Into Thin Air (14 page)

Bumbling idiot.
He covered the ridiculous motion up with another shift and a cough. "Er, nay. Why do you ask?"

Ellie half turned in her seat and stared a hole through the side of his head before she spoke. "Look.

You don't have to act all stiff and weird around me now. Forget the stupid kiss. It was nothing more than atmosphere. Getting lost in the moment. You know, mist, snow, nightfall, moonlight, a ghost kid and his ghost dog nearly knocking me off the side of a castle." She waved her hand in dismissal and turned to stare out the window. "It was nothing, so forget about it and lighten up, okay?" She snorted, then muttered under her breath, "You're not the first guy I've ever kissed, you know.

Sheesh."

Gawan let out a hearty sigh. "Ellie—"

"Hey, look!" she said, pointing, and thus dismissing Gawan once more. "Standing stones! I've read about them, maybe? I've seen those in a travel magazine, maybe. I've always wanted to see standing stones. I think." She glanced at him, finished with their kiss discussion. "How old are those, do you suppose? A thousand years old, maybe?"

Gawan thought the best thing to do was to drop the subject. For now, anyway. He followed her finger across a craggy hill covered in yellow-brown winter grass, chipped rock, and a few scattered grazing sheep, to the three tall blue-gray Pictish stones standing sentry amidst the snowy edge of the cliff top. 'Twas a breathtaking sight, to be sure, and behind them, just down the way, stood the ruins of a kirk. "Aye, at least a thousand."

"Wow," she said. "That's amazing. Let's stop there on our way back, okay? I've got to see them up close."

Gawan wondered if it would amaze her as much to know that he'd known the dozen or so men who'd erected them.

Minutes later, they followed a winding, narrow, two-lane track into an even smaller village than Grimm's called Newbry. Gawan remembered when it was nothing more than a craggy meadow.

After a quick stop at the petrol station to fill up the Rover, they continued on, past a corner Safeway, a chippy, a pub cleverly called the Rusty Dagger, and a B and B with the faded sign reading Maggie's B&B swinging from a red wooden post by the front stoop.

"Is the cottage far?" Ellie said, staring out the window.

"Nay. Just a couple of kilometers past the village." He glanced at her. "I don't have much hope of finding anything at this particular holiday cottage. The owner claims the lass who let it did so nearly a month ago, and I have a suspicion you've not been here that long."

"You never know, though," she said.
Gosh, he thinks he knows everything!

Gawan fought a smile. In truth, he needed to reserve the spying of Ellie's thoughts for more necessary times. "Aye, one never does." Gawan knew she held dearly to any form of hope, and for that, he couldn't blame her. He'd hoped for answers, too, when the owner claimed an American woman indeed had rented the seaside cottage from him. The owner had not been overgenerous with information, since he was in the process of selling the cottage to another landowner. But he did divulge that the transaction had taken place completely over the Internet, and while he did indeed have a name and other pertinent information, which he withheld due to confidentiality, he'd had no visual description and Gawan's gut told him the woman and Ellie were not the same.

He prayed his gut was wrong.

It, of course, was most assuredly right.

At the end of a long, single-lane track banked on either side by long grass and sod lay the small stone crofter's cottage on the cliff's edge. It overlooked the North Sea, and indeed, a rather brisk icy wind came off the water.

Ellie, wrapped in the same thick cloak from the night they'd kissed, turned into the bluster. The cowl flew back from her head and hanks of that reddish-brown hair whipped about her, slapped at her creamy skin, and caught on lips he remembered opening for him all too well.

He blinked. Ellie looked as though she could have been standing on the sea cliff a thousand years before ...

"Let's go in?" she asked, her blue-green eyes wide.

"Of course," he answered, and they made their way to the front stoop. There, Gawan reached above the door and grasped the key, just where the owner had said it would be. Quickly, he unlocked the cottage door and pushed it open.

Ellie bustled inside, rubbing her arms and clacking her teeth together. "Brrr."

He followed her inside and closed the door.

"What's that smell?" she asked, sniffing.

"Peat," Gawan said. He pointed to the small hearth. "See you the remnants in the fireplace? 'Tis peat. Makes for quite a nice fire."

She sniffed again. "Smells good, too." After a quick glance at him, she slowly walked the circumference of the small, two-room cottage.

Inside, a hearth, of course, accompanied by a plaid sofa, a wooden-backed chair and footstool, a table and lamp. Facing the sea, a small kitchen with white-painted cabinets. Two rooms, on either side of the cottage, one with a single bed, the other with a bed for two. A solitary garderobe made up the interior of the only local seaside cottage having been rented to an American girl in the last several months.

Ellie quietly walked around, her fingers drifting over a piece of furniture, the mantel, the back of a kitchen chair. Gawan kept quiet, allowing her to make her own decision. Finally, she did.

"This isn't it." She blew out a gusty sigh. "I think I'd feel something if I'd been here before, right?"

She glanced around, then drew her gaze to his. "Everything's cleaned out. I'd have left
something
behind, wouldn't you think?"

Gawan balled his fists and shoved them into his pockets to keep from touching her. "We'll venture into the village on the way home. 'Tis finer weather today, and mayhap one of the vendors has remembered something." He ducked his head to catch her lowered gaze. "I like you better when you're barmy, girl, shouting over your shoulder at Godfrey, king of knuckleboners."

That, at least, won him a smile. Christ knew he might not win anything else.

"Come," he said, and dared to remove one of his tightly clenched fists from deep within his trouser pockets to wrap his fingers around Ellie's shoulder. Certainly, he could control himself. He gave a tug. "Let's get to the village before the chippy closes."

Just then, the purr of an engine, right outside the cottage, revved, then stopped. A car door slammed.

Before Gawan could make a move, Ellie placed a single finger over those luscious lips, hissed a
shh,
then grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him to hide just behind the door.

What, by the saints, was she
doing?

"Ellie," he said.

"Shh!" she said.

Worse yet, why was he going along with her?

A stomping of feet, just on the other side of the doorway sounded. Big feet. Heavy, booted feet. A pause.
Silence.

Then the door swung open, right into Gawan's nose.

Chapter Eleven

"By the saints!" a deep voice boomed from the other side of the doorway.

"Good Lord!" Ellie shrieked, trapped behind that same door.

Gawan, who'd already become acquainted with the door, held his nose with one hand, and the back of that very door with the other, to keep it from hitting Ellie.

"Stay," he said to her in a low growl.

Somehow, Ellie couldn't stop herself. She ducked under his arm, just as whoever it was on the other side of the door stepped in.

Gawan muttered something naughty in Welsh.

Ellie could see nothing but a
wall
—a huge, massive muscled wall of brown leather, ivory sweater, black hair, and faded denim. Somewhere, embedded deep inside her, an instinct kicked in. One she wasn't, of course, aware of.

It emerged, that unknown instinct, all of a sudden, without warning, full force.

And it happened in less than five seconds.

Somehow, during those five seconds, and without putting much thought to what she was doing, Ellie had solidly kneed in the you-know-whats and had—quite efficiently if she said so herself—forced a very
large
man to the ground, where he lay gasping for air and ... cursing?

At least, Ellie
thought
it was cursing. It sounded quite French. Sort of.

It took less than a second for realization to smack her right between the eyes.

How had she been able to knee the guy?

Beside her, Gawan stood, holding his accosted nose. First he stared at the man, whose head was still down while he was apparently trying to catch his breath. Then Gawan lifted his eyes, met Ellie's, and quirked a brow. Ellie could tell he thought the same thing she had. Then he voiced it.

"How the bloody hell ...?" He let the words drift off in what Ellie thought was utter amazement. He looked at the man she'd just taken down. "You may have just winded the owner of the cottage."

The big man on the floor wheezed.

Ellie's eyes darted to where he knelt, groping his waylaid
groiny parts.
"Oops." She took a hesitant step closer to the man, struggling to rise on one knee. Leaning way around, she gave a laugh that came out gurgly and choked. "Um, excuse me?" She tapped his massive shoulder with her index finger. "Geez, you know? I'm really ... sorry ..."

The man lifted his head and peered through a curtain of shoulder-length wavy midnight hair with the most amazing pair of sapphire blue eyes she'd ever seen.

Wow.

With a loud clearing of his throat, Gawan set Ellie gently aside and grasped the man's elbow. "Sorry, mate. We weren't expecting anyone."

"Give me a bloody moment," the man said in a strained voice Ellie was sure to be a few notes higher than usual.

After a few seconds, the man nodded and Gawan helped him rise.

And then both Gawan and the gorgeous stranger stood and faced each other, and right away, Ellie watched with fascination while the demeanor in both men changed.

While he was at least three inches taller than Gawan, the stranger's back stiffened, his dark brows pulled into a frown, and his eyes narrowed.

Gawan did the same.

Both men inspected the other from top hair to boot toe.

Both men, at the same time and in the same breath, muttered what Ellie guessed to be something
very
naughty, each in a different language.

They
knew
each other?

A twitching pulled at her lips, and Ellie recognized it as the overwhelming urge to open her mouth and say something. For once, though, she decided to be quiet and listen.

"Grimm," the man spoke, his frown still affixed.

"Dreadmoor," Gawan said, his stoic features unreadable.

Dreadmoor?

Ellie couldn't be positive, but she was pretty darn close to believing she'd
never
seen anything quite like either of the frowning men before in her life. Really. How many stunning, jaw-dropping, drool-inducing guys did a girl encounter personally in her entire life? Not that many.

Yeah,
snort, snort,
and I've got firsthand experience of how the cuter one kisses ...

Both guys broke their studious concentration of the other's person to turn and stare at her.

It was then, she realized with only a small amount of mortification that she'd just snorted out loud.

As if she could help it. These guys were
wow.
Add Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea into the mix, and she figured she'd just about encountered the most gorgeous men
ever.
Funny thing was, while Christian was, in fact, a medieval warrior, Gawan and this Dreadmoor guy didn't seem all that far off.

Dreadmoor glanced at her with those sapphire eyes. "If this spirited wench here is in search of employment, I've room for another guardsman." The corner of his mouth quirked. "I vow, 'twould be a much-added improvement to that lazy lot standing sentry over my wife and keep."

Ellie stared, blinked, and then chanced a peek at Gawan.

The corner of his mouth quirked, too.

This time, she didn't ignore her twitching lips. "What's going on?" She glanced from Gawan to Dreadmoor. It was bad enough she had no idea who she herself was. She didn't need another chunk of confusion to add to her already confused state.

The gorgeous Dreadmoor guy barked out a laugh and grabbed Gawan in a tight embrace. Gawan laughed, wheezed as more air than he'd probably have liked left his lungs, and returned the hug with just as much enthusiasm.

Ellie could do nothing but stare. Silently.

Gawan clapped Dreadmoor on the shoulder. "Damn me, man, but I didn't believe the tales were true. Given the source, I hesitated to believe such drivel."

Dreadmoor, or whatever his real name was, clapped Gawan on the back. "Aye, no doubt 'twas that Lady Follywolle and her sopping-wet friend. I've noticed them up at the keep of late, gawking at the men whilst they train. My lady wife has befriended the ghostly pair, of course, and by the saints, they stay until dark nigh onto every eve."

Ellie gaped. He knew of Lady Follywolle?

Then Dreadmoor turned and met her gaze, which she suspected looked pretty stupid at this point.

He smiled, his eyes remaining on hers. Had she been a weaker woman, she'd have fainted dead away, just from the sheer sexiness of his gaze.

"Grimm, introduce us, man, for I've neither the patience nor the stomach to wait another bloody second to meet this lovely woman of yours."

Gawan cleared his throat. "Forgive my rudeness. Ellie, er, Aquitaine, the big thug you injured actually lives just down the way from Grimm, some several kilometers to the south." He inclined his head. "Tristan de Barre of Dreadmoor."

"Aquitaine, aye? That explains your fierceness. You'd no doubt make a fine addition to my garrison, then." Tristan grasped her hand, lowered his dark head, and brushed a warm kiss across her knuckles.

Wow.

Then he smiled, gave her a low bow, and patted her hand.

Double wow.

Ellie noticed, rather suddenly, a hint of a scowl on Gawan's face, which vanished so quickly, she wasn't sure it had even existed.

With a grin, Ellie shoved her hands as deep into Nicklesby's snug-fitting wool gardening trousers as she could. "I'm really sorry about, you know"—her eyes darted to his groin and back before she could stop them—"before. At the door. I mean, back there. I don't know what came over me." She winced. "Are you okay?"