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Authors: Sharon Cullen
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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
“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
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