Chapter 1

Chapter One

DUNIMARLE CASTLE

CULROSS, SCOTLAND

T he castle stood like a relic of Scotland's past, its ancient walls steeped in mystery and magic. From the moment Gwen Lockhart set foot on the grounds, she felt it—a pulse of something otherworldly woven into the very stones. As a seasoned medium, Gwen was no stranger to the supernatural, but this place was different. The air thrummed with the whispers of spirits long gone, their presence lingering in the shadows of the centuries-old halls.

This wasn’t just another job—it was the kind of assignment that promised to be unforgettable.

Gwen froze at the entryway into the large sitting room. A man stood by the large front window as he had just the day before. His gaze intent on whatever he spied on the horizon. The scenery outside, extraordinarily different from when he’d lived there, in the same castle.

Not just different.

Hundreds of years had passed.

The striking male seemed lost in thought.

The way he stood, posture erect, hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip, told of self-assurance. He was lord and master of any space he inhabited. His dark emerald-green belted tunic and tan breeches had to have been tailor-made because they fit his powerful physique perfectly.

By his manner of dress, he’d lived sometime in medieval times.

As far as he was concerned, it was still that time, long past.

To him, at least.

Her sharp intake of breath couldn’t be stopped when he finally turned to look at her. His piercing green eyes conveyed a myriad of emotions when they locked to hers. Anger, frustration, dismay, and hope flickered in rapid succession.

Gwen’s mouth fell open, but no sound came as she attempted to control her racing heartbeat. At the same time she froze, unwilling to move, not wishing for him to disappear.

The presence was solid, tangible, stronger than any she’d ever encountered.

Although his fingers tightened around the sword’s hilt, he maintained a calm facade.

The telltale tightening of his jaw gave away an underlying tension. He reminded her of a river near her home, where the calmness of the water’s surface lulled many an unsuspecting swimmer to their death, the turbulent undercurrents catching them unawares.

“Ye are my enchantress. Ye must free me.”

It wasn’t a spoken request, for his lips never moved, but Gwen heard the words loud and clear.

“Who are you?” She asked out loud. The question was a delay tactic, because she knew his identity and hoped to lure him to remain longer.

“Free me, ” he repeated more urgently.

“From what?”

The man shook his head, fading.

“Wait,” Gwen called out as he vanished.

“You saw him, Tristan?” Edith McRainey, the current estate’s owner, spoke behind her, causing Gwen to jump. The older lady gave her a quizzical look.

“You’ve just seen him again, haven’t you?” she asked, not seeming a bit surprised.

Casually elegant in grey slacks and a lavender two-piece sweater set, salt-and-pepper hair swept up into an elegant chignon, Edith was eternally stylish.

The older woman’s lips curved, her sparkling blue eyes meeting Gwen's. “I just knew it had to be you as soon as you walked through the door. I was convinced you were the one.”

The woman walked into the room and looked around as if expecting to see the ghost as well. She let out a small disappointed sigh at not spying him.

“He’s never reappeared so soon. It was just yesterday morning you spotted him for the first time.” With a bright smile, she waited for Gwen to speak.

Gwen couldn’t help but smile back. Edith McRainey was a likable woman and her Scottish lilt enchanting.

“Ms. McRainey, I don’t know if it was him or not, but there is definitely an entity in this house.” She glanced toward the window where he’d stood and resisted the urge to move closer to the spot.

“If only you had the portrait, it would be helpful in confirming that the man I just saw is indeed your ancestor, Tristan McRainey.”

“Oh dear.” Edith’s eyebrows pinched together. “I have no idea what happened to Tristan’s portrait and why it’s suddenly gone missing.”

The slight woman shook her head, her face sagging. “Tomorrow when my nephew Derrick arrives, he is bringing a photo of a portrait and a miniature of Tristan that my brother, his father, kept. Perhaps Derrick can also shed some light on where the larger portrait is. Always fielding calls, he ended our conversation earlier on the phone, before I could ask him.”

Edith slid past her to the hallway entrance and peered at a bare spot on the wall, a large anchor the only visible evidence that a portrait hung there.

“Tristan McRainey’s portrait has always been in the same place, here in the hallway outside the sitting room, just as he instructed in his Last Will and Testament. Perhaps, it’s been gone for a while, and because I’ve gotten so used to it being there, I didn’t notice it was missing right away.”

She pressed her hands into her chest and shook her head. “I’ve failed him.”

Gwen approached the woman and patted her shoulder in an effort to reassure her. “I’m sure you’ll find it. There has to be a good explanation for its disappearance.”

They moved back into the sitting room, and Gwen couldn’t help but look at the window again. Why had the apparition stood by the window both times? It had to be Tristan McRainey, the long-since deceased laird of the castle she now visited.

Edith must have ordered tea, because just then one of the home’s staff members came in with a tray of tea and placed it down on the coffee table. The young girl smiled shyly at Gwen and waited to serve them. After they sat, she proceeded to pour for them and left.

“Thank you, Lizzie.” Edith McRainey watched Gwen expectantly while sipping her tea.

Gwen took her journal and pen out of her tote bag and opened the book to a fresh page.

“Mrs. McRainey,” she began.

“Please call me Edith. Since you accepted the assignment in the matter of Tristan McRainey, to help free him, you’ll be here for some time, getting to know my family background quite well. We might as well be on a first-name basis.”

“Okay then, Edith.” Gwen smiled at the woman who didn’t resemble the ghost in the least.

Gwen wasn’t sure the male she’d seen earlier had smiled often while he’d lived. He seemed more the brooding type.

“Edith, can you describe Laird McRainey? What you remember from the portraits, of course, since he died a long time before you were born.”

Gwen wrote the date and time at the top of the page before adding, “It’s helpful for me to know as much as possible about him. It’s imperative that you give me as much information as you can, so that I can help him move on and finally be at peace.”

“At peace?”

“Yes, I assume you hired me to do what I do best. Help Tristan McRainey move past where he has been. In limbo... perhaps not a good choice of words.” Gwen searched for a better explanation, not quite sure why words eluded her. “I help people who’ve passed away find their path, move to the beyond, where they can find eternal rest.”

“Oh no dear. You misunderstand. He’s not dead,” Edith replied, alarm tightening her face. She set her teacup down so hard the cup bounced in the small saucer.

Meeting Gwen’s gaze, she gave her an expectant look. “I haven’t hired you to expel a ghost. Quite the contrary—you’re here to free the Laird McRainey. Release him from the enchantment.”

“Release him? I don’t understand.”

Edith's clear eyes locked onto Gwen’s. “You, dear girl, are his only hope for rejoining the living.”