Page 32 of An Enchanted Knight

Getting enough space, he willed himself to Gwen.

Nothing happened. The cuffs were magic.

No doubt belonged to Meliot. When a strike to the back of his head drove him to his knees, Tristan could not swing hard enough to stop the second blow, the one that plunged him into darkness.

Pain was an interesting thing. For hours he’d howled in pain at the henchmen’s torture. Now, Tristan saw the falling of the metal bar and heard the crunch of his knee when the bones shattered, but he felt nothing, not anymore.

How long had he been here? He’d lost consciousness too many times to count, and each time he woke, the view was exactly the same, semi-darkness. Only a weak flicker of candles in a holder against the wall lightening the room, just enough for the henchmen to find their tool of choice.

He tried to speak but could only moan. His tongue dry and sluggish in the heat of his fevered mouth. When he tried to lift his head, it proved impossible. Death wasn’t even something he could look forward to; Meliot would not allow him the respite. Not yet.

“Give him some water,” Meliot loomed over him, studying his face. “Tristan.” The wizard’s bored expression made him wish he could laugh. “I hear you put up quite a fight in the forest. You can’t fight much now, can you?”

Tristan closed his eyes as cool water poured down his throat, and once again tried to will himself away, but nothing happened.

“Did you really think I’d allow you to go free?” Meliot sneered. “It’s almost time for my mating. My sons will rule Europe and who knows? Maybe the world. I won’t take any chances this time.

“I think I’ll keep you for a few months. Eventually the enchantress will become bored and leave.”

Tristan felt a pang in his chest, this one rawer than the physical pain.

Meliot knew everything. What a fool he’d been to think the wizard was not aware of their comings and goings. He’d been ready to act when and if it became possible for them to find freedom.

The sad thing was, the wizard was probably right. Gwen would not wait long for him.

Liam jumped at Paddy’s appearance. He looked worse for wear, bloody and breathing heavily.

“Bloody Hell,” Liam exclaimed, as Niall reached the young Irishman, and began checking him for injuries. “You barely missed Tristan.”

“Shit,” Padraig shrugged away from Niall. “I’m not injured, the blood’s not mine. At least I don’t think it is. They were waiting for me. We can’t use the clearing.” He looked around noting Tristan’s absence. “Where’s McRainey?”

Liam exchanged a look with the other two men. “No doubt Meliot has him by now.”

“I’ll go challenge the bastard,” Padraig told them. “He’s not supposed to separate us.”

“He plays by his own rules,” Gavin told the young knight, then locking gazes with the other men. “One of us alone is not strong enough to face Meliot. Tristan needs help.”

“What are you going to do, Campbell?” Liam sneered. “Seduce the wizard into giving you McRainey?”

“Shut up Liam.” Gavin didn’t spare him a glance. “I’m going to get help. I’ll fetch the lass. Gwyneth Lockhart’s destiny is coming to pass. She must do her part.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“From what I can tell, this is a colossal waste of time, energy, and money,” Derrick told the women, who’d been subjected to his rants for the last half hour. “Don’t take offense Gwen, but you have to agree, not one bit of progress has been made in the endeavor to ‘free’ Tristan McRainey.” He made air quotes before continuing. “It’s time to accept reality. The ghost, if there ever was one, is gone.”

“I don’t agree,” Edith began, “something is detaining Laird McRainey, something unavoidable, otherwise he’d have appeared by now.” She gave Gwen a weak smile. “Please don’t let Derrick ruin your appetite dear. Eat.”

Gwen tried to smile back at Edith, but it had been a horrible time since returning from Georgia. After two days of Tristan not appearing, she was beginning to wonder if she’d made a mistake by leaving, breaking some sort of tie between them. Sabrina still believed it held and so did Edith, but Derrick’s rantings were increasingly grating on her already frayed nerves.

“I think something is wrong. Otherwise he’d have appeared by now.” She pierced a piece of roast with her fork and brought it to her mouth. What if Tristan was in trouble, suffering, hurt, in Meliot’s clutches? She put the food back down, appetite lost.

“We’ll wait,” Sabrina assured her. She addressed Derrick. “My sister is very good at what she does. If she says Tristan McRainey is real, then he is. I don’t see how the outcome of this will affect you; whether he’s real or not, your life will continue as usual. You’re wealthy enough that you can build a new resort from scratch, are you not?”

“Sabrina!” Gwen exclaimed, contrite at her sister’s directness.

“No, that’s quite alright,” Derrick replied, his angry gaze locked on Sabrina. “You are correct, Miss Lockhart, I am wealthy in my own right. If I believed my ancestor were truly a trapped man, then of course I’d want him to be freed from this curse. If that’s what’s happening. What I won’t do is stand by idly and allow my aunt to spend her money on an unnecessary pursuit.”

“No charge,” Gwen retorted, now losing her temper with the insolent man. “I won’t accept one red cent for freeing Tristan.”