Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

M ind-blowing sex just happened.

She’d heard the term used many a time, but now, this very day, she could confirm that it really existed. And furthermore, she could confirm that if Tristan McRainey was indeed a ghost, he had to be the heaviest one ever. He sprawled over her where he’d collapsed after coming for what seemed like the third time.

His weight didn’t bother her, actually she found it comforting. Gwen swept his hair away from the side of his face and kissed him just below his jaw line. He barely budged, his only response a soft grunt.

She’d had a one-night stand once, with a guy she’d picked up at a hotel bar, but for the most part, she was a get-to-know-them-first kind of girl. And sleeping with someone connected to her job… well, she’d never done that.

This was a first on so many levels. Tristan was job-related, an older man. Way older. And he was also supposed to be a ghost. Not to mention that she had plans with his great-great-great-who-knows-how-many-greats-nephew that evening.

Gwen closed her eyes, running her hands down his broad back. The man’s body was totally amazing.

“Oh God,” she groaned, hugging Tristan to her. He felt too good to let go. “What are you?”

Tristan rolled off to the side taking her with him, since she refused to release him. She wiggled yet closer to him. He tipped her face up to him. “I’m a man. I think I’ve just proved it to ye, lass.”

She would have rolled her eyes at his look of satisfaction, if it weren’t for the fact that he not only proved it, but he’d gone way above and beyond the call of proving it.

“Yes, you did,” Gwen replied, not sure what else to say. “Tristan, I am not sure why what just happened happened, but I’m here to do a job. My purpose is to find out how to free you. I am positive that having sex with you was not the best idea.”

His lips curved into a smile and Gwen bit her lip to keep from kissing him. So unfair for him to be so tempting. She had to get her head out of the clouds and help him. Otherwise, he’d be trapped forever.

Thoughtful, he lowered his gaze and pressed his lips together. “I hope I have not offended ye by this, Gwyneth. It was not my intention, to be with ye. At least not right away. I will not deny, I wanted ye from the first moment I saw ye.”

She immediately felt bad for making the comments. After all, she was the one who’d initiated things. “No, of course not. Tristan, I don’t regret any part of what just happened. It was amazing. It was beautiful, being with you. It’s just that, what is most important is freeing you, and we’re wasting valuable time.”

Nodding, he relaxed and smiled. He kissed her again, and instantly calmness engulfed her, like a tidal wave of cool water over a parched desert—she wanted to soak it all in. Somehow she found the strength to pull away.

She got off the bed, grabbed up her discarded sweatpants and tugged them on, then began to yank on a t-shirt. “I’m going to run downstairs to speak to Edith and tell her that I will be working with you for a bit. I’m coming right back.” She wanted to cry at the picture that lay before her. Tristan listening intently, his handsome face solemn, completely nude, lying on his side watching her. It took the strength of Samson not to jump back into bed with him.

“And, please for the love of all that’s holy, get dressed, or I can promise you, we won’t get any work done.”

She backed away toward the door. “Don’t leave.” Then she turned and rushed from the room.

When Gwen got to the first floor, she almost collided with Edith.

“Goodness child, are you alright?” Edith seemed to be taking in her appearance. “You must have gotten caught in the rain. Perhaps you should take a hot shower.”

Gwen caught sight of her appearance in the mirror. Her shirt was on inside out, her hair was a tangled mess, and her face flushed.

“Yes, I will. I will take a shower, but I just saw the ghost... er, I mean Tristan McRainey. He’s upstairs,” She blabbered, pointing to the ceiling. “I am going to get as much information as I can, so please don’t be surprised if I don’t come down for dinner. Please give my apologies to Derrick.” She flew back up the stairs without waiting for a response from Edith, who smiled the entire time she explained.

When Gwen returned to the bedroom, she hesitated before opening the door. She leaned in to listen, but there were no sounds from inside. Hopefully Tristan was dressed and not still lying about, an open temptation to do more than just get information from him.

The sight of him fully dressed looking intently out of the window didn’t calm her lust any, the setting sun providing just enough light to give him a staged setting. He looked down towards the courtyard, brow furrowed, seeming to be in deep thought. His gaze flickered to her, and he nodded in acknowledgement but didn’t speak.

“Why do you always stand at the windows? Can you not go outside?”

“Aye, I have not been able to will myself outside of the house since the enchantment. Through windows I can see quite far.” The drawing together of his brow indicated a solemn mood. “By looking through the windows of this house, I can see much of the estate. I have learned a great deal and seen many changes throughout the years.

“It must be so hard.” Gwen’s heart ached. “I can’t imagine being held prisoner for so many years. How have you and the others withstood it?”

He responded with a bitter laugh. “We haven’t. Not really. At first, Meliot’s fury was fresh, making life chaotic and very hard, one ridiculous challenge after another. At one time or another, each of us has almost reached madness, escaping inward to survive.” He moved from the window, tearing his eyes away from the landscape reluctantly. “Over the years, the challenges slowed. We’re either attacked or sent on some ridiculous quest perhaps once a year.”

“Yet he never kills you?”

“The last night, before we were not to wake in this world again, an enchantress who’d tried to free Liam gave each of us a talisman.” He lifted out the leather strap around his neck. From it hung a stamped flat pewter piece.

“Each amulet has a different stamp to signify a power. These strengths have been invaluable.”

He shook his head. “Of course I don’t believe Meliot will allow us to die. Hurt or torture us, yes, the finality and peace of death, no. He wants to ensure we survive as his prisoners until we can witness his return to complete the thwarted plan. Only then will he allow us to die.” His matter-of-fact tone when speaking of his death troubled her.

“Tell me about the others.”

Tristan sat and studied her for a long moment, as if evaluating her worth. Gwen imagined it was hard for him to believe that she, an insignificant woman in his eyes, could possibly save him. But his expression did not reveal his thoughts. As he watched her, the only thing reflected in them was a deep longing. He longed to be free and no matter what she had to do, she’d see him free.

“Gavin Campbell is Scottish,” he began, smiling when she scrambled to pick up her notebook. “He is the largest among us, but probably the gentlest. He was laird to the most powerful clan in Scotland, Clan Campbell. Gavin is also very fair to look upon. He calls it a curse, what so many men would give an eye-tooth for. His beauty proved to be the undoing of many a maiden during his time, and the bards sang of it even centuries after we’d gone. He received the power of seduction, again much to his chagrin.”

Gwen smiled at the thought of a handsome man hating his effect on women. “Please continue,” she urged.

“Niall MacTavish and Padraig Clarre are both fellow Scots. Niall, the Duke of Lennox, lost his wife and children upon being enchanted. Something he will not discuss or tolerate questions about. Niall, a quiet man who prefers his own company, received the power of healing, which has saved us much pain and suffering. Padraig is the opposite of Niall. Padraig, a jokester, has a sunny disposition and seems to see the best in every situation. He is young, was only two-and-twenty when enchanted. With the power of magic, and his immaturity, the lad is lucky to have survived this long.” Tristan’s smile was fond. He waited until she finished writing to continue.

“Lastly there is Liam. Liam, an Englishman, a noble, was someone we’d not met until that day at the village. The Brit is one of the best swordsmen I have ever encountered, and swift as well. His has the power of foresight, can see the future, but is limited to the immediate for the most part.” Tristan became pensive and ran his hand through his hair. “Liam and Gavin are always at odds. They got along well in the very beginning, like the rest of us, just trying to survive and make sense of things. Then one day they must have quarreled over something quite serious, because they’ve been at each other’s throat since.”

Gwen flipped the page. “Tell me about the village, about the day you found out you’d be enchanted.”