Into Thin Air (30 page)
As he watched her tumble memories about, he simply settled on staring. He knew that, be it God and the saints' will that her family find her, her memories of her time spent with him and the others would indeed vanish. 'Twas why she felt so disjointed. 'Twould all balance out, in truth.
All, he knew, except for
them:
Ellie and him.
And once more he was reminded of how they could never be.
Right then he gave thanks for that, for the grief of remembering her yet not having her threatened to choke him.
"I still don't know why I came here, though," Ellie said, breaking into his gloomy thoughts. "Not details, anyway. I remember so much other stuff—even clients I've had recently." She shook her head. "Just not
this."
Gawan pasted on an encouraging smile. " 'Twill come to you, girl. Do not doubt that. And your family will be here soon. Tomorrow morn, we're off to see what that cleverly hidden key of yours opens." He pulled her up and wrapped his arms about her, resting his chin on the top of her head.
"Until then, though, we've a Yuletide to enjoy." He looked down at her. "Aye?"
Her eyes smiled. "Definitely, aye." She cocked her head. "I can't believe my name is Eleanor Jane Morgan. Isn't that a funny coincidence?"
Gawan looked into his Intended's wide blue-green eyes. Eyes that, for now, looked into his own, trusting and full of newfound love. He thought of Queen Eleanor—of her boldness and fearlessness, not to mention her hardheadedness, along with her enormous heart—and he dropped a kiss on
his
Eleanor's nose. "Nay, girl. 'Tisn't a coincidence at all."
A sniffle sounded at the door, and Gawan and Ellie both looked at the same time.
"Oh, dear!" said Lady Follywolle, who, amongst several other hankie-waving lady spirits, stood just outside the library doorway. " 'Tis the most
romantic
thing I've ever in my days seen!" She blew into her lace hankie, the swan on her head bobbing to and fro. "Oh, dear!"
"Oy, Millicent," said Sir Godfrey, taking his own bit of lace and dabbing at her eyes. "Cease all that blubbering and dry up. 'Twill make all the other eyes in this womanly hall begin leaking."
Young Davy, who'd wormed his way between all the ladies' skirts, stood grinning as he peeped around one very drenched Bella Beauchamp. "Lady Ellie! I hope it's all right, but Sir Jason has been playing me a fine game of knucklebones. He said he'd play in your stead, whilst you and Sir Gawan had your dance"—his little face screwed up—"whatever that means. We've both won a game each!"
Ellie gave a wide smile to that young spirit, who, like everyone else, had fallen daft by her charm.
"I'll let it slide this once, but I want to play you both in just a little while," she said. "Meanwhile"—leaning back against Gawan, and setting off an echo of audible sighs amongst the lady ghosts
—"I've a dance to collect."
Gawan tightened his arms around his lady, then lowered his lips to her ear. "And you shall have it,"
he whispered, and felt her shiver. "You shall have it, and more."
"Move along, you men and ladies there," Jason said from somewhere beyond the library entrance.
"Give yon lovebirds a spot of breathing room. Hurry along, then."
It was then that Gawan knew he was rather fond of Jason of Dreadmoor, for he wanted nothing more than to have some time alone with Ellie.
"Ta for now, loves," a sopping wet Lady Beauchamp said with a dramatic wave of her hankie. "We shall most assuredly see you later." With a wink, she, along with the others, vanished.
Jason, with Nicklesby just behind him, poked a head in the doorway. He pointedly looked directly at Gawan. "Beg pardon, sir, but 'tis just a reminder that I leave with you." He grinned. "I am now, and forever, the lady Ellie's personal guardsman. Her honor means much to me, and whilst I will indeed grant you a bit of privacy with her, I shall be ever so close, just there"—he inclined his head
—"in the larder with young Davy and Nicklesby. Should her honor be compromised in any way, sir, forgive me, but I will not hesitate to use my sword." He gave a low bow. "Until." He winked at Ellie.
Then he left, that wiry Nicklesby grinning as he followed.
It was then, Gawan realized, just how much he loathed Jason of Dreadmoor.
"That mouthy, arrogant pup," Gawan said, and frowned. A good warrior's frown, he thought.
"I think he's sweet," Ellie said. "Cute and sweet."
Gawan turned her around to face him, but kept his arms about her. "That sweet lad has skewered many an enemy with his blade, lady."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's a little hard to believe, Conwyk. Anyway," she said, and leaned up on her bare tiptoes, her lush mouth hovering powerfully close to his, "are we going to spend our time talking about Jason and his skewering skills?"
Gawan nudged her mouth with his, and swept her with a good, solid kiss until he felt her sigh against his lips. "What think you?" He fingered the narrow strip of black silk at her bare shoulders, and by the devil's pointed tail, he couldn't stop himself from skimming the soft skin on her exposed back. "Wherever did Nicklesby get such a gown?" he asked, and it came out a growl. " 'Tis enough to tempt a bloody eunuch."
Ellie chuckled, the sound intoxicating. "Well, then, you ol' eunuch, we'd better think of something else to do than gaze into each other's eyes and make out." She pressed against him.
Gawan narrowed his eyes. "You are a wicked wench." He lifted a brow. "What have you in mind?"
A smile lifted her sweet mouth. "Now I know why all of this"—she waved a hand around the room
—"you, the castle—all of it interests me so much. I'm a researcher. I love history." She cocked a brow. "Know what I want?"
Gawan could think of one thing in particular he wanted, but blast that damn knight in his larder for putting a stop to it. "What, Ellie of Aquitaine? What is it you want?"
"First," she said, "I want you to take me up to that armory upstairs. That armor—all of it. They're yours, aren't they? And I don't mean yours as in they're yours in your castle. I mean, they're
yours.
You wore them."
A pride he'd not expected filled him, just at the sight of her amazement. "Aye. 'Tis so."
She looked at him, lifted a finger to trace his jaw. "That's the most amazing thing. Besides you, of course."
Gawan found he had a rather difficult time swallowing. "And after that?"
She rose back on her toes and pressed a kiss to his mouth. "Well, then I want that dance. And while we're dancing, I want you to tell me everything about yourself—any and everything." She kissed him longer this time, and he felt his own body shake with pent-up energy as her tongue boldly swept his. "And then," she said, breathless, "I want you to take me to the best place you've got to hide from my sweet and very cute personal guardsman."
Just then the grandfather clock in the great hall chimed ten. He glanced down at the woman in his arms, who was the only person he knew who could smile sweetly and wickedly at the same time.
"I feel like Cinderella before midnight, only I'm not sure how much time we have."
"Then let's hurry and find your shoes," Gawan said and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
And they did.
'Twas twenty past ten when Ellie vanished.
Gawan knew that, since he'd just glanced at the wall clock in the armory. When he turned back round to where Ellie had been standing in utter amazement touching ever so gently something no one had touched in centuries—his twelfth-century gear and sword—he blinked. And she was gone.
And his stomach plummeted. He knew when she disappeared 'twas naught more than her live body regaining enough consciousness to pull her from In-Betwinxt, and he hated himself for wanting to keep her, as she was, just for the sake of his own selfish benefit.
Saints, but he couldn't help it. Just like he couldn't help the gnawing ache that gouged his heart, knowing that they had not much time together, not at all.
He had to find her. With or without the constable's cooperation, he'd search every single house and barn within a hundred kilometers of Grimm. 'Twas his bloody vow, and by all of the blessed bleeding priests, he'd uphold it.
Then, just as quickly as she'd vanished, she reappeared.
Ellie—and even though she now recalled all the nicknames and pet names her family called her, she thought of herself as nothing other than Ellie—pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead to try to slow down the spinning. "Oops." She gave Gawan a smile. "Sorry about that."
The look on his face was a combination of relief and something else. Frustration? "Hey," she said, and squirmed up next to him. "I'm not finished with you yet, mister."
He put a hand on either shoulder and looked at her, his dark brows furrowed. "Ellie."
"No take backs."
He quirked a brow. "Say again?"
"I said, no take backs." She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist, even though her head pounded like a Muther. "That means, you can't take back, you know, from before. In other words"—she squeezed him—"I refuse to allow you to foul up this night. Yeah, yeah, I know we have to find me." She shook her head. "That sounds crazy. Anyway." She pinned him with a mock frown. "But we can't very well do much of anything tonight—except have one night of togetherness." She grinned. "And get your mind out of the gutter, Conwyk. Even if you are my Intended, I'm not having sex with you—especially with mean old Jason lurking around every corner. Besides, even if we were married, it wouldn't really count, would it—the marriage, I mean ... well, the sex, too—since I'm In-Betwinxt? I mean, could you imagine, well, if I disappeared, right in the middle of—"
She rubbed her temples. "Oy, me head aches with such notions."
Gawan chuckled, not a hearty rumble, but an I'm-in-church-so-stop-making-me-laugh chuckle, low, hardly even noticeable. "Indeed, girl, the notions make my own head pound. Come, and have mercy on me, aye? Quit all this talk of sex and wedlock, before you make me fast forget I swore knightly vows at all." His brown eyes darkened. "We shall make the most of this night, in the most honorable of ways I can manage, which is nigh onto impossible, what with you in that fetching gown." He stared at her then, long, and hard, with pure, raw male desire.
She knew then just how powerful Gawan of Conwyk truly was.
Then he drew a deep breath. " 'Tis far too late this eve to worry about the matter further. Tomorrow we'll return to the constable with your key and new information, and then begin our search in the daylight hours."
Ellie grinned. "In other words, no take backs."
The corners of Gawan's sexy mouth tipped up. Not a smile, really, nor a smirk. And it was awfully cute. "Aye, indeed. No take backs."
And so for hours into the night, they walked through the castle, fingers linked, and Ellie drank in every ounce of information Gawan gave her. While walking every faintly lit passageway, she learned how he'd been trained as what she referred to as a
junior warlord,
which had made Gawan roar with laughter. She'd learned how he'd lost his virginity at the tender age of thirteen, and with a maid named Gwynedth, no less, and she'd called him a big fat fibber, but he'd sworn it was the truth. Pinky promised, even.
She told him about her first crush in kindergarten.
Dewey Devvons.
"Golly, he had the cutest little cowlick"—she tapped Gawan's forehead—"right here." That had awarded her with a frown.
"Bloody saints, wench, how could you go witless over a lad who'd allowed a cow to lick him thusly?" he'd said.
Ellie had laughed.
And so it went, the two of them trading stories of their childhood both had probably long forgotten.
Until now.
Stories of their parents, their siblings, their lives. Ellie heard Gawan's knightly tales of the Crusades, cleaned up and a lot less gory, of course, and before that, he'd told her how he'd almost convinced a young Christian de Gaultiers of Arrick-by-the-Sea that his horse was his Intended.
"See you, Chris?" Gawan said, recalling the memory. " 'Tis the mark, just there." He laughed, and pulled Ellie into a shadowy alcove in the passageway. "I dared him to kiss it and see what would happen."
With a laugh, Ellie leaned against the wall and looked up. "Did he? Please, tell me he did."
"Indeed, he thought about it. But nay." His eyes, barely a flash of liquid brown in the stream of faint moonlight coming in through one of the hallway windows, looked down at her, and he moved closer.
And then they stood, neither speaking, only breathing. And, sweet God have mercy,
feeling.
Ellie's heart raced, and heat spread through her body like melting wax, slowly moving over every part of her as Gawan pressed against her, her hips trapped within his muscular thighs. Just his closeness, the smell of him, the knowing of what he truly wanted to do with her yet refused to because of a vow he'd made nearly a thousand years before made her knees shake. His ragged breathing in the shadows was more of a turn-on than ... well, almost anything, she thought.
Until he touched her.
And it was in the most unlikely of places where he touched her that made her heart slam against her ribs: her hair. With one hand braced against the wall, on the other side of her head, Gawan used his free hand to loosen the mass of hair she'd wound up and poked with a comb, just a simple updo.
Deft fingers loosened that comb and her hair tumbled down. The comb clinked as it hit the stone flooring of the alcove.
He let her hair sift through his fingers, and he leaned forward to bring it to his nose, where he inhaled, and his warm breath on her bare neck and shoulders as he exhaled made her head feel heavy, so thank God he'd gently worked his hand through that mass of hair to cup the back of her head.
Just before he angled her jaw, just so, leaned in, and kissed her.
All sense of rational thought left her at that moment. Well, no, it'd pretty much left her a while back and nothing, not her mostly deadness, her family, the research she was doing—nothing mattered except this man's mouth against hers. It was way more than sexual attraction, although there certainly was plenty of that. It was
soul
attraction. The kiss between Intendeds, she'd later find out.