Page 52 of An Enchanted Knight

Standing before the fireplace, he placed a hand on the mantel. “Why, Gavin? Why have we paid such a high price for saving that village? Surely God would have compassion on us by now.” He ignored the tears of frustration that streamed down his face.

“We shouldn’t question our fate,” Gavin replied, resigned. “I will return. We’ll save her. You have my word on it. Meliot will die. He will pay a thousandfold for what he’s done. Perhaps we won’t be his punishers, but I pray we can witness his demise.”

Tristan faced his friend. “Thank you.”

“I must go, the pull is too strong for me to remain.” Gavin stood, swaying slightly. “This is going to hurt.”

Tristan nodded, understanding Gavin’s reluctance to go through the leap. “I will talk to Gwyneth as soon as she awakens. I will ask her sister to send word. She seems to have a connection with you.”

A look of almost panic crossed Gavin’s face, but he quickly masked it. “I will return when there is news.” He vanished.

“Can you hear me?” The words penetrated, sounding far away and then sharper, closer. “Gwen, look at me.” Sabrina’s face loomed over hers.

At once she remembered everything and sat up. The room tilted, and she waited for the feeling to pass. “Where is Tristan?”

“I assume he’s in his room. He’s enraged, I would give him time to calm down.”

“No, it’s not fair to keep him waiting. I’ll go to him now.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No.” She slid off the bed and stood. Feeling steady, she ran her fingers through her hair. It was a tangled mess. She’d been in the same clothes since leaving, felt dirty. A shower would have to come first, then she’d find Tristan.

Upon entering the dim master bedroom, she saw Tristan right away. As before, he stood by the window, hands clenching and unclenching. She turned to close the door behind her, gasping when Tristan took her arm.

“Talk.” Fury seared from him. “Did you see Clara? How could you leave her?”

“Tristan, you’re hurting me.” She tried to push away from the door, but he was an immovable stone wall.

He would not accept anything but the truth. She remembered Sterling’s words: The best defense is truth.

“Meliot never held Clara. Clara is dead… died in the woods. Meliot used the dreams to punish you. I thought I found Clara. I took a small girl from Meliot’s castle and tried to escape. I made it outside. He caught us. When he saw her, he seemed surprised, shocked. He accused me of creating her. An illusion. I begged him to release her and take me in her place. Then the little girl transformed into Esmeralda. She forced his hand, told him the rules of the enchantment were broken. That he had to release me. I asked what happened to Clara. Esmeralda told me Meliot had tried to take her that day, the day in our dreams. She fell into a ravine whilst running from him and died.”

His body tensed. He didn’t move away. Instead he stood still as a statue.

“No!” A guttural roar emanated from him.

Turning from her, he walked in a circle; head lowered, he pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“For so many years, I dreamed of her and wondered. I held on to the hope she was alive.” His voice was hoarse, strangled.

Gwen wanted to go to him, comfort him, but was unsure he wanted anything other than to allow his grief to consume him.

What if it did? What if not giving him some sort of solace had an adverse effect?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath sensing all his pain. When she opened them, he stood next to the bed, his shoulders shaking.

Unable to stop herself, she rushed to him, wrapped her arms around him and began pressing kisses to his wet face. “Allow me to take some of your pain, Tristan.”

He began blindly tearing her clothes off. The garments fell in shreds at her feet in quick succession until she was fully nude before him. She lifted her face to him and his mouth took hers. Soon his clothes joined hers on the floor.

Muscles rippled, as he seemed to struggle with himself. Gwen ran her hand down the side of his face. “I am here for you.”

Darkened green eyes met hers as he easily lifted her. Wrapping her legs around him and crossing ankles, she let out a moan when he entered her.

Passion collided with sorrow; she felt his pain and sadness flow through them with each thrust of his hips, Tristan’s silence so different from the other times they’d made love. But this wasn’t making love, this was a reaction to shock, a release of emotions too large to contain.

When his pace increased, he moved in and out of her, his movements smooth but frantic. Gwen allowed herself to let go. Tristan growled, the sound not too different than that of a wounded beast as he gushed into her, his large body shaking in release.