Into Thin Air (12 page)

As he urged her with his hand to the small of her back, which made her shiver even more, she began the climb upward. Ellie felt the heat from his skin sear through the wool. Good thing, too, because it was so cold in the stairwell, she could see her breath. "How far up do we go?" she asked, walking on the balls of her feet as they climbed higher. "I'm not positive, but I think I have a thing about spiders and webs," she said, looking around. "I think you need to tell Nicklesby to come up here with the shop vac."

Another laugh, warm, deep, and very male, came through her hair and brushed her neck. "I vow you've a wit about you, Ellie Aquitaine. Through that door, just there," he said.

A few more steps and a landing appeared, and Ellie opened the door. Gawan's hand no longer easily rested against the small of her back, but rather gripped her hip instead.

She liked it.

"Easy, girl. Stop and put your back against the wall here," he said.

She did, and he proceeded to squeeze by, their bodies no more than an inch apart. He stepped out into the cold December night, his breath frosting before him in white puffs, and turned. "Give me your hand."

Just for a split second, she stared at him. The moonlight shined behind him, throwing almost a halo of light around his head. The icy air whipped at his hair, which hung loose to his very broad shoulders, and it brushed across his jaw. The way he looked in that long, dark cloak, with that untamed hair, made Ellie think of the warrior on the tapestry. Fierce, powerful, feral, without the first bit of fear ...

She gave Gawan her hand, the roughness of his palm scratchy but quite nice. It engulfed hers, protectively, and she ducked through the doorway and stepped out onto the wall walk.

The frigid blast hit her square in the face, and she sucked in a breath. But the sheer beauty of the moonlit North Sea from the outside of the castle made her hold it for just a second longer.

" 'Twill be less windy on the western side," Gawan said. "Here, take a firm grip on my arm, and hold fast."

She did, and his muscle bunched beneath her touch. She found that she liked the feeling. A lot.

The wall itself, which encircled the castle on two different levels—the one they were on, and the extreme top—came to just above her waist. "Somehow, I feel heights aren't exactly an issue for me," she said. "This is fantastic."

"Aye, well, many a man has fallen to his death by cocksure footing. Mind your step and hold on just the same."

She smiled and sneaked a peek at Gawan's face. Cast in silver by the wedge of moon hanging in the sky, he was absolutely the most breathtaking man she'd ever laid eyes on. Chiseled features, strong jaw, lips that promised a slice of heaven. At least, she thought so.

Again, she wondered about him. "So are you going to tell me anything about yourself?"

"Like?"

"Well, what do you do? As in a job? No way can you maintain this castle by helping out a few ghosts. The taxes alone must kill you."

He laughed. "Aye, not quite like in the old day, I can promise you." He cleared his throat and glanced down at her. "I work for an elite security service. I guard certain clients. Very wealthy clients. They pay rather well."

Ellie blinked. "You're a bodyguard?" She whistled. "You must be good at what you do."

"Vastly."

Ellie gulped. "Well, I should feel extra-safe in your hands."

"Blimey, Cotswald! Come back 'ere!"

Out of nowhere, a large—no
huge
—dog appeared and bounded straight for them, Davy close on his heels, shouting and waving his arms. Ellie's heart jumped and she dropped her hand and darted to the right before she could think, knocking into the waist-high wall.

A squeal, accompanied by a very unladylike word fell from her mouth as Davy and the dog scrambled right through her and Gawan, disappearing down the wall walk.

"Sor-ry!" Davy shouted from nowhere.

Gawan muttered a harsh Welsh curse—she recognized it from before—and grabbed the scruff of her cloak, just as she tumbled over and stared at the business end of Grimm's rocky base over the edge of the wall. In one solid yank, he pulled her around and against him. Her face squashed against his chest, the wool of his cloak warm and smelling like firewood and soap. She stayed there for a few seconds, content, before she noticed a rapid thumping near her ear. It was his heart. Hers suddenly matched it.

When she moved her head from the comfy spot against his thumping chest, she lost her breath along with all coherent thoughts. Snowflakes drifted down from the black sky, landing on her cheeks and on Gawan's. Their gazes fastened on each other's, his jaw tensed, he slid a quick glance to the corner of her mouth, and then muttered another curse. A new one.

She gulped.

Just before he lowered his head.

She gulped again.

And then Gawan Conwyk kissed her.

Chapter Nine

Warm lips settled over hers, full, startling, strong.

Delicious.

Gawan's mouth moved over hers, and at the same time, both of his hands threaded through Ellie's hair and held her head steady, tilting it with just the right amount of pressure until their lips fit more closely. Snowflakes continued to fall against their cheeks, their eyelashes, and the icy North Sea air whipped around them. Neither cared. Only the moment mattered.

A rush of pleasure soared through her as Gawan deepened the kiss, drawing in first her top lip, then her bottom, before sweeping his tongue, warm, confident, against hers. He dragged rough knuckles over her jaw, then angled her chin to better gain access.

And better access he did gain. Lusciously so. She wanted to just melt right into him, but he held her steady.

Potent.
The man was raw potent male bound by a loose thread of proper gentleman.
Very
loose.

The slide of his lips over hers—until he kissed, then suckled, then lingered at the corner of her mouth, that same corner he'd stared at more than once—drew every ounce of air from her lungs. It was
exquisite.
And dear God, she didn't want it to end.

She cracked open an eye, only to find their warm, mingled breath caused a puff of frost against the night air between them, and Ellie, surprised but definitely not disappointed, closed her eyes and kissed Gawan right back with all the gusto a girl in her precarious In-Betwinxt quandary could muster.

Until, that is, she felt herself grow flimsy-light, as though she floated just above the ground. She peeked again, and Gawan's mouth stilled against hers. His eyes opened, looking crossed because of their extreme closeness, and then he pulled back and frowned. A hearty sigh escaped the full lips that had just been kissing the boots off her.

Ellie glanced at her arm, wrapped around Gawan's neck, and gasped. Nearly transparent and fading by the second, she lifted her gaze and met his.

Then they both swore, he in Welsh, she in good old-fashioned American-style English.

Just as she vanished into thin air.

Gawan stared at the space Ellie had just occupied, at the cloak she'd been wearing lying in a heap at his feet. He drew a deep breath, rubbed his jaw, then gripped the wall and breathed in the North Sea air. What in hell had he done? Bloody daft idiot, he was.

"I vow you have the foulest of tongues for an Angel."

Gawan grunted. "Warrior. Remember?" Gawan cocked his head and narrowed his gaze at Nicklesby. "What were you doing? Eavesdropping?" He reached down and picked up Ellie's cloak.

Nicklesby, dressed in a thick black wool overcoat, a bright striped scarf, and a black wool cap pulled low and snug, tapped a rather big bulge on the side of his head that was one of his two very large ears. "Spectacular hearing, I'd say."

Gawan snorted. "Nosy, I'd say." He glanced at him. "You heard, then?"

Nicklesby stared out over the sea. "Aye. Saw as well, I'm afraid. You know, sir, you really should be more careful."

"I
know
that," Gawan said. "Damn me, Nicklesby, but I couldn't help myself. I vowed not to touch her, but, damn, the girl is different."

With a nod, Nicklesby agreed. "Aye, 'twould seem as much, seeing that she's nigh onto becoming a spirit."

"That's
not
what I meant." Gawan turned and started back up the wall walk, Nicklesby hurrying behind him. "She's marked."

"Marked? Marked for what?" Nicklesby said.

Reaching the door leading to the stairwell, Gawan grasped the handle, pulled, then ducked inside.

"For
me."

Nicklesby gasped behind him, then pulled the door closed. "Your Intended?"

Gawan grunted.

"By the saints."

Gawan grunted again.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and went through the door. The great hall sat empty, save the roaring fire in the hearth.

Gawan strode to the sofa and flopped down on it. "Nigh onto a thousand years, Nicklesby. A
thousand.
Not once have I ever encountered the mark on any woman. And now"—he pressed the pads of his fingers to his closed eyes—"now I find her, the bloody
one.
A
mostly dead one,
but the one just the same." He laughed and met his old friend's questioning gaze. "Twenty-two days away from retirement, Nicklesby—"

The tall mahogany grandfather clock against the west wall chimed out, twelve deep-pitched chords as the hours counted. At the stroke of twelve, Gawan sighed. "Twenty-one days, rather. I have to save her life in twenty-one bloody days."

"She still has no inkling of what you are, exactly?" Nicklesby asked, taking a poker and stoking the fire.

"Nay."

"Not even"—Nicklesby set the poker down and flapped his skinny arms—"your you-know-whats?"

"Damn, man, stop beating your arms about. Of course she doesn't know about
those."
He narrowed his eyes. "And she bloody well
won't
know about them. 'Twill do naught but complicate things.

Over much so. 'Tis too much for her to take in." Gawan pushed his hands through his hair and rose.

"I'm going to bed."

"Off to the cottages tomorrow, then?" Nicklesby asked.

Gawan waved as he crossed the hall and mounted the steps. "Aye. We'll see what that proves.
Nos
da,
old friend."

"And to you, sir," Nicklesby called from below. "I'll have your morning fast at the ready."

Moments later, Gawan stormed through his chamber door and kicked it shut behind him. "Bloody stupid fool," he muttered to himself. With haste, he brushed his teeth, stoked the fire, and flung off his clothes. Beneath the coverlet, he cursed himself again, turned over a time or two, punched the pillow, and then flopped over onto his back.

Could he have not left the girl alone? Why had he been so compelled to taste those alluring lips?

'Twasn't as though he'd never tasted others before. Aye, Ellie indeed bore a comely face and a most luscious form, to be sure. Glorious locks, to tell the truth of it, long and thick draped about her shoulders. Oy, just the thought of her softness pressed against him, even through the heavy cloaks, made him ache.

He considered it a minute. Nay, 'twasn't it. 'Twasn't the bloody reason he dragged her against him and kissed her. Well, not the whole of it, anyway. He'd stolen that mark at the corner of her mouth.

And had done it
apurpose.

Had he not known she was his Intended, would he still have had the same reaction to her? She indeed possessed a vast amount of clumsy charm, which he'd found endearing from the moment she'd climbed into the wrong side of the Rover that first night. Aye, he rather fancied that. The way she'd knocked her forehead against the tapestry, and how she squealed, then cursed when Davy and Cotswald had rushed by—

"By the saint's curled toes, man, you are besotted." Christian shook his head and propped a mailed hip against the bedpost. "Pitifully so."

"Damn you, Arrick," Gawan said, sitting up. "Go haunt another chamber. I need not your evaluation."

"Ha-ha, little lad, I fear you do." Christian moved to the hearth. With the flickering firelight behind him, Gawan could see clear through him. "What are you going to do, Conwyk? Now that you've sampled her and can't get enough?"

Gawan draped his arms over his knees. "Sampled? She's not a trencher of stew, fool." He frowned.

"Who else saw?"

Christian squatted by the flames, as if he could gain heat from the fire, and rubbed his hands. He threw a grin over his shoulder. "Everyone."

Gawan slapped his forehead and fell back. "Bleeding priests, I reside with a lot of old, meddlesome peahens."

With a smirk, Christian rose. "Be grateful I convinced Millicent not to address you this eve. She and that sopping wet crony of hers were nigh onto making their way to your bedside, just to give you what's what." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I warned them that you slept without nary a stitch on." He chuckled. "They scampered away like jackrabbits. I saved your pitiful arse, Conwyk, for I can promise you, they were not in a charitable mood. Not after seeing you paw and slobber—"

"Get out, Chris."

Christian bowed. "You're in a rotten mood, man, and I think a bit of time with the blades will sweeten your humor. On the morrow, then? Before daybreak?"

He didn't wait for Gawan's response. Christian disappeared.
Chuckling.

Gawan turned over, still frowning. "I do not paw and slobber."

Christian's laugh reverberated through the stone wall.

* * *

Funny.

With her eyes slowly focusing, Ellie peered through the darkened haze of Gawan's bedroom.

Although not quite yet daybreak, his bed sat empty. His covers were all bunched up in a big wad as though he'd gone a few rounds in the ring. And
lost.

Thoughts of his firm, full lips wrapped around hers sent a blush to the roots of her hair and a shudder that reached clear to her toes. The man could
kiss.