Page 27 of An Enchanted Knight

Anger shook him, and Tristan threw a chair across the room. Immediately he felt bad. Niall worked hard to make each piece of furniture, to give them a semblance of a normal home. He went to pick up the chair and assess the damage.

“We will figure out a way to get you out,” Niall told him, taking the chair and then bending to pick up a leg that had broken off.

“This gives me something to do.” He gave Tristan a rare smile.

Niall turned to Padraig. “Figure something out.”

“Oookay, right. Like, why don’t I just wave a fairy wand and magically transport us to the forest behind the hundreds of blood-thirsty killers out there.” The men all stared at him, not speaking.

“Great idea,” Liam exclaimed. “Great idea indeed.”

At sundown, some hours later, the men were in a clearing inside the forest. Tristan studied each of the knights before him. They were the bravest men he’d ever had the honor of knowing. Dressed in full armor, he could only see their eyes. “I will try not to be long.”

“We’ll be here when you return,” Gavin replied, and placed his hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “Paddy will return us to the garden behind the keep; once we sense your return, we’ll be here to meet you.”

“Now go,” Niall insisted.

Chapter Eighteen

On a table in her guestroom, a candlelit dinner for two was set. Once again, Gwen touched the top of the covered dish in the center of the small table to ensure it was warm. Anxious after her discussion with Derrick, she’d sought the comfort of the kitchen. Cooking always allowed her time to think and relax.

Two glasses of wine and a tasty Italian braised-chicken dish later, she felt ready to face Tristan. If he ever showed up.

Anxiety reared its ugly little head once again as she glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was almost eleven o’clock at night. Perhaps he couldn’t get away. Meliot may have come up with another stall tactic so he couldn’t will himself to the estate.

A low grumble of her stomach made her reach for a piece of bread. She’d written down the many questions she had for him. Most importantly, finding out what happened to his betrothed. Was he the one that had hunted and killed the little girl? She poured a glass of wine and sat at the table. “Might as well eat,” she grumbled.

“An inviting picture. How did ye know I’d be hungry?” Tristan appeared just as she put a piece of chicken in her mouth. Butterflies fluttering in her chest, she motioned for him to sit.

He eyed the food and waited for her to fix his plate. She almost told him to serve himself, but then figured that in his time, as laird, he was used to being served. After she finished plating his chicken dish, he poured himself a glass of wine and took a sip. When his eyes met hers, he didn’t flirt like he usually did.

“You seem preoccupied,” Gwen told him. “Is something wrong?”

With a half-hearted shrug, he tasted the chicken, and his eyes widened. “This is delicious—the cook is very good.”

“Thank you,” Gwen smiled at his compliment, enjoying his realization that she had prepared the meal. “I enjoy cooking when I can. My mother owns a restaurant, er, an eating establishment.”

He nodded but didn’t speak while he ate, cleaning his plate. Then he eyed the serving dish. Gwen served him again.

“Tristan, I have written down some questions. Please continue to eat.” She picked up her tablet, deciding to tackle the hardest question first.

“It is said that at the time of your disappearance you were betrothed. Is that true?”

Tristan took a swallow of wine and nodded. “Yes, to the MacDougal lass. We were to be married that spring.”

He didn’t seem disturbed at her mention of his fiancée, so she continued. “Do you know what happened to her?”

He chewed while in thought. His green eyes connected with hers. The heat in them had returned and Gwen looked away. It was either that or throw herself on top of him.

“She married my brother. He took over as laird, so it made sense. Her clan was anxious for the joining with ours.”

Well, not that his words proved anything, but folklore usually came from facts. She believed him. She decided to move ahead and ask the next question.

“Did you have children? Sons or daughters?”

Tristan put down his fork, and this time he pondered his answer. Finally, when his eyes met hers, they were filled with sadness. “Yes, I did. I fathered two children out of wedlock. A boy and a girl. Both with the same woman. She was a villager whom I… visited frequently. Since my children had no rights to any of my holdings, I gifted their mother with a parcel of land and enough coin to provide for her until my children reached adulthood.”

It was common for a laird to have bastard-born children, but it wasn’t normal for them to take much interest in them. It seemed Tristan was very different.