Her Dark Knight by Sharon Cullen

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