Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

B rooding was not something he was prone to do. But for the last two days, that’s exactly what he’d done. Discontented at his mood, Tristan mulled over his last conversation with Gwen. Not quite sure of the emotion that tickled the corners of his conscious, but it felt like guilt. He’d done what he had to do and planted the seed, the thought of falling in love. He had no choice. In order for the enchantment to be broken the enchantress had to fall in love with him. That the guilt seemed overshadowed by another emotion pulled him into the dark mood. When he’d told Gwen he didn’t want to be the only one falling in love, it wasn’t exactly a lie. His heart had jumped, his voice hitched, a lump caught in his throat.

“Bah,” he snorted, and moved toward the window to peer out to see if the horsemen remained. They did.

When he became a free man, able to live a normal human life in the modern world, how could he possibly hope to attain a woman like Gwyneth Lockhart? Independent, self-sufficient, and powerful in her own right. He was not much more than a barbarian, compared to the men of her time. There were so many things he didn’t know about her world, so many changes had taken place since he’d left. What could he possibly have to offer her?

Wealth. As far as he knew, the family had taken very good care of the McRainey fortune, which made him a rich man. He’d secreted away gold in the keep before leaving. It remained there, hidden in a cave under the cellar, worth quite a bit more now. Still, a woman like Gwen was not swayed by riches.

What did it matter? He’d regain his life. He’d have his hands full, relearning to run the estate. Perhaps in time, he’d meet someone, after he became accustomed to modern life. The thought of spending time with a woman other than Gwen didn’t sit well.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Tristan whispered.

Feeling the now familiar pull, he knew Gwen was back. He glanced out the window one last time, the lines of horsemen a menacing view. Campfires dotted the lands surrounding the keep. How long would they remain?

In the great room, Liam and Niall sat at the long trestle table with a chess set between them while Gavin paced in front of the fireplace. Tristan noticed that the chess players were not actually playing.

“Has Paddy not returned?” Tristan asked, automatically scanning the room for the young Irishman.

“Nay,” Niall replied. “It’s been too long since he vanished to the clearing.” Padraig had gone to scout the area prior to moving them there to help Tristan leap to the other side. He’d left against Niall’s orders.

“I’ll go check on him,” Tristan told Gavin, who seemed poised to do just that. “I’m the reason he’s in trouble, so it falls on me to help him. I might as well use some of this pent-up energy on something useful.”

“The lass may have something to say about a use for your ‘energy.’” Liam gave him a double eyebrow wag. “I can go check on the young lad.”

“No, I will go,” Gavin said, ignoring Liam’s indignant growl.

Before they could argue further, Tristan ran out back to the walled garden and willed himself to the clearing. As soon as he materialized, he was attacked by four enormous warriors. Soulless, the lot of them, their empty black eyes totally hollow as they swung their cleavers and battle-axes. Tristan did not see Padraig but had little time to ponder it. He began fighting with all his might. When four additional warriors appeared and threw themselves at him, sending him falling to the ground, he pulled from his power of strength and flung them off. No sooner did they land on the ground than they turned around and pounced back on top of him.

He managed to cut two down and began backing up. He needed space to will himself away, and they were not giving an inch.

The clank of metal fastening around his left wrist startled him. One of the warriors yanked at the chain and held fast. Tristan swung his arm around and sent the idiot flying into nearby trees. Catching the chain, another two pulled him down to the ground again. This time he rolled, but before he could stand, another cuff was snapped on his right wrist. Tristan howled in anger, he pulled the chains out of the warriors’ clasps and knocked one out, swinging the chains, using them as weapons as he inched away.

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.”