“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 menow?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.Ahorse.
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.Anylength 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.”
“Whenare we?”
“Fourteenth century.”
“You sent me back seven hundred years?”
