Into Thin Air (19 page)
Ellie could barely wait for supper.
Funny, Ellie thought, how she couldn't remember her true self, or her own family, but she remembered other things.
Like how the giant, long oak table in the great hall lined with big, ancient, loudmouthed warriors strangely reminded her of
The Waltons.
Except for the ladies Follywolle and Beauchamp, who sat to her right, the men—ghostly and unghostly—took up the seats of both sides of the long table, talking, laughing, making bawdy jokes.
One seat remained empty to her left, as did the seat at the head of the table.
Which meant Gawan and Tristan were still upstairs.
The great hall, Ellie thought, was pretty impressive. Much like the great hall in Castle Grimm, its interior walls were covered in tapestries depicting knights at battle. Sconces set into the stone walls cast a faint glow of light, while dark timbers crossed the expanse of ceiling.
Straight across from Ellie sat Andi, who gave her a grin. "Don't worry. They'll be down in a—" She glanced at the steps. "Oh, here they come now."
Ellie turned, and for the hundredth time that day, her breath caught. Both men crossed the hall, side by side, and although the lord of Dreadmoor was quite a handsome guy, her gaze passed right over him and landed on the powerful man who walked beside him.
A small gasp escaped Lady Follywolle, or maybe it had come from Lady Beauchamp. Ellie couldn't tell which one. Nor could she blame either.
Gawan was, hands down, the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.
Freshly bathed, he had his damp hair pulled back in a ponytail—or queue, as Andi had corrected her. His skin stood in contrast to the long-sleeved ivory shirt he wore, tucked in to a comfy-looking pair of worn jeans. The most bizarre mix of twelfth century and twenty-first century she could ever imagine. Dark brown boots moved that tall, powerful frame across the great hall floor to the long table.
And straight toward her.
Rather, the empty seat beside her.
As Gawan sat down, a waft of soapy skin drifted past her, and she inconspicuously drew in a big whiff. Nothing, she thought, smelled better than a freshly showered man.
Other than the two giant pots of stew that Jameson had brought to the table, along with three plates of buttery rolls. Ellie's mouth all but watered at the prospect.
Too bad, she thought, that her tummy simply refused it.
Gawan regarded her. "You look most comely in the lady Dragonhawk's garb, although I rather fancied Nicklesby's gardening trousers." He grinned. "A far better look than on Nicklesby, I assure you."
"Gee, thanks," Ellie said, but she still felt her neck and cheeks grow warm. Good Lord, was she blushing? How embarrassing.
"Lady Ellie, aren't you going to eat?" Jason asked. " 'Tis the best stew in all of England."
Ellie glanced down at her bowl. Her stomach growled just at the sight of the steaming brown gravy and chunks of beef, carrots, and potatoes. Yet the thought of actually putting any of it in her mouth
—no way. "It looks great," she told Jason. "You seem to be putting quite a dent in that pot yourself."
Jason gave a crooked grin, then looked at the pot, probably checking it for a real dent. She kept forgetting these guys took most everything she said literally.
"Is there aught amiss?" Gawan said in her ear. "Young Jason's right. You've not touched your meal.
Did you eat earlier?"
Ellie shook her head. "No. I don't know. It smells wonderful, but I just can't eat." She turned and gave him a smile. "I'll be fine. Besides," she said, inclining her head to his second bowl, "you're eating plenty for the both of us."
"Conwyk, she's got that aright. What's wrong? That lanky twit Nicklesby not feedin' you enough over there at Grimm?" said Kail.
The knights all laughed.
Gawan, on the other hand, didn't look amused at all. His dark brows furrowed, he studied Ellie more closely for what seemed several minutes, and then he turned to Tristan. "The sooner we get this matter settled, the better."
It was then, in the next second, that an ever-so-familiar feeling began to creep over her. Lowering her hands, she gripped the sides of her chair, hoping that would keep her from falling over and causing a scene. Heck, maybe no one would even notice.
"Damn me, but the maid's face looks rather pasty, Grimm," someone said. "Grab her, man."
"I know that," Gawan said, very close to her. "Ellie? Another vision?"
Ellie glanced around, first at Gawan's taut features, then at the knights who'd stopped eating to watch. She saw one of them cross himself.
"I'm right here," Gawan assured her, closer this time, yet his voice faded, just as the surprised
Ochs!, Oys!
and
Damnations!
of the knights muttering around the long table did.
Tristan's deep-voiced
By the bloody saints
was the last thing Ellie heard.
* * *
"Mayhap a pat or two to the maid's cheek will help," Stephen said, flexing his fingers as if to do the patting. " 'Twould rouse her from that blasted frightening open-eyed sleep she's in."
"I daresay she'd be better off on the couch, there in front of the hearth," Jameson said, "instead of sitting upright where she is."
"Aye," Tristan agreed. " 'Twould do her little good to fall face-first into Jameson's stew."
"I'm sure Gawan knows what to do for her," Andi said.
Gawan, appreciative of the lady Dragonhawk's support, gave a nod. "Nay, lady, she's not done this before. But Jameson's right. I'll move her to the couch."
Gawan had to admit that Ellie did indeed look fairly frightening, what with her eyes open and glazed over at the same time. He wondered what she was seeing behind that glaze, but he knew she'd tell the tale once she awoke.
After much scooting of chairs and plates and cookery clanging together, Gawan swept Ellie up into his arms, carried her to the couch, and settled her comfortably.
"What do we do now, sir?" Jason asked, ever so attentive.
"We wait," Gawan answered.
Jason nodded, and the others all found some object or another to lean on. And waited.
It didn't take long for Ellie to come round.
At first, she only blinked, as though trying to focus on her surroundings. Then her body tensed, and her hand immediately sought his.
Gawan thought he'd give ponder to what
that
could mean, exactly, later on.
Ellie's fingers squeezed Gawan's hand, and she drew in a deep breath. Her gaze right away hunted his. He briefly wondered if she knew she did it.
"What did you see, lady?" Jason asked.
Ellie shook her head, as though trying to clear the fog. "A book or log. A ledger, maybe. That's it. A leather-bound ledger." She thought a moment. "It was
me,
kneeling in front of an-old bureau, and I have this ledger open on my lap."
"Is there aught in the ledger, then?" Tristan asked.
Her gaze moved from Tristan's back to Gawan's. "Yes. Pages upon pages of writing." Her eyes narrowed as she pondered. "I must have only read a small portion of it in my vision. It says
Northumberland, England, by the seaside. Lad murdered, body not found. Another lad,
disappeared, assumed dead. Titled. Gone."
Her eyes widened. "And a signature. Phineas."
"Does the name mean anything to you, girl?" Gawan said. "Or the ledger?"
"Aye, or does it shake loose a memory?" asked Sir Godfrey, who'd moved closer to Ellie.
Ellie glanced around, and then shrugged. "The vision
feels
familiar, yet I don't remember
doing
any of it."
"So you think that's what brought you here?" Andi asked.
Ellie nodded. "Possibly." She closed her eyes. "Maybe if I concentrated a little harder."
Gawan's heart twinged a bit at the look on Ellie's face, so desperate was she to find answers. Not a single emotion could she hide. Not even when she'd announced, with great fluster, that the kiss they'd shared had meant nothing.
It had meant far more than she could possibly imagine. Christ, he'd stolen her Intended's kiss.
He'd do the same again.
Closing his fingers around hers, which had surprisingly remained with a firm grip, he tugged her up.
"Come, Ellie of Aquitaine."
Her eyes flew open and met his.
"There are a few things we must discuss." He glanced around at the Dreadmoor knights, who all had leaned just a bit more forward. "Alone."
Several disappointed grumbles sounded through the men.
Tristan waved a hand in the air. "You men, cease that wailing, and hasten to the sports solar. There's an American football game on satellite we don't want to miss."
The grumbles quickly changed into shouts of excitement. All except the lady Dreadmoor, who simply rolled her eyes.
"Gawan, Ellie, if you need me, I'll either be in the library, or facedown in a carton of Ben and Jerry's in the kitchen with Jameson," Andi said, then smiled. "Seriously. Just holler if you need me."
"We shall indeed holler, should we need you," Gawan said. Then he gave her a nod and guided Ellie to the staircase.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Somewhere quiet, and I vow it won't be anywhere close to the sports solar."
Just as they reached the stairs, Tristan pulled Gawan aside. "Be strong, lad. I've heard great tales of your fierceness on the battlefield—you've even the markings to prove it." An annoying smile cracked the Dragonhawk's face in twain. "But as I stand here, you look as though you're quite close to losing your supper stew."
Gawan wouldn't admit that was
exactly
how he felt. "Many thanks, my friend. I shall endeavor to keep said stew in my belly at all costs."
He and Ellie continued up the stairs, and Tristan's irritating laughter echoed behind them through the great hall.
Ellie remained quiet as Gawan led her through the corridors and passageways, to a chamber he felt positive he'd gain a bit of peace.
The north tower.
Tristan had mentioned he'd done a bit of renovating after the curse had been broken, and that this chamber in particular was his Brooding Chamber. Gawan remembered it as being a turreted room at the top of Dreadmoor, indeed, but enclosed, all except the arrow slits and a rather small window opening. A room, in Gawan's mind, that was more suited for solitary confinement.
"Good Lord," Ellie said as they began the climb to the tower, "where the
bleep
are you taking me?
To the roof?"
Gawan chuckled, glad for the break in silence. It settled his pitiful nerves, somewhat. "Aye, 'tis in fact the roof. Rather, the tower." He glanced down at her. "Why do you oft say
bleep
in place of a curse?" He thought it vastly charming.
As she climbed the stairs, her breathing became a bit more arduous. "I'll ... tell you ... once ... I ...
remember."
They made it to the top, and Gawan reached in front of Ellie, opened the massive oak door, and gave it a push. Ellie walked in first.
"Oh, wow," she said, her voice breathy, and not completely because of their grueling climb. "This is great."
Gawan stepped in, and, indeed, his reaction was the same. "Wow is right."
Tristan had, in truth, created a most becoming Brooding Chamber. Gone were the arrow slits. Gone was the small window. 'Twas like a garden room, only at the top of the bloody castle. The hearth had remained against the left wall, but the turreted walls, which faced the sea, had been knocked out and replaced by no less than seven-foot windows. Six in all, they gave the Brooder an uninterrupted view of the tumultuous North Sea from all angles. Gawan knew the scene during the fullness of daylight would be fair breathtaking.
Gawan closed the door, then guided Ellie to the one piece of furniture in the chamber: a large overstuffed leather sofa, which, of course, faced the tall windows.
"Here," he said, moving in front of the sofa, "sit down."
Ellie gave him a skeptical look and raised one eyebrow.
He drew in a breath and smiled. "Please."
She did indeed sit, and not for the first time, Gawan noticed that the lady Dreadmoor's clothing did rather flatter Ellie's lovely curves. She wore a softish-looking brown wool tunic, a pair of jeans, and a rather comfortable-looking pair of leather boots. All of that glorious hair was left hanging freely down her back, and Gawan knew then he'd never seen a more beautiful sight. He wanted mightily to thread his hands into that hair.
"Um, hello?" Ellie snapped her fingers in the air. "Earth to Conwyk."
Gawan blinked, then gave a nod. "Right. I brought you here to discuss matters, not gawk at your beauty. Forgive me."
Now Ellie blinked, and then her cheeks turned a rather charming shade of pink. "Oh." She squirmed, then shifted on the sofa and tucked one leg under her bottom. "Please tell me you're going to sit down to talk. You're making me nervous, standing over me like that."
With a gusty sigh, Gawan sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, in the corner, and sprawled his legs out in the most comfortable of positions he could think of.
"I already know you're an Angel, if that's what you're so worried about."
Gawan regarded her. "Lady Follywolle?"
Ellie nodded. "She sort of spilled the beans in the kitchen. No, actually before that," she said, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear. "Back at Castle Grimm—only I didn't put two and two together at the time."
Rubbing his chin with a knuckle, he grinned. "What made you put it together this time?"
"Well"—she glanced at him—"Lady Follywolle started wailing and crying, and Lady Beauchamp tried to get her not to say it." She shrugged. "But I pried it out of her anyway." Now Ellie regarded him, a slow perusal before staring hard into his eyes.
He all but squirmed in his seat.
"How did it happen?"
This, Gawan thought, he could handle with a bit of tact. 'Twas the
other
thing—that Ellie was his
Intended
—he was rather nervous about.