Into Thin Air (34 page)

Gawan walked close beside her, his arm not too tight around her, and guided her across the glowing, glittery winter wonderland of Castle Grimm. With the tall gray Grimm towers, and that giant mouth of a portcullis, it truly did look like something out of a fairy tale. On they walked to the courtyard, where in the spring dozens of flowers bloomed, Gawan said, and the border bumped straight up to the edge of the cliff. The moon hung over the choppy North Sea, and a light sprinkling of snow fell steadily. Gawan had told her how uncanny it was to get snow—and this much of it—this time of year.
Uncanny,
he'd said.

For Gawan of Conwyk to find
anything
uncanny was, well, uncanny.

"Are you sure you want to see this?" he asked.

Ellie stopped and cocked her head. "Are you kidding? Of course I want to."

Gawan guided her to a stone bench set amidst the rosebushes overlooking the sea. "You sit here. I'll need to stand back a ways." He unbuttoned his coat. "Promise me you won't scream. 'Tis overwhelming, the sight of them."

"I won't scream."

He gave a nod, dropped his coat and shirt, and looked at her, just before he walked off. As the moonlight painted his broad, muscular tattooed chest in a pale glow, and his shoulder-length curls tossed about him in the wind, Ellie thought she'd never seen anything so breathtaking.

Only she hadn't seen a medieval Welsh warlord who had gained Angel status call forth his useless yet magnificent reminders that he'd done something extraordinary, once, several lifetimes ago.

And there, with the tumultuous North Sea roaring behind him and snowflakes falling about, stood Gawan of Conwyk. Born in A.D. 1115, died in A.D. 1145. Honor-bound by his knightly vows, awarded in death a pair of Guardian's wings to symbolize his selfless deeds. And as he closed his eyes and said the strange words that carried to Ellie's ears only because of the fierce midwinter's wind blowing directly at her, those wings of Gawan's unfolded from their hiding place within his shoulder blades, spanned nearly twelve feet tip to tip, and they—
he
was the most astounding and glorious sight she'd ever beheld.

Not for the first time since meeting the man, Ellie found herself speechless. Humbled.

And within the blink of an eye, he'd retracted those wings and was striding closer to her silently, and when he got to her, she helped him into his shirt and coat, and he embraced her, his mouth buried in her neck.

"I didn't frighten you, did I?" he asked against her skin.

Ellie held on tight. "I'm never scared with you." And she wished she could stay there, enclosed within his arms, forever.

"Even that wouldn't be long enough for me," Gawan whispered in her ear.

"Stay out of my head, Conwyk," she said, and he chuckled.

And she cried.

By the next afternoon, Gawan thought he'd lose his bloody mind. Ellie could recall little about the research that had brought her to England, and by the saints, he'd gone into every single head of every man, woman, and child in the area. And he was still no closer to finding Ellie's live self.

They'd searched dozens of caves with no luck. The snowfall had picked up to a steady downfall of white, but it wasn't overbearing. Gawan, Ellie, and the Morgans met Tristan and his men in the village, where they'd passed quick introductions, leaving out that everyone except Jameson and Andi were well over seven hundred years old. They split into groups, a Morgan riding with each group.

Rick Morgan, Nicklesby, and Sir Kail, along with Ellie, rode with Gawan. Since Nicklesby and Kail could see Ellie, they rode in the backseat of the Rover, leaving Ellie to sit by the window, whilst her sire rode up front.

The Dreadmoor knights had decided to drive a bit farther inland, while Tristan and his group took the coastline north of the village. Gawan took the coastline south. A nagging feeling pitted his gut.

He felt Ellie's live self was close to Grimm. Already they'd combed a goodly portion of the beach.

Gawan, with Ellie by his side, had just exited a small cave when he scanned the coastline for the hundredth time. Frustrated, he cursed.

"Why in bloody hell can't we find you?" he said, his voice rising above the wind. " 'Tis maddening."

Ellie, who'd been standing beside him, leaned against him and tugged his head down to her lips. "I love you, Sir Gawan."

Gawan's heart stood still as he closed his eyes, taking a calming breath. "And I you, Ellie of Aquitaine." He held her for a moment, then sighed. "I want to revisit that farm up the way again."

"We've been there several times already," she said. "Didn't the constable say he thought they owners left for the winter?"

"Aye. At this point, it wouldn't hurt to have another look. 'Tis one of the closest homesteads to Grimm's land."

Ellie nodded, and together with the rest, they climbed in the Rover and drove a short distance down the coastline, then turned inland and drove several kilometers toward the cluster of stone buildings that made up an old working farm. Gawan had known the previous owners. He'd not yet met the new ones, although they'd searched the buildings high and low.

As they drove into the lane and made their way up to the main house, Gawan spotted the tail end of a truck sticking out of the stable entrance. "That truck wasn't here before. Maybe someone is here."

He stopped the Rover, put it in park, and got out. The others followed.

As he inspected the truck, Gawan's insides froze.

Bent side-view mirror. Missing headlamp.

"Christ."

"What is it?" Ellie said.

The others gathered around.

"This truck nearly ran me off the lane the night I found Ellie." He took her by the hand and moved toward the house, giving a quick glance to Rick, Kail, and Jameson as he strode across the gravel lane. "Hold anyone you come across."

They split up, and Gawan and Ellie went to check the house. After several sharp raps, they waited for someone to answer the door. No one did.

"Maybe they've already come and gone," Ellie said. "They may have just left that old truck in the barn.

"Mayhap. But I'm not leaving here until I'm sure." He continued around the house, Ellie close to his side, and checked the windows, even a small garden house just off the back. Nothing.

Until Gawan saw the curtain move.

He froze, squeezed Ellie's hand, and whispered close to her ear. "Stay here. Someone's just there, upstairs. I'll be right back."

"Okay."

Gawan knew he'd have to use coercion to excuse himself from breaking into the house, but he'd not leave until he'd asked a few questions of the person peeking out that window.

The front door was locked, but Gawan wasn't wasting any time. With two hard kicks, the door cracked, and with a final shove, the old door fell off its hinges.

It was silent within. Silent, with a heavy stale scent of musk and cigarette smoke. Easing across the sparsely furnished room, he took the stairs two by two, not caring how much noise he made doing it. Upstairs there were three doors. One closed, two open.

He went straight to the closed door, flung it open and stepped inside. No bed, no furniture, only a closet door. Closed.

He strode over and flung it open.

Inside, a woman crouched. She jumped up, screamed, and leapt out, sobbing, cursing, arms flailing.

Gawan grabbed her arms and restrained her. She appeared to be in her mid-fifties, with graying hair pulled back at the nape; the evidence of a harsh life lined her eyes and mouth. With his mind, he commanded her:
Stop flailing about, woman, and calm down. I'll not harm you. Be still, and listen
to me.

She did.

Have you seen a young woman, American, with reddish-brown hair?

The woman, whose wide eyes were staring straight at Gawan, nodded.

Just at that moment, a thundering of footsteps sounded up the staircase. Moments later, Kail came through the door.

"By the saints," Kail said.

"Find anyone else?" Gawan asked.

"Aye. Out in the stables. So far into his cups, he's barely breathing. Rick Morgan is making sure he doesn't die before you question him."

"Ellie?"

"With Jameson."

Do you know where the young American woman is?
Gawan said to the woman silently.

Again, she nodded.

Gawan's gut twisted.
Where?

With a sharp Cockney accent, she answered. "Standing stones, up the way on the cliffs. In the kirk."

You stay here, quiet, with this man, Kail. Sit you downstairs and do not move.

"Yes."

"Bleeding priests," Gawan said. "Kail, stay here with her and the drunkard.

"Where is she?" Kail asked, grasping the woman by her elbow and leading her out.

"Stones of Tenish."

Gawan hurried down the stairs and started to run. Outside, he grabbed Ellie's hand and pulled her along.

"Jameson, go relieve Rick and send him to the Rover."

"Where is she, sir?" Jameson asked.

"Tenish. Hurry."

"What's going on?" Ellie asked breathlessly as she ran alongside him.

"I'm not sure, girl. Just come with me." He didn't want to cause her worry, and by the saints, he wasn't sure just what he'd find.

At the Rover, he and Ellie got in, and Rick, running out of the stables, jumped in the backseat. He didn't say a word.

Blessedly.

It didn't take them long to get to the stones. Gawan's heart was in his bloody throat, and Ellie must have known how worried he was, because she'd slipped her cool fingers between his and squeezed.

Gawan got out, ran to Ellie's side, and brought his mouth down on hers for a fierce kiss. "Wait here, love. I'll be right back."

He didn't wait for an answer. He crossed the lane and ran and didn't turn around; he didn't look over his shoulder. Saints, it'd been before his eyes the whole bloody time, yet he'd been blinded—even with Ellie's subtle clue.

Dark. Hay. Clover. Dampened stone. Earthy.

Over his shoulder, he heard Rick shout, and as Gawan ran up the gentle slope of the frost-covered hill, he thought of nothing, save what he may find.

Patches of ice made his boots slip, and he caught himself more times than he cared to count with the palms of his hands as he scrambled to the top.

At the top, the sea wind furiously whipped stinging snow at his face, but Gawan lowered his head and plowed straight into it, weaved through the ancient standing stones Ellie had so admired weeks ago, and made his way to the dilapidated old kirk, just down the other side of the slope.

Ducking through the doorless archway, Gawan skidded in at a full run, one hand already groping the mobile clipped to his belt. Dread washed over him as he went deeper into the old stone building, and the shafts of dull winter light coming through the hole-filled roof afforded him little vision.

He didn't need it.

Even though he knew Ellie wasn't dead, he—a bloody warrior, for Christ's sake—braced himself for what he'd find. Even that didn't stop his breath from catching in his lungs when he saw two booted feet just inside a small alcove, near the back of the kirk. His throat thickened so he could barely swallow.

His fingers flew over the mobile numbers. Tristan answered. "Tell me."

"Standing Stones of Tenish. Call the medics, but if they're not here by the time I get her down the slope, they'll have to catch me."

Gawan shoved the mobile in his pocket and squeezed into the alcove. 'Twas dark—nigh onto black

—but he needed no light. Ellie was going to bloody live and he was going to get her out
now.

She made no noise at all, not even when he touched her face and called her name. 'Twas then he realized they couldn't both get out of the alcove together. He swore, prayed he wasn't doing more damage, and then squeezed back out of the slight crack in the rock, grasped her ankles, and pulled her straight out. Not even then did she make a single sound. Christ, had she been in this leaky kirk the whole time? Or had that woman kept her in that drafty old homestead?

There, in the disjointed beams of gray light, Gawan quickly took inventory of Ellie, still wrapped in several wool blankets. Just as he'd done when they'd first met, he ran his hands over her limbs, her hips, making sure nothing was broken, and by Christ, nothing seemed to be out of alignment.

What, by the saints, had happened to her?

With no other thought save getting Ellie somewhere warm, he picked her up—by saint's blood, she was light as a feather—and made his way over the rocks and dirt of the kirk floor.

"Cara 'ch, Ellie Morgan of Aquitaine,"
he said against her cheek as they walked out of the old kirk.

"Forever."

When he glanced up, Rick Morgan was rushing toward him.

"Jesus Christ," said Rick, coming up beside yet not blocking Gawan's descent. "Nor."

It was only then that Gawan looked up, then around, and noticed he'd taken something very much for granted.

The In-Betwinxt Ellie—
his
Ellie—was gone.

He'd found her live self, and now the two were one.

Even as he heard the medics' sirens blaring in the distance, his heart ached. He was grateful to have found her, yet inside, a hole was being ripped wide open.

And on that snow-covered hill, amidst thousand-year-old standing stones, a piece of him died.

Chapter Thirty

"Gawan, close your eyes for just a minute," Andi said. "I'll wake you up when the doctor comes in."

"Aye," said Tristan, "you can't just sit there, leaning on your knees with your head hanging down.

You'll get a bloody crick in your neck." With a hefty sigh, Gawan leaned back in the chair and rubbed his stubbled jaw. "I'll be fine." He glanced around.

The waiting lobby was full. Nigh onto every soul at both Grimm and Dreadmoor filled the place, not to mention the four Morgans. Some stood against the wall; some sat on the carpeted floor, backs to the wall.

Rick Morgan sat, much as Gawan did, forearms resting on his knees, head bowed. Once, he'd lifted his head and glanced at Gawan. The worry etched into the man's face grew deeper by the second.