her life from her. And, yes, he wanted to connect to someone who had a family.

She shrugged. “Not much to tell. I grew up on a farm and was an only child.”

“Growing up on a farm sounds like fun.”

He’d grown up on a farm, as well. For the first time in years he let himself think about his long-dead family. His four brothers and five sisters were always into mischief, always laughing, always happy. Looking back, he had to think his mother had been stressed but she never showed it. He remembered her laughing a lot and even wading through the creek that ran beside their house, searching for toads with them. His father had been a hard worker, always in the fields, coming home late at night and leaving early in the morning. ’Twas a wonder he managed to impregnate his wife as many times as he did.

They were all dead, of course. Wiped out when the bubonic plague spread through their small village. By then Christien was already immortal and deep into the intrigue of the Knights Templar, but he’d still grieved for them.

She shivered, bringing him out of his musings.

“Cold?” he asked.

“Content.”

He drew her closer for a quick hug, feeling the same contentment, an emotion he hadn’t experienced since wading in the creek and laughing with his mother.

She twisted her head to look up at him. “Tell me about you,” she said. “And your family.”

He shrugged, dislodging her head then guiding it back with the tips of his fingers until she rested comfortably again. “I was born and raised in France—”

“What city?”

He hesitated. “A small town you wouldn’t recognize.”

“Brothers and sisters?”

How much to tell her? On his official biography put out through his company, he listed himself as an only child because it prevented people from looking too deeply into his past. A past he reinvented every few decades. And yet a part of him wanted to tell her about himself—his real self—not some story created for the press.

“None,” he finally said, hating himself for lying and not yet ready for the truth.

“Parents?”

“Dead.”

“I’m sorry.” She covered his hand with hers.

“’Twas a long time ago.”

He pushed the glider again. From so far up they barely heard the long line of people outside the club.

“Tell me,” she said into the silence, “about us. In that other time.”

Christien stilled, but quickly resumed the motion of the glider.

“’Twas a dark time,” he said softly. “So much fighting. To return to you… It made me happy.” He didn’t mean to refer to himself in the first person. He held his breath, waiting for her to discover the mistake. Waiting for her to ask. This would be the opening he needed to tell her everything. To tell her he hadn’t been reincarnated like she thought. But she didn’t catch his slip.

“You made her happy, too,” she said. “I think you were the only bright spot in her life as well.”

He rubbed his chin on the top of her head and pressed his lips into her hair.

“Did you love her?” she asked.

“More than anything.”

“And yet you two couldn’t be together.”

“I was a lowly knight, you—she—a countess. We were worlds apart.”

“How sad.”

“Not sad. We took what we were able and were happy for it. Bittersweet, maybe, but never sad.”

“When did you realize you had this whole past life?”

Tell her. “I’ve always known.”

“Did you dream of it?”

“There were dreams. Memories.”

Lainie sighed and settled more comfortably against him. “Did you think you were going crazy too? When you started having these weird dreams?”

“Madelaine, you are not crazy.”

“I know. It’s just sometimes I feel like two different people.”

“There are things about you that are the same as her, but you two are not the same. Your beliefs and your personality have been shaped by the time you are living in, just as Madelaine’s was. That alone makes you two different.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“You have to trust me on this.”

His other hand rested on her thigh and she played with the tips of his fingers. “Sometimes I wonder if my feelings for you aren’t what she felt for you. I experience her emotions in my dreams. And when I awaken, those emotions stay with me. I have to wonder where hers end and mine begin.”

He turned his hand palm up and trapped her fingers in his, stilling her nervous motions. “The only way to find out is to test those emotions.”

“And what if we discover what we feel for each other isn’t real?”

“What we feel for each other is very real.”

Some time passed. Christien stroked her shoulder. She snuggled into his embrace and they watched the moon reflect off the waves.

“How did it end?” she asked.

“How did what end?”

“Madelaine and her dark knight.”

Something cold and lethal sliced through his heart, opening old wounds.

“Not good, huh?”

“No. I’m afraid not.”

“I hope they died together,” she said softly.

Chapter Fifteen

France, 1307

“I am already damned,” Madelaine said.

Christien jerked, tensing at Madelaine’s words. “Madelaine, please do not—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips. It was all he could do not to flick out his tongue and taste her. The thought alone made his body harden with the overpowering need to make her his. Damn her husband and damn their wedding vows.

“I am not as naïve as most think. I know you are nothing but kind and honest and you can show me what it can be like.”

He shook his head and enfolded her fingers in his hand. What she proposed… Making love to her… ’Twould be every dream he’d ever had, every prayer he’d ever uttered. But it would also be wrong.

“Would it not be cruel to know and never have again?” he asked, trying to make her see reason. Trying to stay reasonable.

“Or crueler yet to have never known?”

He smiled but it pained him to do so. He was simply a man and what she asked was something his body and soul yearned for, yet his mind was not so adamant. How cruel to both of them to make love and be torn apart forever. Was it not best to simply enjoy what they had?

“If we are discovered, we are dead,” she said softly. “If we are discovered while…” She looked away, her face flushing. Yet when she looked back at him boldness replaced the embarrassment in her eyes as well as determination and a certain amount of acceptance. As if she believed her time here was limited no matter what she did.

“If we are discovered making love we are dead as well,” she finished.

Ah, but there were many ways to die and Christien was well aware of most of them. If caught, the count would make certain their deaths were not swift and painless and one thing Christien knew was he would never, ever give Flandres any reason to harm Madelaine because of something he had done.

And that, of course, raised the question of just what the hell he was doing in this bedchamber with her.

She smiled up at him with those soft amber eyes reflecting defeat and he knew why he was here. Because he was unable to leave.

He lost all sense, all reason. He pulled her close but this time his hold was gentle and she melted into him as he dipped his head and tenderly kissed her lips. Mon Dieu, she was everything he had ever wanted in a woman. What a shame they came from such divergent backgrounds. That what they had could never be.

She let out a soft mewl that resonated deep within his bones and set his body on fire with a need so fierce it scalded him. Her hands were caught between them and he backed up a fraction to uncurl her fingers and lay her palms above the uneven beat of his heart.

Her fingers wandered across his chest, burning a path in their wake and making him tremble. She explored his body. His was probably the first male body she had touched like this. Certainly she wouldn’t have touched her husband in such a way.

He’d been careful to keep his raging manhood from her, afraid to frighten her, but she arched her back, pressing her pelvis into it and he nearly came undone.

“My love,” he said between kisses, cupping her face in his hands as he nipped her lips, holding tight to his control.

She made a sound low in her throat.

“We must stop.” But he was unable to force his body to do what his mind demanded. He pressed closer, backing her against the wall. Suddenly she went still, terror in her wide eyes. He pulled back. “Madelaine, look at me.”

Her eyes focused but the terror remained.

“You are not in any danger while you are with me. Do you understand, ma chérie?”

She swallowed and he bit back a curse. Something happened to frighten her. She had been responsive until her back hit the wall. He stepped away. Quickly she slipped away from him to stand in the middle of the room.

“I apologize,” she whispered, looking at the floor.

“Never be sorry.”

“He…” She waved her hand to the wall and looked away.

Christien silently cursed. “Lucien or the count?”

“The count.”

The bastard. He cursed out loud and willed his erection to subside.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and Christien closed his eyes. His erection would never go away as long as she nibbled on her lip.

“I truly want to know,” she said softly.

“Know what?” Except he knew and his pitiful attempt to buy some time was just that—pitiful.

“I want to know what lovemaking is all about. I want to lie with you, even if it is just once. I want to learn you.”

He stepped back, but this time it was his body pinned against the wall. “This is not the best idea.”

“Please, Christien. What if we never see each other again? What if, God forbid, something were to happen to you on the battlefield?”

Unspoken between them was the thought, What if something happened to her? She seemed resigned to the idea she wasn’t going to be of this world much longer and he refused to lie to himself anymore. Lucien wasn’t going away. He would do one of two things, stalk her until he found her alone and unprotected, or tell her husband, whose vengeance would come down on both their heads. Christien was betting on the former. Lucien wanted her for himself. He lusted after her, wanted a taste of her beauty and would not tell her husband, for to do so meant she would be out of his reach.

“Why do you call me ‘my love’?”

Her question took him by surprise.

“Because you love me?” she asked, advancing on him.

He saw no reason to deny his love or fight it. “Yes.”

“And I love you.”

“Don’t,” he said.

“Don’t what? Don’t love you? ’Tis too late, I’m afraid. I fell in love with you in the garden that night so many months ago. Do you remember?”

Remember? The moment was engraved upon his brain. He would never forget the ripeness of her breasts pressed against him or the lavender-and-roses scent of her skin. He would forever remember the taste of her lips upon his and the small hands that held him tight.

She slid her hands up his chest.

He grabbed them and pressed them together to halt her erotic explorations. “I thought we decided we wouldn’t do this.”

“You decided.”

“We are both damned if we continue.”

“And damned if we do not.”

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the stone behind him. He wanted nothing more than to throw her on the bed and show her what a man could do to pleasure a woman. He was up to the task. So what was holding him back?

The fact she was married? ’Twas true he stayed far from other men’s wives, but that wasn’t the reason. Simon of Flandres didn’t deserve her, but neither did she deserve to roast in the fires of hell for making love to him. He was unworthy of the sacrifice and maybe that’s where his hesitation came from. He was her inferior in so many ways.

She kissed his chin, sliding her body up his to reach it and he groaned, pouring all of his frustration into the sound before he stepped away. Her hands fell from his body. Her brows creased in confusion.

“I will not do this to you,” he said. “I will not compromise you.”

Her chin lifted and her eyes flashed in defiance. “We love each other, is that not enough?”

He shook his head. “If your husband were to find out—and make no doubt he will—he will kill you.”

“I am already doomed,” she said softly.

“Stop this,” he hissed, taking an angry step toward her. “I will not hear of this any longer. You will be safe. I am leaving a man behind. His sole purpose will be to guard you.”

Her hands twisted in her skirt. “What if the count discovers him?”

“He is my best man. He will not be discovered. Madelaine, think on this. You would be breaking your holy vows of matrimony and for what? In the end you would still be married to him and he would still have control over you. You wouldn’t be happy with yourself and mayhap even me.”

She bit her bottom lip and looked away. “You are right, of course. I wish it were different. I wish we would have met at a different time, under different circumstances.”

Yet everything would be the same. She was from a noble lineage, he nothing but a lowly knight. If things had been different, they probably would never have met at all.

He gathered her in his arms one last time. “Je t’aime, my Madelaine.”

Chapter Sixteen

Christien rolled out of bed, careful not to wake Madelaine, and made his way down the hall to collapse on the couch, head in his hands, trying desperately to control his breathing. It had been ages since he’d dreamt so vividly, so this one took him by surprise. ’Twas as if it happened only yesterday.

He groaned and ran a hand down his sweaty face. How many times had he wished he’d taken her up on the offer to bed her? How many regrets did he have of that night? He often wondered what the outcome would have been if he’d known that was the last time he would see her. Would he have bedded her?

He surged off the couch and paced to the bank of windows. For once the view of the lake and the reflected lights of the city didn’t soothe him. His heart beat hard against his ribs and his blood pounded through him at the memories that wouldn’t let him go. He drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

Had the count known? Was that why Christien and his men were suddenly called away that night? These questions haunted him to this day.

He looked at the time. Three in the morning. He would not be going back to sleep now, not after the dream, and he didn’t want to toss and turn in bed and risk waking Madelaine, so he snuck back in his room, grabbed a pair of jeans and his phone and headed to his office to make some overseas calls.

But when he reached his office, he had a message from the private investigator he’d hired to look into Madelaine’s background. He listened to the message, the blood draining from his head, leaving him dizzy. Slowly he replaced the receiver and stared into the darkness.

Lainie stepped onto the elevator and nodded to the man guarding the entrance to Christien’s private quarters. It was Friday night and the club was packed, but all she wanted to do was get upstairs, change out of her work clothes and collapse into Christien’s arms. That wasn’t possible though because Christien was working.

Maybe a hot bath, a chilled glass of wine and soothing music would do the trick.

She leaned against the elevator wall and blew out a breath. Two hours ago Giselle had come to her with a big project, the biggest project Lainie would be in charge of to date. She’d been excited Giselle had finally put a little more faith in her and gave her more responsibility. Maybe they’d turned some sort of corner. But then Giselle told her the project was due Monday morning.

She would have to work all weekend and it still didn’t give her enough time to complete it and Giselle knew it. Once again she was being set up for failure.

Part of her wanted to walk out of the office and never come back. She could take Christien up on his offer of the trust for her father and find a job she loved.

However, at this point in her life those thoughts were fruitless so she buckled down and worked until her eyes burned and her back ached because she wanted to prove to Giselle she could do this. And she wanted to prove to herself that someone like Giselle wasn’t going to beat her down.

She and Christien had plans for Saturday. They were going to move the remainder of her stuff out of her apartment, and Christien was going to take her to lunch. They’d never had a “real” date and she’d been looking forward to it. Now she’d have to work.

Damn Giselle.

Lainie entered Christien’s apartment. Their apartment. He kept reminding her it was hers too, but she found it hard to accept these lavish furnishings were actually hers.

The silence pressed down on her, leaving her alone with her thoughts. As much as she wanted a hot bath and chilled wine, even more, she didn’t want to be alone. And why should she when she had an entire club beneath her?

She didn’t have “clubbing” clothes, but she chose her favorite jeans that skimmed her hips and made her legs look longer, and a low-cut, somewhat tight blouse that accented her ample chest. It was the best she could do on such short notice. She ran a brush through her hair, applied some lip gloss and headed back down in the elevator.

As with most Friday nights, the place was hopping and a long line of people waited to get in. Lainie slipped through the crowd and made her way to the bar where she planned to have one glass of wine while she did some people-watching before heading to bed. Christien wouldn’t return until the wee hours of the morning, close to when she would awaken and head back to work.

Ah, well. They had plenty more weekends together.

“Madelaine?”

She turned to find Christien weaving through the thick crowd, moving unerringly toward her. He took her hand, his gaze serious. “What is wrong? Are you all right?”

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m fine.”

“What brings you down here?”

She shrugged, not wanting to admit she was lonely and not wanting to dump her work problems on him when he was obviously very busy. “I thought I’d have a drink and take in the scene.”

He smiled and kissed her fingers. “I’m delighted you came. I know the perfect place to put you, away from the action, but still able to see it.”

He led her to the end of the bar, far from the front door and very close to the elevator leading to his private quarters. He introduced her to the bartender who’d served her the first night she’d come looking for him.

Christien kissed her on the forehead. “I truly am glad you are here,” he said above the beat of the music. He smoothed her hair, his gaze sincere.

She smiled and waved him away. “Go. Do your thing.”

Christien shot Ken the bartender a pointed look. “Take care of her,” he said and disappeared into the crowd.

The dance floor was filled with writhing bodies and women barely dressed. The flashing lights reflected off the sparkles in their halter-tops and strapless dresses. Scattered among the dancers were couples wound tightly together.

“Try this.” Ken slid a glass of blue liquid toward her.

“What is it?”

“Blueberry martini. My specialty.”

She took a careful sip and smiled. It tasted like a melted ice pop so she took another sip and turned back to the dance floor.

Occasionally she’d catch a glimpse of Christien as he moved through the crowd. A man put his hand on Christien’s shoulder and Christien bent his head to listen, laughed and moved on. Both men and women stopped him and he would listen attentively before continuing through the crowd. Lainie fought unexpected jealousy when women touched him. Some provocatively, others possessively and still others just to get his attention. Christien, however, didn’t seem to notice. He treated everyone the same.

Except for Sabine.

Immediately Lainie felt the connection between the two. They moved in tandem, one on one side of the room, the other on the other side, yet they communicated silently with just a nod or a glance. It was obvious they had worked together a long time.

Sabine also talked to whoever stopped her, but was very adept at sidestepping the wandering hands of a few drunken men with a laugh and an admonishment.

Another blueberry martini appeared at her elbow and Lainie took a sip. Sabine slid onto the barstool next to her.

“Welcome to The Chevalier,” she said with a wide smile.

“Thank you.”

Ken handed Sabine a drink of what looked like carbonated water with lemon and Sabine sipped it.

Lainie tugged on her plain, knit shirt and ran her palms along her jeans, eyeing Sabine’s silver spangled halter-top that dipped low between perfect breasts and her tight, black leather pants that made her legs look a mile long.

“Are you having fun?” Sabine asked.

Lainie nodded, her tongue suddenly thick and awkward.

A waitress motioned Sabine over and she slid off her stool. “Back to work,” she said brightly with a small wave toward Lainie.

Christien met up with Sabine and the waitress and the three powwowed with their heads bent together. Christien’s dark hair brushed against Sabine’s nearly white-blond hair and Lainie’s stomach churned.

Of course Christien had a life before Lainie. He was a good-looking guy and it would be stupid of her to think he’d never had a girlfriend. The internet articles with the pictures of the supermodels proved he had. She drank half the martini in one gulp to drown the jealousy suddenly rearing its ugly head.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had boyfriends. She’d had lots. Dozens. Scores. Legions.

Okay, maybe just two and a few dates that never panned out.

Someone slid onto the stool Sabine vacated and jostled Lainie’s arm.

“Sorry,” said a masculine voice.

“S’okay.” She turned to the newcomer and smiled.

He smiled back and offered his hand. “John,” he said.

She shook. “Lainie. Good to meet you.”

“You come here often?” He laughed. “That sounds like a lame pick-up line. It’s just I’ve been here a few times and I’ve never seen you.”

Lainie straightened, recognizing the interest in his eyes. His smile was warm and welcoming. He leaned closer and she caught the clean scent of soap.

“I’ve been here a few times.” Three to be exact, but the one didn’t count since she’d been running to Christien for help and he’d swept her through so fast she doubted anyone saw her.

“It’s a cool place,” John said.

He had red hair. Lainie liked redheads. He had freckles on his hands too. How cute was that?

“Yeah,” she said. “Cool.” She stuck with the one-word answers because suddenly she couldn’t get her tongue to work.

“What are you drinking?” He lifted his chin toward her drink.

Lainie held up her nearly empty glass and peered into it. Hadn’t Ken just filled it? “Blueberry martini.”

John smiled again. “You’re hammered.”

Lainie shook her head. The lights swirled. She lost her balance and had to grab hold of the bar to keep from falling off her stool. “Nah,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Want another?” He motioned to Ken.

“Sure.”

Ken approached, saw Lainie talking to John and his smile faded. “Another for the lady,” John said. “And I’ll have a beer.”

Ken eyed Lainie warily, but turned to fill their orders. John swiveled his body fully toward hers. Their knees brushed. He was wearing jeans and a three-button shirt. Not clubbing clothes. She liked him even more.

“You from around here?” he asked.

“No. Yes.”

He laughed again. He had a nice laugh. Very friendly. “So which is it? Yes or no?”

“No, I’m not from here originally. Yes, I live here.” Lainie concentrated on her words, making sure she pronounced each one distinctly.

Ken appeared with their drinks. John ignored the mug Ken gave him and drank the beer straight from the bottle. Lainie liked that. He was a man’s man.

“You wanna dance, Lainie?”

She looked at the dance floor, at the people packed tightly together yet moving fast. Her legs felt a little numb. “No. But thanks.”

“Hammered,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

She liked the twinkle. It made him very approachable.

“Got a girlfriend?” She clamped her lips together. Totally the wrong thing to say. He would think she was interested and she wasn’t. To hide her mortification she took a big gulp of the martini.

“You applying for the position?”

She smiled. “No. It’s just you’re such a nice guy I figured some lucky girl would have scooped you up by now.”

“No lucky girl,” he said. “What about you? Got a boyfriend?”

“You applying for the position?” Oh, man. What the heck was she doing flirting with this guy? Yet it was fun and carefree and Lord knew she hadn’t had any fun or carefree moments since she’d walked into this place that first night. The martini—martinis? How many had she had?—drowned her inhibitions and loosened her tongue. No harm in talking to the guy. It wasn’t like she was going to go home with him. The only one she wanted to go home with was Christien.

“Maybe.” He winked at her. “The position open?”

The laugh died right out of her and suddenly this wasn’t fun anymore. “I don’t know,” she said seriously, looking down into her glass.

“You don’t know if you have a boyfriend?”

She shrugged and reached for her martini. But John was holding it. She frowned. When did he pick up her glass? With a crooked smile he handed it to her and she drained the rest of it with a shrug. Ken didn’t miraculously appear with another one. “It’s complicated.”

“Ah. One of those. Don’t you hate when they get complicated?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I do.”

Christien stepped out of the private party room and breathed a sigh of relief. One more disaster averted. These bachelorette parties were going to be the death of him—figuratively speaking, of course.

He headed into the crowd and slowly made his way toward the bar and Madelaine. She didn’t normally come down here at night and he was worried something was wrong. She looked tired, beat down. What the hell had Giselle done to her now? Christien had half a mind to follow through with his threat of destroying Lucheux and Giselle’s business with the excuse they were abusing Madelaine, but he wouldn’t. It would be an abuse of his powers and an ace up his sleeve he needed to hold on to.

He pushed through the last of the crowd and stopped. An ice-cold fury swarmed over him and every muscle tensed.

Madelaine was leaning toward a man seated next to her. Their knees were touching, her elbow was resting on the bar, her chin in the palm of her hand. They were deep in conversation, the bastard occasionally taking a sip from a beer bottle as they talked and laughed.

Her eyelids were heavy and her movements sluggish, causing Christien to frown. Surely she wasn’t drunk. She’d said she wanted one glass of wine.

She smiled and touched the man’s knee. He leaned close and said something that made her frown. Christien was beside her before his mind processed his body moving and Madelaine was looking up at him with big brown eyes, slightly unfocused and a little surprised.

“Christien!”

Christien turned to the man, piercing him with a steely-eyed glare that had worked to his advantage in many battles and bar fights. The man slowly placed his beer bottle on the bar and stood. His look was guarded and Christien took some male pride in the fact he was a few inches taller and definitely more muscular. His reaction was ridiculous, of course.

“Is this your complication, Lainie?”

The familiar use of Madelaine’s name had Christien clamping his teeth together so hard he almost bit the inside of his cheek. Complication? What the hell did that mean? And who the hell was this man who knew Madelaine by name?

Madelaine touched Christien’s sleeve. “Christien, this is John. He was keeping me entertained while you worked.”

He just bet he was. Christien grunted an acknowledgment but didn’t offer his hand as manners dictated. Obviously the twenty-first century Madelaine was just as naïve as the fourteenth century. Couldn’t she tell a player when she saw one? Must he keep his eye on her constantly? And where the hell was Ken?

John’s mouth quirked in a knowing smile. “Christien Chevalier, I assume? You didn’t tell me your complication was the owner of the club, Lainie.”

Madelaine shrugged and Christien wanted to punch the man for even uttering her name. What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn’t the fourteenth century. Men were allowed to speak to women these days.

John chuckled and dug into his pocket to lay money on the bar. “Thanks for the conversation, Lainie.” He turned to Christien. “No harm done, man. We were just talking.” He walked away.

Nay. Christien let him walk away. No use causing a scene in his own club, but he kept an eye on this John as he disappeared into the crowd before turning back to Madelaine.

“I’m a complication?” he asked.

She looked up at him with those big, unfocused eyes and swayed. He caught her by the shoulder before she slithered off the barstool.

“You’re drunk.”

She shook her head, but the movement was slow. “No.”

He called Ken over. “How much has she had?”

Ken held up his fingers, indicating three.

“Three what?”

“Blueberry martinis,” Madelaine said. “They taste like melted Popsicles.”

Ken motioned him over but Christien couldn’t let go of Madelaine or she’d fall, so he leaned over the bar.

“I watered them down,” Ken whispered above the noise. “She shouldn’t be drunk off what I gave her.”

“Christien?”

He turned to Madelaine as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she slumped over. He quickly caught her and lifted her in his arms. She was limp, her head lolling to the side, her breathing weak.

Christien barreled through the crowd. People parted, staring. Whispers followed him as he made his way to his office. Suddenly Sabine was at his side.

“Call nine-one-one.” Panicked, he shoved his office door open with his shoulder and gently laid her on the leather couch. Kneeling beside her, he took her cold hand in his.

What the hell happened? She was sitting at his bar, drinking a martini. She was safe. Except she wasn’t. Someone got to her and now she was—

No. He wouldn’t think like that. She was going to be okay. She had to be. He rubbed her hand to bring warmth back to it.

“Madelaine? Love? Can you hear me?”

She didn’t move, not even a twitch. Mon Dieu, what happened?

People crowded into his office and he faintly heard Ronald pushing them out until it was blessedly quiet.

Sabine appeared beside him with a look of concern. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” He watched Madelaine’s chest rise and fall. As long as she breathed, she would be okay. “Bring Ronald in here,” he said.

Minutes later Ronald was at his side, his expression severe. “How is she?”

“Breathing. A man was with her. Red hair, medium height. Jeans. Three-buttoned shirt. Name was John. Sound familiar?”

Ronald shook his head, his forehead creasing in thought.

“I want him found. Have Ken pull the receipts to get a name.” Damn it. Christien remembered him throwing a few bills on the bar. “Never mind. He paid in cash. Try to find him. Ask Ken what he knows. Ask anyone.”

Ronald nodded and hurried out.

The EMTs arrived, pushing Christien out of the way. He stood to the side, his heart in his throat, a primal scream on his lips. He wouldn’t lose her. Not yet.

Not yet, damn it!

Chapter Seventeen

Christien bathed Madelaine’s head with a cool washcloth. Her face was nearly gray but for now she was resting between bouts of violent nausea. He didn’t know how much more her body could handle as it tried to rid itself of the poison.

GHB, the doctors said. Gamma Hydroxy Butrate. Street name G, Gook, Easy Lay, Vita G or G Juice, take your pick. Similar to the date-rape drug, Rohypnol, but more insidious and dangerous. He was told to expect the nausea as well as disorientation, dizziness, unconsciousness and memory loss, but the warnings didn’t make it any easier to watch.

She was in and out, throwing up when she was awake and sleeping fitfully in between.

A rage unlike he’d ever experienced before swirled inside him. He would discover who did this to her and he would kill the bastard. Slowly. He had a bad feeling this John guy wasn’t acting on his own. If they found him, maybe they’d discover who was behind this.

She moaned and her eyes fluttered open, but there was nothing there, no recognition. She was still under the influence, awake but not conscious.

Sabine entered the hospital room. “Ronald wasn’t able to find the John guy. A few people said they saw him leave and head west, but he was gone before Ronald could follow.”

Christien nodded, outwardly calm as he continued to wipe Madelaine’s face, inwardly a roiling mass of fury and fear. He would never get the image of her limp body out of his head.

“Ready my plane,” he said quietly. “As soon as she’s released, we’re leaving.”

Sabine hesitated, then nodded and left the room without the questions he knew she was dying to ask. He would take Madelaine away from here. Away from the danger to someplace safe. The safest place he knew of.

Lainie blinked against the light invading her darkness. Her throat hurt and her bones ached. For a moment she lay perfectly still, afraid if she moved, she’d be sick again. Disoriented, she searched her mind, trying to remember what happened. The last thing she recalled was settling onto the barstool of the club. Had she contracted some sort of stomach flu or had she consumed too much wine? No. Not wine. Something blue. Blueberry martinis.

She remembered Christien’s constant presence. Every time she woke up he was there, washing her face or holding her hair out of the way while she vomited.

She vaguely remembered him saying something about a trip. Maybe when she got better they’d go on a trip? That sounded wonderful. Hopefully it would be someplace with a private beach and a house right on the sand. Did Christien own his own island? Wouldn’t it be cool if he did?

“Madelaine.”

She forced her eyes open again. She was in a soft bed beneath even softer sheets, in a room that seemed vaguely familiar but she couldn’t quite place. Certainly she wasn’t in Christien’s bed in his apartment above the club. No velvet spread with matching curtains tied to the bedposts. This room was lighter, airier, the windows much bigger with the view of a cloudless blue sky and rolling hills of green grass. No Lake Michigan in sight. And yet she felt at home here. Almost at peace.

She sat up slowly, relieved her stomach didn’t protest. Christien was sitting on the side of the bed, his eyes weary and bloodshot, a few days’ growth of beard covering his chin and jaw.

“Hi.”

He smiled back but it didn’t reach his eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Much better. Did I have the flu?”

He shook his head, his lips thin and bloodless. “You don’t remember?”

She took inventory and decided she felt fine except for a sore throat and a residual achiness that would probably go away once she moved around. “I remember coming home from work and wanting to see you. I wanted to get a glass of wine and sit at the bar to unwind before…” Her eyes widened. “What day is it? I have a huge project due on Monday.” She threw the covers off, surprised to find herself in only a large white T-shirt. “I have to go to work. Giselle will be furious if this project isn’t finished by Monday morning.”

Christien put a staying hand on her wrist. “It’s Sunday, Madelaine.”

“Sunday?” She jumped out of bed. The room tilted and she had to grab on to the delicate nightstand beside the bed. Oh my God, she was in so much trouble. Giselle was going to fire her.

Christien eased her back onto the bed. “Madelaine, sit. You’re in no shape to go into work.”

“I have to—” She looked around the room, at the ornate white-and-gold-trimmed dressers, the light yellow walls and the paintings of people from other eras. Obviously this wasn’t Christien’s bedroom in Milwaukee. Or any other room she’d been in. “Where are we?”

When Christien didn’t answer she turned to him. “Where are we, Christien?”

“At my home.” He took a deep breath. “In France.”

Her breath caught in her throat. France. She was in France. She’d never been outside the country before. “I don’t have a passport.”

“Taken care of.”

Of course. Was he so powerful even in France? Sure he was. This was his country and he lived in this huge house full of antique furniture and paintings that in her naïve estimation were probably worth a lot of money. His wealth far exceeded even what she had guessed.

But why didn’t she remember flying to France? She didn’t remember anything past Christien introducing her to Ken the bartender.

“I’m going to miss my deadline,” she said in horror.

“I’m afraid you are.”

“I’m going to get fired.” Her dad was going to lose his place in the nursing home and her student loans would go into default. Suddenly her stomach started to churn and it had nothing to do with the flu.

Christien took her hand in his. “Listen to me, Madelaine. Something happened at the club Friday night.”

She searched his face, waiting for him to continue but it seemed he was finding it hard to go on, which made her fear double. “What happened?”

“You were drugged.”

She yanked her hand away. “Drugged? How?”

“I don’t know, but I’m looking into it.” His voice was hard, his eyes flashing steel. “You’ve heard of the date-rape drug?”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God, I was raped?”

“No, no.” He took her hand again. “Someone slipped a similar, but far more lethal drug into your drink. You passed out and were rushed to the hospital.”

“Why don’t I remember this?” She didn’t recall anything of a hospital. All she remembered was… She searched her brain but was unable to come up with anything past meeting Ken. “Was it Ken?” she whispered.

Christien shook his head. “We believe it was a man named John. He was talking to you. The two of you were…” His face twisted. “Close.”

Lainie touched his knee, shocked at what she was hearing and horrified she didn’t remember any of it. “Oh, Christien, please don’t think… I would never—”

“I know, ma chérie. I knew immediately something was wrong. I thought you were drunk.” He huffed out a laugh. “Ken’s blueberry martinis can be powerful, but he’d watered them down after the first one. We think this John dropped the drug in your drink. It’s a side effect of the drug that you don’t remember.”

“Why would someone do such a thing?”

He looked at her with the full force of his fury. “I assume to get to me.”

He thought the accident with the minivan was to get to him and now this. “Why does someone want to hurt you?”

He looked away, his fingers flexed in hers. “I have something people want. Something powerful.”

What was so powerful they were willing to hurt her to get to Christien? He was a businessman. By everything she’d read his business was clean and legitimate. Was he involved in something illegal? Drugs? Oh, God, was he dealing arms to the terrorists?

No. Not Christien. He was kind and honest. But who knew what people would do when their backs were pressed against a wall.

She smoothed the oversized T-shirt over her thighs and glanced out the window to the unfamiliar scenery. Did anyone know where he’d taken her? Would they be able to find her in France?

Christien shot her a hurt look. “By the fear on your face, I imagine you think I’m some sort of criminal. Money laundering? No? Drugs? Ah, yes. You think I’m dealing drugs.”

She shook her head, but the words wouldn’t come to deny the charges. The nightclub would be an excellent cover for a drug operation.

“I’m not dealing drugs, Madelaine. I’m not involved in anything illegal,” he said sadly.

She winced at his tone. She didn’t mean to hurt him. “Then what?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Something far bigger and far more evil than drugs. But not illegal. At least in the eyes of the law.”

“Unethical?”

“Possibly. But I’m on the side of right here. You have to trust me in this.” He stood and paced to the windows. The bright sun shone behind him, creating an aura of light that surrounded him. Like an angel. Her angel.

What was she thinking? Of course he wasn’t doing anything illegal. This was Christien. The idea of him dealing drugs or negotiating arms with terrorists was ludicrous and she’d been an idiot to think it in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I know you would never do anything illegal.”

He laughed, but the sound was cynical. “Don’t be so sure. At times I’ve done what I had to.”

“You had your reasons.” Just like he had his reasons to believe she was in danger. Proven twice now.

“I’m humbled by your faith in me,” he said sarcastically.

His words bit, but she absorbed the pain. It was no more than she deserved for doubting him when he’d done nothing but take care of her and try to protect her.

“Forgive me.”

“Ah, Madelaine. There’s nothing to forgive, mon coeur. You have every right to your doubts after what you’ve been through. I never meant for you to get hurt.”

She stood again to join him at the window. Her legs wobbled a bit. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

He touched her cheek, his thumb grazing her jaw. “But I did know. From the moment I saw you in my club, I knew you were special and I knew nothing good would come of this.”

She swallowed, suddenly nervous. “This?”

His hand dropped and he turned away from her to stare out the window. “Us.”

What was he saying? They had no future? Surely he hadn’t brought her all the way to France to break up with her.

She stepped away and raised her chin. “What do you mean?”

His harsh expression softened. “Only that I should have walked away when I had the chance. But I never had the chance. One look at you and I’d found the other half of my heart.”

Such beautiful words, spoken so seriously and with such emotion. “I’m glad you didn’t walk away.”

Humor shone in his eyes before it fizzled. “I knew when I brought you here you would lose your job and I’m sorry. But I can’t let you stay in Milwaukee. Not after two unexplained accidents. I had to bring you somewhere safe because I won’t lose you again.” His voice trailed off and he looked away.

“I don’t care about the job.” She laughed but it was more of a nervous stutter. “It’s my dad I’m worried about. Moving him will be hard. He doesn’t take well to change and it might set him back.”

He looked away and his jaw flexed. “About your father.”

The blood suddenly rushed from her head. “What’s wrong with my father? Is he sick? Did something happen to him?”

He took her hand and pulled her closer. “No, love, nothing like that. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Your father is safe.”

She willed her heart back to normal.

“Don’t be angry, Madelaine.”

“Why would I be angry?”

“I knew you would be worried about paying his bills, so I took care of him before we left. He won’t ever have to be moved. He’ll remain safe and secure in his nursing home for however long you want him there.”

Her gaze wandered back to the view of the countryside, but she didn’t see the rolling hills studded with lavender. She was looking inside herself. She didn’t want to accept Christien’s generosity. She should be able to take care of her father on her own. “His entire life was spent working for me,” she said softly. “So I could have the things I wanted.” She pressed her lips together to fight the tears. “I didn’t appreciate it when I was younger. I was just as selfish as any other teenager, I guess. It wasn’t until later, when the government put pressure on him to sell, then outright took his land, that I discovered just what type of man he was.”

She reached for Christien’s hand and wound her fingers through his. Tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks. “You would have liked him and I think he would have liked you.”

“He sounds like an honorable man.”

“He was strong, honest, hard-working. A man who would give someone the shirt off his back if they asked for it. And then… Then everything was taken away from him.” She brushed at her tears with her free hand while Christien held tight to the other. “I tried to help him fight, but I was one small voice against the big engine of government and the government really wanted that highway.”

“You did what you could. Your father would be proud.”

“My father’s mind broke when his land was taken away from him. An Alexander had farmed that land for the past one hundred years.” She turned to Christien. “Don’t you see? I owe it to him to take care of him.”

“And yet, wouldn’t you still be taking care of him by accepting my help? Don’t let pride get in the way of what’s best, Madelaine.”

She smiled. “We Alexanders are a proud people.”

“I understand pride and I also understand when to accept another’s help.”

She needed to do what was best for her father and while not having a job wasn’t the best, Christien’s humble offering was.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, swallowing her damn pride. “You’ve never even met him.”

“He’s your father, Madelaine. The man who formed you into the strong, beautiful woman you are today. He’s special to you and special to me because of that. Besides, I hated you working for Giselle. You deserve better.”

She laughed, surprised she was able to through the tears clogging her throat. “I won’t argue with you there. But seriously, Christien, thank you. You don’t know how much it means to me to know Dad’s in a place he loves and he won’t ever have to leave.”

She blinked the tears from her eyes, her heart bursting with love for this man. She was halfway around the world, with what looked like the entire country of France spread before her. People were after her if Christien was to be believed. She’d been hit by a car, drugged and relived the lives of two people who’d died seven centuries ago. And she knew without a doubt she would do it all over again if it meant being with Christien.

“I love you,” she whispered, unable to keep the words inside her. “Thank you for taking a chance on me.”

He looked startled and she had a moment of fear that her words would drive him away. But this was Christien. He didn’t run easily, if ever. “Madelaine Alexander, I would walk through the fires of hell for you.” He pulled her against his solid chest and she rested her head above his heart, feeling the steady beat of it. “Je t’aime, my Madelaine.”

Chapter Eighteen

France, 1307

Sitting beside her husband to eat her evening meal was much more difficult than Madelaine ever imagined. Fortunately, the count ignored her to speak to the man on his other side. Lucien was at his spot on the dais, reading tonelessly from the Bible. As was expected of them, the knights ate their meals silently, listening to Lucien.

Christien was across the great hall, dozens of men between them, but she took comfort in his presence. Even though they couldn’t speak publicly, or even acknowledge each other, knowing he was present was enough.

Several times she caught Lucien looking at her with narrowed eyes, hatred written across his face. She lifted her cup with shaking hands, nearly sloshing the wine over the rim, and trained her eyes on her food.

The hushed hall suddenly became more quiet as everyone stopped eating. Madelaine raised her head to see one of the count’s soldiers had entered and was weaving his way toward Christien. Christien tilted his head to hear better what the man whispered in his ear.

His gaze found hers, his brows drawn. She glanced at Lucien who was watching the exchange intently. Her heart beat harder and her stomach churned, the rich food making her nauseous.

Christien stood and with a slight hand movement, his men stood, as well. No one left the hall until Lucien was finished. If he was in a particularly fine mood, he would be kind and dismiss them almost immediately. If in a foul mood, which was most often the case, he made them stay for hours as he read from the Bible. For someone to leave the table in the middle of the meal was unheard of and a breach of etiquette.

Christien made his way to her husband, his gaze touching on hers only briefly. She refused to look away, was barely able to breathe.

“Excuse me, my lord.” Christien executed a short bow beside the count’s chair.

“Yes?” her husband said in a bored voice.

“Urgent news has come from Paris,” Christien said, still not looking at her. “I’m afraid I must leave with all due haste. On behalf of King Philip, myself and my men, I thank you for your hospitality.”

Nay! Please, nay. Not yet. She wasn’t ready for him to leave.

For the first time Count Flandres looked intrigued. “Paris, you say?”

Christien’s expression was grim, his mouth drawn into a tight line. Madelaine had heard the rumors. In the past weeks there had been urgent, whispered conversations among the knights in the castle. Her husband had been locked away for hours at a time in conference with various soldiers and with Lucien. The Knights Templar were quickly falling out of favor with her cousin, King Philip. The look on Christien’s face did not bode well and a shiver of fear raced up her spine.

“I must leave at once, my lord.”

The count’s shrewd gaze studied Christien, but Christien’s implacable expression gave nothing away. Madelaine’s fear rose. Christien was being called away and her only chance of safety with it, but that wasn’t all. He was traveling to Paris, where things were not stable, especially for a Knight Templar. Philip’s coffers were running bare if the rumors were true, and he had set his eye on the Templar’s treasures as an easy way to fill them.

Slowly she stood. All eyes were drawn to her for she had never been so bold as to speak publicly before. “We wish you Godspeed, Sir Knight, and beg you to bring us news as soon as possible. Of course you are always welcome at Castle Flandres and we hope God will allow our paths to cross again.”

She steadfastly refused to look at her husband, judging by the absolute silence in the hall he was most displeased with her impudence.

Christien finally turned to her with polite indifference, nearly breaking her heart. This was the way it must be, but she wanted one last acknowledgment of what they meant to each other.

“I thank you for your well wishes, my lady, and wish as well that God keep you safe.” He turned and motioned to his men who filed out behind him.

Madelaine sank down onto the bench in the count’s garden and stared up at the ever-darkening dusk. In the weeks since Christien left, she’d been living in a state of heightened fear, constantly looking over her shoulder for Lucien, always on guard, always afraid to be alone. But tonight she needed privacy to control the tears that wouldn’t go away and to gather her wits about her.

News from Paris wasn’t good. Jacques deMolay, the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, had been seized and thrown in a dungeon because he would not reveal the location of the Templar’s treasure.

With growing anxiety Madelaine waited for word from Christien but heard nothing. A ball of dread settled in her stomach, a premonition of doom surrounded her. Was Christien in the dungeon with his leader?

Occasionally she would glimpse Jean Paul, the man Christien left behind to protect her, but he kept to the shadows, never drawing the attention of others and she was too afraid to approach him to ask for news.

She curled her fingers into the velvet of her gown and leaned forward, finally letting loose the tears that had been pushing against the back of her eyes ever since she left the midwife’s lodgings.

She was with child. After all these years, she was carrying the count’s babe. She knuckled the tears from her eyes. Damn Christien! If he hadn’t been so chivalrous this might have been his babe growing inside her womb. Yet wasn’t it his chivalry that had drawn her to him in the first place? And while heartwarming though the thought was, carrying his child would bring a host of other problems Madelaine didn’t think she was up to confronting.

She leaned against the stone wall and closed her eyes, alone and miserable and lost. She remembered the last time she sat here crying because she was not with child. Christien had come to her and held her, so concerned, so…kind. It had been their first kiss, and a memory she would cherish until she was old and stooped.

She must have dozed because when she opened her eyes it was fully dark and fear shot through her. Quickly she looked around. How long had she been here?

She stood quickly, her hands shaking, her stomach turning with nausea.

She hurried down the path, nearly running, her fear prodding her forward. She’d been so good at avoiding Lucien by never being alone.

A scuff of a boot on the path in front of her had her skidding to a halt. She peered through the darkness to see who it was, praying it was one of the serving wenches or even Jean Paul.

In all of Madelaine’s young years God had yet to answer her prayers and this night was no exception. Lucien stepped into the path. His back was to her and almost immediately another person joined him. A woman.

Breath held, Madelaine slid into the shadows of the castle wall.

“You sent the messenger?” Lucien asked.

“Aye.” The woman stepped into the light.

She knew her. The blacksmith’s widow. A lazy woman who warmed the beds of various men, who earned her meals through her talents in the bedchamber, and who was whispered to be very talented indeed. So talented she’d caught the attention of the count and had been warming his bed for many months.

Hers was the voice from the incident in the garden so long ago. She was the woman the count had tupped while Madelaine and Christien hid in the shadows.

“The count doesn’t know?” Lucien asked.

“Nay,” the woman said. She had long, blond hair that was more white than wheat and pale skin. ’Twas no wonder most of the men went in search of her for she was beautiful, but Madelaine heard her price was high and she wouldn’t give herself to just any man.

“How long before we hear a response?” the woman asked. Madelaine searched her memory for a name.

Lucien shrugged. “’Tis hard to tell in these times. Philip is occupied with deMolay and the Templars. My hope is he sees that the missive comes from his cousin the countess and reads it right away.”

Madelaine gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth to cover the sound but ’twas too late. Lucien and the woman spun around.

“Who’s there?” the woman demanded.

Giselle. Her name was Giselle.

Lucien took a step forward, searching the shadows.

Madelaine turned and fled, picking up her skirts and running as she’d never run before, her only thought to get out of the bailey and outside the walls of the castle. If she reached the forest beyond, she’d be able to hide. Hiding inside the castle wasn’t an option. Lucien would use the full force of his authority to tear down the walls looking for her and she needed to get to her cousin.

“Stop her!” Lucien yelled.

She ran faster, dodging the hands reaching out to her and slipping out of a few men’s grasps.

Men on the battlements rushed to their stations, shouting to each other.

A soldier raced along the battlement to the gatehouse, an axe in his hand glinting in the firelight of the torches. If he cut through the rope holding the portcullis before she reached it, she was as good as dead. The soldier made it to the gatehouse and she lost sight of him. Not knowing where it came from, she put on another burst of speed. Behind her soldiers were yelling. Inside the gatehouse the soldier with the axe was hacking away at the rope.

Madelaine reached the main entrance just as the portcullis broke free of the thick rope. She dove through the entrance. The wind of the falling portcullis whispered across her legs before the metal teeth bit into the wood of the drawbridge. Mon Dieu, that had been too close.

The closed gate wouldn’t hold Lucien back for long, though. She stumbled to her feet and ran for the line of trees. Inside the inner ward, men were shouting. The forest swallowed her up and still she dared not slow. Her hope was that Jean Paul would hear the commotion and come to her rescue although she realized her hope was futile. She hadn’t seen Jean Paul all day and he always made a point to show himself to her. More than likely Jean Paul was dead.

Her breath sawed in and out of burning lungs and the beat of her heart was so heavy, so fast, the forest animals probably heard it. She certainly didn’t hear anything over the drum of it. Her legs were weakening, exhausted, but still she pressed on, breathing hard, breathing deep. Breathing ragged.

Lucien had sent a letter to King Philip and used her name to get his attention. What did it all mean?

Had Lucien revealed her relationship with Christien to her cousin? Fear had her tripping over the hem of her gown. Where was Christien? Was he in Philip’s dungeon and if so what would Philip do to him? She had to get to Paris to find out. How she was to get there, she didn’t know yet.

The faint sounds of barking dogs were far off in the distance. Mon Dieu, he’d brought the dogs! She put on a burst of speed, running blindly through the dark night. A tree branch snagged her veil and yanked her head back. She grabbed the veil, not wanting to leave a trail even though the dogs could easily smell the wake of her fear. A root seemed to lift from the ground and she tripped, stumbled a few steps and went down on one knee. Pain erupted up her leg. When she stood, her knee almost gave out. She controlled her sobs but the tears leaked down her cheeks.

She glanced over her shoulder. The forest was too dark. Quiet, except for the baying of the dogs in the distance. She began to pray disjointed prayers that had never helped before but in which she’d never given up hope.

“Pater noster, qui es in caelis,” she whispered through uneven breaths, “sanctificetur Nomen tuum.” Our Father, who art in heaven…

A sharp bark told her the hounds were closer. Lucien called her name. Her heart nearly stopped and she forgot about her prayer. She stumbled into a clearing and skidded to a halt. Hands on her knees, she dragged in deep breath after deep breath. Tears dripped off her nose into the soft earth. The sound of horses’ hooves quickly coming toward her from the other direction had her jerking her head up.

She slid behind a tree and waited, hoping it was Jean Paul or mayhap Christien. Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if Christien were on his way to her! But she had a horrible suspicion Christien was being detained in Paris.

She peered through the darkness, barely making out the horse from the light of the moon.

The animal coming from the other side was too small to be one of the warrior horses that Christien and Jean Paul rode and sitting atop it was the slight form of a woman—not a knight.

A woman would help her. A woman would understand.

She stood uncertainly by the tree as the rider approached. She seemed to know Madelaine was there for she unerringly headed toward her. Behind Madelaine, the dogs grew louder. She had no choice but to trust the woman now.

Mayhap she could somehow make it to her father’s castle and find safety there and transportation to Paris. Her father would help her. Of course her father’s castle would be the first place Lucien would look. She shook her head, her thoughts too jumbled, too confused. For now she must concentrate on escape. Later she would plan where she would go.

The clouds moved away from the moon, revealing the face of the woman on the horse.

“No!” Madelaine cried out and sprinted away.

The horse followed at a leisurely canter and the woman’s laughter drifted toward Madelaine. She was caught. Trapped between the horse and the dogs. Her steps slowed until she stopped, her shoulders bowed.

The crunch of leaves beneath booted feet had her looking up into the dark, black eyes of Lucien. Behind him Giselle slid off her horse and stood beside it.

“So now you know,” Lucien said.

Madelaine shook her head. “I know nothing.”

Lucien struck out, his open palm connecting with her cheek, snapping her head sideways. She cried out. Her vision dimmed, the pain was so great.

“Do not lie, Madelaine. ’Tis unbecoming.”

The dogs circled at their feet, whining and yapping. Lucien kicked at one. It yelped and limped off. The others, sensing his mood, quietly slunk away.

Giselle’s avid gaze bounced between the two of them.

“The count will not like this,” Madelaine said.

“I no longer fear the count.”

Madelaine stilled. Fear skittered up her spine. The count had been called away that morning to Paris and she’d been relieved he was gone. Now she wished he was here because she would rather face his wrath than what Lucien had in mind for her.

“What have you done?” she whispered.

Lucien looked her up and down boldly. “Nothing. Yet. You have heard, of course, of what is happening in Paris.” He shook his head and tsked. “It’s a shame that the Templar leader does not cooperate. But that is the way with such men, eh?” He put his hands behind him and rocked back on his heels. “Your poor fool of a husband is trying in vain to free the Grand Knight but I see in which direction the winds are blowing.”

Madelaine’s breathing grew rapid. She wanted to shout at Lucien to be quiet because she knew what he was going to say next.

“The other lords see it too. Only your husband is the blind one. Fool. I fear Count Flandres will soon fall out of favor and even your connection to King Philip will not save him.”

It was beginning to make sense now. Lucien wrote to Philip of the count’s defection. Or what Philip would determine as his defection. Her husband was as good as dead.

“When Philip discovers your so-called loyalty, you want to be rewarded.” She shuddered to think what the reward would be. It was well known priests turned a blind eye to their vows of chastity. Many were raising illegitimate children and had numerous mistresses, while the church stood by doing nothing.

Her death wasn’t what Lucien wanted. He wanted her. He wanted what he’d been denied when Christien barged into the bedchamber the last time. He wanted revenge and she feared even her cousin wouldn’t stop him.

Lucien laughed. “You value yourself too much, Countess.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his dirty knuckles. “Although you would be a just reward. One I may take along with the other.”

Madelaine forced herself to meet the bottomless depth of his soulless eyes. “Other?”

Lucien smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. “What I will receive goes far beyond the pleasures of the flesh, my lady. I need merely take what Philip wants.”

Madelaine licked suddenly dry lips. “The Templar treasure,” she whispered.

Lucien touched the tip of her nose, an indulgent smile on his disgusting face. “The lady is smarter than she pretends to be. You are correct. The Templar treasure. And do you know what the Templar treasure is, Countess?”

She shook her head.

“Conquest, war, famine and death.”

Madelaine drew in a stunned breath. He was speaking of the Book of Revelation. ’Twas one of his favorite books of the Bible to read from at dinner and Madelaine knew most of it by heart now.

Lucien grinned. “I see you know what I speak of. The book, my countess. The one with the seven seals. The Templars have it and I will retrieve it from them.” He leaned forward as if imparting a great secret. “I’ve been promised eternal life if I take it from them, and if I find a way to open the seals I will receive the power of the horsemen.”

He stepped closer, until nothing separated them but the clothes they wore, and shoved the full length of his body against hers, grinding his manhood into her until she cried out in pain. He leaned forward and kissed her so hard he smashed her lips against her teeth and she tasted her own blood.

She was accustomed to brutal kisses, was accustomed to her husband taking what he wanted without asking and had long ago resigned her fate to such a life, but this was different. This wasn’t her husband who had a right to her. This was a madman who believed he could become one of the horsemen of the Apocalypse.

She sank her teeth into Lucien’s lip. Like a dog with a rabbit, she didn’t let go when he jerked back. He backhanded her with a viciousness that made her stagger to the side and her ears ring and her vision dim.

“Is this how it will be, my countess?” He dabbed at his lip, glancing at the blood now on his fingers. He smiled, flicking his tongue out to lick the blood pooling in the corner. Madelaine turned away, sickened.

He grabbed her chin and yanked her head toward him, forcing her eyes to meet his. He hit her again, an openhanded slap on the opposite cheek that threw her head sideways, causing the rough tree bark to cut her temple.

“Submit to me and I will give you power that you can only imagine. We will have eternity, my countess. Forever.”

With a strangled cry, Giselle rushed forward, her face a mask of fury. “What is this? I was promised eternity and power.”

Lucien laughed. “Surely you don’t believe a whore such as yourself would be of service to someone as powerful as I plan to become. Not someone who was married to the castle blacksmith.” He spit the word blacksmith out as if it tasted foul in his mouth.

With a screech, Giselle sprung on Lucien, but he was expecting the attack and pushed her away. Giselle stumbled and fell. Madelaine turned and ran.

Instantly the dogs were there, howling and circling, tripping her. Lucien grabbed her and wrapped his hand around her throat, pushing until she slammed against the trunk of a large tree. Pinned there she could do nothing but look at the muscles bulging in his neck and his black eyes narrowed in fury.

A scream rent the quiet night air. Lucien turned as Giselle swung a large branch. He yelled out, raised his hands to deflect the blow but was too late. The limb slammed into his temple. For a moment he staggered, his surprised gaze going to Giselle, before his knees crumpled and he fell.

“You!” Giselle advanced on her still holding the tree branch.

Madelaine picked up her skirts and ran. She was shoved from behind and lost her footing. She fell forward, her face hitting the hard-packed dirt, jarring her teeth and forcing the breath out of her. Giselle flipped her over and wrapped her hands around Madelaine’s throat. Madelaine kicked but her skirts hampered her movements. She tried to scream, but no sound escaped. The dogs came, prancing around them, whining and howling. But as if sensing the evil inside Giselle, they kept their distance.

Giselle lifted Madelaine from the ground by the hands around her throat and slammed her head into the dirt.

Pain exploded in her head and shoulders. She cried out. Giselle’s face, a twisted mass of raging fury and evil, froze Madelaine’s blood. She’d never seen such hatred before.

“He promised me,” she grunted between clenched teeth. “I was to be at his side for eternity. He. Promised. Me.” With each word, Giselle slammed Madelaine’s head into the ground.

Madelaine tried to fight but her strength was nothing compared to Giselle’s. Eventually her limbs grew heavy, the forest faded and even the dogs’ barking sounded like it came from a great distance.

Hope. The one thing she’d clung to for so long slowly trickled out of her. There would be no daring rescue from the man she loved and she refused to bring a baby into this sordid, hellish world she’d been thrust into. She tried to keep her eyes open as Giselle’s hands tightened upon her throat, but it proved too much. Her eyes drifted closed. She conjured an image of Christien, his smoky gray eyes bursting with love as he leaned forward to kiss her.

A terrible grief consumed her. They would never be together to celebrate their love. They’d never had a chance.

The grief gave way to lightness as she gasped her last breath.

Chapter Nineteen

“Madelaine, wake up. Madelaine.”

Lainie gasped. Her eyes flew open to stare at a dark ceiling dappled with moonlight. No trees looming above her, no rocks digging into her back. No fingers circling her neck and choking the life from her. A ceiling in Christien’s home. In France.

Tears traveled into her hairline and onto her pillow. Terror seized her in its hideous grasp.

Christien gathered her stiff body in his arms. “’Twas a dream, mon couer. Only a dream.”

She struggled to catch her breath and tame her runaway heart. Her knee ached, like she really had fallen on it. Her throat hurt to swallow, like someone really had strangled her.

A sob rushed through her, shaking her body and breaking the numbing paralysis.

She clung to Christien, fisting her hands on his bare chest. Giselle’s face loomed in front of her, her eyes furious. Lainie cringed from the image and Christien pulled her tightly to him. But even Christien’s strong arms would never dispel the image of what happened in that forest.

She pulled away from Christien. “She was strangled. That’s how she died, isn’t it?”

“Strangled? By Lucien?”

“Not Lucien. In my dream it was Giselle, but that can’t be right.”

“Giselle?” he whispered.

“Of course it wasn’t Giselle.” Lainie ran a hand through her tangled hair and laughed, but the laugh was weak. “I’ve been thinking about my project at work and my mind probably stuck Giselle in my dream.”

“Are you sure it was her?”

“I’m sure I dreamt it was her, but she wasn’t the one who killed Madelaine. That would make her something like seven hundred years old or reincarnated. Like me.” She tried to infuse some levity into her voice, making a joke out of something not all that funny, but it failed miserably. Instead her voice wobbled and the statement came out more a question. But Christien didn’t seem to be listening.

“Tell me everything. Everything you saw in your dream,” he said.

Her mind shied from the visions that wouldn’t let her go. She didn’t want to relive Madelaine’s fear and grief. Nor her death or terrifying things Lucien said to her at the end. Already her heart was galloping, as if she really had run through the forest. She heard the baying dogs, her ragged breaths, the swish of her skirts through the underbrush. Like her other dreams, this one was so real she felt as if she’d been there.

“I’m sorry, ma chérie, but I need you to tell me. It’s important.”

She took a deep breath and clutched Christien’s hand like it was her last tie to this earth. “They were so sure Lucien would go after Madelaine, and he did, but not in the way they thought.”

Christien and Madelaine hadn’t died together. They never found their happiness. Stupid of her to think they would when so much had been stacked against them. But she’d hoped. She’d really hoped.

“She’d discovered she was pregnant with the count’s baby.”

Christien’s fingers flexed in hers and he drew in a sharp breath.

“She went to the garden, to the spot where she met Christien that one night. Lucien was there. He was talking to…” She frowned. “A woman. A woman who looked like Giselle. She heard them talking about King Philip and a letter he’d sent telling the king that Simon of Flandres was sympathetic to the Templar’s cause and he was trying to free the Grand Master.”

Christien didn’t move. He barely even breathed. “What happened?”

“I ran away. I was scared.” The words came faster. Her chest heaved with the effort to slow them down. She barely realized she was speaking in the first person. “So I ran.”

Christien rubbed his thumb along the top of her hand, back and forth, anchoring her.

“Lucien and…Giselle followed. They had an argument. Lucien claimed…” She couldn’t even speak the blasphemous things Lucien had said to her. The ravings of a madman. That was all it was.

“Tell me, Madelaine. I need to know.”

She took a deep breath and looked into Christien’s eyes. “He told me he had to steal the Templar treasure. He said if he broke the seals then he would have the power of one of the four horsemen.”

Madelaine’s terror came rushing back but Lainie wasn’t sure it was Madelaine’s anymore. It felt all too real when she thought of the books on Christien’s bookshelf that referred to the Book of Revelation.

“What happened next?” he asked urgently.

Lainie brushed the tears off her face. “Giselle was furious. She hit Lucien with a tree branch and knocked him out. Then she strangled… She killed Madelaine.”

She cried, deep sobs that robbed her of breath and shook her body. Christien held her, rocked her, rubbed her back and murmured soothing words until the tears subsided and she pulled away.

“I think I knew she wasn’t going to live long. It’s just…” She dragged in a deep breath. “It still shocked me.” She tried to pull herself together, to stop the endless tears, to stifle the clawing fear. “What is this all about, Christien? Why would Lucien think he could break the seals and become a horseman?”

Christien stood and pulled her up with him. “Come, Madelaine, let’s get dressed. There is something you must see.”

“Now?” She looked out the window where the dark sky was slowly turning a deep purple. A new day dawning, yet Lainie felt as if it were the end rather than another beginning.

“Trust me, love. You need to see this.”

Lainie hesitated but eventually nodded. She did trust Christien. As bizarre as this was, one thing remained steady—her trust and her love for this man.

They dressed silently. A pall hung between them, a sadness that would never be easily erased. She’d lived with this other Madelaine for weeks, experienced her terror, her joy, watched her fall in love with her dark knight. To witness her death, with no warning, horrified her and left her empty and sad.

Once they were dressed, Christien took her hand and led her out of the house, through the countryside and over rolling hills covered with purple lavender. The air was so fresh and even though her grief pressed down on her, she still felt as if she’d come home. This is where I was meant to be.

She didn’t know how long they walked—ten minutes? twenty?—when they entered a line of trees. Lainie hesitated, the terror of her last memory rearing its ugly head. Christien looked back at her, his heart in his eyes. Her trust in him outweighed the fear and urged her forward.

After a few minutes the trees thinned out, giving way to a small clearing shrouded in the shadows of the waning night. In the middle of the clearing was a cemetery surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence.

The gravestones were old, some so worn the lettering was almost nonexistent. Many were centuries old, but one in particular looked brand-new.

Christien stopped in front of it and bowed his head, his shoulders curving as if the responsibilities of the world rested on them. Lainie read the epitaph.

Madelaine, Countess of Flandres

1288-1307

There is nothing love cannot face;
there is no limit to its faith,
its hope, and its endurance.

“I brought her body here after I purchased her family home.”

Lainie’s gaze flew to Christien. She pictured the imposing house high on a hill with the surrounding countryside spread before it.

With turrets, crenellations and arrow slits, it was more a castle than house. Built as a weapon of war, a stronghold and a place to retreat to for safety. Now she understood why it looked so familiar, why she was able to walk through it without losing her way and why she felt safe within its walls.

She hadn’t dreamed of it, but she knew as deeply as she knew she loved Christien that this was where she grew up. There had been additions, renovations and improvements over the years but the heart of the castle remained the same.

“Why?” She wasn’t sure which question swirling through her brain she was asking. Why did he own Madelaine’s home? Why was her grave here?

He looked at her through the shadows of the dawn, sadness burning in his eyes. “She needed to be here, where she was happiest.”

“She was happiest with Christien.” Lainie touched the cold stone, damp from the dew. “I can’t imagine his sorrow when he returned to find her…gone.”

“He was devastated. Beyond grief. I… He returned to the castle too late to save you.” He pressed his fingers into his eyes.

Stunned, caught in his grief and rage, she touched his arm, not knowing what else to do. His muscles were tense, rock hard.

He drew in a deep breath. “They told me you had fallen off your horse and broke your neck but I doubted the story. However events were unfolding swiftly. King Philip was experiencing heavy financial losses and wanted to acquire the Templar’s wealth by accusing us of heresy and witchcraft. Our leader, deMolay, had already been arrested. My fellow brothers were being rounded up, questioned, tortured, accused of heinous crimes. I was ordered back to Paris to meet with deMolay. There had been no time to inquire further into your death. I thought when I returned I would look into it. But it was not to be. In Paris I was given a…task. I had to travel to Scotland right away. I had no choice.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat, still staring at the stars.

Scotland. That explained the Celtic cross tattooed on his chest. A tattoo he said he received in Scotland a long time ago. Puzzle pieces were starting to fall into place, but her mind shied from the picture forming. Certainly what she was thinking was impossible. And yet hadn’t she at one time thought reincarnation was impossible?

“I was operating on sheer force of will and the desperate need to protect the Templar treasure.” He looked at her. “The same treasure Lucien was promised if he took it from me.”

Lainie took a step back as if distance could separate her from what she was hearing. She’d thought Lucien insane but she knew Christien not to be. Yet why was he telling almost the same story? Why did he too believe in this treasure?

“It took eighteen months to get to Scotland,” he said. “I traveled at night. The tide of hatred toward the Templars was growing, spreading across countries and continents. I had a mission and it was all I concentrated on. Finish my mission and I could die for there was no thought of living without you.”

Lainie swallowed past the lump in her throat, aching for her dark knight and his pain.

“I almost failed several times. I was weak with fever, dying with every breath I took. But it was not enough.” He pounded his fist against the headstone. “’Tis never enough. I was brought back from the brink of death and told I must protect the treasure for always.”

“What do you mean brought back from death?” she whispered.

Christien turned to her, his look intense, the knowledge of centuries engraved upon his face and reflected in his eyes. She took another step back, suddenly afraid.

“I died. And then I was resurrected, never to die again.”

Heartbeats of silence passed, Christien looking deep into her eyes, willing her to accept what he was saying and Lainie, pushing away the thoughts, refusing to believe.

“I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do. I am the same man you met seven hundred years ago. I live still and will continue to live until the end of time. I am the keeper of the treasure of the Knights Templar—the treasure Lucien, now named Lucheux, wants to take from me. I am forever alive, yet dead inside until you came along.”

She shook her head, holding her hands out as if she could physically stop him from speaking.

Christien moved toward her. “You dreamt of us, Madelaine. You understand that you and the Countess of Flandres are one and the same. Is it not too much to believe I am the same man?”

Lainie swallowed and licked her dry lips. “How is it possible—”

Christien huffed out a laugh. “Oh, it’s very possible. God sent his emissary to pull me from the brink of death, to heal me of the fever and to thrust me back out into the world. Forever.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m all that stands between good and evil.”

There are people who want to get to me through you.

The words he said to her in the hospital suddenly took on a whole new meaning and chilled her.

“This evil.” She cleared her throat. “Is that what you meant when you said I wasn’t safe?”

“Yes.”

Fear leapt inside her but she bravely fought it down. “Who is… What is the evil?”

For a long moment he didn’t speak, as if he didn’t want to say what had to be said. The longer the silence stretched, the harder her heart pounded and the weaker her knees became.

“Christien. Tell me. Please. Is Lucheux the evil you speak of?” Good God, what was happening here? What was Christien in the middle of?

His eyes were like flint. “Yes. The treasure I was chosen to protect contains the seven seals. If they are opened…” His voice trailed off but he didn’t need to say more. His message was clear enough. If they were opened unspeakable things would happen, all leading to the Apocalypse.

She didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know, but she asked anyway because to deny it would be cowardly and she wasn’t a coward. “Lucheux. He’s the opposite of you?”

For the first time a shadow of a smile played across his lips. “You could say that. He and Giselle were given eternal life by a demon of Satan. They are tasked with finding the treasure and opening the seals.” Christien’s lips thinned. “’Tis the reason I was in Milwaukee. To keep an eye on them and contain them.”

Even though she’d been expecting his answer, it still felt as if someone had body-slammed her. Lucheux and Giselle. The people she worked for. The woman who’d killed her in another life. This couldn’t be happening. These were the things movies were made of, not something that happened in real life. And yet, part of her believed. No, part of her knew it to be true. It all made sense now. The clothes in Christien’s bedroom, Giselle’s hatred. Is this why Lucheux never showed his face to her? Had he known she’d been dreaming of him? Yet she hadn’t dreamt of Giselle until the very end. How had they known?

A terrifying chill raced up her spine. He knew. The demon or Satan. One of them knew what she’d been dreaming. Had maybe even controlled her dreams?

“Now do you understand my fear, Madelaine? This is far worse than anything you could have imagined. And to think you were brought into the middle of it.” His teeth came together and a soft growl erupted from him. “It kills me.”

You are my Achilles heel. His words came back to her, bitter, full of irony.

“I was reborn to be used as a pawn against you.” The thought staggered her, frightened her more than anything else. She had been conceived to bring about the downfall of Christien. The downfall of the world.

“At first I thought that, but now I am not so sure.”

“How can you believe otherwise?” she cried. “We were in love all those centuries ago. To bring me back would destroy you. Distract you from your purpose.”

He grabbed her shoulders and looked at her fiercely. “Your return didn’t destroy me. It gave me hope and reminded me what life is about. Your return was every dream, every prayer, every hope come true. Don’t ever believe otherwise. I love you, Madelaine. Through centuries, through wars. Nothing will change that.”

She blinked her tears away. This wasn’t a do-over like she believed. This wasn’t God’s way of righting a wrong, of bringing two good people together again so this time they could have a happy ending.

This was a disaster in the making.

“What I can’t figure out is why the attempts on your life? If you were sent as a distraction why kill you?”

“Giselle,” Lainie whispered.

“What about Giselle?”

“She killed me because Lucien wanted me. She still hates me.”

“I should have seen,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“How could you? You didn’t know Giselle and Lucien were lovers back then.”

“But I should have known.”

“Beating yourself up isn’t going to help us. We need to figure out what to do.”

“’Tis obvious what I have to do. There are two treasures to protect now.”

Lainie shook her head, her heart rending in two. “The Templar treasure is more important. What will happen if Lucheux and Giselle get their hands on it?”

She stepped away, creating more distance from Christien.

Christien looked at her sharply. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t you see? I have to leave you.”

“No!” He reached for her but she sidestepped him, her heart breaking, but her resolve firm.

“If I’m not around. If I’m…gone, they have no hold over you. You can concentrate on protecting the treasure.”

“You don’t understand, Madelaine.” His heart was in his eyes, the pain and terror of losing her so acute she felt it inside her. Her own emotions mirrored his, but this was one thing he wasn’t going to talk her out of. She knew what she had to do.

“I’m your Achilles heel.”

He winced. “No.”

“Yes.” She took another step away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I will not allow this. You will stay beside me.”

“There are some things you can’t command, Christien. Some things are out of your hands.”

“Not this.”

Her dark knight. Her hero. The man of her dreams. She was dying inside, knowing what she had to do to make this right. To bring balance back into the world.

“You think you know, but you don’t,” he said. “You don’t know everything.”

He slowly made his way toward her and God forgive her, she couldn’t move away. Her feet were planted in the earth as surely as the roots of the tree growing a few paces away.

“When I was told of my mission—to live forever, to protect the treasure—I was also told of the key that would break the seals.”

Lainie stilled. “Key?”

“A key, Madelaine.” He reached out and lifted the silver key hanging around her neck, cradling it in his large hand. His fingers closed around the necklace and his worried gaze searched hers.

“This isn’t the key,” she said. “This was given to me by my mother and has been in her family for years.”

“I did some research into your family.”

Her heart nearly stopped beating and by the look on his face, she knew she didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

“You were adopted—”

“No!” She tore herself away from him, yanking the chain out of his hand. The fragile links broke and the key slithered through the severed chain to land on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Christien said softly, knowing he was tearing her world apart, breaking her down piece by piece.

“You’re lying.”

Her pain was his pain and he wished to God he didn’t have to do this to her, but she had to understand running from him wasn’t the answer. She was as much a part of this as he was. “Ah, Madelaine. I would never lie to you.”

She swallowed, her eyes bright with unshed tears. And still he had more to tell her, more that would destroy her and shatter everything she knew about herself and her family. He hated himself for what he was doing even if it was necessary.

“Your birth mother and father were killed in a car crash while you were still inside her womb. The doctors were able to save the baby.” He touched her cheek. “You, Madelaine. You were adopted by the Alexanders when you were but days old.”

She shook her head, loosening the tears clinging tenaciously to her lashes. He thought of her father in the nursing home, of her need to take care of the man who raised her as his own. Her face was twisted into disbelief and a sliver of fear raced through him. Would she ever forgive him for destroying her world?

He wished he had the ability to snatch the words out of the air, to not have to tell her the truth of her lineage. His only hope was that one day she would forgive him and understand the necessity. In the meantime he would die a thousand deaths knowing how much he hurt her.

“Your family lineage goes back a long way. A very long way. To biblical times.” He’d been shocked and awed to discover her ancestry and immediately knew he had to protect it at all cost.

“No,” she whispered, but this denial wasn’t as forceful as the others.

“The key isn’t a piece of silver,” he said. “The key is you. Your bloodline.”

She pressed a fist to her mouth and slowly sank to the ground as if her legs couldn’t hold her anymore.

He crouched before her, brushing her hair from her face. She cringed from him, breaking his heart all over again. He was destroying everything they built together and he wasn’t finished yet.

“There is more.”

She shook her head, her eyes wide and pleading for him to stop.

“There is another like you, Madelaine. You were a twin.”

A strangled gasp made its way around the fist still pressed to her mouth.

“I haven’t been able to locate her but I’m trying, using every resource at my disposal. We will find her, I promise.” He had to find her and protect her as much as he had to protect Madelaine.

Her eyes were dull, as if her mind was shutting down with too much information too fast. Christien tried to put on a brave face when inside he felt anything but brave. He was scared to death he’d crushed the best thing that had happened to him in over seven hundred years.

“So you see, Madelaine. You cannot leave me. You can’t run from me. You are needed because you are the key. I am as devoted to protecting you as I am to the treasure.”

Chapter Twenty

Lainie wandered through the cavernous house like a ghost flitting through the shadows. Insubstantial. Grounded one minute, floating the next.

Everything she’d known, everything she’d been, was wiped out. Gone. She wasn’t Lainie Alexander anymore. She didn’t know who she was.

She avoided Christien simply because she didn’t know what to say to him and didn’t know how to ease the desperation in his eyes when she was barely able to handle her own.

She didn’t blame him for telling her about her past—he did what he had to—but she had moments when she desperately wished he kept the information to himself.

“Madelaine?”

She turned from the library window where she’d been staring blindly out. Christien stood in the doorway, questions she didn’t want to answer swirling in the steel depths of his eyes. He wanted to know where they went from here, but how did she answer that when she had no idea where she was coming from? How could she give of herself when she didn’t know who she was anymore? How was she supposed to act now that she knew they weren’t two people loving each other but two people who could possibly start the Apocalypse?

“Are you hungry? You haven’t eaten all day,” he said.

“I’m fine.” But they both knew that was a lie.

He stepped into the room and hesitated, as though he didn’t know if he were welcome. She didn’t encourage him to come closer. It wasn’t that she loved Christien less or that she was angry at him. She was neither. Since learning of her adoption and Christien’s true purpose in life, she found herself growing colder and colder. As if she were encased in ice. And she had no idea how to thaw herself or even if she wanted to. The ice kept the bigger emotions at bay, the clawing fear and despair of discovering she wasn’t who she thought she’d been for nearly thirty years. And the hurt of knowing she wasn’t an Alexander after all.

“Is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head, hating that she was hurting him, but not knowing what else to do. Comfort, to give or receive, was beyond her right now. She was lucky to draw her next breath and take her next step without shattering.

His lips thinned. The skin around his eyes was pinched and gray. He hadn’t slept much more than she. In the dark of the night she’d heard him moving around upstairs, felt his concern for her and still she didn’t go to him.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself. Quietly, he turned and left. She went back to looking out the window, the beautiful countryside nothing but a blur.

However, a restlessness inside her wouldn’t allow her to stay still for long, so she headed outside. The breeze was warm, the heady scent of the lavender bushes on either side of the massive front door a balm to her shattered soul.

The gravel drive crunched beneath her booted feet. The noon sun, high in the sky, warmed her shoulders, but didn’t touch the ice around her heart. She had no destination in mind, but it was as if her heart had its own purpose and she found herself tracing the path to Madelaine’s grave. She needed to be near the woman she’d come to know in her dreams. The woman she’d been centuries ago. In some ways she felt more connected to that woman than herself.

Poor Christien. What agony he must have felt when he returned to find her dead. And yet he’d carried on. Not only that, but he’d undertaken a huge mission to transport the treasure to Scotland, away from King Philip and the men rounding up and torturing the other Knights. Knights Christien fought alongside and broke bread with. What had it been like to be on the run for so long, alone and scared and hurting? He’d lost Madelaine, his brothers, the life he’d known. And yet, he’d believed enough to keep going, to trudge through countries, over oceans and into distant lands, knowing he was being hunted. Against all odds, he persevered. She couldn’t help but compare his plight to what she was going through now and note the parallels. She lost the life she’d known and the family she thought was hers but really wasn’t.

If Christien could do it then, she could do it now.

She believed. In her heart—in her blood—she knew what Christien said to be true. They’d lived another life together. He truly was the keeper of the treasure and evil forces were after him.

Giselle and Lucheux.

In a weird, twisted sort of way it all made sense.

Funny how she so readily accepted that and yet had a hard time believing she had a sister.

All her life she wanted a sibling, had begged her parents for one when she was younger. They’d told her she was all they needed. When she was older she’d come to accept there would be no siblings. She’d been a miracle to an older couple who struggled with infertility their entire marriage, and they were happy with the daughter God gave them. She’d given up the campaign for siblings but never the wish.

And now she had her wish and she didn’t know what to do with it.

A sister.

A twin.

A sibling who carried the same blood as her. Blood that reached all the way back to biblical times if Christien were to be believed.

Lainie trudged up a hill, winded, the sun heating her back.

While she prowled the house last night, wide awake, her mind whirling, she’d stumbled across Christien’s office. Without the least bit of remorse, she booted up his computer and started asking Google questions. What she found prompted more questions.

According to the Bible, the seals could only be broken by The Lion of Judah. Biblical scholars believed the Lion of Judah could refer to a prince of the blood of Christ.

No one was clear on what or who the prince of the blood of Christ was. But Christien seemed to believe she was worthy enough. That she was the key to opening those seals, to releasing the horsemen who would destroy the earth. War, famine, death, conquest. You couldn’t get more Apocalyptic than that.

If this were true she was even more convinced she needed to disappear. But she couldn’t disappear now that there was another one out there with her blood. A sister. What was her name? What had her life been like? Did she know of Lainie’s existence? A thrill of anticipation raced through her.

Lainie stopped to catch her breath and lean against a large tree trunk. She lifted her face to the sun. Occasionally she’d hear small animals rustling through the dead leaves and brush, reminding her she wasn’t totally alone.

Except she should have stumbled across the cemetery by now.

Biting her lip, she pushed down the alarm tingling up her spine. She wasn’t lost. She was…somewhere on Christien’s land. She had to be because he told her he owned as far as the eye could see. She just had to backtrack and find out where she took a wrong turn.

Except she couldn’t remember where she’d come from. Everything was starting to look the same. There was no break in the trees, no path, no sign with an arrow that said Castle This Way.

She huffed out a breath.

Which way? Damn it, she should have told Christien she was going for a walk instead of wandering away by herself. Don’t panic, this is the twenty-first century. You’re not in the middle of some medieval forest. Eventually you’ll run across someone.

The skin on the back of her neck prickled and she went still. Her muscles tensed. Slowly she turned her head to the right, then the left. Except for an occasional red squirrel rooting through the bushes, no one else seemed to be in the woods. She blew out a slow breath to calm her racing heart.

She was being paranoid. Nothing there.

But the feeling of being watched persisted, so strong the small hairs on her arm stood on end. She felt eyes boring into her back, making her skin itch like a thousand ants crawling up her spine.

Heart pounding, she pushed away from the tree and peered through the dense forest.

“Christien?” Had he followed her? Was he even now watching over her?

No answer.

Maybe he was angry at her for pushing him away and didn’t want to answer. In her heart, though, she knew that wasn’t true. Christien wouldn’t act like a petulant child, but even so she said, “I’m sorry about this morning. I just needed to get my head on straight. You can come out. I won’t bite, I promise.” She smiled, but the smile slowly faded when her only answer was the frantic beating of a woodpecker’s beak against an unsuspecting tree.

She started walking, deliberately slowing her steps when all she wanted to do was run. She would not give in to this paranoia.

Straining to hear any sound other than the normal forest sounds, she picked her steps carefully, trying not to make much noise, but she didn’t do a very good job.

The farther she walked, the more intense her fear became. She had no idea in which direction she was heading.

The crunch of leaves behind her had her whipping her head around on a gasp of fear. A shadow flitted behind a tree. Lainie stilled, her eyes darting around, her heart beating so hard she barely heard anything above it. Her fingers twitched in a burst of adrenaline and she had to consciously tell herself to remain still.

She waited for what seemed like a long time but was probably only a minute. The birds were still chirping. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Didn’t birds sense danger?

She started walking again, looking over her shoulder every few steps.

A few minutes later she stumbled upon a small clearing that didn’t look at all familiar. How long had she walked? How far was she from the castle?

A shadow stepped out of the trees in front of her. Lainie froze like a rabbit caught in the crosshairs.

Run, her mind screamed, but her legs remained stubbornly still.

“What are you doing here?” she managed to ask.

“Oh, I think you know.” Usually perfectly coiffed, Giselle’s hair hung in greasy clumps around a face pinched with hatred.

Lainie’s heart thundered. She swiveled on her boot heel and took off running, her legs pumping, her arms swinging. She had a chance if she could make it to the trees. She’d hide in the shadows, use the underbrush for cover. She’d climb a damn tree if she had to.

Suddenly Lainie was yanked back by her hair. Pain erupted in her scalp and she screamed, the sound quickly cut off when Giselle’s hand pressed over her mouth. She tasted salty skin and dirt but it didn’t stop her from clamping down on the fleshy part of Giselle’s palm and drawing blood.

Giselle swore. Efficiently, and embarrassingly easily, she swept Lainie’s legs out from under her. Lainie landed on the soft pine needles with an oomph. The breath rushed out of her, leaving her panting on the ground like a fish out of water. She groaned. Her tailbone felt as if it’d snapped in half.

Giselle loomed over her, a manic light in her eyes that had Lainie’s terror skyrocketing. She dug her elbows and heels into the soft dirt and scooted back.

Giselle planted her hands on her hips. “You couldn’t stay dead, could you?”

Lainie rolled onto her hands and knees. She screamed Christien’s name as she lunged to her feet but Giselle’s body slammed into hers, knocking her over, cutting her screams short.

“Damn you,” Giselle hissed into her ear. “Every time I get close to what I want, you appear. What is it with you?”

Lainie gasped, her lungs paralyzed, fighting to function again. Giselle lay on top of her, her weight pressing Lainie down.

“You were only meant to be a diversion,” Giselle said. “Yet you couldn’t even do that. No.” She drew the word out and not for the first time Lainie wondered at Giselle’s sanity.

“I can’t help that I was reborn,” she gasped, Giselle’s weight suffocating.

Giselle laughed, the sound manic. Her mind has finally cracked. The thought scared Lainie more than anything.

“Being reborn has nothing to do with it. It’s your hold on Lucien. It’s beyond me what he sees in you. I can offer him more but it’s always you he wants.”

Giselle’s words peppered Lainie like bullets, escalating her terror. Did Lucheux want her like he’d wanted the countess? Had his obsession merely lain dormant all these centuries? Lainie shuddered. No way did she want to be the object of his desires again.

“Why can’t you just stay away?” Giselle cried out.

Oily sweat trickled down Lainie’s back. Giselle was going to kill her again because of jealousy. Would this endless cycle never stop?

Her fingers scrabbled for a weapon. A large rock or a stick. Anything to beat Giselle off with. She needed to get out of here and find Christien, to warn him that Giselle had found them. If Giselle was here Lucheux wasn’t far behind. Slowly air leaked back into her lungs and Lainie screamed again but she couldn’t draw in enough air to make much noise. She managed to flip over, her fist swinging, but Giselle anticipated the strike and blocked it with her forearm.

Her hands went around Lainie’s throat. Visions of Madelaine fighting for her life in a clearing just like this danced before her eyes. She drew her knees up and slammed them into Giselle’s back. Giselle grunted at the force, but didn’t release her hold.

Lainie’s vision dimmed.

No! She was not going to die like this. Not again. She managed to get her hands between Giselle’s arms to break the woman’s hold, but Giselle was tenacious. And strong. Lainie was surprised at how strong the woman was.

She tried to head-butt Giselle in the nose, but Giselle jerked out of the way.

Giselle’s pale lips thinned into a slash of hatred. Her eyes flashed with fury. The muscles in her jaw flexed with the effort it took to squeeze the life out of Lainie.

Lainie’s throat worked convulsively to bring in air. She was going to die in this forest, by this woman’s hands. Again. Giselle obviously didn’t know Lainie was the key to opening the seals. If she did, she wouldn’t be trying to kill her.

Maybe that was a good thing. Then Christien wouldn’t have to worry about protecting her. He could concentrate on only protecting the treasure. Lainie thought of her sister, another out there who probably didn’t know what she was. Would Christien protect her sister?

An overwhelming sadness flooded her. She was never going to meet her sister, never hear Christien’s laugh again. She should have gone to him, talked to him like she wanted to. Now she’d never have the chance.

Chapter Twenty-One

Christien stared at the papers before him, unable to recall what they were about or why they seemed so important days ago. On a surge of anger, he swept them away. What the hell did real-estate contracts matter now? What was the point of acquiring more property, of earning more money when he had no one to share his accomplishments with?

He furrowed his fingers through his hair and blew out a frustrated breath. He wanted to share it with Madelaine, but she was pulling away from him. He didn’t know what to do to stop her other than give her the space her eyes silently begged for even though everything inside him told him not to.

What he wanted was to hold her tight, to never let her out of his sight, as if proximity would solve everything. For so many years his sheer force of will got him what he wanted but it wouldn’t work now, not with this situation, and he was more than a little lost.

He couldn’t force her to accept his immortality or the fact she was adopted or she had a sister or her bloodline was the key to the end of the world. So many things he’d confronted her with in such a short period of time.

She wanted space? He’d give her space. It was the least he could do. That and pray like hell she’d come back to him when she sorted everything out in her mind.

Or would she come back to him?

Unable to sit still any longer, he paced, the papers he’d swept off his desk crumpling beneath his feet. Once again he’d fallen in love with Madelaine and once again she was, as they said in modern times, out of his league. More so now than ever before. He thought her bloodline the upper echelon of nobility back then, but that was nothing compared to what he knew now. She was way beyond his humble origins.

He stopped to stare out the window. The hollowness inside him grew until there was nothing left but a gaping hole he’d lived with for so long. Until Madelaine walked into his nightclub, he’d become one with it. She’d filled the darkness with her laughter and quirky humor, with her honesty and humanity. A humanity he’d lost after so many centuries.

She’d given him so much and in return he’d taken everything she’d ever known about herself and destroyed it.

He spun on his heels and bowed his head, fighting the despair threatening to pull him under. Surely she’d understand he had to tell her about her family, that because of her bloodline it was imperative she know about all of it.

Surely she’d understand she was his priority now. He would guard her with everything he had because she was the Blood of the Lion of Judah. But more importantly, because she was his and his love for her demanded nothing less.

She’d understand.

Wouldn’t she?

With a strangled sound he lifted his head and tilted it back to stare at the ceiling, blinking the sudden wetness from his eyes.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. For a long moment he ignored it but the damn thing wouldn’t stop and he jerked it out with a muttered curse.

He had to clear his throat before answering. “Chevalier.”

“She’s gone,” Ronald said with no preliminaries. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure how she slipped past me, but Giselle is gone. Flight records indicate she headed to France.”

“When?” Christien wasn’t surprised Giselle had figured out where they were. He was surprised she’d figured it out so fast though.

“Close to twenty-four hours ago.” Ronald’s voice held a trace of apology. Christien didn’t blame Ronald. He couldn’t have kept Giselle in the States against her will without causing some sort of uproar.

However, twenty-four hours meant she was close, quite possibly even here.

“Lucheux?” he asked.

“We’re attempting to locate him.”

“Let me know when you do.” He hung up and strode into the hallway. The battle had begun. A sense of anticipation that their time had finally come swept through him and it wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling. He was a soldier at heart and it’d been a long while since he’d engaged in any sort of battle.

“Madelaine!” His voice echoed off the high ceiling and bounced off the walls. An eerie silence followed, making his gut clench.

He took the steps to the upper floor two at a time, calling her name, but the rooms were empty.

Surely she hadn’t left the house alone without telling him. But he knew she had because she didn’t know what he knew. That Giselle had disappeared. He told her she would be safe here and he’d been wrong.

A quick look outside confirmed his car was still there, so she hadn’t driven anywhere unless she’d taken one of the staff cars, but he didn’t think she even knew about the staff cars.

Which meant more than likely she’d gone for a walk.

How long ago?

With long, purposeful strides he crossed the foyer and entered the formal sitting room. He took down the sword hanging above the fireplace and grabbed a dagger nestled in a glass box. Weapons from a time long gone but they were comfortable in his hands, like they belonged there, and he thanked God he’d kept them in fighting shape. He pushed at a wall panel behind his desk. It swung open, revealing a safe. Inside were more modern weapons. He snagged the 9mm handgun.

Giselle couldn’t die, but Christien could hurt her, and even stop her for a period of time. Long enough to get Madelaine the hell out of here and somewhere else. Somewhere safer.

Then what? Neither Lucheux nor Giselle would give up their quest for her and it would be an endless road of running and hiding, constantly moving, never settling down. That wasn’t the life Madelaine deserved. She deserved a husband who worked nine-to-five, who would give her children, who would grow old with her, retire with her so they could travel the world. Not an immortal man whose purpose was to protect the world from Armageddon, and who could only give her chaos and disruption.

He ruthlessly shoved those thoughts away. He couldn’t do anything about that. Now he had to find her.

His gut told him to go to the cemetery and his gut was rarely wrong. But when he got there, the cemetery was empty save the chirping birds in the trees and the silent tombstones. No Madelaine. He turned in a circle, searching the area around him, straining to hear her.

“Where are you, mon couer? Where did you run off to?” Maybe she’d merely gone for a walk to be alone to think. Maybe that’s how it started. But now everything inside him told him something was terribly wrong.

A scream pierced the air, far off and distorted by the surrounding trees. Christien’s head jerked around. His heart thundered. He took off running toward the sound coming from deep within the woods. He heard it again, his name screamed from far away. There was a path somewhere around here but he hadn’t been in these woods enough to know where and he didn’t want to waste precious minutes trying to find it when the most direct route seemed to be through the thick foliage.

Branches reached out to him, tearing his shirt, raising bloody scratches on his arms. He used his sword to hack through, cursing and grunting with the effort. And through it all he listened for the screams that turned his blood to ice.

Please, God, please. He would not lose her again.

He was coming up on a clearing. He remembered walking through there a few times but didn’t remember specifics about it. Only that it wasn’t large and was surrounded on all sides by trees. Slowing his pace, using the trees as cover, he approached. What he saw made his barely controlled fury break loose. Madelaine was in the clearing with Giselle on top of her. Strangling her. Madelaine’s fingers clawed at Giselle. Her feet fruitlessly kicked at the hard-packed dirt.

Christien charged in, sword raised, a battle cry on his lips.

Giselle jumped off Madelaine and scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide in terror. Madelaine rolled to her side, coughing and drawing in large, wheezing breaths. He gave her a passing glance to reassure himself she wasn’t badly hurt, then stalked toward Giselle and pressed the tip of his sword against the woman’s throat. She backpedaled, her gaze locked on the weapon until her back hit a tree.

“No,” she whispered.

“Oh, yes,” he whispered back.

She straightened, her terror giving way to arrogance. He’d always thought her arrogance would be her downfall. “You can’t kill me.”

“No.” There was true regret in his voice for he’d like nothing more than to kill Giselle. With a growl, Christien drove his sword through Giselle’s throat, pinning her to the tree. Her eyes widened in shock. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. “But I can hurt you.”

“And I can hurt you.” The tip of a blade pressed against Christien’s back just beneath his ribs where he was most vulnerable. Madelaine cried out. He stilled. Damn it! Lucheux. Where the hell had he been hiding? Too late Christien realized his mistake. He’d been so furious at Giselle, so terrified for Madelaine, he’d ignored his training and rushed in before assessing the situation. Lucheux must have been hiding. Waiting.

Lucheux shoved his dagger through Christien’s back, yanking it up and ripping him open. Christien screamed, arching his back. White-hot pain raced across his spine. His knees folded.

Madelaine called out his name and launched herself at Lucheux, landing on his back and wrapping her legs around his waist. Her fingers clawed his cheeks and eyes. He staggered but managed to remain standing.

“No,” Christien breathed. The word was faint, barely there.

Like Giselle, he wasn’t going to die, but he was going to pass out and he had no idea how long it would take for him to heal. That left Madelaine vulnerable and alone with Lucheux. His fault. He hadn’t protected her as he should have.

With an enormous force of will, Christien managed to get his knees under him and raise himself on all fours. The forest dipped and swayed, the colors blended together. He shook his head and took a ragged, painful breath.

Lucheux spun around and knocked Madelaine to the ground. He grabbed her arm and yanked her up, pulling her to his side and placing the knife, dripping with Christien’s blood, against her throat. She stilled, her big, brown eyes wide with panic. Her hand dug into the arm Lucheux had locked around her throat.

A cold fury swept over Christien, cushioning him from the terror battering his heart and the pain racing down his back, numbing his legs. He reached behind him, his fingers fumbling on the gun tucked into his waistband. Could he trust himself to aim properly? To hit Lucheux and not Madelaine?

His mouth dried up as fear tried to take over. He pushed the fear away, not allowing its icy talons to dig into his flesh and distract him. He forced himself up to his knees. Blood dripped down his back, soaking into the pine needles beneath him. He swayed. The only thing propping him up was the fury swirling inside him and the knowledge that if Lucheux left with Madelaine, Christien would never find her. He tried to raise his weapon, to take aim, but the gun was too heavy and stubbornly remained pointed at the ground.

“I won’t let you take her.” His voice was weak, barely an exhalation of breath, defying his bold words.

Lucheux smiled, making a point to look at the blood pooling around Christien’s knees and the useless gun at his side. “I don’t see where you have a choice. Besides, I’ve been waiting a long time to see your face when I take something you want.” Lucheux laughed. “Seven hundred years, Chevalier. That’s a long time for a man who has very little patience. But you know what? It was worth it. You want her. And I have her.”

Madelaine’s hand tightened on Lucheux’s arm. She was struggling for each breath, her face flushed. Christien’s heart pounded with the need to do something but he was weak, his strength fading too fast. He tried to stand, made it to his feet. Staggered. Everything went dark for a heart-stopping moment before light swirled back into focus.

“She’s not the same person,” he said.

Sweat beaded on his brow and trailed an oily path down his temple. His stomach lurched each time he swayed. He was losing the battle to stay conscious.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lucheux said. “You want her so it’s my job to take her.”

Christien tried to wave his hand to indicate the clearing around them and Giselle still pinned to the tree, but he didn’t have the strength to lift his arm and his hand flopped back to his side. He stumbled a few steps. “So all this….is about revenge? What about…the treasure?”

Madelaine sobbed, tears racing down her cheeks. Before her, Christien stumbled, his face gray, beaded with sweat, his breathing rapid. She should never have left the house. She should have gone to him, told him everything was going to be okay. That she would come to terms with…everything. His immortality. Her reincarnation. Her sister.

She clung to the fact that he wasn’t going to die. He was badly wounded but he couldn’t die. But it didn’t alleviate the guilt that she had caused his injury and while he might not die, he could lose consciousness like Giselle.

What would Lucheux do to her if Christien passed out?

She shuddered, the thought too terrifying.

Lucheux lightly drew his blade down her throat to her breast, leaving a trail of Christien’s blood. She froze, her gaze flying to Christien’s. His eyes were glazed with pain. Blood dripped on the pine needles, a soft plop that reverberated inside her like the clanging of a death knell. She smothered the need to whimper. Now was the time to be strong.

“Ah, the treasure,” Lucheux said. “Yes, let’s speak of the treasure. You’ve been holding out on me, Chevalier.”

Christien stilled and for a moment Lainie thought she was going to lose him. “I don’t know what you mean.” His voice was gravelly, laced with pain and the steel strength to remain upright. He was fighting for her, but he was losing the fight.

“The Blood of the Lion of Judah,” Lucheux said softly.

Lainie drew in a startled breath and Christien closed his eyes for a moment, his shoulders drooping. “How…did you…know?”

Lucheux shrugged. “The same way you did, I imagine. I traced her lineage and I read the Book of Revelation.”

Did he know about her sister? Lainie’s fear for a woman she never met was overpowering. If her sister didn’t know of their bloodline she wouldn’t know to protect herself and would be vulnerable.

“Don’t…do this.” Christien dropped to his knees and winced.

Lainie cried out, automatically moving toward Christien but Lucheux’s arm around her throat yanked her back.

“She’s mine now,” Lucheux said softly. He buried his nose in the crook of her neck and inhaled. She shuddered. Her stomach lurched. “And she will be mine until I find the damn treasure. Then I will use her to open it.”

Christien licked his lips and blinked slowly. “Should have killed you…that day in the bedchamber. Before you became…immortal. Bastard.”

Lucheux laughed.

Madelaine made a low sound of fear but the fear went beyond physical fear. This was never going to end. As long as she was alive Lucheux and Giselle would stalk her. She would never be safe and if she was never safe, the treasure would never be safe and humankind would always be in peril.

Suddenly the fear left her. A calmness settled over her. She focused on Christien, memorizing the lines of his face, those gray eyes that flashed like quicksilver when they made love. She wished for so much. That she could hold him one more time. Tell him how much she loved him.

More than anything she wanted to run away with him to a place where it was just the two of them. Where treasures didn’t exist. Where madmen with lofty ambitions of ending the world weren’t after her.

But those were dreams for people who could afford to dream. For people with normal lives.

For she and Christien this was reality and while she could whine that reality sucked, it wouldn’t do any good.

She got them into this predicament by being foolish and thoughtless. She would get them out of it.

Christien’s mind wouldn’t obey his command to keep focused. The forest around him narrowed. Sweat dripped down his back, igniting his wound on fire.

His numb fingers flexed then closed.

Lucheux backed up, dragging Madelaine with him. She didn’t struggle, just looked at him with sad eyes. The knife slipped, biting into her collarbone and drawing blood, but she didn’t wince. ’Twas as if she’d given up. Panic obliterated the pain for a moment. He moved forward on his knees, reaching a hand out to her. His stomach rolled, nausea combining with the pain.

He tried to focus on Madelaine, to tell her with his eyes that he wouldn’t let Lucheux take her. Except she kept fading in and out of sight. He shook his head again.

“I love you,” she mouthed.

Confused, Christien frowned.

Suddenly, her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her legs gave out. She sagged, her weight pulling Lucheux with her. His hold loosened.

Madelaine’s eyes flew open. She twisted, grabbed Lucheux’s knife and plunged it into her stomach.

Lucheux dropped her and stumbled back, a look of horror on his face.

She landed on the soft pine needles, the knife protruding from her, an ugly, lethal weapon sticking out of her beautiful body. Dark red blood pooled, then dripped down her side.

A primal cry of disbelief rushed out of Christien. Rage beat at him, thundered through his veins and chipped away at his soul. Bloodlust surged through him and with a strength he was surprised to find he still had, he raised the gun and shot Lucheux.

Lucheux’s mouth dropped open and a breath of air escaped before he collapsed.

Christien crawled to Madelaine, each movement tearing open his wound more, causing fresh blood to spill. He was losing so much his heart struggled to beat. Gently he touched her face and her eyes opened.

Her chest rose on a labored breath and when she exhaled, blood bubbled from the wound. Pain, far more pain than was caused by his injury, sliced through him. He bit back the urge to scream a denial. He’d been in enough battles to know what those bubbles meant.

The knife punctured her lung.

“What have you done?” His throat closed, fighting the sobs struggling to escape. Why? He wanted to scream at God. Why her? Why was he doomed to meet her and lose her again? Was it not enough that he’d given everything to protect the treasure? Could he not have one good thing in his life?

Her eyes fluttered open, focused on him, but the life was slowly draining from her. “I’m…sorry.”

He shook his head, fighting to stay conscious. “No, mon couer, I’m sorry. I should have protected you better.” He choked on the last words.

Her hand touched his cheek, her fingers brushing his jaw.

She blinked as if she couldn’t focus. “This is…the way it…should be. Protect the…treasure.”

He leaned over her as if to shield her from what was to come. “You are my treasure, Madelaine.”

She fumbled for his hand and grasped his fingers. “Find her,” she breathed. “Protect her.”

He didn’t have to ask who she was talking about. He didn’t want to protect her sister. He wanted to protect her.

“Promise,” she whispered.

“I promise,” he said brokenly, his body shaking with the tears he was holding back.

He lay down beside her, unable to hold himself up any longer, and draped his arm around her, willing her lungs to heal, her blood to stop draining from her. Damn it! This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to grow old and only after decades of being together was he to lose her.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice ragged, choked with the tears falling down his face. “Don’t leave me,” he repeated.

“It’s best…this way. One less…key.” Her eyes closed. “Je t’aime, Christien.”

An anguished moan tore through him. “Je t’aime, Madelaine. Je t’aime.” He kissed her temple, cupped her face in his hands. “Je t’aime,” he kept repeating, almost frantically now, as if the words could stop the inevitable.

Her lips curled in a smile. And she stopped breathing.

Christien wept, his sobs shaking his body. He cried out, the pain so intense he didn’t think he could possibly live through it. He prayed to a God he was furious with to let him die with her. But God didn’t listen and Christien had to wonder if he ever had. He struggled to sit up, falling back a few times before he managed to get upright. He gathered Madelaine’s body to his chest, rocking her.

Someone crouched beside him and through his tears, Christien recognized Michael. The archangel’s eyes were full of sorrow and regret. He laid a hand on Christien’s shoulder. Christien wanted to shake the hand away, to curse and spit on the angel who brought him to this point, but his energy was nearly spent.

“You can’t die. You know that,” Michael said softly.

A weariness weighed upon Christien. No, he couldn’t die. Neither could Giselle nor Lucheux. They all would awaken and heal and go about their lives as they had before. For the other two the key was gone, but they’d continue looking into Madelaine’s past and soon discover she had a sister and all of this would begin again.

For seven hundred years he’d guarded that damn treasure. He’d lost everything in those seven centuries. The brothers he fought alongside, his family, everything he’d known and loved including Madelaine.

Most of all Madelaine.

There was only so much one could ask of a man and Christien had reached his limit. “I’m finished.”

Michael’s eyebrows went up. “Finished with what?”

Christien listed to the side. The only thing keeping him upright was Michael’s hand on his shoulder. “Everything. Your bloody treasure. Them. You.”

“You can’t be finished.”

“Find some other…fool to protect it. I don’t…care anymore.” What did it matter if the end of the world came? He could finally rest if it did. Rest. A concept he’d never before contemplated but one that felt so bloody right. His eyes drifted closed. He forced them open. He didn’t want to pass out while holding Madelaine. This would be the last time he’d be able to touch her.

“You would turn your back on what your brothers died for?” Michael asked.

“Yes.”

“You would turn your back on Madelaine’s sister?”

Christien wanted to say yes. He wanted to deny it all, but he’d promised Madelaine, so instead he said nothing.

Michael squeezed his shoulder. “Your anger is understandable.”

“Don’t,” Christien said harshly. “You have…no idea.”

“I have a very good idea.”

Nothing Michael said would make a difference. Madelaine was gone and Christien’s life was destroyed. He had no wish to live centuries more, protecting something he no longer cared about.

“They will be punished,” Michael said.

Christien’s head snapped up, but the effort cost him. Pain exploded throughout his body and he groaned. “Will they burn in the…pit of hell? Will they suffer for…eternity?”

Michael didn’t answer.

“I don’t want to hear about punishment. Let them loose on this earth. I don’t care…anymore.”

“You made a vow.”

Christien gently picked up Madelaine’s limp hand and kissed her fingers. Already her skin was turning cold.

“This is not God’s will,” Michael said.

Christian was furious that Michael would harass him now, when all he wanted to do was hold Madelaine for the remaining minutes he had with her. “God? God? You speak of God to me now? I care not—” But it was all too much and the darkness he’d been fighting finally overtook him.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Christien blinked up at the blue sky peeking through the dense leaves of the trees looming over him. For several long moments he did nothing but breathe. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. By the slant of the sun, it appeared to be early morning. That wasn’t right because the fight in the clearing had taken place in late afternoon. Unless he’d been unconscious that long.

He pushed himself up and frantically looked around. Madelaine was gone along with Giselle and Lucheux. In fact, this wasn’t the same clearing at all. Confused, disoriented and sore, but not from the knife wound—this was more a dull throb from lying too long on the hard ground—he rubbed his aching head. His chain mail clanked with the movement and he froze, his hand buried in his hair.

What the hell is this?

In disbelief he plucked at the tunic covering him and stared at the breeches encasing his legs. Tunic? Breeches? Chain mail?

He jumped to his feet, his hand automatically going to the sword at his side. A sword that shouldn’t be there. Like the clothes he was wearing.

Where was Madelaine’s body? The last he remembered was lying beside her in the woods of his home in France. Twenty-first-century France where he’d been wearing jeans and a buttoned-down shirt.

Not…this.

A snort and a shuffle had him spinning around and crouching into a fighting stance, sword raised. A few yards from him a horse grazed peacefully. A horse.

Dumbfounded, he turned in a circle and discovered Michael sitting beside a crackling fire, knees drawn up, elbows resting on them. The angel was dressed as a… Christien swallowed. As a Knight Templar.

Just like he was dressed.

“What the hell is going on?” he managed to ask.

“Something you said right before Madelaine died got me thinking,” Michael said in modern English which made the clothes they were wearing that much more…strange.

Pain pierced Christien’s chest at the mention of Madelaine, dead again. He wanted to rage to the heavens, to scream, to kill Lucheux all over again. She was gone. Here too short of a time. Any length of time would have been too short.

The dull throb in his body moved to his heart where it lodged and probably would reside there for the rest of eternity. How was he supposed to move on when for him, everything was over? When all he wanted was to close his eyes and shut out the world forever?

“What did I say?” he asked.

“You said you wished you had killed Lucien before he turned immortal.”

Christien’s gaze darted around the clearing. A light fog floated a foot above the ground, giving the area an eerie feeling that had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He quickly assessed the possible dangers, but he and Michael—and the horse—seemed to be the only ones around. Where had Madelaine, Lucheux and Giselle gone?

Did Lucheux have Madelaine’s body? Had he discovered Madelaine’s sister?

Promise.

He closed his eyes, Madelaine’s plea whispering inside him. He promised he’d protect her sister.

Christien focused on Michael, anything to alleviate the crushing heartbreak inside him. “Where are we?” he asked.

“France.”

“When are we?”

“Fourteenth century.”

“You sent me back seven hundred years?”

“You can’t kill Lucien after he’s turned immortal. So why not try before?”

Christien’s heart thundered. Could he do it? Would it work? And if it did, would he be able to save Madelaine before Giselle killed her the first time?

“We’re at the edge of Count Flandres’s property,” Michael said. “A day or so ride will get you to the castle.”

“Then what?” he asked.

“This is new territory for me, Christien. God has made it very clear that we are forbidden to alter past or future events. What I did, what we’re doing, is very much taboo. If discovered, God’s wrath will be immense.”

Christien had never seen Michael scared and he wouldn’t exactly say the angel was scared now, but he was nervous which made Christien nervous.

“How immense?”

Michael shrugged. “I know not. No one has ever defied God in this way.”

“Then why are you doing it now?”

Michael threw a stick into the fire and watched it burn. “Because something needs to be done about this. Because I’ve watched you and Madelaine struggle for centuries. Because some good must come of this.”

The enormity of what Michael had done weighed heavily on Christien’s shoulders. But he was also extremely grateful to be given yet one more chance.

“Thank you, brother.”

Michael looked up at him and grinned. “I thought you had no brothers.”

“I will gladly call you my brother for all that you have risked for me this day. My hope is that God’s wrath isn’t too massive.”

“Mine too, brother. Mine too. Let us hope you can kill Giselle and Lucheux and I can get you back to the twenty-first century before God realizes what we have done.”

Christien drew a deep breath, surprisingly comfortable in his old clothes with his old sword clutched in his hand. He settled beside the warm fire. For the first time since learning Giselle had left the States and come to France, he felt hope.

“Am I still immortal?” ’Twas a good thing to know before going into battle.

Michael looked at him sharply, as if reading his emotions. “Aye.”

Christien nodded, fighting the surprising disappointment. Had he wanted to be mortal again? Vulnerable?

If you are vulnerable, you can die a noble death and join Madelaine in heaven. He picked up a stick and snapped it in half, feeling a coward for wanting to give up. Was it cowardly to wish for this pain to end? Or was it smart? There was only so much a mind could take, mortal or immortal. He threw the two halves of the stick into the fire. He couldn’t think like that. He had to pray that Michael brought him back here in time to save Madelaine. And then what? You bring her to the twenty-first century?

He pushed the questions away. He’d come to that when the time was right. For now he had to concentrate on getting there and killing Giselle and Lucien.

“By killing Lucheux and Giselle we are altering history, but hopefully God won’t be too angry for obliterating an evil that should have been obliterated hundreds of years ago.” Michael’s look was grim but determined.

Christien grinned. “Two wrongs equal a right?”

“Something like that.”

They fell into an easy silence, the fire crackling before them. Comrades-at-arms though this battle had far more consequences than any other battle Christien had been involved in.

“Tell me something, Michael.”

The angel grunted, his gaze glued to the fire.

“Why did you reincarnate Madelaine?”

Michael’s gaze flew to Christien. “I didn’t.”

“Then who?”

“It is her destiny.”

“I dislike it when you speak in riddles,” Christien muttered.

Michael grinned. “Her destiny is tied to the treasure. If she fails in one life, she must come back in another.”

“So I am fated to meet her and fall in love with her over and over?” Hope and despair combined inside him. Mon Dieu, he couldn’t keep reliving this intense love and the inevitable grief that followed it.

“Until those seals are broken, yes, I’m afraid so.”

And Christien’s job was to make sure those seals were never broken.

Michael was right. The castle was a day’s ride from the campsite—and what a long, monotonous day it had been. Christien ran a weary hand through his hair. It’d been a while since he’d ridden a horse and his muscles were cramping. He had a whole new appreciation for the power and speed of his Italian sports car and a little less nostalgia for the good old days.

The horse plodded on, giving his mind free rein that he didn’t appreciate. He thought of Madelaine, grief giving way to hope and circling back around to grief. The hope was almost as bad as the grief. The knowledge that he would see her again gave him the strength he needed to go on. The thought of losing her yet again pitched him into the deepest despair.

He wanted a life with her. A life without danger stalking them. A life of peace. But that was impossible. He knew that, but it didn’t stop him from yearning for it.

People’s voices pulled him from his dreary thoughts. He drew back on the reins and cocked his head to listen. It’d been such a long time since he’d been a soldier. Could he do this? Would he be able to slip back into the soldier he’d been so long ago? So much had happened since then.

A few minutes more of riding and he glimpsed the castle walls, the lowered portcullis and the soldiers walking the battlements.

For a few crazy seconds he stared, disoriented, at the swords swinging from soldiers’ hips and the occasional archer with his bow.

Slowly he slid off his horse and observed carts loaded with grain and produce rumble across the wooden bridge. Men called to each other, waved and stopped to pass a few words. Men he’d walked beside seven hundred years ago. Men he’d broken bread with and trained with. Men who had been dead seven centuries. Except, now they were very much alive and very real.

The stench surprised him. He’d forgotten the smell of the fourteenth century. No bathrooms, no running water. Filthy people living in filthy circumstances and not knowing any differently. The castle was rich, yet had an air of squalor about it. He didn’t need to come close to know most people didn’t have a full set of teeth, their skin was pockmarked, but their bodies strong from years of hard labor or fighting. The majority couldn’t read, yet they were smart in ways the twenty-first-century man wouldn’t be, nor would he want to be.

Survival was the name of the game in this time. It was an elemental way of living and yet their worries and heartaches were eerily similar to the men of the twenty-first century.

He led his horse forward. The time for questioning was long gone. And Madelaine could very well be within those walls.

He waved to the sentry on duty, as he always did when entering. The man, Petrus was his name—Christien was shocked he remembered—waved back with a half-hearted effort, his expression grim.

Christien led his horse to the stables where a boy, no more than ten years of age, took it from him. Ten years old. In modern days that would equate to child labor and the parents would be hauled in front of a judge to answer to their neglect. In this day, the child was paying his own way through servitude. Probably had been for a few years and would for the rest of his life.

As he passed through the bailey, Christien recognized and waved to different people, feeling as if he were having an out-of-body experience. There were few smiles and almost no laughter. It’d been that way at the castle because the count made it that way, but today seemed a little more somber than most. A feeling of foreboding overcame him but he shoved it away, not willing to acknowledge what his mind was trying to tell him.

Christien wanted to stop someone and ask them what day it was but that would lead to questions he couldn’t answer so he kept moving toward the castle doors. Was Madelaine on the other side of those doors?

If she was, he had to remember she wasn’t the same Madelaine of modern day, but the scared girl she’d become from living with her husband and fighting off Lucien.

Women gathered at the well, dipping buckets in while children chased each other around their legs. A piglet squealed and took off running, its eyes rounded in terror. The women didn’t laugh, didn’t linger to pass on the latest gossip. Their looks were dispirited, their eyes darting around as if they were afraid.

Christien pulled open the front door and strode into the dark hall where silence hung heavy.

The count stood at the cold hearth, head bent, shoulders bowed. Lucien stood beside him, leaning close, speaking to him in earnest whispers.

Christien stepped up and cleared his throat, searching for the appropriate words. It’d been a long time since he’d had to show obeisance to anyone and he found the act grating.

Lucien’s head jerked up, his eyes flaring in panic before narrowing in hatred. ’Twas the panic that interested Christien the most.

“My lord,” Christien said in Norman French, the words flowing from his lips as if he hadn’t spent the past few hundred years speaking modern English. He bowed to the count, despising every minute of it.

The count’s eyes were red-rimmed and watery. “Sir Knight,” he said softly. The stench of alcohol rose off him and Christien stepped back.

He was uncertain of what to say, how to ask what was wrong. Except he knew. In his heart he knew what had put the grief on the man’s face. He was too late to save Madelaine.

Lucien moved toward Christien. It took everything in Christien not to step away from the foul smell of the priest.

“Her ladyship is dead.” His eyes shone with an unholy light as he watched Christien closely, waiting for a reaction.

But Christien had been prepared and he carefully schooled his expression while inside he was screaming in agony.

“My condolences to my lordship. May I ask how she died?”

“Riding accident,” Lucien said. The count didn’t look up. Was he so upset at her death? ’Twas common knowledge he had many mistresses, including Giselle. And Christien knew the man beat Madelaine and abused her both physically and mentally, but in this day, that wasn’t unusual. Besides, Madelaine was more of a political conquest than a wife and the count would be worried if he lost his one connection to the throne.

“When?” Christien forced the word through a thick throat.

“A sennight ago,” Lucien said.

Christien stepped back from what felt like a body blow. A week ago. She’d been dead an entire week. He took a deep breath, controlling his rage and the urge to strike down Lucien. Mon Dieu. Could he not save her just once? His sense of déjà vu was disquieting, but he forced himself to remember his mission.

Kill Lucien and Giselle. Not because they were going to become immortal, but because they’d murdered Madelaine.

If his mission had changed, what did it matter now? Either way, they were dead.

“What happened?” he asked.

“She fell from her horse and broke her neck,” Lucien said, lacing sorrow into his voice.

More than likely she broke her neck at the hands of Giselle. Christien bit his tongue from saying what he really wanted to say. Instead he looked more closely at Lucien, trying to remember what Madelaine told him about the fight. A welt on Lucien’s temple had turned an ugly yellow and green.

“What happened to your head?” With a lift of his chin, Christien indicated the injury.

Lucien shrugged. “I was searching for the countess and wasn’t paying proper attention.”

“Is that so?” Christien suffused just enough disbelief into his voice to warn Lucien he didn’t buy the story.

For a moment, panic brightened Lucien’s eyes but he quickly masked it by lowering his lids and looking down at his shoes. “The castle is in mourning,” he said sorrowfully. “Our countess will be most missed.”

“I’m sure she will,” Christien muttered, turning away because he couldn’t stand to look at Lucien any longer. He clenched his jaw to keep from crying out at the pain inside him.

He had returned the exact same day he’d returned the first time, which meant in the next twenty-four hours he would be called back to Paris. He squared his shoulders. He had twenty-four hours to get this deed done. He would not need all of that.

Christien struggled to swallow the pork-filled meat pie. Contrary to modern belief, the food in the Middle Ages was quite delicious, well spiced and flavorful, but Christien was unable to stomach it today. Not while Madelaine’s hypocritical murderer stood at the dais reading from the Bible.

However, the men beside him had no problem eating, shoving the food into their mouths, wiping their greasy lips on their sleeves. Christien well remembered the hunger plaguing the warriors and didn’t blame them for their ill-manners.

A man plopped down in the vacant seat next to him and Christien recognized his old friend Durant de Mercier. He grinned at Christien and slapped him on the back. No words were exchanged for no one spoke while Lucien read in his tedious, monotonous tone. Christien smiled back at Durant, his heart suddenly lightened by the presence of an ally in what he considered enemy territory.

Durant was an odd juxtaposition—a quiet, prayerful monk who turned vicious on the battlefield. A wine maker from the monastery of Burgundy, Durant felt God’s call to arms and turned his back on his grapes to join the Crusades. Christien longed to tell him that the Pinot Noir grapes he’d cultivated would later become some of the most celebrated wines of the modern era.

Of course Christien couldn’t tell Durant that and Durant would never know, for in a few days Philip’s men would round up Durant and his fellow knights and torture them for the secrets of the Templars.

Heart heavy, Christien vividly recalled the nights both during battle and between battles that he and Durant spent under the stars. Durant would talk of his beloved vineyards and the various types of soil used to grow different varieties of grapes. Christien had learned more about wine-making from Durant than in the entire seven hundred years of his life.

Durant ate quietly and with the manners their neighbors lacked. Christien tucked into his own food, forcing it down his throat. This would be his last hot meal for some time and he should at least fortify himself for what was to come.

“‘And I looked, and behold a pale horse and his name that sat on him was Death.’”

Christien’s head jerked up, meeting Lucien’s implacable gaze. The man was reading from the Book of Revelation. A cold feeling slithered through Christien’s veins.

The meal continued, annoying Christien as time dragged. He hated that he was bound to this table, that he was forbidden to rise and leave without permission.

Occasionally Lucien would glance at him, panic in his eyes. When their gazes locked, Lucien’s voice trembled slightly or he’d lose his place in the book. No one else seemed to notice, but Christien did and he played on the man’s fear, holding his gaze steady, letting his anger show.

Lucien dropped his gaze to the book and paused, searching for his place. He cleared his throat. “‘And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.’”

Christien winced, the words hitting a little too close to home. He desired death now and it fled from him. He pushed his food away. Durant arched his brow and grabbed the pie, devouring it as he had his own.

Movement from the corner of his eye had Christien turning to see Giselle slip into the hall and stand in the shadows. She looked the same as she would seven hundred years in the future. Same thick, long almost-white hair. Same translucent skin. Same haughty demeanor even though she was less than a servant here. She lifted her chin, appearing to ignore the lustful stares of the other knights. They were sworn to celibacy but that didn’t mean they didn’t think about sex, and Giselle, with her low bodice and pouty lips, exuded sex.

Lucien nodded and Giselle slipped out. Christien forced himself to remain seated, for to rise before Lucien dismissed everyone would bring retribution on his head and that was the last thing he needed. He let Giselle go even though his hand went to the hilt of his sword at his side and his fingers curled around it. Bloodlust raced through him, coloring his vision and causing his heart to beat furiously. Never in his life did he want someone dead as he did Giselle and Lucien at that moment.

It sickened him that they were alive while Madelaine lay in a cold grave.

Lucien quickly finished his passage, closed the Bible with a thud and hastily bid everyone a good-night.

Released from their captivity, soldiers stood and stretched, speaking in low voices. Christien stood as well, keeping his eye on Lucien. He turned to follow, hesitated and turned back to Durant. He put a hand on his brother Templar’s arm. Durant turned, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. Durant had always been the jokester, making others laugh when laughter was the last thing they wanted to do.

“Stay safe, brother.”

They shook arms, but Christien pulled him in close for a quick hug and a slap on the back, then he hurried out of the hall, swallowing the lump in his throat and forcing Durant and the others he’d dined with out of his mind. Too soon they would all be dead. He could do nothing about it. He couldn’t stop time from marching forward. He couldn’t save them but he could stop two people from gaining immortality.

Lucien was well ahead of him, but Christien was tall and easily tracked his movements, following him through the twists and turns of the castle corridors. The crush of humanity in the hall slowly dispersed until no one but Lucien and Christien were left. Christien dropped back, ducking into doorways every time Lucien glanced over his shoulder.

The man certainly acted guilty.

After some time, Lucien stopped at a closed door. If Christien remembered correctly this was a wing of the castle containing bedchambers. Not the bedchambers reserved for the higher-quality guests, but those for servants of the guests who were a cut above most servants.

Christien slid into the shadows and pressed his back against the wall, holding his breath. Lucien glanced left and right before opening the door and disappearing inside.

Mirroring Lucien’s movements, Christien looked up and down the hall before emerging from the shadows and making his way to the door. He pressed his ear to it, but heard only muted voices through the two layers of oak. Slowly he pulled his dagger from his belt, careful to make no noise. Lucien was a priest, not a warrior, but Christien learned to never take anything at face value. The man was surely armed and if he wasn’t Giselle probably would be.

He pushed the door open, hoping the iron hinges made no noise, and peered inside. What he found disgusted him. He’d known Lucien and Giselle had been together since the beginning and it wasn’t unheard of for priests to have mistresses. In fact many even had children with their mistresses.

Lucien had Giselle up against a wall. Her leg was wrapped around his hip, his hand up her skirt. Giselle fumbled with the laces of Lucien’s breeches. Christien slipped inside, closing the door behind him. Two against one and one was a woman. The odds were on his side but he still preferred the element of surprise. Neither noticed his approach, their grunts and groans testament to their preoccupation.

He was tempted to stab the bastard in the back, just like Lucien did to him, but he wasn’t a coward and preferred to meet his enemy face-to-face. Besides, he wanted Lucien to see him. And he wanted to look into Lucien’s eyes and watch the life drain from him, to let him know his death was retaliation for Madelaine’s death.

He yanked Lucien away from Giselle.

“Wha—” Lucien’s mouth dropped open when he saw Christien.

Giselle cried out, hastily pulled her bodice up and pressed her back to the wall.

“Surprised to see me?” Christien asked.

Lucien straightened his tunic, outrage suffusing his face, but not reaching his eyes where fear lingered. He blustered but that was all it was—bluster. He also wasn’t armed. Stupid man.

“This is an outrage,” he sputtered.

Christien managed not to roll his eyes. “And feeling the castle whore up isn’t?”

Giselle cried out at the insult.

“I know you killed Madelaine.”

His words hung in the air between them. Nothing but the muted sounds of the warriors outside the windows penetrated the thick silence. Giselle’s gaze darted to Lucien.

Lucien straightened his shoulders and stepped next to Giselle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Christien moved closer. Giselle cowered from him. Lucien tried to block her with his body. Christien allowed them to stay together, better together than apart where he’d have to watch his front and his back. His mind told him to get it over with, but he wanted revenge. He wanted them to know why they were dying and right now it had nothing to do with the treasure or the Apocalypse and everything to do with Madelaine.

He tried to push his grief to the side, to not let it overpower him but it was a useless exercise. Instead he embraced it, letting it comfort him instead of distract him. Letting it give him strength instead of weakening him.

This is for you, Madelaine.

Movement in the far corner caught his eyes but ’twas nothing there except deepening shadows.

Christien turned his attention to the couple before him. “She heard you tell Giselle about the letter you sent to King Philip, warning him the count was a traitor.”

Lucien’s face drained of color. Giselle’s eyes grew bigger, her breathing more erratic. Her fingers curled against the stone wall and her body began to shake.

Christien turned his glare to Giselle. “You strangled her.”

She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears, but not tears of grief. The woman didn’t know of grief. ’Twas fear in those pale eyes.

He cocked his head. “Are you afraid, Giselle? Afraid like Madelaine was afraid while you squeezed the life out of her?”

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“Who am I?” he asked. “To you I am death. To you I am Madelaine’s revenge. I am a man who loved and lost. I am…” He smiled and turned his attention to Lucien. “‘I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore; and have the keys of hell and of death.’ Do you recall that verse, Lucien? No? Let me refresh your memory. Revelation 1:18. You probably don’t appreciate the irony of it like I do—”

“Devil!” Lucien yelled. “You are the devil!” He grabbed Giselle and flung her at Christien.

Christien cursed and reached for Lucien, but Giselle wrapped her arms around him, pinning his to his sides. He broke her hold and stabbed her through the heart. Her shocked gaze flew to his. He leaned into her face. “That was for Madelaine. May you rot in hell.”

He dropped her and dove for the doorway but before he exited the bedchamber those damn shadows caught his eye again. Did they appear darker and were they moving forward? Christien stopped, mesmerized as the shadow rolled slowly toward Giselle, covering her body until there was nothing left of her.

He shuddered in apprehension, casting one last wary look back before chasing after Lucien. Satan’s demons had taken her anyway. ’Twas just revenge.

Lucien was a few doors away, running down the corridor, screaming about the devil. Christien took off after him. ’Twas just like the bastard to sacrifice Giselle to save his own sorry life. The man was not only a murderer but a coward. A murderer and coward who Christien could not let get away. If Lucien encountered anyone and told them Christien was intent on killing him, the entire castle would turn against him. Many might not like Lucien, but harming a priest was a serious offence.

Christien quickly caught up to him, grabbed him by the tunic and spun him around.

Lucien fell to his knees, crying out. “Please don’t,” he said and he began to pray.

Christien yanked his head back, forcing Lucien to look up at him. “Did Madelaine plead when you and Giselle cornered her?”

“How do you know of this?” Lucien bared his teeth, finding a false sense of courage. False because Christien saw the terror in his eyes.

“I know because she told me.”

Lucien’s eyes widened. “She’s dead.”

“Are you certain?”

A sound of fear escaped Lucien. “If she is resurrected then you are the devil.”

Christien cocked his head. “Oh? And you are not in league with the devil yourself?”

Lucien scooted back. “What do you mean?”

“Come now, Lucien, let’s not quibble. You made a deal with the devil. If you take the treasure from me and break the seals you will receive the powers of the horsemen.”

Lucien trembled and in that instant Christien could see he understood his station in life wouldn’t save him.

“My death will taint your soul,” he said.

Christien laughed. “Then I will gladly serve my time in hell alongside you. However, unlike you, hell is not in my future.”

Lucien lunged for Christien’s legs. Pulled off center, Christien fell hard on his back. His head slammed into the stone floor and for a moment the world went black. Lucien landed on Christien’s chest, forcing the air from his lungs and leaving him struggling for breath. Panic seized him. He couldn’t fail now. He had to kill Lucien before the man turned immortal.

Lucien grabbed for the knife that had fallen out of Christien’s hand. Christien scrambled for it too but Lucien had the advantage.

He snatched the knife and raised it. For a moment, a single moment in time, Christien wished for death. For the oblivion it would bring him. For the release of his grief and his guilt for not being able to protect Madelaine like he should have. To end it all, to finally be at peace.

But his wish was futile and reality intruded. He had to save the treasure and humanity. ’Twas what he was made for.

Pulling on a strength from deep inside, he rolled, knocking Lucien off and grabbing the knife. Their positions reversed and now Christien straddled Lucien.

The man looked up at him, defiance on his face. “Did she tell you how I fucked her? That she liked it? Did she mention that, knight?”

Rage beat at Christien’s sanity. At the thought of Lucien’s hands on his Madelaine. He hesitated. Had Madelaine not told him Lucien raped her? Had she kept it from him? No. The man was trying to get to Christien and for a moment it worked.

“She was willing,” Lucien said with a twisted smile.

Christien raised the dagger and buried it in Lucien’s cold, lying heart. Lucien gasped. His arms fell to his sides and he stopped breathing.

Christien sat back, breathing hard. He stared down at Lucien’s open, unseeing eyes, feeling his revenge seep out of him, leaving him empty.

He pushed off Lucien’s body and stood. He had nothing left inside him. No more anger, no more grief. He turned to leave.

Michael stood at the end of the hall. “You did well.”

He tried to push past Michael but the angel stopped him with a hand to the arm. “You’re being summoned to Paris.”

“You told me you would get me back to the twenty-first century.”

Michael’s long look was full of regret. “He discovered our plan. Your punishment is to live the next seven hundred years over. I’m sorry, brother.”

Christien tilted his head back to stare at the rough-hewn beams of the ceiling. So it begins again. Anger didn’t come close to what he was feeling. Despair didn’t touch him. He was numb with disbelief. His jaw muscles clenched. He fought the swirl of emotions inside him. He’d been foolish to want his life to be something more than protecting the treasure and yet he still hoped. He still believed, even though he cursed himself for believing.

Michael sighed. “There is much at stake here, Chevalier.”

“I know what’s at stake. Better than you.” Christien yanked his arm from Michael. “Promise me something, Michael.”

Michael’s lips thinned. “I am not here to bargain with you—”

“I will go to Paris, retrieve your treasure and guard it for eternity. I am giving you everything and asking for one small favor in return.”

They stared at each other for several heartbeats, neither willing to look away. Two warriors in a struggle for dominance. Finally Michael nodded, although reluctantly.

“If she returns to me, give her the choice of immortality.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Present Day

The club was packed. People crowded onto the dance floor, moving their bodies in ways that would have been illegal seven hundred years ago.

The wait staff expertly maneuvered between the dancers. The DJ played the tunes the crowd hungered for and bouncers roamed the club, keeping a keen eye out for trouble.

Everything was operating smoothly, yet Christien’s gut wouldn’t stop churning. He clasped his hands behind him and rocked back on his heels. A few seconds later he shoved his hands in his pants pockets and jingled his change. He had an irrational need to pace, but there were so many people he had no room.

Sabine passed him, patting his shoulder with a quick smile. He smiled back and glanced at his watch. He had a conference call with his people on the West Coast in fifteen minutes. It would take almost that to make his way to his office, but he didn’t move. He was edgy.

He’d been on edge for a week and it was, quite literally, driving him crazy.

A few people waved at him, and more than a few women approached. Some were even brave enough to slide their bodies across his, exclaiming it was just too crowded in here—said with a wink and an inviting smile. Christien smiled back but never encouraged the invitation. The lack of sex wasn’t what made him uptight. He wasn’t interested in sex.

Not to say he hadn’t partaken. Seven hundred years was a long time to wait for the woman of your heart. There had been times he’d had to relieve the pressure and while his body had reveled in it, his mind had not. He’d felt like he was cheating on Madelaine and the guilt had almost been too much to bear.

He’d spent the last seven hundred years alone, a recluse inside himself, going about his business but never allowing others close.

In the beginning it had been because he wasn’t fit for company. He’d been a furious, self-destructive, single-minded, selfish fool. Except self-destruction had not been an option and he’d done nothing but make himself ill over ale and fisticuffs. For the first hundred years he’d been a tyrant of the first order, a despot others avoided at all costs. Even Michael stayed away as much as possible, which was fine with Christien. Michael was the last person Christien wanted to see.

He spent decades alone, secluded in one estate or another, avoiding the outside world in order not to tamper with the future. Because living seven hundred years over gave a man the ability to see into the future. And while Christien had been recruited by a saint, he was no saint himself. He took advantage when he could, investing with the insight of a man who knew what was to come.

He was rich. Far richer than he’d ever been before. But even that he had to be careful of because he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. So he gave to charities. He, the man everyone avoided because of his acerbic tongue and monumental impatience, became a philanthropist. Even Michael laughed at the irony of that.

Something changed around two-hundred years ago and even to this day Christien couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was that changed. His humanity began to poke through, much to his disgust. Maybe it was the annual reports sent to him against his will of the orphanages he funded, the poorhouses he fed.

Christien looked back on those first five-hundred years with regret and embarrassment. Thank God no one was alive to remember it.

Slowly he emerged from his cocoon and began the process of reconstructing the life he’d once lived. The life that led him to Madelaine.

Thirty years ago Christien learned of her and her sister’s birth. Those thirty years seemed longer than all seven hundred put together. He’d waited. Not patiently, but he’d waited and moved the pieces of the puzzles of his life so he would end up here, in Milwaukee, with the hopes that Madelaine would do the same. Without Lucheux to guide her, Christien had no way of knowing if she would come to this city and it worried him that he would miss her. Or have to go after her.

When the twins were separated, he made Michael put a guardian on Madelaine’s sister. She was safe, but not as well-adjusted as Madelaine. Her life had been far more difficult than Madelaine’s but there was nothing Christien could do about it. Sometimes life must roll on the way it was meant to.

Not interfering in Madelaine’s life had been much harder. He’d wanted to save her father’s farm from the government’s takeover. He’d even fantasized about creating a lottery with her the sole winner. Only extreme willpower kept him from doing either of those things.

Three weeks ago she moved to Milwaukee. She was living in the same apartment she’d lived in before, but worked for a different company. Happy and well-adjusted, she earned enough to keep her father in his expensive nursing home.

He’d wanted to rush to her apartment the moment he learned she was here, but restrained himself. He needed to let her come to him even though the wait was killing him—figuratively of course.

Michael agreed to Christien’s terms seven centuries ago. If Madelaine wanted to, she could become immortal. His prayer was that she would want to. If she didn’t, well, he would live with her decision and appreciate the time they had together.

God help him, he hoped she would want immortality.

He glanced at his watch again. Three minutes.

Still he didn’t move. He had no interest in the conference call. His business wasn’t his main concern anymore.

Madelaine.

Her name whispered across his soul, a balm to his jagged nerves.

He’d anticipated her arrival last week. The same night she’d arrived at his club the first time around. But the night had come and gone with no sign of Madelaine. In hindsight he should have realized his mistake. She wasn’t working for Lucheux because there was no Lucheux and therefore no one to send her to the club.

He turned on his heel and headed for the back exit, his feet taking him where his heart yearned to go. Since last week he’d strolled past her apartment nightly. Like a lovelorn fool, he stood on the street and stared up at her darkened windows, imagining her asleep in her bed, her body curled around her pillow. He’d walk away, restless and fighting the nearly uncontrollable impulse to knock on her door and tell her everything.

That would be disastrous, of course. He would push her away, scare her before they even had a chance. But still he wondered…

Did she dream of him like he dreamt of her? Was she as restless as he? Was she waiting for something to happen but wasn’t sure what?

Just as he put his hand on the back door commotion broke out on the dance floor. Christien hung his head, torn. Sabine could handle whatever was happening. She had the full force of his security personnel, all ex-military and ex-police.

With a curse he pushed away from the door and spun around, heading back to the dance floor with a frown of irritation. Fighting was not allowed in his club. He had a reputation for zero tolerance. He would handle this latest disturbance then go to Madelaine’s apartment.

The crowd parted at his, “Excuse me.” Whispered comments followed as they always did when he appeared at the club.

People made a wide circle on the dance floor, their eyes soaking in the disruption. In the middle of the circle was an obviously intoxicated gentleman with a beer bottle in one hand and a woman in the other. By the way the woman struggled Christien determined she wasn’t open to the drunkard’s advances.

“Get off me,” she said, trying to yank her arm from the man’s grip.

Christien’s heart jackhammered and it had nothing to do with the altercation.

“I just wanna dance.” The man slurred his words and swayed, but it was the woman Christien focused on.

Her hair fell down her back in cascading waves of silky mink. She wore silly shoes with open toes that looked like they were pinching her feet and even though he was too far away, he could have sworn he smelled lavender.

He grabbed the collar of the drunk, wrenching him away from Madelaine. The man’s beer went flying. Madelaine ducked to avoid it. The crowd hushed and even the music stopped playing.

“What the—” The man’s outraged sputtering died when he saw who held him. “I just wanted to dance,” he said quickly, his eyes widening in fear.

“Apparently the lady doesn’t want to dance with you.” He shoved the man toward his security. “Take him out and don’t let him come back. Ever.”

“What? Hey! I was just—”

But Christien wasn’t listening. He was staring at Madelaine, soaking up the vision of her standing in his nightclub. Seven hundred years without her. It felt like an eternity and yet merely yesterday that he held her in his arms.

His breathing hitched and suddenly he was afraid. He, a man who’d lived seven centuries twice, who’d been waiting for this moment forever, couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. He reached out a hand to her, then let it drop to his side, forcing himself to stay where he was. To keep from snatching her up and carrying her away.

He had to go slow, when all he wanted to do was race to her.

His throat closed up, emotions battering him.

Madelaine brushed at her wet shirt, pushed the hair out of her face and looked up at him. Those cinnamon-colored eyes he’d dreamt about for centuries widened.

“Do I know you?”

Christien swallowed. “I…” He forced himself to smile and hold out his hand for her to take. His fingers shook. Was she the same Madelaine? She’d lived a different life, not exactly the same as the last. Had that changed her in some fundamental way?

“My name is Christien Chevalier.”

She stared at his hand for a long time. The crowd around them didn’t move, the music didn’t start up, but Christien refused to think about them. This was about him and Madelaine.

Confusion, excitement and fear crossed her face. Slowly she raised her hand and wrapped her fingers in his. Christien let out his breath and his knees went weak. He battled the tears building in his throat. Her touch made his soul sing.

Recognition flared in her eyes and she tilted her head. “We’ve met before.”

His lips twitched but he held back his smile. He suddenly felt light. Weightless.

He drew her to him. She came easily enough, her brows creased. “I can’t recall when.”

The rotating lights of the disco ball above them reflected off her necklace. A silver-and-diamond key.

“Have you ever been to France?” he asked, pulling his gaze from the key.

“Hardly.” She laughed and his uncertainty gave way to hope and love. He resisted the urge to take her in his arms, even though he ached to. Slow. He had to take things slowly. Mon Dieu, he had no idea how he was going to do that.

Gently he tugged on her hand until she was at his side, her lavender scent surrounding him. “Come, Madelaine. Let me tell you a story.”

About the Author

When Sharon was in the sixth grade, her teacher made everyone in the class write a book and illustrate it. Sharon’s book was about a family who built an amusement park on the top of a mountain. The family was quite large—and very rich. Each person fell in love and had a spectacular wedding and lived happily ever after in their amusement park.

Sharon is the proud author of ten published romances (eleven if you count the one in sixth grade). Her stories these days are a little more complex and her characters don’t all live in amusement parks. However, Sharon did grow up to work in the amusement-park industry for eighteen years before settling down with her husband, three children and a black Labrador retriever who occasionally will make it into one of her books.

Where no great story goes untold.

The variety you want to read, the stories authors have always wanted to write.

With new releases every week, your next great read is just a download away!

Keep in touch with Carina Press:

Read our blog: www.CarinaPress.com/blog

Follow us on Twitter: www.twitter.com/CarinaPress

Become a fan on Facebook: www.facebook.com/CarinaPress

ISBN: 978-1-4268-9271-4

Copyright © 2011 by Sharon Cullen

All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

www.CarinaPress.com