Into Thin Air (24 page)
She noticed, not for the first time, that a lot of winking went on at Dreadmoor Castle.
"But she can certainly have one little conversation with Gawan." Andi gave Jason and her husband a glare. "Alone."
Gawan, true to Ellie's thinking, had a majorly grumpy look on his handsome face, which softened when he glanced at Andi. "Thank you, Lady Dreadmoor. 'Tis wondrous to know at least
you
remain trustful of my lecherous self."
Andi smiled. "No problem." She gave a glare and a wave to everyone in the room. "Clear out, guys, and no hanging out at the door to listen this time."
The Dreadmoor knights all groaned as they headed to the door.
Andi looked at Jason. "You can stay relatively close to the door, but no pressing the ear against the wood, and I mean it."
Jason gave her a nod. "I wouldn't think of it, my sweet lady."
Several of the guys laughed, made a few bawdy noises, and pushed Jason out the door. Ellie could have sworn she heard one of them call him a suck-up.
The youngest Dragonhawk knight, completely unaffected by the fun being poked at him, was the last to leave. He turned in the doorway, his hand on the handle. "I shall be"—he inclined his head to a place behind him—"just there, by the hearth, lady, should you need me. You've only to call my name." He winked, wagged his brows at Gawan, and closed the door.
Leaving her perfectly and completely alone with the most breathtaking, thousand-year-old medieval knight-turned-Angel she'd ever in her life laid eyes on.
Her
Intended,
for crying out loud.
And she had a mark in the corner of her mouth to prove it.
"Ellie?"
That sexy voice, soft, a bit raspy, and good Lord, the accent, rushed through her. With a clever, inconspicuous calming deep breath, she turned around. Even gave him an easy smile, as if she wasn't close to being as affected by his presence as she really and truly was. Calm. Cool. Collected.
Totally pulled together and confident. Boy, she was proud of herself.
"Yes?" she said, the word coming out on a dopey, idiotic squeak.
"About what you overheard me saying. Earlier." He rubbed a brow. "Before, I mean."
"It's okay. Really." She smiled wider, wondering if he could see all of her teeth. She shrugged. "I know you didn't mean it anyway."
Yes! There's that confidence.
"I can't remember everything about myself, or my family—
yet
—but I get a strong sense that I know people pretty darn well." She poked him in that rock-hard chest of his. "And you like me. Really like me." She decided to join the fun at Dreadmoor and gave him a wink. "A lot."
Gawan's eyes turned more chocolate, and his mouth twitched at the corner. "Is that so?"
She gave a firm nod. "Yep." She tapped the special corner of her mouth. "I've got this—don't forget."
"I shall endeavor never to forget, lady. Trust me."
Those seductive words sent a shiver down her spine, and she had to make herself take the next breath.
He took a step closer, flexed his fingers, shoved his hands in his pockets, and leaned toward her.
"We'll decipher this mystery, Ellie of Aquitaine." His eyes searched hers, and for a moment, she thought she recognized a brief flash of sadness in those tumultuous brown depths. It was quickly replaced by determination. "No matter the cost, you'll get your life back. I
vow
it."
For a moment, Ellie envisioned Gawan as his previous self. His live medieval self. Big. Seasoned.
Rough. Wild. Fierce.
When he gave a vow, he meant it.
Ellie bravely, to her notion, met his intense gaze with one of her own. She studied every sun and laugh line around the corners of his eyes, the fullness of his strong lips, the muscle flinching in his beard-stubbled jaw, and the sincerity of those deep brown pools that he stared so hard at her with.
Ellie grabbed the sides of his face, pulled him down to her, and kissed him quick and thoroughly on the mouth. Then she let go and stepped back, out of his reach. "I believe you," she said, a little breathily even to her own ears, before she turned and left the room.
Somewhere in time, high in a blanket of darkness, three stars furiously blinked ...
"The girl's life force is beginning to fade faster than suspected," Elgan said. "Our young Conwyk is running short on time."
"Och, bloody hell," Fergus said. "Och."
"Och, indeed." Elgan drifted closer. " 'Tis maddening."
"Nay, 'tis
mad,"
Aizeene said furiously, an arc of star shine spattering about. "We know where her live self is. We must intervene!"
"We cannot, and you well know it." Elgan heaved a heavy sigh. "We must have faith in our young warrior. Besides, 'tis the final word of the Order: no intervention."
"You asked, then?" Fergus said.
"Of course I did." Elgan drifted closer still. "The girl Ellie grows weaker, but her will, like Gawan's, is fierce. There's still hope, although I fear hope may not be enough." Silence, then: "I fear that whilst our warrior may save the girl's life, he may in turn fail his deadline."
"Nay!" Aizeene's and Fergus' starlight both feathered about in unison. Fergus, though, cleared his throat. "What I mean, er, 'twill interfere with our promotion, aye?"
Elgan's own star shine dimmed. "For all your bluster, Fergus, I daresay you are the most softhearted thug of a Scot I've ever encountered." He sighed. "And the biggest liar. Nay, 'twill not interfere with our promotion. But, I fear, 'twill most certainly interfere with young Conwyk's."
Fergus' starshine began to fade. "Then let us be about the business of watching our warrior and the girl with a steady eye."
"And with a vast amount of hope," Aizeene said, following suit.
"Aye." Elgan, too, faded. "Hope. And prayer."
In the early hours of a Midwinter's morn
Present Day, Dreadmoor Castle
Gawan stared, as he had for the past score of hours, at the pattern stitched into the bed curtains above his head. More likely than not sewn that way apurpose, to have something to look at, for those weary souls who could not gain an easy spot of rest between sunset and dawn.
Much like himself.
And much, he thought, to the thanks of one Ellie of Aquitaine.
Saints, she'd invaded his bloody mind and would not leave it, even for a solid second.
How his
grandmothair
would cackle at him now, as 'twas she who passed on that bloody Welsh belief of finding one's Intended by way of an exquisitely charming mark on one's mouth. He'd not believed her, at first. It hadn't taken him long, though, and he'd been naught but a scrappy young lad of seven.
By the saints, he certainly had no doubts about it now.
Now that he'd not only seen the bloody mark on Ellie's luscious mouth, but had
taken
it. With that first kiss, on the wall walk at Grimm.
And he'd done it purposely.
Oy, somewhere in the Heavens, his
grandmothair
was giving him a blistering he was powerfully glad not to be present for.
Starting at the beginning of the long, winding vine of English ivy stitched with the tiniest of stitches in the curtains above him, he began, once more, to count the leaves.
One. Two. Three. Four ...
Twelve ... Twenty-seven ... Ninety-two ...
With a stream of his favorite Welsh curses, and a good punch to the useless pillow beneath his head, he stopped counting those ridiculous leaves and glared at them instead.
The feel of Ellie's soft skin would not leave his hands, nor would the taste of her lips leave his mouth, nor would the feel of her supple body pressed against his disappear. Her scent—Christ, even now, 'twas deep inside his senses, with each bloody breath he took, and he knew that for now, it would not go away. Not to mention the sly minx had fair left a scorch mark on his stomach where she'd sneaked inside his tunic.
Worse than all of that combined was that Ellie
herself
wouldn't leave his mind. The things that made her special, the quirky things that made her
Ellie,
all of which he feared he'd soon be living without.
Like her confidence, her sharp wit, her sweetness, and of course, that peculiar, desirable charm she had about her. All of those things drove him mad with wanting to keep her, protect her,
forever.
And 'twas the one thing that could never be.
He sighed and draped an arm over his eyes. Aye, he'd left out a most important detail when telling Ellie they were each other's Intended. He'd meant to tell her, by Christ's blood. He had, truly.
Then she'd risen up on her booted little toes and kissed him soundly and good.
And he'd been lost.
Not that he faulted her. Nay, not by any sort of means. 'Twas obvious she felt it, too, the pulling of Intended souls. She'd kissed him, firstly, with a vast amount of bravery, for no way in bloody hell had she known just what she was doing to him. That, followed by a passion so powerful, he all but fell over with the strength of it.
Aye, he'd keep such thoughts of love and fervor to himself, for if any of the lads in Tristan's blasted hall heard him utter even the slightest of confessions, they'd be merciless.
In truth, he just might resort to his centuries-old employment and lop off a head or two. Or, he thought with some mild satisfaction, fifteen.
I believe you ...
Bleeding priests, her words, those fierce, trusting words, sealed with a sweet kiss would no doubt haunt him for the rest of his pitiful existence. He was, after all, a knight before anything else. Sworn to uphold vows he'd made without hesitancy, and without selfishness. As an Angel, aye, he'd had centuries of experience and knowledge. His bloody skills had been of little use, since the trail she'd left behind was nigh onto inexistent. But again, he was born a warrior, had lived as a knight, and had died a knight. His vows came from the core of his soul. When he made one, he kept it.
Unconditionally.
Ellie would get her life back.
And he'd make sure of it, no matter what the cost to his heart.
"I'mmm
Henry the Eighth I am, Henry the Eighth I am, I am. I've—"
"Lady!"
Ellie jumped at the sound of Jason's voice, muffled behind the door. "What is it, Jason?"
"Pardon me, lady, but you're driving me daft. You've been singing that verse now nigh onto the whole of the night."
Ellie turned back to the window and stared out into the darkness. The moon had drifted, or the Earth had drifted—either way, the shadows had elongated, making the outside of the castle look spooky.
"Sorry. I can't sleep. I think it has something to do with the whole In-Betwinxt-Intended thing."
"I'll come in, then, if you please, and we'll pass the rest of the morn
not
singing that irritating verse.
Aye?"
Ellie laughed. "Aye, it's a deal. I'm bored silly. Come on in."
Jason slipped inside and then quietly closed the door behind him. He crossed the floor, to where Ellie sat in the alcove, and she had to bite back a grin. He still wore his sweater and jeans from earlier, but he now had his sword strapped to his hip.
"When you offered to be my guardsman, Jason, I had no idea that meant you'd be keeping post outside my door." She pointed. "With a sword."
As he dragged a straight chair up to the alcove, he straddled it backward and gave her a boyish grin.
"When I was alive—the first time—and during the centuries I spent as a spirit, my blade was ever at the ready"—he patted the hilt—"on my person. Besides"—he gave her a sincere look—"when one pledges to be a lady's guardsman, one should never be without the proper gear."
Ellie smiled. "Gotcha. Well, I feel a lot safer with you around—that's for sure."
"No doubt."
She studied him. Lanky, but still strapped with youthful muscles that were bound to get bigger, if his height had anything to do with it. Dark auburn hair pulled back into a queue—he was such a cute guy. Sweet, too. Sweet and fearless.
"So tell me, Jason," she asked, pulling her knees up and resting her chin upon them, "what makes Gawan so special? As an Angel, I mean? He moves and behaves just like the rest of you."
Jason thought a minute, then rubbed his chin and regarded her. " 'Tisn't very knightly to gossip, but I suppose I could tell you what I admire about him."
"Let's hear it, then," she said. "Tell me."
"Very well." He leaned forward, arms resting on the back of the chair. "Once, when he was first awarded his title, he was your typical Angel." He flapped his arms like wings. "You know, like you'd see on the telly."
"He could
fly?"
Jason nodded. "Oh, aye, for a certainty. He's a big lad anyway, but with that wingspan, by St. Peter's toes, he was enormous."
Wow.
She scooted closer. "What else."
With a chuckle, Jason continued. " 'Twasn't long after we, the Dragonhawk knights, in our ghostly forms, mind you, met Sir Gawan, that he accepted another position. Where as before, only the unliving could see him, as was the course, his new position afforded him a mortal body in which to live in here, on Earth."
"That's amazing." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Go on. This is great stuff."
"Great stuff, indeed," Jason said, then continued. "When he took the position, he had to give up several of his skills in order to live an Earthbound life. One being, of course, the ability to fly.
Another being the ability to cross centuries. Oy, that indeed was quite a fetching skill, no doubt."
"So you're telling me he could jump from century to century? Go back and forth?"
"Aye. Invisible to the mortal world, as well. Only us spirits could see and interact with him."
Ellie whistled low. "Amazing."
"In truth."
She looked at him. "So why didn't he just pop back to the time just before you were killed to warn all of you?"
A grave smile, even in the half shadows that covered his face, changed his expression. "Because, my lady, we were not his charges." He glanced out the window, the waning moonlight streaking his face. "You see, we weren't simply killed, or even simply murdered. We were
cursed."
He shrugged.