Page 22 of The Darkest Knight

When Niall appeared in modern-day Scotland, the chill in the air struck him first, sharp and bracing. He found himself outdoors, standing amidst a garden bursting with late blooms and thick greenery. The scent of damp earth and pine filled his nostrils, grounding him in a place that was both familiar and foreign. As he turned toward the imposing stone structure before him, recognition clicked into place—it was the McRainey castle. Tristan’s home.

Clouds churned overhead, casting a silvery-gray hue over the landscape, while a brisk wind tugged at his clothes and ruffled his hair. The weight of being back on the land where he had been born pressed down on him, stirring emotions he didn’t want to acknowledge. He steeled himself against the rush of sentiment, forcing his thoughts to remain neutral as he surveyed the grounds.

The land was lush, vibrant green stretching in every direction. Stables stood proudly to the east, their timber frames sturdy against the elements, while meandering paths cut through the grounds, leading toward the castle or to a handful of nearby cottages. The scene was picturesque, yet it carried an air of unease—as if the land itself sensed his inner turmoil.

A sudden tingle traveled up his legs and arms, a strange, almost charged sensation that made him tense. He turned just as Tamara appeared from the side of the castle. Her skirts swirled around her ankles as she moved, the bright colors of her flowing garments melding into the lush landscape. Her eyes locked onto him, sharp and assessing, and the corners of her lips twitched when she took in his modern attire. Jeans and a gray pullover—terms Padriag had insisted he learn, though they still felt foreign on his tongue.

Tamara hurried toward him, concern etched in her expression. “How are you?” she asked, her voice low but urgent. Her eyes flicked over his face, searching for any sign of injury. “Are you hurt?”

Niall shook his head, his tone calm, though pride edged his words. “I am unharmed. The battle was not long.”

Her brows shot up, and her mouth fell open in shock. “Battle? What battle?”

“We fought against Meliot’s army. Our side won.” His lips curved in a faint, satisfied smile. “They were barely a threat. Is Padriag here?”

She studied him for a moment, her gaze narrowing as though trying to decipher his mood. “He’s inside. Told me you were to come as well. When you didn’t appear in the library or in my room, I was going to check the cottage.” A faint pink crept across her cheeks,

Her blush deepened, and Niall suspected her thoughts mirrored his own, replaying the last time they’d been together in this realm. An awkward silence settled between them, though it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Finally breaking the quiet, Niall glanced at her sideways. “I expected you would have returned home.”

Tamara’s chin lifted, her eyes steady and resolute. “There’s no reason for me to return. I’m staying as long as I have to, to ensure you and Padriag are freed.” Her voice carried a steely determination, cutting through any argument he might have made. “What have you decided, Niall? Will you help us, or will you keep silent and leave yourself—and Padriag—trapped?”

Did it mean she was no longer in a relationship? Niall remained stubbornly silent. From the corner of his eye, he saw her tilt her head slightly, studying him as though he were an intricate puzzle she was trying to solve.

Tamara sighed, and her shoulders sagged as she turned her gaze upward. For a few moments, she stared at the swirling clouds, lost in thought. He followed her line of sight, letting the cool breeze wash over his face. It carried with it a familiar scent he had missed—the fresh, clean air of Scotland, unlike anything in the otherworld.

“Niall,” she said softly, her voice almost carried away by the wind. “Your decision to stay in the alter-world affects everyone in this house. None of the men can truly live their lives while you and Padriag remain trapped under Meliot’s enchantment. Do you understand how gutted they are? Imagine how you would feel if they were trapped, and you were free.”

He clenched his jaw, refusing to respond. Her words hit too close to the mark, and he wasn’t ready to admit how much his choice had cost not just himself but everyone around him.

When he didn’t reply, she took a step closer, frustration flashing in her eyes. Without warning, she leaned in and jabbed a finger into his chest. The unexpected contact sent a jolt through him, and he stiffened under her touch.

“My sisters say neither Tristan nor Gavin are at ease. They constantly worry, knowing it’s just you and Padriag trapped and having to be pulled into Meliot’s dangerous games.”

“It’s their choice to be affected by my decision,” he said tersely, though his voice lacked conviction.

At her sharp intake of breath, he braced himself for the next onslaught. She wasn’t going to let this go—and for some reason, he wasn’t sure he wanted her to.

Tammie blew air up at her hair and it flopped back across her brow. Her clear blue eyes flickered over him. She took her time studying him and he shifted, unsure what she looked for.

Her upper teeth pressed into her bottom lip as she met his gaze. “You know, if you decided to come back to this realm, you could make your living as a physical trainer. ”

“Trainer?” Niall frowned, not sure about her sudden change of subject.

“You are muscular and well defined. Men would kill to have your physique ... er body type. Women definitely desire for men to look like you.”

He scowled at her sudden change of subject and looked down to study his body, then he shrugged. “People in this time are not content with what they look like?”

This time, her rich laughter rang out loudly and his lips ached to curve into a smile. Watching her cover her mouth in mirth, he wondered what he’d said that was so funny. “Oh if you only knew. You will find out soon enough.”

He followed her into a garden or perhaps a small courtyard, surrounded on three sides by a waist-high stone crafted wall.

Gavin strode out into the courtyard, sunlight glinting off his golden skin, each muscle taut beneath the fabric of his thick shirt. His gaze met Niall’s for the briefest of moments—sharp, guarded—before he passed by without a word. He leaned against the stone wall, folding his arms across his broad chest, his stance radiating tension.

“Are you going to tell her the terms of breaking your enchantment or not?” Gavin’s voice was low but edged with frustration. A sudden, unexpected and unwelcome pang of guilt twisted in Niall’s chest.

“It matters not,” Niall replied, his tone as hard. “It is impossible to break. No one—unless mad—would ever agree to try.”