Page 19 of An Enchanted Knight

The dragon would have lost sight of the group and could only keep moving forward until the clearing. Just as they hoped, it dove straight toward the terrified horse, who barely managed to escape. The beast landed, its huge head swinging side to side before releasing a loud screech.

The knights burst into the clearing, faces taut with the anticipation of the fight. Swords were drawn, held high. The dragon reared up on its hind legs, towering over the riders, its red eyes focused, its nostrils flared. As its foot-long talons sliced the air in front of Tristan’s horse, he flung his sword into the air aiming for the beast’s heart.

The blade sank into the creature’s chest, followed by the swords of the other knights. Each weapon drove into the dragon’s flesh with a sickening thud. The beast screeched, falling backward, landing on its side and toppling trees with its enormous weight. The dragon’s tail lashed about, causing Gavin’s horse to fall over, throwing the knight. Tristan and the others jumped off their mounts, their spare swords in hand as they charged towards the downed beast.

Everything was much too easy. The fact their swords had sunk into the beast was hard to believe.

Hollow laughter filled the air as the dragon raised its head, and the glowing eyes met Tristan’s. It suddenly became clear who the dragon was. It was Meliot. It had all been some sort of illusion.

The dragon shuddered and stilled, as if dead. No one moved, waiting to see if something else would happen. Just then a small sphere rolled into the clearing. Tristan stepped forward and looked down at it. It was the size of an egg, clear like glass with a red lion suspended in the center.

Gavin came up beside him. Placing his hand on Tristan’s shoulder he studied the sphere. “Well done, McRainey.”

“Then why do I feel like this was a big fucking waste of time,” Tristan replied, picking up the sphere.

Before Gavin could answer him, they were transported back to their keep. In the great room, a meal of roasted pig greeted them.

Chapter Twelve

It was the second day without even a glimpse of Tristan McRainey. If he didn’t appear soon, she would have to tell Edith her job here was done. As much as she wanted to help Edith keep the McRainey estate private, the more she thought about it, the more she believed Tristan had just been a ghost, a strong apparition. She’d been caught up in the experience and overreacted, but in the end, there was no enchantment.

Gwen stared out the window at the approaching car. Derrick arrived to take her horseback riding. Yesterday, he’d come for her and treated her to lunch in town. She knew the man was interested in her, and she should probably put a stop to it, but she was beginning to like the guy.

There were qualities about him that she couldn’t deny finding attractive. Derrick was attentive and handsome, not to mention the Scottish accent. Every time he talked, her insides melted.

Besides, what harm could come of it? She’d be leaving soon. Smoothing her short coat, she picked up her gloves and headed outside.

He looked every bit Lord of the Manor in his blue riding jacket, tan breeches, and black boots. Derrick’s eyes were quick to assess her fully before meeting her gaze. He leaned forward, kissing her cheek in greeting. Every inch the gentleman, he took her elbow and guided her to the stables.

“I trust you slept well, Gwen,” he stated, her first name somehow sounding richer.

“Yes, I did actually,” she replied, smiling up at him.

“Anything new?” he asked nonchalantly.

She knew he referred to Tristan and answered truthfully. “No, not at all. Strange that he appeared so often and then suddenly nothing. I am going to have to tell your aunt there’s nothing more I can do.”

Derrick studied her. “You seem disappointed.”

“I am. If your ancestor’s ghost is trapped here, it’s sad. I feel it’s best to allow the dead to move on.”

She met his dubious look. “Look, I know you have plans for this place, but whether it remains a private home or not, it’s always good for the deceased to find peace.” A dull ache tightened her chest, and she stop speaking. It was obvious Derrick had no interest in what she did for a living and was dubious about anything relating to his dead ancestor.

The conversation turned to casual topics about the horses as they walked the rest of the way to the stables. A man, whom Derrick introduced as Miles O’Reilly, walked out with their respective mounts and waited patiently until they neared.

Derrick assisted her to mount, giving her short instructions, claiming the horse was tame and needed little guidance. It turned out to be true. Her mare was gentle, making it easy for her, as she was a novice rider.

On a larger horse, Derrick rode alongside, his attention on her and the horse until he seemed to consider she was at ease.

“If at any time you feel uncomfortable, let me know. Horses can sense our emotions and be affected,” he informed her.

After a few moments they arrived at the water’s edge, the creek’s clear water bubbling past adding to the picturesque scene. Derrick dismounted and came to help her down. Holding the horses’ reins, they allowed the animals to drink.

Something about Derrick’s penetrating gaze was unsettling. He seemed a bit too intense today, at times making Gwen a bit uneasy. Perhaps some people found deep stares alluring, but it was a bit much, especially the way he stared at her at times without blinking.

She made small talk, hoping to calm her apprehension. “It’s so beautiful here, I won’t ever forget it.”

“I’d be disappointed if you left before I’d have the opportunity to kiss you.” He moved closer, his intent clear.