Page 1 of An Enchanted Knight

Chapter One

DUNIMARLE CASTLE

CULROSS, SCOTLAND

The castle stood like a relic of Scotland's past, its ancient walls steeped in mystery and magic. From the moment Gwen Lockhart set foot on the grounds, she felt it—a pulse of something otherworldly woven into the very stones. As a seasoned medium, Gwen was no stranger to the supernatural, but this place was different. The air thrummed with the whispers of spirits long gone, their presence lingering in the shadows of the centuries-old halls.

This wasn’t just another job—it was the kind of assignment that promised to be unforgettable.

Gwen froze at the entryway into the large sitting room. A man stood by the large front window as he had just the day before. His gaze intent on whatever he spied on the horizon. The scenery outside, extraordinarily different from when he’d lived there, in the same castle.

Not just different.

Hundreds of years had passed.

The striking male seemed lost in thought.

The way he stood, posture erect, hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip, told of self-assurance. He was lord and master of any space he inhabited. His dark emerald-green belted tunic and tan breeches had to have been tailor-made because they fit his powerful physique perfectly.

By his manner of dress, he’d lived sometime in medieval times.

As far as he was concerned, it was still that time, long past.

To him, at least.

Her sharp intake of breath couldn’t be stopped when he finally turned to look at her. His piercing green eyes conveyed a myriad of emotions when they locked to hers. Anger, frustration, dismay, and hope flickered in rapid succession.

Gwen’s mouth fell open, but no sound came as she attempted to control her racing heartbeat. At the same time she froze, unwilling to move, not wishing for him to disappear.

The presence was solid, tangible, stronger than any she’d ever encountered.

Although his fingers tightened around the sword’s hilt, he maintained a calm façade.

The telltale tightening of his jaw gave away an underlying tension. He reminded her of a river near her home, where the calmness of the water’s surface lulled many an unsuspecting swimmer to their death, the turbulent undercurrents catching them unawares.

“Ye are my enchantress. Ye must free me.”

It wasn’t a spoken request, for his lips never moved, but Gwen heard the words loud and clear.

“Who are you?” She asked out loud. The question was a delay tactic, because she knew his identity and hoped to lure him to remain longer.

“Free me,” he repeated more urgently.

“From what?”

The man shook his head, fading.

“Wait,” Gwen called out as he vanished.

“You saw him, Tristan?” Edith McRainey, the current estate’s owner, spoke behind her, causing Gwen to jump. The older lady gave her a quizzical look.

“You’ve just seen him again, haven’t you?” she asked, not seeming a bit surprised.

Casually elegant in grey slacks and a lavender two-piece sweater set, salt-and-pepper hair swept up into an elegant chignon, Edith was eternally stylish.

The older woman’s lips curved, her sparkling blue eyes meeting Gwen's. “I just knew it had to be you as soon as you walked through the door. I was convinced you were the one.”

The woman walked into the room and looked around as if expecting to see the ghost as well. She let out a small disappointed sigh at not spying him.