Into Thin Air (32 page)
"You've just gone soft, my lord," Jameson said, stepping up to the group. "I daresay the weather is quite suitable." He nodded at Gawan, then at Ellie. "Good day to you both. Young Jason, to you as well."
Constable Hurley glanced at the old steward. "You can see her?"
Jameson, without changing his expression, winked at Ellie. "For a certainty, Constable. You cannot?
More the pity. A lovely girl, indeed."
Gawan completely agreed.
Andi and the others joined them, and after greetings were passed all round, Gawan stood at the head of the search group. "Tristan, men"—he smiled at Andi—"lady, thank you for helping. I vow I couldn't be armed with a better garrison than this one."
And then he proceeded to give out directions, coordinates, and markers for their search. "We'll meet back here, since this appears to be the center of our grid."
Everyone said their ayes and started in their given direction. Before Tristan left, he stood, gripped Gawan by the shoulder, and squeezed. "We'll search until we find her," he said, and Gawan could see the fierceness of the infamous Dragonhawk just beneath the man's calm exterior. "We'll not stop until we do."
And Gawan prayed 'twas soon.
After nearly a week of searching, they'd found naught.
Gawan had spoken to a dozen crofters, and had gone into each one of their heads, only to find them speaking the bloody truth: they'd not seen anything suspicious—certainly no fetching American lass like the one in his photo.
He'd hoped that, with Ellie along for most of his searches, mayhap she'd recognize a voice. But nay, she had not.
And bleeding priests, every hour that passed, she seemed fainter than the last. It was killing him.
Tristan's men had even gone into the Borders, and so far, they'd encountered nothing. Naught by the roadside, nor in the fields or farmer's crofts—nothing.
And yet the Dragonhawk and his knights—and his lady, not to mention that old wiry steward Jameson—had only stopped to eat, then rest during the night. Before dawn broke, they were back at it, searching in different directions.
A fine lot, the Dreadmoors.
Now Ellie sat, as she had almost every eve, close to Gawan on the sofa before the hearth, only this time, they waited for her father and siblings to arrive. Jason, fine lad that he was, had given them a brief bit of privacy.
"It's only three days before Christmas Eve," she said, moving her fingers gently over his knuckles.
"Your retirement."
He wanted to touch her so badly, it pained him. But he dared not. He'd battled every selfish demon within to keep his hands from her. Worse still, she felt it, too—'twas blatantly obvious. Not just because he could see how stormy her sea-colored eyes would turn after a kiss, but because he'd sneaked into her mind a time or two. Shameless, he knew, but he'd not been able to help it. And after seeing the depth of love she truly felt for him, he almost wish he'd stayed out.
Instead of ravishing her, though, he held her hand as gently as he could. "Aye, girl. I know."
"What's going to happen?" she asked.
Gawan didn't want to think about it. He wondered what could be worse: having a loved one taken from you unexpectedly, as in dying from an accident, or knowing it was coming. And not merely knowing it, but knowing when, to the minute, every last memory of the person you love is wiped clean, never to return. Either way, 'twas a pain he'd not wish on his worst bloody enemy.
Aye. The very last thing he wanted Ellie to do was worry about it. So instead, he leaned forward, brushed a soft kiss across her lips, and smiled. "We'll see."
Ellie marveled at how difficult it was for Gawan to hold her hand gently. So difficult, in fact, that his hand shook. As big and strong as he was, it made it all the more of a marvel that he had so much control. She could only imagine what he'd been like in his head-lopping days.
They had less three days together, and they'd be spending that little scrap of time looking for her stupid, injured, half-dead self. And then
whack!
—come midnight on Christmas Eve, the memory of the gorgeous, sweet, powerful, sexy man who'd touched her more deeply than anyone could ever hope to reach would be gone.
She blew a strand of hair from her eyes and turned to him. He stared at their hands, fingers entwined. "We'll see?" she repeated in a quiet voice, and then he lifted his eyes and met her gaze.
"Have I told you lately how much I dislike these dopey rules?" She frowned and fought back tears.
No matter how hard she tried, she could only think of losing him in seventy-two. "Seriously dopey."
"Ell," Gawan said, his. raspy voice steady.
With a burst of frustration, she stood up and started to pace. "No, Gawan, I mean it. Why does it have to be this way?" Hooking her thumbs into her jean pockets. "Can't They bend the rules? Just this once?"
Sliding forward on the sofa, Gawan rested his forearms on his knees, which were splayed out in the way guys casually sit. He stared at his feet. " 'Twould follow that a bloody Angel would have a bit more power, aye?"
Ellie stopped and looked at him. "No offense here, Conwyk, but while it's pretty cool that you're older than
dirt,
and have a very naughty, if not phenomenal, ability to bend people's will and read their thoughts, you're an
Earthbound
Angel. Not a magical Angel—Earthbound." She marched over to him and stood, giving his boot toe a small kick with her own. She tugged on his hair. "And you've been amazing. The most incredible—amazing—no ..." She scratched her chin. "Help me here, Conwyk."
"I fancy
phenomenal,"
he said without looking up.
Taking both of Gawan's hands in her own, she tugged and, with very little resistance, pulled him up.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head back to look at him. She gave him a smile. "Wanna hear something funny?"
Gawan stared down at her, steady, intense, as though memorizing every single line in her face. "I vow if something humorous could be found in this situation, you'd be the one to find it." He lifted a hand and lightly traced her lip. "Tell me what's funny, Ellie of Aquitaine."
"Well," she said, trying really hard to concentrate since his touch was the most intimate of touches,
"before we found out who I really was, I kinda had thoughts that maybe I'd be something really fantastic, like, I don't know, a detective or an FBI agent or something." She smiled, his eyes still trained on her. "Funny, huh?"
"I find your line of work exceptionally interesting. But I've not yet found out how or where you learned your warrior skills. I daresay Tristan is still nursing a few tender body parts from your assault that day in his rental."
Ellie laughed. "Brothers, Conwyk. I've got older brothers."
Gawan nodded. "I'll be sure to thank them." He studied her for a moment, then pulled her close and tucked her head beneath his chin. "I vow you're paler than before." She felt his deep breath as his chest rose against hers, and she squeezed her eyes shut because the thought of never feeling him or smelling his skin ever again threatened to overwhelm her, no matter how many pep talks about
not
thinking about it anymore
she gave herself.
"Blimey, Sir Gawan, don't squeeze her so hard. You'll make her go all the way away. And, lady, why are your eyes squeezed so tight? Are you sleepy?"
Ellie opened her eyes and met the wide gaze of young Davy. He wiped his nose on the back of his billowy white sleeve. "I guess I am a little tired. Where's Cotswald?"
Davy shrugged. "Sometimes he runs off and comes back days later. Methinks he likes to go to other castles, where he might find a cat or two to chase." He cocked his head. "Your face looks sad. Don't be." He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. "If Sir Gawan 'ere can't find ye, and you, well, you know, you could always come here and live wi' us."
Sir Godfrey, accompanied by the ladies Follywolle and Beauchamp, wandered in. "Aye, girl," Sir Godfrey said, his voice gruff, "yer always welcome here amongst us ghosties. But dunno worry overmuch. Things have a way o' working themselves out, most times."
As Lady Follywolle nodded her agreement, her big white coiffed bird bobbled its long neck. " 'Tis so, sweetling. Most assuredly, you are always most welcome here at Grimm."
Gawan's embrace grew tighter and he cleared his throat. "You are a fine family, indeed."
Just then Nicklesby rushed in from the larder, Jason on his heels.
"The helicopter is just five minutes out," Nicklesby said; then he looked at Ellie and paled. "Oh, my dear, mayhap you should rest a bit."
"Aye," Jason said, coming to stand beside her. "I vow, my lady, you're looking quite worn."
Ellie smiled at everyone. "You guys are all so great." She reached out and grabbed Jason's hand.
"You
are a big worrywart." She grinned. "And I think it's cute. But I'm fine." When she looked at all the unconvinced expressions, she laughed. "Honestly, guys, I'm fine. Really." And when her gaze met Davy's, he blushed clear up to his soft hat. "And you have got to be the sweetest guy. Thank you very much for inviting me to stay with you, if, well, you know."
He smiled and gave a nod.
"Now," Nicklesby said, running his skinny self all around, "you folks must go for now! You must remember what Sir Gawan has told you. Only appear whenst he calls for you." Nickelsby gave each one a pointed look. "Aye?"
"Don't get your shirttails in a tussle, Nicklesby," said Sir Godfrey. "We won't do nothin' until called upon." He turned to his companions. "Come on then, ladies and young Davy. Let's find us a good watchin' spot for that helicopter."
They moved off—all except Davy. He glanced up at Ellie, still snuggled in Gawan's embrace.
"You'll still be here come the morn, aye?" he asked.
Ellie pulled free of Gawan's grip, which was quite tight, she thought, and bent over at the waist, eye level with Davy. "I've drawn the conclusion that whatever happens is meant to be." She smiled and hoped he understood her. "But if I am here, you owe me another chance at knucklebones, you little swindler."
Davy gave her a solemn smile, and a nod. "Aye, the chance will be yours for the takin', then," he said. "See ya."
And with that, he vanished with the others.
She moved back into Gawan's arms for a quick fix, a fast hug, and found herself not wanting to budge an inch as his warmth somehow managed to seep into her evergrowing cold skin.
"Cara 'ch,
Eleanor Jane Morgan," he whispered against her ear. His mouth moved from her ear to her lips, where he gently nudged them open for the sweetest of kisses. The heat in his eyes all but scorched her when he finished. "Damn but I love you, wench," he said. "Forever."
And Ellie thought she just might give in and cry.
"Yeah, well," she said, with a slow kiss of her own, "I love you, Gawan of Conwyk"—she copied his movement and traced his very sexy bottom lip—"for
infinity."
And Ellie stood right within the strong arms of her Intended until Nicklesby hurried to the great hall doors.
"They're landing," he said.
Ellie whispered as she stepped out of the comfort of Gawan's arms, "Good luck."
Somehow, she thought they'd both need it.
Gawan gave her a final kiss to the nose, thought better of it, and brought his mouth down to cover Ellie's. Lips that once felt warm now felt cool; he feared each kiss would be his last and so he kept taking them. A small groan from Ellie, not to mention her fingers tugging at his hair, encouraged him thusly, until Nicklesby made in his throat a rather fearful noise that Gawan didn't fancy in the least. He drew back from Ellie, moved her near the hearth to sit in a straight-backed chair he'd placed there for that very reason, grabbed his wool coat from the closet, and left Nicklesby at the door whilst he went to the chopper pad in the east bailey.
Moments later, Gawan awaited as Ellie's sire stepped down from the helicopter. The Morgans had encountered a few problems getting the two passports expedited for Ellie's brother and sister. Then the plane had experienced problems before takeoff from the States, and they'd had another delay.
Finally, they'd arrived at Heathrow.
The exaggerated wind from the chopper's blades made it seem as though a cyclone had touched down in the bailey. Rick Morgan emerged first, duffel bag thrown over one shoulder—and aye, Gawan knew it to be Ellie's sire right away—ducking as he moved under the whirring blades toward Gawan. He shoved a gloved hand toward Gawan, who took it.
"Mr. Morgan," Gawan said with a nod and a firm shake.
The first thing Gawan noticed were the worry lines etched around the man's eyes. Damnation, he probably hadn't slept a bloody wink. Gawan couldn't blame him.
Two more lads followed out of the craft, both as big as their sire. Ellie's sister stepped out last.
Shorter than Ellie, and petite, she wore a dark cap stretched over her head and a big scarf wrapped about her neck. Like the others, she had but one duffel thrown over her shoulder.
"Aye, Morgans," Gawan said, stepping up beside Ellie's sire. "Follow me."
Around the side of the east wall, Gawan led the Morgan family up the steps and through the double doors of Castle Grimm.
He briefly noticed it'd begun to snow once again.
After a hearty stomping of boots at the entrance, the Morgan family stepped into the great hall.
Gawan's gaze shot straight over to Ellie, who, as he'd suspected, was no longer in her seat. Instead, she paced before the hearth, and at the sound of the crowd walking through the door, she started to bolt toward them. Then, blessedly, stopped.
Their eyes met, and he gave what he hoped was a comforting, if somewhat slight, smile. Then he turned his attention to her family.
"Mr. Morgan," he said, "this is Nicklesby. He'll show you to your chambers, where you can set your belongings down and freshen up before we begin."
"Have you had any more news?" he said, and Gawan noticed how bleak the man's eyes—blue-green, just like Ellie's—were. The man, who was just an inch or two shorter than Gawan, and strongly built, ran a hand through a head of thick dark hair tinged with a bit of gray at the temples.