Into Thin Air (15 page)

Tristan smiled, dimples pitting his cheeks. "Aye, well, I shall know if I cannot sire babes, won't I?

Thank the saints, though, that I'm a competent sort from hearty stock and have already bequeathed to my lady wife, who carries my babe in her belly this very minute."

Ellie blinked.
What the heck did he just say?

Gawan chuckled. "What he means, girl, is that despite your attack, he'll be fine, and he and his wife are already with child." He clapped Tristan on the back. "Well done, man! 'Tis rather difficult to imagine you a
sire."

"Aye, in truth." Tristan strode to the kitchen window, pulled back the white lace curtain, and glanced outside. "It grows darker, and I vow 'tis icy in this croft." He turned to meet first Ellie's gaze, then Gawan's. "We've much to discuss, Conwyk. What say you two sup with us this eve? I know Andrea would love a bit of female companionship." He winked at Gawan.
"Live
female companionship, at that."

In Gawan's defense, he sort of cringed at Tristan's words. All it did, though, was reconfirm to Ellie that there was a lot more to Tristan de Barre than bulky muscle, gorgeous hair, honey-thick charm, and snappy blue eyes.

A
lot
more.

He saw
ghosts,
yet, apparently, couldn't detect that she was nearly one herself. Speaking of which, how did he not only see her, but
touch
her? Heck, he probably even toted a sword around, like Gawan. She wondered briefly if Tristan was a ... What had Gawan called it? A
gwarcheidiol?
Some sort of Guardian, he'd said.

Nah. No way would she encounter two of those things in one lifetime. Or almost unlifetime.

Whatever existence she floated around in.

Should've paid a little more attention in church, smarty-pants. You'd think getting thumped in the
back of the head once for goofing off while the sermon was being preached would have been
enough. If only Kyle had sat somewhere else. Rotten brother ...

"Oh!" she said, and grabbed Gawan's arm. "I've got a brother! I just remembered something else!

You see, I used to be really naughty in church services—especially when my brother, Kyle, would sit next to me. My grandpa used to thump the back of our heads for playing around during the sermon! Hurt, too."

Tristan joined them from the kitchen window. He flashed Ellie a smile, and then leaned his head to Gawan's ear. As if a deep, booming voice like Tristan's could whisper.

"Saints, man, I vow I didn't realize the lass was addled," Tristan said in his not so whispery whisper.

He tapped his temple with a forefinger.

Gawan cringed again.

Ellie chuckled. Sort of. "I'm not addled, really. I'm In-Betwinxt." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Which is why I'm so curious to know how it is that you can see me?"

With a quick glance at Ellie, Gawan looked at Tristan, whose expression revealed much confusion.

He shrugged. " 'Tis true."

Tristan rubbed his chin. "Damn me. I don't think I've ever crossed paths with such before. 'Tis almost unheard-of."

Gawan's gaze returned to Ellie's and remained there. "Aye. Which is why we're here." He inspected the contents of the small croft they stood in. "Something occurred, and I've not a clue what, which took Ellie's memory, and nearly her life. She's getting bits back here and yon, but nothing solid as to why she's here, or who she truly is." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "We'd found evidence that she'd stayed in the area, but from the looks of things, 'twasn't here."

"That's because I employed a cleaning service to give the place a good scrubbing." Tristan shrugged. "I just purchased it, actually, and came here today to inspect the services rendered."

Ellie wrapped her arms about herself and looked up at Tristan. "Then you didn't see the woman who rented this cottage?"

"Aye, and 'twas a shuddering experience, to say the truth of it. Massive, not pudgy, by any means, but nigh onto looking me squarely, eye to eye." Raising his hand, he held it level to his own head.

"Came to here, every inch." He gave a lopsided grin. "Almost offered her employment, as well.

Strapping lass, that one."

Gawan chuckled. What a change his old friend had made. In his youth, he'd been boisterous yet carefree, a complete jester. Then,
after,
well, he remained boisterous, aye. But solemn. Cranky.

Passing grumpy, Gawan would even say.

With all good sense and sane reason, of course.

Being a cursed spirit for more than seven hundred years tended to make a body
grumpy.

Aye, they had much to talk about, indeed. He sorely wished he'd been present for the ordeal.

According to Lady Follywolle, it had, indeed, been an outstanding occurrence.

A clicking sound drew Gawan's attention, and he quite suddenly realized, 'twas Ellie chattering.

"Let's quit this drafty cottage, before the girl here cracks all her fine teeth and her lips turn bluer than they are already."

"Grand idea, Conwyk. I say put your woman in yon iron carriage and turn the fire up, full blast. I'll have a moment with you whilst she roasts."

Gawan heartily wished Dreadmoor would cease referring to Ellie as
his woman.
It made him do nothing but think of how her lips felt beneath his.

As Ellie made for the door, shivering, she passed Gawan and whispered, "Please. Hurry and put me in
yon iron carriage,
will ya? And don't forget to blast me with fire. I'm freezing my bloody arse off." With that, she opened the door and walked out.

" 'Twould be only fair of me to warn you, mate. Those modern American lasses are decidedly stubborn. And that's just the beginning of it."

Staring out the open cottage door, Gawan watched Ellie make straight for the driver's side of the Rover, open the door, stand there for naught but a moment before slamming that same door, muttering something he could only guess was foul, then tromp to the other side and climb in.

Clumsily charming,
he thought.

"And that's a most besotted look stretched upon your pitiful face, Conwyk." Tristan shook his head and slapped Gawan on the back. "Lo, how I know the sentiment well."

Gawan pinched the bridge of his nose. "She's my Intended."

Tristan paused. "But she's
In-Betwinxt."

"I know that."

"By the saints."

Gawan met his friend's dubious stare. "Aye, and their curled toes, as well."

Tristan scrubbed his jaw. "Well, that certainly does muck things up a bit." He lowered his voice. "I didn't want to say aught in front of the girl, but we've more than just old times to catch up on, you and I."

Gawan cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

Tristan's eyes drifted to the Rover, to Ellie, then back. "One of my properties, just up Northumberland way, has been leased for the past month. To an American lass." He zipped up his jacket and shoved his hands into the pockets. "Normally, I'd not have need of any knowledge of who leases or buys my properties. My solicitor handles the matters and does so with a swift hand and a keen eye. But this, I unavoidably recall."

The Rover's horn blasted. Gawan glanced over, and Ellie shrugged her shoulders, held up her wrist and tapped it with a finger—a silent scolding that she wanted to leave, he knew. He waved to her and turned back to Tristan. "Aye? What is it, man?"

"My solicitor suggested that, since I'd just had the cottage refurbished, to send a photographer round to take pictures to post for advertisement. So I did, and once the job was finished, he placed them in the post and sent them to my solicitor. Once he inspected them, he couldn't help but notice the flame-haired beauty who'd been caught unawares in the photo. 'Twas the same maid who'd just picked up the keys and directions from his office. He was quite taken with her, methinks, and made it a point to flag her photo with a note when he dropped the mailer into the post for me to inspect."

Tristan glanced toward the Rover and inclined his head. " 'Twas your girl there, Conwyk ..."

At the same time, Gawan followed Tristan's inclining head. He then noticed what had stopped his friend's words in midsentence.

Ellie of Aquitaine had indeed disappeared once again.

Chapter Twelve

Being that daylight waned at such an early hour during the winter months in the north of England, Tristan had convinced Gawan with very little effort to follow him directly to Dreadmoor after leaving the rental cottage. Since he had no clue when Ellie might reappear, he'd accepted. After all, Tristan claimed to have a photo of the girl—their only solid lead so far. And Gawan was most anxious to get his hands on it.

After ringing Nicklesby on the mobile to say he'd not sup at Grimm that eve, he followed the fading tail lamps of Tristan's newest toy—a sleek black Jag—down the North Sea's winding coastline, to the imposing keep perched high above the sea atop an ancient shelf of earth and rock. Much like Grimm, in many ways, although Grimm was nearly a century older, Dreadmoor certainly possessed its own distinct character.

Up until quite recently, 'twas filled with naught save one crusty old mortal steward and a seven-hundred-year-old garrison of medieval ghosts.

Tristan himself included.

Yet somehow, the doomed knights had managed to overcome the most incredible odds Gawan had ever heard of, including Sir Tristan finding himself a lady wife in the process.

One who, according to the gossipy female spirits of Castle Grimm, had not only fallen in love with Tristan, known far and wide as the Dragonhawk, the dreaded scourge of England, but had done so whilst he was still a cursed spirit. She had even wanted to wed him in that unsavory state of non-substance, Gawan had heard.

He couldn't fathom the vast amount of love the woman must possess for de Barre.

Lucky whoreson.

Gawan thought about the past year and how little time he'd spent at Grimm. 'Twas whilst he'd been away on an assignment, when Tristan and the lads, along with Tristan's wife, had broken the ancient curse. And all due to a storm blowing over that bloody oak in the bailey. He'd come home to Lady Follywolle and Lady Beauchamp, all giggly and gossipy about the events that had occurred. He'd barely believed the tale.

Until now.

The thought of big, boisterous Dragonhawk being brought to his poor knees by the devious moves of Ellie of Aquitaine made Gawan want to laugh out loud. The girl had moved like lightning, hitting just the right place in order to bring down a man who outstood her by a foot and a half, and outweighed her by more than ten stone, easily.

Who, by the devil's cloven hooves, had taught her such a move? And damnation, why hadn't she been able to use that skill on whoever had nearly taken her life? Unless 'twas of naught but sheer accident that had placed Ellie in such a state.

Had the events not occurred, though, he and Ellie would have never met. A rather selfish reflection on his part, not that their meeting had accomplished much, save make him crave something he could not have. Rather,
someone.

Ellie.

How his head ached.

It was nearly an hour later when the daunting walls of Dreadmoor came into view. Through twilight and mist the dark keep and surrounding buildings rose, sinister and impenetrable. 'Twas a fine fortress, to his notion. Tristan, indeed, had done a superior job with the design.

As he followed Tristan through the gatehouse, Gawan gave the guard, Will, a nod, and the lad, ever so stern, waved him through without so much as a smile or welcome. Gawan motored up the path and across the drawbridge, then parked the Rover beside Tristan's car and started up the massive steps to the double front doors.

Before he and Tristan reached the top step, the doors swung open, and a petite young woman with darkish hair, much like Ellie's, except shorter, stepped out. Wrapped in a wool plaid, she gathered the material about her and waited as Tristan closed the space between them and then pulled her into his arms.

The top of her head reached no farther than his chest.

Much, he couldn't help but think, as Ellie's did his. Only Ellie stood a shade taller than the lady Dragonhawk, as her head nearly reached Gawan's shoulder.

Priest's robes, why would that womanly thought come to mind?

Witless. 'Twas no other way to describe his stupid self.

"Conwyk! Remove that scowl from your visage thusly and greet my wife. 'Tis bloody freezing out here."

Gawan cleared his throat, decided to set all thoughts of Ellie aside for the moment, and gave Tristan's wife a low bow. " 'Tis an honor, Lady Dread—"

"Andi," she interrupted, and then grasped his hands with her small cold ones. "Welcome to the House of Testosterone." She cocked her head and inspected him toe to eyebrow. "From the looks of it, you'll fit right in."

Tristan's laugh boomed over the bailey. "Come." He inclined his head to the door. "The lads will be more than pleased to see you've finally decided to call upon us."

Andi smiled and slipped her arm through Gawan's. "Come on in. We'll go plop down by the fire and talk while we wait for dinner." She pulled him through the door. "Jameson has something cooking that smells like heaven."

"Don't get too cozy with my wife wrapped about you, Conwyk. I've a mind to peel her away from you at any minute as it's been nigh onto a full day since I've last clapped eyes on her."

He glanced at Tristan, whose eyes were indeed now clapped onto his lady, and Gawan noticed immediately that the once-fierce warrior bore the most ridiculously besotted expression he'd truly ever seen.

He found himself to be vastly jealous.

Andi leaned toward Gawan. "Don't mind him. Ever since that curse was broken, he's been impossible to live with."

Tristan in fact did peel his wife from Gawan at that point, which won him a playful squeal. "You mean impossible to live
without,
aye?" Tristan winked at Gawan over Andi's head. "She fancies me saying
aye,
as well as being called
wench.
An American thing, methinks, and I do both as oft as I dare."