Her Dark Knight
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 [email protected]. 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
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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!
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
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.”
