Chapter 2

Chapter Two

A man trapped in an alternate world, imprisoned by a dark wizard, waiting for a woman to cast the spell that would free him—it sounded like something from a fairy tale. Yet, her hostess, Edith, insisted it was all true. More than that, Edith was certain Gwen’s repeated encounters with Tristan McRainey meant one thing: she was “the one” destined to break the curse.

As Edith recounted the story—what little she knew—Gwen scribbled notes furiously, her mind spinning with disbelief and curiosity. Could any of this be real?

Later, Gwen retreated to the second floor, her thoughts still tangled in the bizarre tale. The bedroom was a serene contrast to the chaos in her head, with its muted tones, queen-sized four-poster bed, and antique tables. The floor-length curtains matched the duvet, offering an elegant but comforting atmosphere.

Setting her journal aside, she scanned the room, but her mind was elsewhere—on the impossible, and the hauntingly familiar face of a man who shouldn't exist.

Her host’s words repeated over and over in her mind.

Did the woman truly believe her ancestor to be alive? Was Edith convinced that he’d survived more than three hundred years trapped in a supposed enchantment?

The assignment could prove to be more difficult than she expected. She would help, but perhaps not in the way Edith expected.

That Tristan McRainey lingered in this world meant he had yet to accept he was dead and therefore was a restless spirit. It was her duty to help wayward spirits, and she would do just that.

Once she helped the dead man move on to the next plane, then she’d have to explain to Edith that it was not possible to bring the dead back to the land of the living.

Still considering everything they spoke about, she went to the small but well-appointed bathroom and made quick work of washing her face and brushing her teeth.

The entire time, Tristan’s searching gaze formed in her mind. She’d have to hand it to Edith, the spirit was certainly compelling. Not only was he visibly emotional, but somehow he was strong enough to communicate with her.

Gwen let out a breath. She was tired, had only been in Scotland a pair of days, which meant it wasn’t the time to put full trust in anything she may have perceived.

Finally, with a book in hand, she slid into the plush bed hoping to read until sleepy. Unfortunately, her mind would not settle, thoughts swirling in her head until she gave up and put the book down.

It wasn’t uncommon that she get excited at the prospect of a new assignment. She lived for the times when it was possible to get away from the drudgery of her nine-to-five job at a publishing company and head out to faraway places like Scotland to see about pesky apparitions.

For some reason, thinking of the ghost of Tristan as an apparition felt wrong, but it was the truth.

Although most of her work was exciting and interesting, this one would certainly be one of the most interesting.

Once again she pulled out her notes, considering how for several hours Edith had regaled Gwen with an elaborate tale, confiding in her the entirety of the McRainey family legend regarding Tristan McRainey. She’d enthralled her, telling Gwen an account that consisted of conquests, wizards, and enchantments. If Gwen didn’t know any better, she’d call the woman crazy for believing in the fairy tale.

Yet.

Edith believed every bit of it to be true and Gwen wished deeply that she could also believe it, because it was a sad, but magical tale.

Gwen could not make herself believe Edith was crazy. Maybe, after hearing the story of the enchanted knights all her life, the woman grew up believing Tristan McRainey was alive and truly imprisoned in an alter-world.

For a long moment Gwen studied the ceiling. How would Edith take the news that he was a ghost? Better yet, how to explain it in a way without making the woman upset.

Tristan McRainey and his men had undoubtedly died over three hundred years ago. The story of the five brave knights captured by a wizard was someone’s notion after they’d disappeared. Perhaps the story had helped the grieving families cope with the loss of their men.

Gwen had to admit that after seeing the man for the second time since arriving, she herself almost believed him to be real, not a ghost. The apparition had been so clear, the emotions that he projected so tangible.

The ornate lamp on the bedside table flickered and the bulbs went out darkening the room. Gwen didn’t bother getting up, she’d already decided reading was out of the question tonight. Tomorrow she’d ask Edith for a replacement light bulb.

The apparition’s piercing sea-green eyes formed in her mind. They were truly an astonishing color, the likes of which she'd never seen before. Who had Tristan McRainey been? She sighed. They didn’t make men like that anymore.

So much masculine power emanated from him. Just the way he carried himself, with authority, an assurance that came from being a true alpha male, the leader of his clan. Good-looking too—the man was a total hottie.

Gwen closed her eyes and pictured life so long ago. What had his life been like all those years ago, when he’d lived there in Scotland during the time of honorable knights? No doubt women flocked to him.

The intensity of Tristan McRainey alone was a turn-on.

What if he was really trapped in an enchantment?

If for some unimaginable reason it was true, then Gwen would be totally out of her element. Not by a bit, but by miles, hundreds of miles.

Although her mother, Iona, had taught her and her two sisters many spells and protection wards, Gwen didn’t recall that she’d ever mentioned enchantments.

“Dear Lord, why am I here?” Gwen grumbled aloud.

“You are here to free me.”

The sound of the deep voice jerked her out of her thoughts, and she sprang up, squinting into the darkness.

“W-where are you?” she stammered, looking around the room, her eyes wide. Moonlight gave only a bit of light.

Thinking it was best to face the apparition on her feet, Gwen slid to the edge of the mattress. In her haste to climb out of the bed she got tangled up in the sheets, the damn things wrapped tighter around her legs when she tried to pull them off.

Finally, all she managed to do was get one leg free.

“Show yourself,” she hissed toward the corner where a shadow moved.

A ghost speaking to her was not an unusual occurrence. It happened to her all the time. And yet the tingle of apprehension at her nape was unwelcome.

The shadow moved closer, and Gwen followed its movements, subconsciously rubbing her arms. When he finally moved into the light of a moonbeam that filtered from in between the curtains, her lips parted, and she lost the ability to speak.

This time Tristan McRainey dressed differently. He wore a white shirt, open to his waist, showcasing his ripped chest and a serious six-pack. This was definitely a good-looking man... ghost.

Chestnut-brown hair, pulled back with a strap, accentuated the hard lines of his face. Again, his penetrating gaze rested on her.

She continued to study him. His lips were full, sensuous. The width of his shoulders and lean waist, not to mention his stature of at least six-foot-three, made him an enticing sight. That and the muscular legs, so defined by his tight-fitting leather breeches and the calf-high leather boots, didn’t hurt the look.

Her attention shifted to his hand. He held a broadsword this time and seemed agitated as if holding back his temper.

“Why do you think I can free you?” Gwen whispered, looking straight into his eyes, checking for the ghostly telltale sign of transparency. He was as solid as she was.

Crap , what was he?

“Because I am Tristan McRainey and ye are an enchantress,” he replied, shocking her. “I’ve been waiting for ye to come. And finally, ye came and ye summoned me.”

The ghost cocked his head to the side, his gaze roaming over her. She followed his line of vision to find his eyes locked on her chest, exactly where her top gaped open, exposing a large portion of her breasts. She grabbed the blankets up to cover herself.

“I am no enchantress,” Gwen said, frowning at him. “And I didn’t summon you.” Why was she arguing with a ghost? What she had to do was to begin to introduce to him the idea that he was trapped between planes. Entice him to move to the other side.

He lifted an eyebrow as if amused, and this time his gaze slid at a leisurely pace down her exposed leg. She huffed before sliding her leg under the blankets and glaring at the oversexed ghost.

“What kind of a ghost are you anyway? Stop looking at me that way.”

He continued to study the space where her leg slid under the blanket. “Pity. Ye should not hide such beauty.” He spoke slowly, as if ensuring she understood every word. “I am not a ghost. I am Lord Tristan McRainey, the laird of this land. Hundreds of years ago, when on our way to meet with an assembly of knights, four men and I were enchanted by a powerful wizard. I’m to be released by you.”

“Assembly... as in some sort of round table?” Gwen stammered, her eyes wide. She scrambled to remember the story of King Arthur’s knights. It was fictional, but there wasn’t any other grouping of knights she could think of.

“An assembly called by King James,” Tristan clarified.

“Right.” Gwen replied slowly. She’d play along and hopefully gain his trust so that he’d be more amenable to her suggestions later. “Who enchanted you?”

“Meliot. A wizard with great power. He is a dark relation of Merlin’s,” Tristan’s ghost replied, taking a step closer.

This time she wanted to laugh. Merlin was definitely not real.

“Why aren’t you disappearing this time?” She asked him, changing the subject and prompting him to stop his advance. She almost wished she’d not spoken. If anything, Gwen wanted to touch him to find out if indeed he was something quite different than a ghost.

“I have been able to will myself inside the keep more often and for longer periods since ye arrived,” he answered, taking another step toward her. “Ye are a vera powerful enchantress.”

“No, I’m not,” Gwen squeaked. “You are mistaken.”

He’d finally reached her bed, and she stared at the broadsword he still held. “Wh-what are you going to do with that sword?”

He faltered, his gaze snapping down to the weapon. A frown formed on his brow, as if he’d forgotten he held it. He grimaced and almost looked embarrassed at scaring her.

“I meant no harm, I was practicing. Prior to feeling the pull to come to ye,” Tristan explained, sliding the sword into a strap of some type at his hip. When he looked at her again, his intense demeanor returned. “Ye must free me at once.”

Gwen gave him a droll look and decided to play along. “Maybe you could ask more nicely? I am going to try my best. But I must admit, I’ve never broken enchantments. I have no idea how to start.”

The intensity in his eyes at her words unsettled her. The gold specks in the sea of green seemed to flicker.

Slowly, he reached out and touched her arm, his face tight in concentration. It was as if it took a lot of effort to control his movements. His fingers slid unhurriedly down her arm. His warm fingertips traced a path leaving a trail of heat that she’d not felt in a long time. A ghost had never touched her before—well, not like this.

Sure, ghosts had passed through her, attempted to possess her and once a poltergeist shoved her across a room, but all of them felt cold, frigid. Tristan's touch was warm, human, and her reaction to it much too real.

She finally reacted and scooted away from his hand. “Can you give me some idea as to what I am to do?” Gwen gave him her best ‘back off’ look and waited for him to reply.

Her eyes widened at noticing a change in the color of his eyes. They’d darkened, emerald green now. Hesitantly she lowered her gaze to his mid-section.

The ghost was aroused!

Forcing her gaze away, she spoke in what she hoped was a calm, unfazed manner. “Can you give me an idea about where I’m supposed to start? You know, with this enchantment. How can I help you, Tristan?” She repeated.

He didn’t reply, instead leaned in closer. She froze. Was the apparition going to kiss her?

For an inexplicable reason, she hoped so.