Page 13 of An Enchanted Knight

The enchantress eyed his shoulder, but made no move to come closer. Instead she sat at the end of the bed, her legs crossed.

Her midnight tresses fell forward as she leaned over and picked up a book and pen. At once she began scribbling notes, her gaze flicking between the book and him.

“I must take advantage of your presence to ask questions so that I can help you. What year were you enchanted?” she began questioning him without preamble.

“It was 1625.”

“I was told you were given three days to get your affairs in order, before being cast into the alter-world. What did you do? What terms were you given to break the enchantment?”

Tristan treaded carefully. He had to give her enough information to help her find the right spell to free him, but not let her to be aware of his plan to seduce her.

“To prepare, I did what most men would. I got drunk and slept with as many women as I could.” He gave her a lopsided smile.

When she stopped mid-stroke and raised her eyebrows, he shrugged, the action costing him a stab of pain in his shoulder.

“With help from my advisors, I wrote my will, insuring as much as I possibly could that the McRainey lands remained in my family. I hired wizards and enchantresses to try and break the enchantment. Some collected quite handsomely, assuring me they were successful.”

He took a breath, his gaze met hers, and he felt a strong pull toward her. As if reading his thoughts, her eyes widened slightly, and she looked back down at her notes.

He continued. “I was told by a wizard who came to help that the enchantment could only be broken by an enchantress. This part was true, as it was repeated later to us by Meliot himself. That we’d know it was she, because she would be the one who unlocks our ability to move between the two worlds for longer periods and open the lines of communication with the outside world for each of us. He said each enchantress would speak the spell that would finally free us.”

“Us?” She gave him a quizzical look. “Who is there with you?”

“Four others, but that is not important at this moment.”

Her brow furrowed for a moment and then she turned back to her notes. “So the right spell, by the right enchantress, is what will free you?” Her large brown eyes met his, her thoughts unreadable.

“Aye, and there’s a matter of a sacrifice.”

“What type of sacrifice?” Her eyes met his, once again a furrowing of her brow and lips pursed.

“That portion will become apparent later.” He avoided looking at her and lowered his lashes studying the bedcovers. Then as slowly as possible, he raised his gaze to her. Hearing her intake of breath, he was sure she was not immune to him. Interesting that, after almost four hundred years, his little trick still worked on a female.

“You know my name. How?”

“I overheard it,” he replied, not entirely being truthful. He’d been able to pull it from her mind, with his limited mind-reading ability.

“What is the enchanted world like?” she asked, her eyes traveling to the gap in his shirt.

“It’s not unlike this one, only more akin to back in my time. There is land and hills, rivers and beasts. The sky is more of a purple hue than blue. Instead of one sun, there are two, sometimes three, and also two moons. The weather in the alter-world varies from mild to very hot. There are no flowers, and most vegetation is green.”

He slowed down, watching her write for a couple of beats before continuing. “We are constantly challenged to battle. There are creatures there that do not exist here, like centaurs and dragons.”

Her attention rapt, she’d stopped writing. “It sounds very dangerous—we must get you out of there at once.”

He started to sit up to reach for her hand, but winced and closed his eyes as a stab of pain knocked him back.

Gwyneth instantly hovered over him. “Are you sure you’re alright? Can I get you something?” Her concerned expression made him feel lighter than he’d felt in ages. To have someone care for him was such an alien feeling, after so many years.

“I’ll live,” he replied. When she touched his forehead with her palm, he winced again. His reaction was not from being in pain, but a woman’s touch was almost too much to bear after so long.

“Oh my goodness,” Gwyneth cried. “You’re burning up. I’ll get a cool cloth.” She ran into the bathroom.

When she came back with a cold cloth and pressed it to his brow, he sighed. He did not feel well at all, and the distraction of his fever kept him from being able to respond to the pull to return to the alter-world. The tug came again, and he met Gwyneth’s gaze. “I should go.”

“Can you do it in your current condition?”

He bristled. “Of course.”